“Oh, sure,” Amos agreed indolently. “He told you so, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He came to me, in the beginning.”
“I heard so.”
“I don’t know how to answer him—the line he’s taking,” Wint explained. “That’s all.”
“Don’t have to answer him, do you? Don’t have to answer a lie.”
Wint laughed uneasily. “Just the same, he’s stirring people up.”
“I never heard of anybody being permanently hurt by a lie but the liar,” said Amos.
Wint leaned forward. “I tell you, Amos, I want to be elected. I’ve gone into this; and I want to win. Routt and I are friendly enough; but he started this fight, and I want to beat him. I want to beat him to a whisper. I’d like to see him skunked. I don’t care if he doesn’t get two votes in Hardiston. That’s the way I feel.” His fierce enthusiasm dropped away from him; he said hopelessly: “But I’m darned if I know how to manage it.”
Amos nodded slowly. “Sick of it, eh?”
“Yes.”