"That was in the line of duty," said Rafe. "They all resisted arrest."
Tip O'Gorman nodded. "I ain't denying it. And we've got Jack's word for it besides; but the four men all had friends, and when, as you know, each and every one of 'em turned out to be more or less innocent, why the friends got to talking round and saying Jack was too previous. Ain't you heard anything a-tall?"
"I've heard it said he was a leetle quicker than he maybe needed to be," conceded Rafe. "But folks always talk more or less about a killing. It didn't strike me there was enough in it to actually keep Jack from being elected."
"There is. They're only talking now, but nominate Jack and they'll begin to yell."
"You must have been mighty busy these last few weeks, Tip," sneered Skinny.
"I have," declared Tip. "Seems like I've talked with every voter in the county. I've gone over the whole field with a finetooth comb, and I tell you, gents, the bone for our dog is Bill Wingo. Most everybody likes Bill. He's a damsight more popular than the opposition candidate. Bill will get a lot of the other feller's votes, but if we put up anybody else the other feller will get a lot of ours—and so will the rest of his ticket."
Tip O'Gorman sat back in his chair and eyed his friends. It was obvious that the friends were of two minds. Rafe Tuckleton, his fingers drumming on the table, stared soberly at the floor.
"Are you sure, Tip," inquired Larder suddenly, "that Bill Wingo is the breed of horse that will always drink when you lead him to water?"
Tip O'Gorman nodded his guarantee of Mr. Wingo's pliability of character. "Bill is too easy-going and good-natured to do anything else."
"I'd always had an idea he was a good deal of a man," said Sam Larder.