CHAPTER VII

THE COALITION

When Lawler reached Willets’ one street he saw a buckboard drawn by two gray horses.  The vehicle was headed west, away from him, and the horses were walking.  The distance between himself and the buckboard was not great, and he saw that it was occupied by two women—­one of them the woman whom he had met at the foot of the stairs leading to Warden’s office.  The other was elderly, and was looking straight ahead, but the young woman’s head was turned toward Lawler at the instant Lawler caught sight of the buckboard.  It seemed to him that the young woman must have been watching him, before he became aware of the buckboard, for there was a smile on her face as she looked at him; and when she seemed sure that he was looking she gayly waved a white handkerchief.

Lawler did not answer the signal.  He looked around, thinking that perhaps the woman might have waved the handkerchief at some friend she had just left, and when he turned she had her back to him.

Lawler was conscious of a pulse of amusement over the woman’s action, though he experienced no fatuous thrill.  The woman was frivolous, and had made no appeal to his imagination.

Besides, Lawler was in no mood for frivolous thought.  He was having his first experience with the invisible and subtle power that ruled the commerce of the nation, and his thoughts were serious—­almost vicious.

Somewhere a mighty hand had halted activity in the Wolf River section; a power, stealthy, sinister, had interfered with the business in which he was vitally interested, interrupting it, disturbing it.

Lawler had kept himself well informed.  In the big library at the Circle L were various volumes relating to economics that had been well thumbed by him.  He had been privately educated, by his mother.  And among the books that lined the shelves of the library were the philosophers, ancient and modern; the masters of art, science, and letters, and a miscellany of authorities on kindred subjects.

When his father had insisted that he be educated he had studied the political history of his state; he had kept a serious eye upon the activities of all the politicians of note; he had kept his mind open and free from party prejudice.  He knew that the present governor of the state was incapable, or swayed by invisible and malign influences.  He was aware that the state railroad commissioner lacked aggressiveness, or that he had been directed to keep in the background.  And he was also aware that for a year or more the people of the state had regretted electing the present governor; the dissatisfaction manifesting itself in various ways, though chiefly in the tone of the editorials published by the newspapers in the towns.

As the average newspaper editor endeavors to anticipate public opinion he invariably keeps himself well informed concerning the activities of an office-holder, that he may be prepared to campaign against him at the instant he detects dissatisfaction among his subscribers.  And the present governor was being scathingly arraigned by the newspapers of the state, while he sat in smug complacence in his office at the capital.  He had made no effort to correct some of the evils of government about which he had raged just before the election.