"Carston’s locoed. He’s plumb crazy. There can’t be a jail for whites and a palace for Injins. He don’t suppose he can stop me, does he?" Bud began, excitedly. Bill, encouraged by Jim’s mastery of the situation, chaffingly answered: "After you arrest Nat-u-ritch you’ll never hold office, Bud. You may hold a harp or a coal-shovel." Then he laughed. "My! You’re making a fuss over a squaw," said Bud, who could see no humor in Bill’s words. But Bill replied, "Arrestin’ the mother of innocent kids will not be considered a popular form of amusement around here, Bud." "Kids? What’s that got to do with it?" "Well," said Bill. "The kid’s an influential citizen hereabouts. He’s our long suit, and there ain’t a live thing on the ranch that would let you arrest his rag doll. You couldn’t get away with it, Bud." And as though it were his final word on the subject, Bill said, conclusively, "Better get elected some easier way." A new idea fermented in Bud’s brain. If he failed in his scheme to bring to trial the murderer of Cash Hawkins, hundreds of men to whom he had blustered and sworn that he would accomplish the deed would no longer believe in him and he would probably lose the election. Why not try to gain some compensation if this must be the case? "Git our horses ready, Clarke," he said and watched his assistant leave the yard. Slowly Bud hitched his foot on a log, and, as though he were about to confer a favor upon Jim, spoke with condescension. "Mr. Carston takes this too much to heart, Bill. Perhaps we can come to some understanding." "What do you mean?" "Well, he’s come into some money, ain’t he? Of course I might lose this match-safe crossing Red River." He lovingly fingered the little bag. Bill drew nearer. "And I might"—Bud continued—"be made independent of the job of sheriff, if it’s worth the boss’s while." There was no mistaking the intention of his words. "Bud!" For a moment Bill could say no more. In the past he and Bud had been friends—bar-room friends, it was true—but lately he had begun to suspect much about the Sheriff’s career that was unsavory. Until to-day, however, he had had no proof that Bud could behave like a blackguard. "Bud," he rejoined, "you’re goin’ to make me lose my temper, and I ’ain’t done that for twenty years." As he spoke he raised his foot on the log beside Bud’s and in deliberate imitation of him leaned his elbow on his knee while he stared straight into the Sheriff’s face. "Don’t be foolish," Bud began. "I can put you to a lot of trouble, and I will. I’ll arrest these English people and put ’em under bond to appear as witnesses. They were at Maverick that day, and I got my posse ready and waitin’ to obey orders." This, he thought, was the final shot to bring Bill to his senses. He waited. With a tolerance that did not hide his contempt, Bill spoke. "Except for Jim’s orders, I’d throw you off the place. Get agoin’, Bud—get agoin’—and don’t stop to pick flowers."