I did not reach Medora, the forlorn little cattle town which was our county seat, until the election was well under way.

I then asked one of my friends if there had been any disorder.

Bill Jones was standing by.

"Disorder hell!" said my friend.
"Bill Jones just stood there with one hand on his gun and the other pointing over toward the new jail whenever any man who didn't have a right to vote came near the polls.

There was only one of them tried to vote, and Bill knocked him down.