Dwight said nothing, seeming to avoid her great, staring, anxious eyes. She laid her hand almost unconsciously on his arm.
“Don't you think he has a chance, Carson?” she repeated—“a bare chance?”
“The whole mountain is surrounded, and they are beating the woods, covering every inch of the ground,” he said. “It is now only a question of time. They will wait till daybreak, and then continue till they have found him. How is Mam' Linda?”
“Nearly dead,” Helen answered, under her breath.
“And my mother?” he said.
“She is only worried,” Helen told him. “Your father thinks she will be all right as soon as she is assured of your return.”
“Only worried? Why, he sent me word she was nearly dead,” Carson said, with a feeble flare of indignation. “I wanted to stay, to be there to make one final effort to convince them, but when the message reached me, and things were at a standstill anyway, I came home, and now, even if I started back to-night, I'd likely be too late. He tricked me—my father tricked me!”
“And you yourself? Did you meet that—Dan Willis?” Helen asked. He stared at her hesitatingly for an instant, and then said: “I happened not to. He was very active in the chase and seemed always to be somewhere else. He killed all my efforts.” Carson leaned heavily against the white paling fence as he continued. “As soon as I'd talk a crowd of men into my way of thinking, he'd come along and fire them with fury again. He told them I was only making a grandstand play for the negro vote, and they swallowed it. They swallowed it and jeered and hissed me as I went along. Garner is right. I've killed every chance I ever had with those people. But I don't care.”
Helen sighed. “Oh, Carson, you did it all because—because I felt as I did about Pete. I know that was it.”
He made no denial as he stood awkwardly avoiding her eyes.