t states, such as Minnesota and the Dakotas?"

The candidate stared at him at first in surprise and some displeasure,
but in a moment or two his gaze was changed into a kindly smile. He read
well the youth before him, his amusing confidence, his eagerness, and
his self-importance, that had not yet received a rude check.

"There is something in what you say, Mr. Moore," replied Jimmy Grayson,
in that tone absolutely without condescension that made every man his
friend; "but I have considered it, and I think it is better for me to
stick to my text. Besides, I am right, you know."

"Ah, yes, but that is not the point," exclaimed young Mr. Moore; "one
may be right, but one might keep silent on a doubtful point that is
likely to influence many votes. And there are several things in your
speeches, Mr. Grayson, with which some of us do not agree. I shall have
occasion to address the public concerning them--as you know, a number of
us are to speak with you while you are passing through Utah."

There was a flash in Jimmy Grayson's eye, but Harley could not tell
whether it expressed anger or amused contempt. It was gone in a moment,
however, and the candidate again was looking at the fledgling with a
kindly, smiling, and tolerant gaze. But Churchill thrust his elbow
against Harley.

"Oh, the child of the free and bounding West!" he murmured. "What
innocence, and what a sense of majesty and power!"

Harley did not deign a reply, but he made the acquaintance, by-and-by,
of the men who had joined the train with Moore. One of these was a
county judge named Basset, sensible and middle-aged, and he talked
freely about the fledgling, whom he seemed to have in a measure on his
mind. He laughed at first when he spoke of the subject, but he soon
became serious.

"Charlie is a good boy, but what do you think he is? Or, rather, what do
you think he thinks he is?"

"I don't know," replied Harley.

"Charlie thinks he's a spellbinder, the greatest ever. He's dreaming by
night, and by day, too, that he's to be the West's most wonderful
orator, and that he's to hold the thousands in his spell. He's a coming
Henry Clay and Daniel Webster rolled into one. He's read that story
about Demosthenes holding the pebble in his mouth to make himself talk
good, and they do say that he slips away out on the prairie, where
there's nobody about, and with a stone in his mouth tries to beat the
old Greek at his own game. I don't vouch for the truth of t