From all directions stragglers appeared, voice after voice proclaiming for the man who, regarded at first as merely a protege of Jefferson, had come in the last two years to be regarded for himself.
The power in him had ceased to be latent, and friend and foe were beginning to watch Lewis Rand and his doings with intentness.
As the sun set behind the Ragged Mountains, the polls closed, and the sheriff proclaimed the election of the Republican candidate.
The Court House was quickly emptied, nor was the Court House yard far behind.

The excitement had spent itself.

The result, after all, had been foreknown.

It drew on chilly with the April dusk, and men were eager to be at home, seated at their supper-tables, going over the day with captured friends and telling the women the news.

On wheels, on horseback or afoot, drunk and sober, north, south, east, and west, they cantered, rolled, and trudged away from the brick Court House and the trampled grass, and the empty bowls beneath the locust trees.
The defeated candidate and the successful shook hands: Cary quiet and smiling, half dignified and half nonchalant; Rand with less control and certainty of himself.