"If he's 'lected sheriff, it's goin' t' be risky business gittin' in to a' argyment with anybody," I says. "He'd just _like_ t' git one of us jugged. Say, what's goin' to be did fer Hank?" "Wal," answers Hairoil, mouth screwed up anxious, "we're in a right serious fix. So they's to be a sorta convention this afternoon, and we're a-goin' t' cut out whisky whilst the session lasts." "I'll come. _Walker_ fer sheriff! _Huh!_" "Good fer you! So long." "So long." We made fer the council-tent at three o'clock--the bunch of us. The deepot waitin'-room was choosed, that bein', as the boys put it, "the most _re_spectable public place in town that wouldn't want rent." Wal, we worked our jaws a lot, goin' over the sittywaytion from start to finish. "Gents let's hear what you-all got to say," begun Chub Flannagan, standin' up. Doc Trowbridge was next. "_I ad_vise you to rope Shackleton," he says, "and lemme give him some hoss liniment t' put him on his laigs." (We was agreed that the hull business depended on the _Eye-Opener_.) But the rest of us didn't favour Billy's plan. So we ended by pickin' a 'lection committee. No dues, no by-laws, no chairman. But ev'ry blamed one of us a sergeant-at-arms with orders t' keep Hank Shackleton _outen the saloons_. 'Cause why? If he could buck up, and _stay_ straight, and go t' gittin' out the _Eye-Opener,_ Bergin 'd shore win out. "Gents," says Monkey Mike, "soon as ever Briggs hears of our committee, we're a-goin' t' git pop'lar with the nice people, 'cause we're tryin' t' help Hank. And we're also goin' t' git a black eye with the licker men account of shuttin' off the Shackleton trade. A-course, us punchers must try t' make it up t' the thirst-parlours fer the loss, though I _ad_mit it 'll not be a' easy proposition. But things is _desp_'rate. If Walker gits in, we'll have a nasty deputy-sheriff sent up here t' cross us ev'ry time we make a move. We got t' _work,_ gents. You know how _I_ feel. By thunder! Bergin treated me square all right over that Andrews fuss." (Y' see, Mike's a grateful little devil, if he _does_ ride like a fool Englishman.) "Wal," says Buckshot Milliken, "who'll be the first sergeant? I call fer a volunteer." All the fellers just kept quiet--but they looked at each other, worried like. "Don't all speak to oncet," says Buckshot. I got up. "_I'_m willin' t' try my hand," I says. "_Thank_ y', Cupid." It was Buckshot, earnest as the dickens. "But--but we hope you're goin' to go slow with Hank. Don't do nothin' foolish." "What in thunder 's got _into_ you fellers?" I ast, lookin' at 'em. "Is Hank got the hydrophoby?" "You ain't saw him since he begun t' drink, I reckon," says Chub. "No." "_Wal,_ then." By this time, I was so all-fired et up with curiosity t' git a look at Hank that I couldn't stand it no more. So I got a move on.