Yet in the end he had to believe, had to accept the new condition. He remembered Amos’s attitude, the night before. Amos had suggested his withdrawing from the fight; the Congressman had almost asked him to withdraw. He had refused; now Amos would force him. Would beat him to his knees. At least, Amos would try to do that. A slow anger began to grow in Wint; a slow determination not to be beaten. Or if he was to be beaten, he would not be beaten without a fight. In simple words, Wint got mad; and he always fought best when he was mad. His resolution hardened; a certain fire of inspiration came to light within him. He began to make plans to meet this new contingency. He would go to the people of Hardiston with the facts. Appeal to them. Prove to them that he deserved their good will; and that he deserved their votes. An hour after the scene in the Post Office, Wint was more determined to win than he had ever been before. Even Amos was not invincible. The man could be beaten. Not only in this fight, but in others. Wint began to cast forward into the future, and plan what he would do. Dick Hoover came in, after a while, and gripped him by the shoulder. “I say,” he exclaimed excitedly, “they tell me Amos has thrown you down. Is it true?” Wint nodded. “Yes,” he said crisply. Hoover swore. “The dirty, double-crossing hound. What are you going to do?” “Lick him,” Wint replied. Hoover looked doubtful. “Lick him? You can’t, Wint.” Wint said nothing. “Can you?” Dick Hoover asked. “I’m going to,” said Wint. Hoover banged his fist on the book that lay open before Wint. “By God, you’ll find some that are willing to help!” “I know it,” Wint agreed. “My father and I.... Whatever we can do.” “Thanks!” “Get after him, Wint,” Hoover urged. “Show him up. No one has ever gone after Caretall the right way. Start something. The people are always looking for fun, for a change. By God, I believe you can do it!” “I told you I was going to,” Wint repeated. That night, his father spoke to him of the matter. The elder Chase had heard it during the day, had heard what Amos had done. And there was fire in his eye. He had no sooner come into the house, before supper, than he called: “Oh, Wint!” Wint was upstairs, getting ready for supper. He answered: “Hello, dad.” “Coming down?” “Right away.” “Well, hurry.” Wint was surprisingly cheerful. The elation of battle was on him. He chuckled at the impatience in his father’s tone; but he did make haste, and a moment later joined the other man in the sitting room. The elder Chase was standing, stirring about, his face hot and angry. “Look here, Wint,” he exclaimed, without parley. “I hear Amos Caretall turned you down, to-day.” “Yes.” “In the Post Office.” “Yes, this morning.” “Told Routt he was going to win.” “Just that, dad.” Chase threw up his hands furiously. “By God, Wint, I told you he’d cut your throat! The dirty....”