“But,” says he, “g-gittin’ so’s we can listen hain’t so easy. Let’s go outside and look around.”
We went, and as we walked down-stairs Mark says, “The p’litical fight in this county this fall is over the sheriff.”
“I know it,” says I.
“Then,” says he, “if two men that’s p’litical enemies is seen hobnobbin’, most likely the sheriff’s got somethin’ to do with it. Bowman’s the man that’s got the job now, and Whittaker wants to git the Republican nomination away from him. Now, takin’ for granted that pow-wow up there’s about the sheriff, why, what be they d-doin’ about it?”
“How should I know?” says I.
We stopped a minute at the door, and Mark says, “How’s the fight for sheriff gettin’ on?”
“Perty hot,” says a man—“perty almighty hot.”
“Brown’s for Bowman, hain’t he?” says Mark.
“No,” says the man; “where’d you git that idee? He’s strong for Whittaker.”
“How’s Wiggins?”