"And no one told you of what happened to the last man your party sent here?"
"They did not. And what happened?"
"He was rode out of town on a rail."
"Well, well, Father. And what did he do, the poor man?"
"Oh, he only hinted at first that we were a lot of ignorant foreigners who were Democrats because we didn't know any better; but he warmed up as he went along. I don't know wherever they got him from. In the middle of it Buck Malone gave them what they call his high sign—his right forefinger raised so—and every man in the hall got up and walked out. A few of them came back later and took him off. They didn't hurt him—no bones broken or anything like that; but they do say he never waited for the train when they turned him loose, but legged the thirty miles back to the city without a single stop!"
"He did? Well, it's fine exercise, Father—running; though thirty miles in one bite, to be sure, is a bit too much for good digestion, I'd say. This Buck Malone—he's the boss here, Father?"
"He is. And a famous one for surprising folks."
"Thank you for the information, Father."
"It's no information. The very babies here know of the last man here. If you see the children in the street smiling slylike when you pass, that will be why."
Tim pulled his lower lip with thumb and forefinger.