“It's the way they went about it that made me mad,” Carson Dwight retorted. “Besides, I know that boy. He is as harmless as a kitten, and he only hung around those dives because he loved to sing and dance with the rest. I _did_ get mad; I'm mad yet. My people never lashed their slaves when they were in bondage; why should I stand by and see them beaten now by men who never owned negroes and never loved or understood them? Before the war a white man would stand up and protect his slaves; why shouldn't he now take up for at least the most faithful of their descendants?” “That's it,” Blackburn spoke up, admiringly. “You are a chip off of the old block, Carson. Your daddy would have shot any man who tried to whip one of his negroes. You can't help the way you feel; but I agree with Bill here, you can't get the support of mountain people if you don't, at least, _pretend_ to see things their way.”, “Well, I can't see _this_ thing their way,” fumed Dwight; “and I'm not going to try. When I saw that old black man and woman that awful night with their very heart-strings torn and bleeding, and remembered that they had been kind to my mother when she was at the point of death--sitting by her bedside all night long as patiently as blocks of stone, and shedding tears of joy at the break of day when the doctor said the crisis had passed--when I think of that and admit that I stand by with folded hands and see their only child beaten till he is insensible, my blood boils with utter shame. It has burned a great lesson into my brain, and that is that we have got to have law and order among ourselves if we expect to keep the good opinion of the world at large.” “I understand Pete would have got off much easier if he hadn't fought them like a tiger,” said Blackburn. “They say--” “And why _shouldn't_ he have fought?” Carson asked, quickly. “The nearer the brute creation a man is the more he'll fight. A tame dog will fight if you drive him into a corner and strike him hard enough.” “Well, you busted up our game,” joined in Keith Gordon, who had left the table in the rear and now came forward, accompanied by another young man, Wade Tingle, the editor of the _Headlight_. “Wade and I both agree, Carson, that you've got to handle Dan Willis cautiously. We are backing you tooth and toe-nail in this campaign, but you'll tie our hands if you antagonize the mountain element. Wiggin knows that, and he is working it for all it's worth.” “That's right, old man,” the editor joined in, earnestly. “I may as well be plain with you. I'm making a big issue out of my support of you, but if you make the country people mad they will stop taking my paper. I can't live without their patronage, and I simply can't back you if you don't stick to _me_.”