“If the state of Montana,” replied Grant Jones, “should ever hold a state convention of its representative people—the bone and sinew of its sovereign citizens, why, they would not only retire Senator Greed to private life, but they would consign him to the warmer regions.”
“You surprise me,” replied Roderick. “I supposed that every state held conventions—delegates you know, from each county.”
“They think they do,” said Jones, winking one eye, “but they are only ratification meetings. The ‘Boss,’”he continued, nodding his head towards Senator Greed, “has his faithful lieutenants in each precinct of every county. His henchmen select the alleged delegates and when they all get together in a so-called state convention they are by pre-arrangement program men. The slate is fixed up by the ‘Boss’ and is duly ratified without a hitch. Therefore instead of being a convention representing the people it is a great big farce—a ratification picnic where ‘plums’ are dealt out and the ears of any who become fractious duly cuffed.”
At Grand Island in the afternoon, during a stop while engines were changed, Roderick left the train and stretched his legs by walking up and down the depot platform. Here he saw Grant Jones in a new rôle. Notwithstanding Jones was in rough western garb—khaki Norfolk coat, trousers to match, and leather leggings—yet he was the center of attraction for a bevy of young ladies. Two of these in particular were remarkable for their beauty; both had the same burnished golden hair and large brown eyes; they were almost identical in height and figure, petite and graceful, dressed alike, so that anyone at a first glance would have recognized them to be not only sisters but doubtless twins.
When the train was about ready to start, these two girls bade adieu to their numerous friends and permitted Grant Jones with all the gallantry of a Beau Brummel to assist them onto the car.
Later Grant Jones took great pains to assure Roderick that it was a pleasure to introduce him to the Misses Barbara and Dorothy Shields—“Two of our’ mountain wild flowers,” Grant said, laughing pleasantly, “who reside with their people way over south in the Wyoming hills, not far from Encampment, on one of the biggest cattle ranges in the state.”
Roderick, already captivated by the whole-souled, frank manner of Grant Jones, now found himself much interested in the beautiful twin sisters as well. Hour followed hour in bright and sprightly conversation, and soon the tenderfoot who had been inclined to condole with himself as a lonely stranger among strangers was feeling quite at home in the great western world of hospitable welcome and good comradeship.
At an early hour next morning Grant Jones, the Shields girls and a dozen other people left the train at the little town of Walcott. They extended hearty invitations for Roderick to come over to southern Wyoming to see the country, its great mines and the big smelter. “If you pay us a visit,” said Grant Jones, laughing, “I’ll promise you a fine big personal in the Dillon Doublejack, of which mighty organ of public opinion I have the honor to be editor.”
Roderick, with a bow of due reverence for his editorial majesty and a bright smile for the sisters, promised that he likely would make the trip before very long. Then he swung himself onto the already moving train and continued his westward journey to Rawlins.