The rumors of vote-buying before the Legislature convened were forgotten in the facts of the days following. The first ballot for United States senator, as provided for by the Federal statutes, was cast in each branch of the Assembly separately on the second Tuesday after organization; and it was, as usual, scattered by honoring different men of State repute. The next day, and the next, the ballot was taken in joint session. The first test of each candidate's strength showed that Robert Burroughs had but thirty of the entire ninety-four. Thereafter began a systematized demoralization of the men of all parties who constituted the legislative assembly. Sumptuous headquarters were maintained at the leading hotel by Mr. Burroughs, and the Honorable William Moore, past master in chicanery and rascality, extended a well-filled hand to all who entered the spider's parlor. Burroughs was seldom in evidence. In fact, he was not often in the city. "My friends are working for me," he would explain, nonchalantly. "I have placed myself in their hands completely. It is not necessary for me to trouble about the minor details. They have urged me to allow my name to be used; but, really, it is immaterial to me--I have other interests to look after." Then, plaintively, "I am far from well." This last statement was a self-evident fact. Years of crafty plotting had seamed Burroughs' face with lines that come from secret connivings--an offer here, a lure there; a sword of Damocles held low; an iron hand and a velvet glove--all these things made for age in heavy retribution. He complained of the heat, of the cold; of his breathing and of his digestion. A sense of suffocating fullness oppressed him as he climbed the steep incline of the streets of the capital. Yet he retained his pride in the English girl whom he had married, as he avowed, to vent malice on her brother. His family affection was the one redeeming sentiment of his life. When he was away from Butte not a day passed that he did not communicate with his wife, either by post or telegraph. He took pains that no newspapers speaking ill of him should gain admittance to his house--a superfluous task, since politics were of no interest to his home-loving wife. William Moore sometimes looked meditatively at his old friend as he fumed over trifles. Invariably after such reflection he saw to it that his own private exchequer was bettered from the flow of gold streaming from the millionaire's store. It was well to be on the safe side, thought the ex-wolfer, sagely. Yet on the whole his arduous work as Burroughs' manager was conscientiously done. These men had worked together too long for Moore not to feel a personal pride in his work of debauching a Legislature.