But his eye and the eye of the Mayor met, and the look in
both their faces was the same.
"That's bold play," the Mayor said, "but I guess it goes. Yesterday it
couldn't be done. To-day it can. The Chief Constable's down with
smallpox. Got it from an Injun prisoner days ago. He's been bad for three
days, but hung on. Now he's down, and there's no Chief. I was going to
act myself, but the trouble was, if anything happened to me, there'd be
no head of anything. It's better to have two strings to your bow. It's a
go-it's a straight go, Mr. Druse. Seven foot of Chief Constable ought to
have its weight with the roughnecks."
A look of hopefulness came into his face. This sage, huge, commanding
figure would have a good moral effect on the rude elements of disorder.
"I'll have you read the Riot Act instead of doing it myself," added the
Mayor. "It'll be a good introduction for you, and as you live in Manitou,
it'll be a knock-out blow to the toughs. Sometimes one man is as good as
a hundred. Come on to the Courthouse with me," he continued cheerfully.
"We'll fix the whole thing. All the special constables are waiting there
with the regular police. An extra foot on a captain's shoulders is as
good as a battery of guns."
"You're sure it's according to Hoyle?" asked Jowett quizzically.
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