RS. ELLIS was as glad to see Hugh as he was to see her. “You look as if political lobbying didn’t agree with you,” she said, patting his arm affectionately.
“It doesn’t,” he agreed, placing a chair for her near the heater. “I’m not going to try it that way again.”
“What way are you going to try?” asked Mrs. Ellis. Hugh’s reply was indirect. He spoke slowly, his voice so low that his hearer was obliged to lean forward in her chair, bright eyes on his lips.
“Their ignorance and their selfishness was what impressed me most, at first. But, thinking it over, I realized that their ignorance of my business was no greater than mine of theirs. And that their selfishness toward the welfare of the state as shown toward the Old Sioux Tract was no greater than mine toward the Children’s Code. Mrs. Ellis, they are mediocre in brains, every one of them. If you will help me I’ll make that rough-neck legislature swallow the Children’s Code and the Old Sioux Tract at one mouthful.”
Mrs. Ellis grew suddenly red and as suddenly white. “Do you realize,” she asked, “very fully, what you are saying? In order to do this Mrs. Morgan and I shall have to make you governor of Wyoming. We can do it. But I believe that you will have to make an even greater sacrifice than you realize. You are thinking of the pain of giving up your work as a paleontologist. I am thinking of something much more painful.”
She hesitated, then gathered herself together resolutely. “Mr. Stewart, as governor-elect, your private life will be held up to the scrutiny of every man, woman and child in Wyoming. The American voter is a curiously illogical animal. No matter what his or her private life may be, that voter demands that the private life of its governors and its presidents shall be beyond reproach. This is particularly true of the woman voter. My dear boy, if you go into this, you will have to end the gossip about Miriam Page, and return to your wife.”
Hugh drew himself slowly to his feet. As he did so there was a sudden fusillade of gunshots in the street and Johnny Parnell, rifle in hand, burst into the door of The Lariat.
“Pink in here?” demanded Johnny, his great voice filling the shop.
“No! What’s the trouble?” Hugh placed himself quickly between the panting cowman and the door.
“Caught him cursing Jessie, about me—about you. I tried to kill the blank, but I had to get my saddle gun. Leave me out of here, Hughie!”
Hugh did not move. “What’s the idea? To add murder to the rest of Jessie’s troubles?”
“What do you care? What is it of your business?” roared Johnny.
He made a sudden rush at Hugh. The two men clinched, swinging heavily against the cash register. Before Mrs. Ellis could reach the door, it swung open and Jessie ran into the shop.
“Behave yourself, Johnny!” she cried, striding over to the wrestlers.
At the sound of her voice, the purple face of the cowman suddenly paled. He turned himself around in Hugh’s grasp and looked at her.
“Where’s Pink?” he shouted.
“Looking for his gun, with mother at his heels,” she replied.
“He’s harmless if Mrs. Morgan is with him,” said Mrs. Ellis with a quick laugh.
Jessie put a long, finely shaped hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Johnny! Johnny! This is not the way to help me, my dear!”
Johnny's face twisted. “Nobody can talk like that to you, Jessie. Maybe you can stand it, but I can’t.”
“I appreciate that, Johnny, but gun play won’t clear up the snarl I’m in. You’ll have to promise me you’ll let my father alone, Johnny.”
At this moment the population of The Lariat was augmented by the arrival of Pink, six-shooter in hand, with his wife hanging on his arm. Hugh, who was now holding Johnny’s saddle gun, moved with the quickness characteristic of his long, lean body, and catching Pink by the collar shook him as if he had been a fat pink and white bulldog. Then with indescribable swiftness, he booted him into the street, slammed the door and bolted it.
“After all, he is my father-in-law, I suppose,” he said, with a casual air.
“You could have taken his gun without kicking him,” Mrs. Morgan’s voice was tart.
“I’ll kick him again if he doesn’t let Jess alone,” returned Hugh, breaking Johnny’s gun and dropping the cartridges into his own pocket.
“After all, she is your wife, I suppose,” said Johnny, dryly.
There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, during which Hugh and Johnny stared at each other.
“I hate you, you bone-digging she-man, you!” Johnny broke the silence with a bitterness that filled the room as did his voice.
Mrs. Ellis drew a quick breath. But no one stirred except Hugh. He walked slowly over to Johnny.