LITMIR.BIZ

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of them had promised had convinced him that the primary was to be the beginning of the end for Bill Watkins and Dunlavey.

      When he had first come to Dry Bottom it had been universally conceded by the town’s citizens that his differences with Dunlavey and the Cattlemen’s Association were purely personal, and there had been a disposition on the part of the citizens to let them fight it out between themselves. But of late there had come a change in that sentiment. The change had been gradual, beginning with the day when he had told the author of the notice that had appeared on the door of the Kicker office not to hold the express on his account. But the change had come and it was evident that it was to be permanent. It had only been necessary to arouse the government to the situation in order to secure intervention. He had hoped to secure this intervention without being forced to a hostile clash with the opposition, but his first meeting with Dunlavey had spoiled that. Subsequent events had widened the breach.

      He was satisfied. Let Bill Watkins be defeated for sheriff and Dunlavey was beaten. But there was much to be done before that desirable end could be achieved.

      Following the custom the primary was to be held in the sheriff’s office. Watkins had issued a proclamation some weeks before; it had appeared on the door of the sheriff’s office–a written notice, tacked to the door–but it had been removed the same day. Obviously, it was the sheriff’s intention to conduct the primary as quietly as possible, hoping no doubt to disarm whatever opposition might develop. But Hollis had been apprised of the appearance of the proclamation and had quietly proceeded to plant the seed of opposition to Watkins in the minds of his friends.

      He had been warned by Judge Graney that Watkins would try to “pack” the sheriff’s office with his friends on the night of the primary. This had been the usual method employed by Dunlavey when opposition to Watkins developed. Drunken, dissolute, dangerous men were usually on hand to overawe the opposition; the Judge told of instances in which gunplay had developed. But Hollis had determined that Watkins must be beaten.

      Allen did not stay long in the Kicker office. Nor, for that matter, did Hollis. Once, during the morning, he went down to the court house to talk with Judge Graney. Then he returned to the Kicker office and worked until noon.

      During the morning there had been a surprising influx of visitors. Bronzed punchers on dusty, drooping ponies rode down the town’s one street, dropped from their saddles, and sought the saloons. Groups of them swarmed the streets and the stores. As Hollis walked down to his office after leaving the court house, he was kept busy nodding to friends–many of whom had become such during the later days of the drought. Merchants grinned at him from their doorways; Dunlavey’s friends sneered as he passed or sent ribald jokes after him.

      At noon he went to the Alhambra for lunch. Almost the first person he saw there was Dunlavey. The latter grinned at him mockingly.

      “Friends of yours in town to-day,” he said with a sneer. “Well, you’ll need them!”

      His voice had been loud enough for all in the restaurant to hear. Hollis did not answer, though he appreciated the significance of Dunlavey’s words; they told him that the Circle Cross manager was aware of the contemplated contest and was ready for it.

      During the afternoon Dry Bottom presented a decidedly different appearance from the day when Hollis had first viewed it. Animation had succeeded desolation. Perhaps a hundred cowponies were hitched to the rails that paralleled the fronts of the saloons, the stores, and many of the private dwellings. It was apparent that many of the visitors had made the trip to town for the double purpose of voting and securing supplies, for mixed with the ponies were numerous wagons of various varieties, their owners loading them with boxes and crates. Men swarmed the sidewalks; the saloons buzzed.

      Toward dusk the volume of noise in the saloons drowned all sound outside. Having made their purchases the ranchers who had driven in for supplies and had loaded their wagons preparatory to departure found time to join their friends and acquaintances over a convivial glass. By the time the kerosene lamps were lighted in the saloons revelry reigned. From one saloon issued the shrieking, discordant notes of a violin, accompanied by the scuffling of feet; from another came laughter and the clinking of glasses; from still another came harsh oaths and obscene shouts. In the latter place rose the laughter of women.

      Seated at his desk near the front window of the Kicker office Hollis gravely watched the scene–listened to the sounds. In another chair sat Potter. There was no light in the office; neither man had thought of a light. As the revelry in the saloons increased the printer glanced furtively at his chief.

      “There’ll be hell to-night!” he said.

      “I expect there will be trouble,” agreed Hollis.

      Potter shifted uneasily in his chair, eyeing his employer with a worried expression. He was silent for a moment. Then he cleared his throat nervously.

      “Do you intend to go there–to the sheriff’s office–to-night?” he questioned.

      Hollis looked quickly at him. “Of course!” he said with emphasis. “Why?” he interrogated.

      “Nothing,” returned Potter; “only—” he hesitated and then blurted out: “I wouldn’t go if I were you. They’ve been saying that if you do there’ll be trouble. You know what that means.”

      “Who has been saying that?” inquired Hollis.

      “I heard it at noon–in the Silver Dollar. Some of Dunlavey’s men sat near me and I heard them saying that Watkins was to win if they had to put two or three of his chief opponents out of business.”

      “I have been expecting that,” returned Hollis. He said nothing more and Potter, having done his duty, felt that he had no business to interfere further.

      Shortly after dark there was a clatter of hoofs outside the Kicker office and four men dismounted from their ponies and strode to the office door. They were Norton, Ace, Lanky, and Bud. Evidently Hollis had been awaiting their coming, for he met them at the door, greeting them with the words: “We’ll be going at once; it’s about time.”

      Followed by Potter the five strode rapidly down the street. When they arrived at the sheriff’s office there were a number of men congregated about the door. Inside a kerosene lamp flickered on a table that sat in the center of the room. Another lamp stood on Watkins’s desk, and beside the desk sat Watkins himself.

      Conversation died away as Hollis and his men approached the door and stood in the stream of light from the interior. A man stepped out of the shadow of the building and approached Hollis, drawing him and Norton aside. It was Allen. The latter had lost some of the sprightliness that had marked his manner during his conversation with Hollis in the Kicker office that morning–he was again the cool, deliberate, steady-eyed man he had been that day in Judge Graney’s office when Hollis had met him the first time.

      “I’ve been waitin’ for you,” he said; “we’re goin’ to have a scrumptuous time. Dunlavey’s planning to pack her.” He swept a hand toward the interior of the office. “But each candidate is to be allowed two witnesses. I’ve selected you two. Dunlavey and Greasy are doing the honors for Watkins. We might just as well go inside; we can’t do anything out here. There won’t be anything done by any of this gang until Dunlavey says the word.”

      He turned and stepped into the sheriff’s office, Hollis and Norton following.

      Watkins looked up and surveyed them with a bland smile as they entered and dropped quietly into the several chairs that had been provided.

      “I reckon she’s goin’ to be some hot tonight?” significantly remarked Watkins, addressing himself to Allen.

      “Maybe,” grinned Allen.

      “We’re goin’ to take a hand in handlin’ the Law,” significantly remarked Norton.

      Watkins’s face reddened. He stared offensively at Hollis.

      “I reckon you’re a witness, too,” he said, sneering. “Well,” he went on as Hollis gravely nodded, “the

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