The morning after this outrage occurred, John Graham walked into Steve's law office, brushed by his clerks and boldly entered the inner room where his enemy was at work.
Steve sprang to his feet and his hand instinctively sought the revolver in his hip pocket.
"You needn't be alarmed; I'm not ready for you yet," said John, his eyes holding Steve's with their steady light.
"Well, I'm ready for you," was the quick retort. "What do you want?"
"Merely to give you a little advice this morning."
"When I need your advice, I'll let you know."
John closed the door.
"Your men are covering the name of the Ku Klux Klan with infamy," John went on evenly. "If you have even the rudiments of common sense you must know that within a few weeks these fools will be beyond your control."
"I haven't felt the need of your help as yet," interrupted Steve.
"No, but I'm generous. I volunteer to anticipate the needs of your weak intelligence."
"John Graham," Steve broke in angrily, "if you have anything to say to me, say it, and get out of this room!"
"I will say it, my boy, and—don't—you—forget
