And the Democratic ticket for the November elections seemed to be unbeatable in the state. The ticket, headed by President Wilson and Governor Hunt, would be able to sweep McBride into office along with the rest of the ticket. The Graham County Guardian, the only paper in the county, was sure to endorse the Democratic slate.

McBride was well known in Pima, Thatcher, and Safford, the strongholds of the church in the county. While the three towns were unlikely to provide enough votes by themselves to win him the election, they gave him a solid base to build on, and he would need to carry only a handful of the outlying precincts.

He began riding the southern precincts on his day off, paying visits to Klondyke on the actual but not entirely necessary premise of keeping a lid on things in the wild little town, not much more than a gathering spot for cowboys freed from the constant and often boring work of the ranches.

McBride was paying such a visit to the Klondyke store and café, not really looking for alcohol or much of anything else, thinking that his mere presence would be enough to discourage, though not enough to end, the liquor business there. And by coming by and showing concern without threatening the livelihood of the owners and customers there, he would keep his name in their minds in case they should actually turn out to vote in November. He moved around the store, saying hello and shaking hands with the idlers who gathered there.

One of the layabouts in particular caught his eye. He was young, good-looking in the way that cowboys, unkempt and sun-blasted, could be. He was a little above average height, blue-eyed, with a shock of sandy hair cut at an odd angle, the way hair looked when you cut it yourself, that stuck out from under his battered hat pushed back on his head. There was something compelling, even wholesome, about him. The young man eyed McBride as he moved about the store, and when McBride got to him, he nodded but did not hold out his hand to shake McBride's.

McBride went to the front of the store, where Ike, who had bought the store from Firth, leaned against the counter, studying a paper too intently to be actually reading it. McBride stopped in front of him and stuck out his hand. Ike regarded it for a moment, then shook it reluctantly.

“I think you all probably know me,” McBride said. “I'm Frank McBride, and I'm running for sheriff. I know many of you.” He stopped and looked around. “Some of you better than others.” A few of the idlers exchanged sheepish, knowing looks. “Others of you I'm meeting for the first time today. I just want to introduce myself and ask that you consider voting for me in the upcoming election.