ams caused by the threatened revolt in the mountains were
also passing; some of them stopped at the house of Mr. Plummer, in
Boise, and upon the trail of one of these telegrams, a forcible one,
came a thin-faced and quiet but alert man, Mr. Henry Crayon, who in his
way was a power in both the financial and political worlds. Mr. Crayon
was perhaps the most trusted of the lieutenants of the Honorable Clinton
Goodnight, and the two had held a long conference before his departure
for the West, agreeing at the end of it that "it was time to make a
move, and after that move to spring a live issue."

Mr. Crayon was fairly well informed of the causes that agitated the soul
of "King" Plummer, and as he shot westward on a Limited Continental
Express he considered the best way of approach, inclining as always to
delicate but incisive methods. Long before he reached Boise his mind was
well made up, and he felt content because he anticipated no difficulty
in handling the crude mountaineer, who was unused to the ways of
diplomacy.

He found the "King" in Boise, still hot and sulky. Mr. Plummer had not
heard anything in person from the Graysons, nor had he sent any message
to them, and the mountains were full of talk about his bolt, which was
now spoken of as an accepted fact.

Mr. Crayon's first meeting with Mr. Plummer came about in quite an
accidental and easy way--Mr. Crayon saw to that--and the Easterner was
deferential, as became one who had so little experience of the West,
who, in case he was presumptuous, was likely to be reminded that Idaho
was nearly twenty times as large as Connecticut and twice as large as
the state of New York itself. After making himself pleasant by humility
and requests for advice, Mr. Crayon glided warily into the subject of
politics. He disclosed to Mr. Plummer how much a powerful faction in the
party was displeased with Mr. Grayson, and the equally important fact
that this faction felt the necessity of speedy action of some kind.

They were at that moment in a secluded corner of the reading-room of the
chief hotel in Boise, and Mr. Crayon had ordered a pleasant and powerful
Western concoction which he and Mr. Plummer sipped as they talked. The
"King's" face was red, partly with the sun and partly with the anger
that still burned him. Mr. Crayon's words fell soothingly upon his
ear--Mr. Crayon had a quiet, mellow voice--and his sense of injury at
the hands of Jimmy Grayson deepened. What right had