ords, "I'm ruined now," filled out with meaning as a sagging
and formless sail rounds into shape under the livening breath of wind.

He, too, had in those few moments seen an idol at least totter on its
pedestal. He had been a hill boy famishing for advancement, and before
his eyes Boone Wellver, distantly his relative, had been an exemplar.
Now Boone was in some unaccountable vortex and talking wildly of
inciting men who needed to be calmed. Into Joe Gregory's mind flashed an
instinct of resentment against Anne Masters, whom he had often seen
there in the hills. In some fashion, he divined, she was to blame for
this situation.

The representative wheeled and left his bewildered visitor standing in
the room alone. Below in the basement bar of the hotel a noisily
laughing crowd jostled at the counter, and the white-aproned Ganymedes
were busy. From the door Boone Wellver cast smouldering eyes about the
place, searching for a certain partisan Democrat.

Yonder, talking in loud voice, stood a colleague from a neighbouring
mountain district. He was nursing, in fingers more used to the
gourd-dipper, the stem of a cocktail glass, and his cheap wit, couched
in an affected drawl and garbed with exaggerated colloquialisms, was
being acclaimed with encouraging mirth. The fellow fancied himself a
_raconteur_, appreciated. In reality he was a sorry clown being baited.

At another time that sight, trivial in itself, would have steadied Boone
with a realization of his own self-duty to represent another type of
mountain man. Now he was past such realization.

He found the man of whom he had come in search and drew him hastily
aside.

"You said this afternoon you wanted to get away from Frankfort for a
week."

"Why, yes, Wellver, I've got a sick child at home; but this deadlock's
got me tied up. A man must stick to his colours."

Boone nodded. "You can go," he said briefly. "I've come to pair with
you. I've got to go home, too. Do you agree not to vote in the house for
one week's time?"

The opponent extended his hand. "It's a go, and thank you. Let's have a
drink on it." But Boone had already turned. He was hastening up the
stairs, and five minutes later found him throwing things into a bag.

"Now," he said in a savage voice to Joe Gregory who still waited, "let's
get away from here. There's going to be a snake killing in Marlin."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Left alone in Wellver's bedroom, Joe Gregory had been thrown back