Chadbourn fanned a dozen telegrams toward Rountree and said without pleasantries, “Offers from all over the state to send down militia.”

Rountree grunted. “Just what this fire needs—more kerosene.”

“Colonel Waddell is calling the committee to meet.”

“His idea?” Meta had fetched a clean shirt, and Rountree changed right there in the parlor in front of Chadbourn—unthinkable, for a man who called his wife “Mrs.” even in private.

“Mine,” Chadbourn said. “Dan Gore thinks he can persuade the board to resign.”

Rountree buttoned his shirt, fixed the celluloid collar around his neck, knotted his tie. “I thought that was already settled.”

“Take it easy. He has a couple of conditions.”

Rountree swore. Meta ducked her head and pretended she hadn’t heard. Couldn’t everybody see it was way past that? They had to send a clear signal to MacRae and Moore and Dowling and all the other little generals roaming around loose that the government was back in firm control. That meant a new mayor and board.

Chadbourn said, “Police Chief Melton will disappear if we pay him the remainder of his year’s salary. That’s only two months.”

“The job he’s done, he ought to give back what we already paid him.”

“Mayor Wright will resign if you let him pretend it’s his idea.”

“Great—let’s all pretend. What else?”

“Gore has suggested a slate of candidates for a new board.”

“I knew it!”

Chadbourn smiled. “It’s okay, George. He’s come over to our side. They’re all our people.”

All but three had signed the White Man’s Declaration of Independence.

The meeting was already in progress in city hall in the room across from the board chamber. As Rountree entered, Waddell stopped in mid-sentence. “I see we have a stranger present,” he said sharply. “George, this is a closed meeting.”

“Stranger?” Rountree said. “What the hell?”

Hugh MacRae, who was seated up front with J. Allan Taylor, said, “It’s all right, Colonel.” MacRae had brushed his coat and changed his shirt, but his plantation boots were still spattered with mud, and his hair was disheveled. He looked wildly alive.

Waddell opened his arms in a mock-gracious gesture.

Rountree said, “I’ve got an offer from the board. Hear me out.” He was still nonplussed by the hostile reception he had received. What new alliance was being formed?

“By all means,” Waddell said.

Rountree gave the details.

“Splendid,” Waddell said when Rountree finished. “Now, all we have to do is fill out the slate.” He grabbed the lapels of his clawhammer coat and stared fiercely in the direction of MacRae and Taylor.

It was all happening so fast, Rountree still didn’t quite have his bearings. The killing had spooked him, thrown him off. With Waddell presiding and Hugh MacRae offering in nomination some of the names Gore had suggested, they filled all but two of the seats.