“Bud Wax!” the girl breathed. “Bud, and the folks from beyond the gates. What can it mean?”
The distance was short. She soon knew. As the giant’s huge form darkened the schoolhouse door his deep voice rumbled a question:
“’Lection goin’ on here?”
There came no answer from the surprised onlookers.
“Reckon I’ll vote,” said the giant.
At this move, every man of the watchers grew rigid. Whose man was this? Many a hand shifted to a pistol grip. The election hung in the balance. As this man voted, so would all that motley throng. There was no questioning their right. They lived within the district. Their votes could be sworn in. How would they vote? They had come with Bud Wax. That looked bad for Ransom Turner’s clan. But there had been strange whisperings about Bud. He had been heard to say things about the teachers from the outside that were far from unkind. Could it be that, having been fairly conquered by one of these, he had learned a respect for them that he had felt for no other one?
As for Florence, her heart was in her mouth. Would they do it? Could they crush her hopes after she had done so much for little Hallie? They might. There was no accounting for the ways of these strange people.
There was a hush of silence as the giant, having given his name and sworn in his vote, seized the ballot and made his mark.
Out of the silence there came a whisper:
“Hit’s for Ransom.”