to tell you is that it was Minnie Stitzenberg who got that
guy up here from New York two years ago to sell stock in the Salt Water
Gold Company, and stung fifty or sixty of our wisest citizens to the
extent of thirty dollars apiece. I happen to know that Minnie got five
dollars for every sucker that was landed. That guy was her cousin and
she gave him a list of the easiest marks in town. If I remember
correctly, you were one of them, Anderson. She got something like two
hundred dollars for giving him the proper steer, and that's what I meant
when I said there were fifty or sixty men in the case."

"Well, I'll be ding-blasted!"

"And do you know what she did with her ill-gotten gains?"

Anderson could only shake his head.

"She went up to Boggs City and took singing lessons. Now you know the
worst."

The marshal found his voice. "An' it went on for nearly six months,
too--people had to keep their windows shut so's they couldn't hear her
yellin' as if somebody was tryin' to murder her. An' when I went to her
an' respectfully requested her to quit disturbin' the peace, she--do you
know what she said to me?"

"I've got a sneaking idea."

"Well, you're wrong. She said I was a finicky old jackass." The memory
of it brought an apoplectic red to his face.

"And being a gentleman, you couldn't deny it," said Harry soberly.

"What's that?"

"I mean, you couldn't call her a liar. What did you say?"

"I looked her right in the eyes an' I said I'd been neutral up to that
minute, but from then on I'd be derned if I'd try any longer. By gosh, I
guess she knowed what I meant all right."

"Well, as I was saying, all you've got to do is to tell the voters of
this town that she helped put up that job on them, and--"

Anderson held up his hand and shook his head resolutely.

"Nope! I'm through. I'm not goin' to run. I mean to withdraw my name
tonight."

Considering the matter closed, he sauntered to the middle of the street
where he held up his hand and stopped a lame and venerable Ford
driven--or as Mr. Squires was in the habit of saying, urged--by Deacon
Rank.

"What's your speedo-_meter_ say, Deacon?" inquired the marshal blandly.

"It don't say anything," snapped the deacon.

Anderson saw fit to indulge in sarcasm. "Well, by gum, I'd 'a' swore
your old machine was movin'. Is it possible my eyes deceived me?"

"Course it was movin'--movin' strictly accordin' to law, too. Six miles
an hour. What you holdin' me up