revail, and, if he becomes President of the United States,
we remain the power that rules him, and that, therefore, rules the
country. If he resists us, well, that is the end of him!"

Mr. Crayon had lighted a cigar, and as he said "that is the end of him"
he flicked off the ash with a quick gesture that had in it the touch of
finality.

Mr. Plummer said nothing, and Mr. Crayon was content; he could do enough
talking for two.

"Mr. Goodnight and other of my associates are coming West very soon," he
continued. "The velvet glove will be taken off, and it is high time."

Then they went forth into the streets of Boise and they were seen
walking together by many people, to which Mr. Crayon was not averse, and
in an hour three or four local correspondents were sending eastward
vivid despatches stating that Mr. Crayon, the representative of the
conservative and dissatisfied minority in the party, was in Boise in
close conference with "King" Plummer, the political ruler of the
mountains. And the burden of all these despatches was fast-coming evil
for Jimmy Grayson.

Nor was the candidate long in hearing of it. The very next day a Boise
newspaper containing a full first-page account of it reached them, and
was read aloud to the party by Mr. Heathcote. Mr. Grayson made no
comment as it was being read, but Harley once saw his face darken and
his lips close tightly together; this was the only sign that he gave,
and it quickly passed.

But the others were not so chary of words. The train was full of
indignant comment, and the ears of "King" Plummer in the distance must
have burned.

"I could not have believed it of him," said Mr. Heathcote. "It is untrue
to the man's whole nature, even if he is swayed suddenly by some
powerful emotion."

Hobart glanced at Sylvia, who had withdrawn to the far end of the car,
where she was apparently gazing at the mountains that fled by, although
she said not one word and her face was red. Nor did Harley join in the
talk, but, taking advantage of the slight bustle caused by Mr. Grayson's
retirement to the drawing-room, he took refuge in a day car to which
their own coach was attached for the time. That evening, while the
others were at dinner, he saw Sylvia alone.

"I ought to tell you," she said, "that I have asked to leave the train,
but my aunt has refused to consent to it. She says she needs me, and as
I cannot go now to my old home in Boise, it is better for me to stay
with her. I hav