red at last.

"You talk girl to me just now, young fellow, and you won't find it
safe!"

He marched on, and the grandson resolutely waited his return.

"I'm going to talk business, sir. I want this thing understood. Is it
true what I hear? Do you propose to put my name before that caucus? I
want to say--"

But the old man strode away from him again.

"He says he's going to do it, and it's fool business," confided Presson.
"You've got to stop him. There's no reason in it."

"I've got _my_ reasons. If you don't know enough to see 'em, it isn't my
fault," snapped the Duke, passing them and overhearing.

"Then I've got this to say." The young man stopped his grandfather--as
big, as determined, as passionate--Thornton against Thornton. "I'll not
go to the legislature."

The old man shouted his reply.

"I don't know as you will, you tote-road mule, you! But, by the
suffering Herod, they'll have to show _me_ first!"

He elbowed his grandson aside and kept on pacing the porch.

CHAPTER IV

THE DUKE AT BAY

After that outburst Presson went away by himself to sulk. Young Thornton
made no further protest. He stared at his grandfather, trying to
comprehend what it meant--this bitterness, this savage resentment, this
arbitrary authority that took no heed of his own wishes. He had always
known a calm, kindly, sometimes caustic, but never impatient Thelismer
Thornton. This old man, surly, domineering, and unreasonable, was new to
him. And after a little while, worried and saddened, he went away. His
presence seemed to stir even more rancor as the moments passed.

Presson understood better, but could not forgive the bullheadedness that
seemed to be wrecking their political plans. His own political training
had taught him the benefits of compromise. He was angry at this old man
who proposed to go down fighting among the fallen props of a lifetime of
power. And even though Presson now understood better some of the motives
that prompted the Duke to force young Harlan out into the world, his
political sensibilities were more acute than his sympathy.

Therefore the beleaguered lord of Canibas was left to fight it out
alone.

He stood at the end of the porch and listened to the menacing sounds of
the village.

He glared down the long street and grunted, "Grinding their knives,
eh?"

Evidently the centrifugal motion of the political machine down there was
violent enough to throw off one lively spark. A man came