owing every Mexican in Maverick County and in
the territory immediately contiguous thereto. Many of them had been
members of his gangs when he had contracts in the neighborhood of Eagle
Pass. He knew precisely which of them could be depended upon to remain
docile under all manner of indignity, and which of them had a bad habit of
placing a sudden check on their laughter and lunging forward with a knife.
They knew him, too. They feared him. They knew he could be coldly
brutal--an art which no Mexican has ever mastered. The politicians knew
that getting Fectnor was almost equivalent to getting the office. It was
more economical to pay him his price than to employ uncertain aids who
would have sold their services much more cheaply.

Harboro and Sylvia were sitting on their balcony the second night before
the election. A warm wind had been blowing and it was quite pleasant out
of doors.

One of the corrals lay not far from the house on the Quemado Road. Mounted
Mexicans had been riding past the house and on into the town all day, and,
contrary to usual custom, they were not to be seen later in the day
returning to the chaparral. They were being prepared to exercise their
suffrage privileges.

As Harboro and Sylvia listened it was to be noted that over in the corral
the several noises were beginning to be blended in one note. The barbecue
fires were burning down; the evening meal had been served, with reserved
supplies for late comers. _Mezcal_ and cheap whiskey were being dispensed.
A low hum of voices arose, with the occasional uplifting of a drunken song
or a shout of anger.

Suddenly Harboro sat more erect. A shout had arisen over in the corral,
and a murmur higher and more sinister than the dominant note of the place
grew steadily in intensity. It came to a full stop when a pistol-shot
arose above the lesser noises like a sky-rocket.

"He's getting his work in," commented Harboro. He spoke to himself. He had
forgotten Sylvia for the moment.

"He? Who?" inquired Sylvia.

He turned toward her in the dusk and replied--with indifference in his
tone now--"Fectnor."

She shrank back so that her face would be out of his line of vision.
"Fectnor!" she echoed.

"A fellow they've brought up from the interior to help with the election.
A famous bad man, I believe."

There was silence for a long interval. Harboro supposed the matter did not
interest her; but she asked at length: "You know him, then?"

"Only by reputat