“The idear of Hank actin’ like a idjit when the ’lection depends on him!” I says. “Wal, things is outen kilter.”
“Sh-sh-sh!” says Hairoil, lookin’ round quick. “Be awful keerful what you say about Hank. We don’t want no shootin’-scrape here.”
But I didn’t give a continental who heerd me. I was sore t’ think a reg’lar jay-hawk ’d been put up agin our man! Say, that Walker didn’t know beans when the bag was open. His name shore fit him, ’cause he couldn’t ride a hoss fer cold potatoes. And he was the kind that gals think is a looker, and allus stood ace-high at a dance. Lately, he’d been more pop’lar than ever. When we had that little set-to with Spain, Walker hiked out to the Coast; and didn’t show up again till after the California boys come home from Manila. Then, he hit town, wearin’ a’ army hat, and chuck full of all kinds of stories about the Philippines, and how he’d been in turrible fights. That got the girls travelin’ after him two-forty. Why, at Goldstone, they was all a-goin’ with him, seems like.
I didn’t want him fer sheriff, you bet you’ boots. He wasn’t no friend to us Briggs City boys any more ’n we was to him. And then, none of us believed that soldier hand-out. Y’ know, we had a little bunch of fellers from this section that went down t’ Cuba with Colonel Roos’velt and chased the Spanish some. Wal, y’ never heerd them crowin’ ’round about what they done. And this Walker, he blowed too much t’ be genuwine.
“If he’s ’lected sheriff, it’s goin’ t’ be risky business gittin’ in to a’ argyment with anybody,” I says. “He’d just like t’ git one of us jugged. Say, what’s goin’ to be did fer Hank?”
“Wal,” answers Hairoil, mouth screwed up anxious, “we’re in a right serious fix. So they’s to be a sorta convention this afternoon, and we’re a-goin’ t’ cut out whisky whilst the session lasts.”
“I’ll come. Walker fer sheriff! Huh!”
“Good fer you! So long.”
“So long.”
We made fer the council-tent at three o’clock–the bunch of us. The deepot waitin’-room was choosed, that bein’, as the boys put it, “the most respectable public place in town that wouldn’t want rent.” Wal, we worked our jaws a lot, goin’ over the sittywaytion from start to finish. “Gents let’s hear what you-all got to say,” begun Chub Flannagan, standin’ up. Doc Trowbridge was next. “I advise you to rope Shackleton,” he says, “and lemme give him some hoss liniment t’ put him on his laigs.” (We was agreed that the hull business depended on the Eye-Opener.) But the rest of us didn’t favour Billy’s plan. So we ended by pickin’ a ’lection committee. No dues, no by-laws, no chairman. But ev’ry blamed one of us a sergeant-at-arms with orders t’ keep Hank Shackleton outen the saloons. ’Cause why? If he could buck up, and stay straight, and go t’ gittin’ out the Eye-Opener, Bergin ’d shore win out.