"You have not been in this country long enough, sir," said he.
"I have, sir," was my reply, but it was made in a quiet tone, and entirely different from that in which he addressed me.
"But you have been constantly away, running around after the Indians," he continued; "how is it you wish to vote here?"
"Because," was my response, "I am registered in the service for this place."
"But you can't be allowed to vote, sir," he persisted.
I began at once to explain my view of the law; that I was a ranger, and had served the people, and felt that I had a right to vote at any polls in the State, when he stopped me, saying:
"It is useless to multiply words; you can't vote."
I then left the court-house, went to the hotel, and got my pistols—a splendid pair of navy revolvers, and returned immediately; and seeing my movements, a number of Union men followed me, crowding the room in which the election was held. Nearly all of them were old, gray haired veterans, who had devoted their lives to the service of the State, and were as incorruptible patriots as ever trod on American soil.
Laying my ballot on the table, I addressed Mr. Chamberlin with: