For a moment Happy did not speak. It seemed to her that the raising of such an issue was the one thing which she lacked present strength to face; but after a little she replied, with a resolution no less iron-strong because the voice was gentle:
"Unless ye wants ter break my heart fer all time—ye must give me your pledge to—keep hands off."
After a moment she added, almost in a whisper:
"He's asked me—and I've refused to marry him."
"You—refused him?" The voice was incredulous. "Why, gal, everybody knows ye've always thought he was a piece of the moon."
"I still think so," she made gallant response. "But I wants ye to—jest trust me—an' not ask any more questions."
The father sat there stiffly gazing off to the far ridges, and his eyes were those of a man grief-stricken. Once or twice his raggedly bearded lips stirred in inarticulate movements, but finally he rose and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Little gal," he said in a broken voice, "I reckon I've got ter suffer ye ter decide fer yoreself—hit's yore business most of all—but I don't never want him ter speak ter me ergin."
So Boone went out upon the hustings with none of the eager zest of his anticipations. That district was so solidly one-sided in political complexion that the November elections were nothing more than formalities, and the real conflict came to issue in the August primaries.
But with Boone's announcement as candidate for circuit clerk, old animosities that had lain long dormant stirred into restive mutterings. The personnel of the "high court" had been to a considerable extent dominated by the power of the Carrs and Blairs.