ead from side to side
with a gesture of great security in the affections of Sycamore Gap.
"Sycamore Gap's all right, I know; I'll poll a big majority thar,
sure."

"I reckon ye will; but I warn't so sure o' that at fust," replied the
elder. "They 'peared ter me at fust ter be sorter set ag'in
us--leastwise _me_, though arter a while I could hardly git away from
'em, they war so durned friendly."

Walter cast a keen look upon him; but he evidently spoke from his
simple heart, and was all unaware that he was personally the source of
this sudden popularity in Sycamore Gap--his magnetism, his unconscious
eloquence, and his character as shown in the simple and forlorn annals
of "Fambly." And yet he was not crudely unthinking. He perceived the
incongruity of his brother's successive standpoints.

"I dunno how ye kin purtend ter be so all-fired sure o' Sycamore Gap,"
he said suddenly. "'T ain't five minutes sence ye war 'lowin' ez pore
folks couldn't git 'lected ter office, an' ye wished ye hed hed
nothin' ter do with sech, an' 't war me ez bed jes' pushed an' boosted
ye inter it."

The resources of subterfuge are well-nigh limitless. Walter Hoxon was
an adept in utilizing them. He had seen a warning in the skies, and it
had struck terror and discouragement to his heart; but not to his
political prospects had he felt its application. Other schemes,
deeper, treacherous, secret, seemed menaced, and his conscience, or
that endowment to quake with the fear of requital that answers for
conscience in some ill-developed souls, was set astir. Nevertheless,
the election might suffice as scapegoat.

"Look a-yander, Justus," he said suddenly, pointing with the muzzle of
his gun at the brilliant wayfarer of the skies, as if he might in
another moment essay a shot. "That thar critter means mischief, sure
ez ye air born."

The other stepped back a pace or two, and lifted his head to look.

"The comic?" he demanded. Walter's silence seemed assent.
"Laws-a-massy, ye tomfool," Justus cried, "let it be a sign ter them
ez run ag'in' ye! Count the comic in like a qualified voter--it kem
hyar on account o' the incumbent's incompetence in office. Signs! Rolf
Quigley is sign enough,--if ye want signs in 'lections,--with money,
an' frien's, an' a term of office, an' the reg'lar nominee o' the
party, an' ye jes' an independent candidate. No star a-waggin' a tale
aroun' the sky air haffen ez dangerous ter yer 'lection ez him. An'
he ain't loo