“Well,” ventured Hal, “if what I hear is true, the Republican chairman isn’t a plaster saint. They say he was drunk at the convention--” “Maybe so,” said the “J. P.” “But we ain’t playin’ for the prohibition vote; and we ain’t playin’ for the labour vote--tryin’ to stir up the riff-raff in these coal-camps, promisin’ ’em high wages an’ short hours. Don’t he know he can’t get it for ’em? But he figgers he’ll go off to Washington and leave us here to deal with the mess he’s stirred up!” “Don’t you fret,” put in Bob Johnson--“he ain’t goin’ to no Washin’ton.” The other two agreed, and Hal ventured again, “He says you stuff the ballot-boxes.” “What do you suppose his crowd is doin’ in the cities? We got to meet ’em some way, ain’t we?” “Oh, I see,” said Hal, naïvely. “You stuff them worse!” “Sometimes we stuff the boxes, and sometimes we stuff the voters.” There was an appreciative titter from the others, and the “J. P.” was moved to reminiscence. “Two years ago I was election clerk, over to Sheridan, and we found we’d let ’em get ahead of us--they had carried the whole state. ‘By God,’ said Alf. Raymond, ‘we’ll show ’em a trick from the coal-counties! And there won’t be no recount business either!’ So we held back our returns till the rest had come in, and when we seen how many votes we needed, we wrote ’em down. And that settled it.” “That seems a simple method,” remarked Hal. “They’ll have to get up early to beat Alf.” “You bet you!” said Si, with the complacency of one of the gang. “They call this county the ‘Empire of Raymond.’” “It must be a cinch,” said Hal--“being the sheriff, and having the naming of so many deputies as they need in these coal-camps!” “Yes,” agreed the other. “And there’s his wholesale liquor business, too. If you want a license in Pedro county, you not only vote for Alf, but you pay your bills on time!” “Must be a fortune in that!” remarked Hal; and the Judge, the Post-master and the School-commissioner appeared like children listening to a story of a feast. “You bet you!” “I suppose it takes money to run politics in this county,” Hal added. “Well, Alf don’t put none of it up, you can bet! That’s the company’s job.” This from the Judge; and the School-commissioner added, “De coin in dese camps is beer.” “Oh, I see!” laughed Hal. “The companies buy Alf’s beer, and use it to get him votes!” “Sure thing!” said the Post-master. At this moment he happened to reach into his pocket for a cigar, and Hal observed a silver shield on the breast of his waistcoat. “That a deputy’s badge?” he inquired, and then turned to examine the School-commissioner’s costume. “Where’s yours?” “I git mine ven election comes,” said Jake, with a grin. “And yours, Judge?” “I’m a justice of the peace, young feller,” said Silas, with dignity. Leaning round, and observing a bulge on the right hip of the School-commissioner, Hal put out his hand towards it. Instinctively the other moved his hand to the spot.