“By God, you are a wheel-hoss!” burst from Pole Baker's lips. “That's as easy as failin' off a log.”
“Do you mean to make Burt Barrett believe we are—are actually bent on lynching the negro?” demanded Keith Gordon, new-born enthusiasm bubbling from his eyes and voice.
“Yes, that would be the only way,” said Carson. “Barrett is a sworn officer of the law, and his position is his livelihood. Even if we could persuade him to join us, it wouldn't be fair to him, for he would be shouldering more responsibility than we would. The only way is to thoroughly disguise ourselves and compel him to give in as he will be compelled by the others if we don't act first. I know he would not fire upon us.”
“It looks to me like a dandy idea,” spoke up Blackburn. “As for me I want to reward originality by doing the thing if possible. As for that cellar, it's as strong as an ancient fortress anyway and, Carson, Pete would not try to escape if you ordered him not to. As for disguises, I can lend you all the bleached sheeting you want. I got in a fresh bale of it yesterday. I could cut it into ten-yard pieces which would not hurt the sale of it. Remnants fetch a better price than regular stuff anyway. Boys, let's vote on it. All in favor stand up.”
There was a clatter of shoes and rattling of chairs, boxes, kegs and other articles which had been used for seats. It was an immediate and unanimous tribute to the sway Carson Dwight's personality had long held over them. They stood by him to a man. Even Garner suddenly, and strangely for his crusty individuality, relegated himself to the rank of a common private under the obvious leader.
“Hold on, boys!” exclaimed one not so easily relegated to any position not full of action, and Pole Baker was heard in a further proposal. “So far the arrangements are good and sound but you-uns haven't looked far enough ahead. When we git to the jail thar's got to be some darned fine talkin' of exactly the right sort, or Burt Barrett will smell a mouse and refuse our demands. In a case like this silence is a sight more powerful than a lot o' gab. Now, I propose to have one man, and one man only to do the talking.”
“Yes, and you are the man,” said Carson. “You must do it.”
“Well, I'm willin',” agreed Baker. “The truth is, folks say I'm good at just that sort o' devilment, an' I'd sort o' like the job.”
“You are the very man,” Carson said, with a smile.
“You bet he is,” agreed Blackburn. “Now come down in the store an' let me rig you spooks up. We haven't any too much time to lose.”