Old Peter almost whispered the last sentence. Jack Wade understood and kept quiet, as he had been instructed. When they rode into the black mass one wild yell from those strong-lunged farmers rent the air, and everybody for miles around knew that some farmer somewhere was nearing the danger line. The swift ride through the cool night air was exhilarating, and the excitement, being entirely new to Wade, was just to his liking. He had been unconsciously drawn into a midnight raid with those hated Nightriders. When it dawned upon his mind that he was actually taking part in a great midnight raid, and would soon witness cruel treatment from the hands of those he was aiding and abetting, a cold chill ran over his frame. Still, the punishment was going to be meted out to one who, in an extreme moment, was about to do a thing which would affect every man, woman, and child in the whole country. He would sell his tobacco for a price which would not permit a living, and he must stop or suffer the consequence. They rode until it seemed to Wade that the foaming horses must drop from sheer exhaustion. That was impossible. They were used to such trips, and could no doubt keep up the pace for many hours. Supreme quiet reigned. There was no sound save that made by the clatter of many horses' feet striking the soft dirt. When they passed some quiet farmhouse, where all was silent within, a dog would bay loudly or set up a terrifying howl, which could be heard until they were far beyond. The moments soon turned into hours. Finally they drew rein in front of a large farmhouse. Jack thought, as he looked at it through those peep-holes in his cap, that he had not seen such a large and handsome place since he arrived in the country. Barns and out-houses were plentiful, trees and shrubbery were plentiful. This was the home of a more wealthy farmer. They were now awaiting a signal from the leader, when every pistol should be fired into the air to intimidate the sleeping victim within. Someone spoke. "When I fire," he said, "then you can all fire; but no man must fire mor'n once." The dog in the back yard had now made the discovery that someone was about to intrude upon his master's domain and, faithful dog that he was, he dashed out to face the enemy alone. When he reached the front, yelping and baying, the signal gun was fired. The bullet struck the dog squarely in the forehead, and with a short yelp he fell dead. Almost simultaneously other pistols were fired, yet not so simultaneously as not to be discerned separately. The Riders, who knew their business so well, quickly separated and surrounded the house. From within came the victim, who, when he heard the shooting, suspected immediately that danger lurked near, and darted out of the house intending to make his escape by the back way.