He waits for
me. In all else, I am yours, as a friend, but I will not embroil
the State now for a mere private feud. Send for me, Judge, when
you have decided."
In the long and heated conferences of the night, before the
sun again pours its shimmering golden waves on the parched plains
of Sacramento, Hardin finds no one who will face the mysterious
situation.
Harris finds the patient Joe playing seven-up with a couple of
friends, and his pistols on the table.
"All right, Harris; let him think it over." Joe nods, and continues
his game.
Calmly expectant, when Harris sends his name up next morning,
Joe Woods is in very good humor. The gathering forces are anxious
for the hour when a solemn secret party caucus shall name the man
to be officially balloted in as Senator of the United States for
six years. The term is not to begin for three months, but great
corporations, the banks, with their heaped millions, and all the
mighty high-priests of the dollar-god, need that sense of security
which Hardin's ability will give to their different schemes. Their
plans can be safely laid out then.
In simple straightforwardness, Harris hands Woods a sealed envelop,
without a word.
In the vigils of one awful night, Philip Hardin knows that he must
fence off the maddened woman who seems to have a mysterious hold
upon his destiny at this crisis.
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