to-day," Niles assured him, sourly. "And your grandfather is the old he
one of the pack. You tell him--"

"You can take your own messages to my grandfather, Niles." He swung his
horse to pass, the girl at his side, but the War Eagle threw up his hand
commandingly.

"I've got a message for you, yourself, then, and you stay here and take
it. He stole our caucus for you to-day, your grandfather did--"

"You don't mean to say I was nominated!"

"That's too polite a word, Mr. Harlan Thornton. I gave you the right one
the first time. He stampeded our caucus by having that fire set on the
Jo Quacca hills. Three sets of farm buildings offered up to the gods of
rotten politics! That's a nice kind of sacrifice, Thornton's grandson!
It goes well with the crowd you're in with. It will smell well in the
nostrils of the people of this State. You ought to be proud of being
made a lawmaker in that way."

It was not reproach--it was insult, sneered in the agitator's bitterest
tone.

"The property of three poor toilers of the soil laid flat in ashes, a
town terrified by danger rushing down through the heavens like the
flight of the war eagle," shouted Niles, declaiming after his accustomed
manner, "and all to put you into a seat in the State House, where you
can keep stealing the few things that your grandfather ain't had time or
strength to steal! You've had your bonfire and your celebration--now go
down and hoist the Star-Spangled Banner over 'The Barracks'--but you'd