James J. Carrington was unscrupulous, but even his most devout enemy could not have said that he lacked vision and thoroughness. And, while he had been listening to Danforth in his apartment in the Castle Hotel, he had discovered that Neil Norton had made a technical blunder in electing Quinton Taylor mayor of Dawes. Perhaps that was why Carrington had not seemed to be very greatly disturbed over the knowledge that Danforth had been defeated; certainly it was why Carrington had taken the first train to the capital.

Carrington was tingling with elation when he reached the capital; but on making inquiries he found that the governor had left the city the day before, and that he was not expected to return for several days.

Carrington passed the interval renewing some acquaintances, and fuming with impatience in the barroom, the billiard-room, and the lobby of his hotel.

But he was the first visitor admitted to the governor’s office when the latter returned.

The governor was a big man, flaccid and portly, and he received Carrington with a big Stetson set rakishly on the back of his head and an enormous black cigar in his mouth. That he was not a statesman but a professional politician was quite as apparent from his appearance as was his huge, welcoming smile, a certain indication that he was on terms of intimate friendship with Carrington. Formerly an eastern political worker, and a power in the councils of his party, his appointment as governor of the Territory had come, not because of his ability to fill the position, but as a reward for the delivery of certain votes which had helped to make his party successful at the polls. He would be the last carpetbag governor of the Territory, for the Territory had at last been admitted to the Union; the new Legislature was even then in session; charters were already being issued to municipalities that desired self-government—and the governor, soon to quit his position as temporary chief, had no real interest in the new rÉgime, and no desire to aid in eliminating the inevitable confusion.

“Take a seat, Jim,” he invited, “and have a cigar. My secretary tells me you’ve been buzzing around here like a bee lost from the hive, for the past week.” He grinned hugely at Carrington, poking the latter playfully in the ribs as Carrington essayed to light the cigar that had been given him.

“Worried about that man Taylor, in Dawes, eh?” he went on, as Carrington smoked. “Well, it was too bad that Danforth didn’t trim him, wasn’t it? But”—and his eyes narrowed—“I’m still governor, and Taylor isn’t mayor yet—and never will be!”

Carrington smiled. “You saw the mistake, too, eh?”

“Saw it!” boomed the governor. “I’ve been watching that town as a cat watches a mouse. Itching for the clean-up, Jim,” he whispered. “Why, I’ve got the papers all made out—ousting him and appointing Danforth mayor. Right here they are.” He reached into a pigeon-hole and drew out some legal papers. “You can serve them yourself. Just hand them to Judge Littlefield—he’ll do the rest. It’s likely—if Taylor starts a fuss, that you’ll have to help Littlefield handle the case—arranging for deputies, and such. If you need any more help, just wire me. I don’t pack my carpetbag for a year yet, and we can do a lot of work in that time.”

Carrington and the governor talked for an hour or more, and when Carrington left for the office he was grinning with pleasurable anticipation. For a municipality, already sovereign according to the laws of the people, had been delivered into his hands.

Just at dusk on Tuesday evening Carrington alighted from the train at Dawes. He went to his rooms in the Castle, removed the stains of travel, descended the stairs to the dining-room, and ate heartily; then, stopping at the cigar-counter to light a cigar, he inquired of the clerk where he could find Judge Littlefield.

“He’s got a house right next to the courthouse—on your left, from here,” the clerk told him.

A few minutes later Carrington was seated opposite Judge Littlefield, with a table between them, in the front room of the judge’s residence.

“My name is Carrington—James J.,” was Carrington’s introduction of himself. “I have just left the governor, and he gave me these, to hand over to you.” He shoved over the papers the governor had given him, smiling slightly at the other.

The judge answered the smile with a beaming smirk.

“I’ve heard of you,” he said; “the governor has often spoken of you.” He glanced hastily over the papers, and his smirk widened. “The good people of Dawes will be rather shocked over this decision, I suppose. But laymen will confuse things—won’t they? Now, if Norton and his friends had come to me before they decided to enter Taylor’s name, this thing would not have happened.”

“I’m glad it did happen,” laughed Carrington. “The chances are that even Norton would have beaten Danforth, and then the governor could not have interfered.”

Carrington’s gaze became grim as he looked at the judge. “You are prepared to go the limit in this case, I suppose?” he interrogated. “There is a chance that Taylor and his friends will attempt to make trouble. But any trouble is to be handled firmly, you understand. There is to be no monkey business. If they accept the law’s mandates, as all law-abiding citizens should accept it, all well and good. And if they don’t—and they want trouble, we’ll give them that! Understand?”

“Perfectly,” smiled the judge. “The law is not to be assailed.”

Smilingly he bowed Carrington out.

Carrington took a turn down the street, walking until his cigar burned itself out; then he entered the hotel and sat for a time in the lobby. Then he went to bed, satisfied that he had done a good week’s work, and conscious that he had launched a heavy blow at the man for whom he had conceived a great and bitter hatred.