He met Sam at the moving-picture show that night; that is to say, he met Sam just outside. And Sam and Hetty Morfee were together. That surprised Wint; he had not even known that they were friends. But it was obvious that they were very good friends indeed. When he stopped to speak to them, Hetty looked at him with an appealing defiance. He wondered if Sam knew. He did not think it would matter. Sam was the sort who could, if he chose, forgive. He spoke to Sam of the coming election; and Sam said: “Sure, I’m for you. Amos’s all right in Congress. But he’d make a mighty poor Mayor. I’m for you, Wint, m’boy. You’ve got nerve; and you’re funny, sometimes. Lord, but I’ve thought there was times when I’d die laughing at you. But you’re there, Wint. You can have me.” He and Hetty went away together, and Wint watched them, forgetting what Sam had said in wondering about Sam and Hetty. He got further comfort the next day from a man as close to Amos as Peter Gergue. Peter told him it looked as though Routt would win. “But there’s a pile that’ll vote for you,” he added. “It ain’t hurt you much, Amos quitting.” He looked all around furtively, and fumbled in his back hair, and said: “Amos didn’t do you such a bad turn, even if he meant to. I might give you a vote myself, Wint. I don’t know but I might.” Wint laid plans for rallies on Friday and Saturday nights of the week before election. On Monday and Tuesday of that week, he worked all day, preparing the words he meant to say at those rallies. It was tough work; it was hard for him to put his own determination into words. Tuesday night, the first of November, there came a diversion. Jim Radabaugh telephoned to him at midnight, summoning him out of bed. When Wint answered the ’phone, the marshal asked: “That you, Wint?” “Yes.” “You r’member you told me to get after the bootleggers?” “Of course.” “Well, I’ve done that little thing.” Wint exclaimed: “First rate. You mean you’ve arrested some one?” “I should say I had.” “Who?” Wint asked. “You know Lutcher?” “Of course.” “Him,” said Radabaugh. CHAPTER VI KITE TAKES A HAND That Radabaugh should have arrested Lutcher was almost as though he had arrested Kite himself; and Wint knew it. It brought matters to an issue, direct and unavoidable. Lutcher, for all practical purposes, was Kite. His arrest meant an open defiance to the head and front of the opposition. Wint, characteristically, leaped at the chance. He might have been more lenient with a lesser man. He asked the marshal: “Where is he?” “Locked up,” said Radabaugh. “In the calaboose?” “Yeah. Him and the fire horses are all little pals together.” “You’ve got the evidence?” “Sure.” “No doubt about it?” “Not a bit. I’ll tell you--” “That can wait till morning. What does he say?” “Acts like he wasn’t surprised. Acts like he expected it. Matter of fact, he pretty near invited me to pinch him.” Wint nodded to himself. “That means they’re looking for trouble.” “I’d say so.”