"It needn't t' _be_ what you'd call underhand," answers Hairoil. "Pardner," I says, "don't talk about it no more. You make me plumb nervous, like crumbs in the bed." And so he shut up. But now when I _re_call that conversation of ourn, and think back on what begun t' happen right afterwards, it seemed _blamed_ funny that I didn't suspicion somethin' was wrong. The parson was mixed up in it, y' savvy, and the sheriff, and Billy Trowbridge--all them three I'd helped out in one way 'r another. And Hairoil was in it, too--and he'd said oncet that he was a-goin' t' marry me off. So _why_ didn't I ketch on! Wal, I shore _was_ a yap! Next day, Hairoil didn't even speak of Mace. I thought he'd clean fergot about her. He was all _ex_cited over somethin' else--the 'lection of a sheriff. And 'fore he got done tellin' me about it, I was some _ex_cited, too--fer all I was half sick account of my own troubles. The 'lection of a sheriff, y' savvy, means a' awful lot to a passel of cow-punchers. We don't much keer who's President of the United States. (We been plumb _covered_ with proud flesh these six years, though, 'cause Roos'velt, _he's_ a puncher.) We don't much keer, neither, who's Gov'ner of Oklahomaw. But you can bet you' bottom dollar it makes a _heap_ of diff'rence who's our sheriff. If you git a friend in office, you can breathe easy when you have a little disagreement; if you don't, why, _you_ git 'lected--t' the calaboose! Now, what Hairoil come and rep'esented to me was this: That Hank Shackleton, editor of _The Briggs City Eye-Opener,_ 'd been lickerin' up somethin' _turrible_ the last twenty-four hours. "Hank?" I says to Hairoil, plumb surprised. "Why, I didn't know he ever took more 'n a glass." "A _glass!_" repeats Hairoil disgusted. "He ain't used no glass _this_ time; he used a _funnel_. And you oughta see his paper that come out this mornin'. It's full on the one side, where a story's allus printed, but the opp'site page looks like somethin' 'd hit it--O. K. far's advertisements go, but the news is as skurse as hen's teeth, _and not a word about Bergin._" "You don't say! But--what does that matter, Hairoil?" "What does that _matter!_ Why, if Hank gits it into his haid to keep on tankin' that-a-way (till he plumb spills over, by jingo!) the _Eye-Opener_ won't show up again fer a month of Sundays. Now, we need it, account of this 'lection, and the way Hank is actin' has come home to roost with ev'ry _one_ of us. You been worried, Cupid, and you ain't noticed how this sheriff sittywaytion is. The Goldstone _Tarantula_ is behind the _Re_publican can_di_date, Walker----" "_Walker! That_ critter up fer sheriff?" "Yas. And, a-course, Hank's been behind Bergin t' git _him_ re'lected fer the 'leventh time." "_I_ know, and Bergin's got t' _win_. Why, Bergin's the only fit man." "Wal, now, if our paper cain't git in and crow the loudest, and tell how many kinds of a swine the other feller is, _how's_ Bergin goin' t' win?"