“Any man that grins at me ’cause he thinks he’s got me stuck and sells himself out to haul voters for that Hiram Look can nat’rally expect to have somethin’ comin’ to him and can’t blame nobody if it comes,” replied the callous tall man. “I’m goin’ to haul men that will vote for law and order in this town and for them that’s allus led us as citerzens ought to be led--and that’s with pride and dignity. This slambangin’ style and tryin’ to throw down good men ain’t my notion, and I’m goin’ out to hunt up folks that think my way.” He hopped over the wheel, tucked his long legs under the waggon seat, and drove away, the gray mare wheezing past the restraining strap iron. A man who had been standing in the lee of the town house trying to light his pipe came away coughing and strangling. “A chap that runs a threshing machine, like I do, can stand a fair amount of dust,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes; “but I got a couple of whiffs from the tail-end of ‘Wolf’ Doughty’s last year’s speech as it come out o’ that winder there, and I’ll be blamed if it didn’t almost put me out of bus’ness.” The men in the little crowd grinned at him. “I’m hearin’ that it will be a hotter one that ‘Wolf’ makes this year,” said one of the men. “He’s got most of the Dunham deestrick crowd lined up ag’inst Squire Phin’s clique this year.” “Hime let him have four hundred on a second mo’gidge,” said another. “You hold a silver dollar in front of ‘Wolf’ and he can’t see over nor around it.” “Oh, it goes furder back this time,” returned the first speaker. “The Dunham deestrickers ain’t ever forgive the Squire for yankin’ the Haskell girl away from ’em just when they was gittin’ ready to make a meal off her. It’s lucky the women-folks out that way can’t vote. I reckon they’d swing town meetin’ ag’inst him.” “It’s li’ble to be swung, as ’tis,” rejoined another man. “I tell ye Hime Look is cuttin’ a bigger swath in this town nowadays than most folks realise. It’s money that talks, and he’s been puttin’ out a lot of it one way and another.” “It’s a fact, ain’t it, that him and the Squire don’t hitch at all?” queried a bystander as he crooked his leg to light a match. “Wa-a-al,” drawled another voter humorously, “Hime ain’t tried to black the Squire’s eye yit, the same as he has most others in town, but I shouldn’t be a dummed bit surprised if it come to that unless they stop brustlin’ up at each other.” “Hime wants to look out for his buttons,” observed the man who had lighted his pipe. “’Cordin’ to stories that have passed ’round town since King Bradish went away the shoulder hitters ain’t confined to one branch of the Look fam’ly.” Solomon Norton came out and got a huge basket of clean sawdust from the tail of his waggon. “Put on plenty this year, Sol,” called one of the men. “It’ll be needed to sop up the blood.”