addlers in this State ready to jump into the camp of the men
that can lick the Duke of Fort Canibas--it gives a h----l of a line on
futures! I thought you had your eye out better."

The deeper guile had masked itself behind such characters as Ivus Niles,
and now Thornton realized it, and realized, too, to what a pass his
trustful serenity, builded on the loyalty of the years, had brought him.

That strained, strange look of grieved surprise went out of his face. He
lighted a cigar, gazing at his constituents over his scooped hands that
held the match.

They stared at him, for his old poise had returned.

"This is the chairman of our State Committee, boys," he said, "come up
to look over the field. He says there's a rumor going that Thornton
can't carry his caucus this year." The Duke dropped into his quizzical
drawl now. "I was just telling my friend Luke that it's queer how rumors
get started." He walked to the porch-rail and leaned over it, his shaggy
head dominating them. And then he threw the challenge at them. "The
caucus is going to be held in the other end of the village--not here in
my front dooryard. You'd better get over there. I don't need any such
clutter here. Get there quick. There may be some people that you'll want
to warn. Tell 'em old Thornton hasn't lost his grip."

He took Presson by the arm, and swung him hospitably in at the big door
of "The Barracks."

CHAPTER II

THE LINE-UP OF THE FIGHT

"That's too rough--too rough, that kind of talk, Thelismer," protested
the State chairman.

Thornton swung away from him and went to the window of the living-room
and gazed out on his constituents.

"You can't handle voters the way you used to--you've got to hair-oil 'em
these days."

Presson was no stranger in "The Barracks." But he walked around the big
living-room with the fresh interest he always felt in the quaint place.
Thornton stayed at the window, silent. The crowd had not left the
yard--an additional insult to him. They were gathering around Niles and
his sheep, and Niles was declaiming again.

The broad room was low, its time-stained woods were dark, and the
chairman wandered in its shadowy recesses like an uneasy ghost.

"It isn't best to tongue-lash the boys that are for you," advised
Presson, fretfully, "not this year, when reformers have got 'em filled
up with a lot of skittish notions. Humor those that are _for_ you."

"_For_ me?" snarled "the Duke," over his shoulder, an