“If they don’t, why, don’t ever dare stick your head up out o’ your crab-hole ag’in; an’ what’s more——”
“What’s more?” repeated Sprague, nodding.
“This is a game two can play at. We’ve got a few knives over in Polk County, and, while they’re a little rusty an’ out o’ use, they’re long, an’ they’re deadly, an’ we’ll get ’em out at once an’ run ’em into that brother-’n-law o’ yourn about that fur——”
Rankin measured off the sickening distance on his left arm, with his right hand at the elbow.
“An’ turn ’em round,” and Rankin twisted his fist savagely. In illustrating the vengeful deed he had allowed some of his excitement to master him, and he rose now and stood hanging over Sprague with a menace in the droop of his shoulders and the stretch of his neck.
“Now you know the business that brought me here, Con Sprague,” Rankin went on. “I come over to tell this to Wilson, but I thought it ’uld be fair to tell you first. I’m goin’ over to tell him, an’ then I’m goin’ back home. Now, if your brother-’n-law wants to go to the Legislature, just you get out an’ make a few speeches fer Garwood, an’ declare y’urself, an’ you an’ him put y’ur fellers over here to work, an’ you do it in two days. I’ll watch you an’ if you don’t do it, I’ll say ‘plunk,’”—Rankin used the word which the Illinois politicians, doubtless in their distrust of anything British, have substituted for the Englishman’s “plump”—“an’ the boys’ll plunk—an’ fer the first time in our history we’ll send a minority representative to Springfield, an’ it won’t be your brother-’n-law, either.”
Sprague’s face blackened. He knew that dangerous possibility in cumulative voting, but he said nothing.
“I don’t ask you fer any answer,” said Rankin. “But I’ve served notice on you. You can do just as you damn please.”
And then Rankin went away. He made his call on Wilson, By night he was back in Grand Prairie.