The prophet, too, was perturbed and out of sorts. The sustaining grace of feeling a martyr was lacking in the event of to-day, in which he himself had wielded the coercive hand. He marked the covert aggressiveness of the sheriff's manner, and revolted at being held to account and forced to contest. He fixed his gleaming eyes upon the officer's face, but said nothing.
'I'm a-hustlin' off now,' said Micajah Green, 'an' ez I won't be up in the Big Smoky agin afore the 'lection, I lowed ez I'd find out what ails yer ter set sech a durned thing down as a fac'. Why ain't I goin' ter be 'lected?' he reiterated, his temper flaring in his face, his eyes fierce.
But for the dragging block and chain of his jeopardized prospects he could not have restrained himself from active insult. With his peculiar qualifications for making enemies, and the opportunities afforded by the difficult office he had filled for the past two years, he illustrated at this moment the justice of the prophecy. But his evident anxiety, his eagerness, even his fierce intolerance, had a touch of the pathetic to the man for whom earth held so little and heaven nothing. It seemed useless to suggest, to admonish, to argue.
'I say the word,' declared the prophet. 'I can't ondertake ter gin the reason.'
'Ye won't gin the reason?' said the sheriff, between his teeth.
'Naw,' said the prophet.
'An' I won't be 'lected, hey?'
'Ye won't be 'lected.'
The deputy touched the sheriff on the shoulder.
'I want ter see ye.'