good friends with whose help I soon had as pretty a trade organized
in horseflesh as any one could wish." A somber tone had crept into
Murrell's voice, while his glance had become restless and uneasy. He
went on: "I'm licking a speculation into shape that will cause me to be
remembered while there's a white man alive in the Mississippi Valley!"
His wicked black eyes were blazing coals of fire in their deep sockets.
"Have you heard what the niggers did at Hayti?"

"My God, John--no, I won't talk to you--and don't you think about it!
That's wrong--wrong as hell itself!" cried Ware.

"There's no such thing as right and wrong for me. That'll do for those
who have something to lose. I was born with empty hands and I am going
to fill them where and how I can. I believe the time has come when the
niggers can be of use to me--look what Turner did back in Virginia three
years ago! If he'd had any real purpose he could have laid the country
waste, but he hadn't brains enough to engineer a general uprising."

Ware was probably as remote from any emotion that even vaguely
approximated right feeling as any man could well be, but Murrell's words
jarred his dull conscience, or his fear, into giving signs of life.

"Don't you talk of that business, we want nothing of that sort out here.
You let the niggers alone!" he said, but he could scarcely bring himself
to believe that Murrell had spoken in earnest. Yet even if he jested,
this was a forbidden subject.

"White brains will have to think for them, if it's to be more than a
flash in the pan," said Murrell unheeding him.

"You let the niggers alone, don't you tamper with them," said Ware.
He possessed a profound belief in Murrell's capacity. He knew how the
latter had shaped the uneasy population that foregathered on the edge of
civilization to his own ends, and that what he had christened the Clan
had become an elaborate organization, disciplined and flexible to his
ruthless will.

"Look here, what do you think I have been working for--to steal a few
niggers?"

"A few--you've been sending 'em south by the boatload! You ought to be a
rich man, Murrell. If you're not it's your own fault."

"That furnishes us with money, but you can push the trade too hard
and too far, and we've about done that. The planters are uneasy in the
sections we've worked over, there's talk of getting together to clean
out everybody who can't give a good account of himself. The Clan's got
to deal a c