Chapter 19
The Candidate

An election for mayor in a little town like Miracle Springs may not sound like a big event, especially with an important presidential election going on at the same time. But around the Hollister-Belle claims, the minute Franklin Royce announced that he intended to run for mayor, all discussion about Buchanan and Fremont faded completely into the background. The Miracle Springs mayor’s election was all at once the only election anyone cared about!

“I telled ya afore, an’ I ain’t changed my mind none since,” said Alkali Jones. “The man’s a polecat!”

“A snake!” put in Uncle Nick.

They were sitting around the table in our house talking about Royce and the election. Alkali Jones’ high laughter had ceased. The men didn’t seem to know whether to be angry or miserable over the turn of events. So they wound up being a little of both.

“You talked t’ Rafferty again, Drum?” asked Mr. Jones.

“I’ve talked to him half a dozen times,” Pa answered, “and so has every other man in town. But he says he’s got all he can do as sheriff, and he don’t want to be mayor too. None of us can convince him.”

“Ol’ Vaissade didn’t do nuthin’. What makes Rafferty think he can’t jest combine the mayorin’ an’ the sheriffin’?”

“He says the town’s growing, and needs both a mayor and a sheriff.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” added Uncle Nick. “The mayor’s job won’t be a do-nothing job no more with Royce in it.”

“Simon says he can keep him from doing any mischief,” said Pa. “That’s another reason he doesn’t seem too worried.”

“What harm could he do?” asked Katie, who had been listening from the other side of the room, where she and Almeda were sitting. “After all, he’s still got his bank to manage.”

Pa turned his head, then gave a shrug in answer. “Who knows? But if you give a man like Royce a chance, he’ll find some way to turn it to his advantage, and I reckon that’s what has the rest of us worried. Especially if we just let him have the job for the taking.”

“I’ll tell you what he could do,” said Almeda. “Once a man like that’s in power, he can do all kinds of things. I’ve seen it happen in other towns. There’s been corruption in the governments of Sacramento and San Francisco, and any time you have money involved in political decisions it can be dangerous. As mayor and the town’s only banker, Franklin Royce could control this town. He could bring in his own people and set up a town council. He could control decisions that were made. He could levy taxes, commission building projects, change laws. He already dictates how the money in this community flows. He could put Parrish Mine and Freight Company out of business if he wanted to. What if, as mayor, he wanted to get rid of Simon Rafferty as sheriff and appoint one of his own men? I’m sure he could find a way to manage it. Before we knew it, warrants on Drum and Nick would start to appear from the East. I tell you, the possibilities are frightening. I don’t trust Royce, even though I’m forced to do business with him.”

“But the mayor’s never had that kind of power. Vaissade couldn’t have gotten rid of Simon if he’d wanted to.”

“Power has a way of sneaking up on you if you put it into the wrong hands. Once you start something, it’s sometimes impossible to undo it. I for one would feel a lot more comfortable if the door were not opened in the first place.”

Uncle Nick now spoke up again. “He’s always wanted this land of ours,” he said.

“An’ every other piece he could git his slimy white hands on,” Jones added.

“Then, why doesn’t one of the other men in town run against him?” asked Katie.

“No one wants to,” replied Pa. “Bosely, Simon, Lewis, Miller, Griffin—me and Nick and Rutledge, we talked to all of them. I even tried to get Avery to consider it, but he keeps saying religion and politics don’t mix.”

“Wouldn’t do no good anyway,” said Uncle Nick. “Royce would win, whatever anybody else tried to do. He holds mortgages and notes on eighty percent of the property in the whole area. Nobody’s gonna cross him up when it could mean he’d call due what they owe him.”

“But they could still vote against him,” I suggested. “I can’t see why everyone can’t simply choose not to vote for him, or vote for nobody. “He’d never know.”

“Economics, Corrie,” said Almeda, looking over toward me. “Sad to say, money dictates power. If Royce doesn’t win, he could call everyone’s mortgages due. When they can’t pay, he forecloses on whatever properties he wants, and winds up owning all the land for miles. Such a prospect might even be worse than calling him our mayor. Nobody knows whether he’d do that, but just the threat can be enough to frighten people into doing what a man like that wants. He wouldn’t even have to say anything—a mere rumor circulating that foreclosures would result if he wasn’t elected would probably be enough to insure his victory. That is if someone was running against him. As it is, he probably won’t even have to go that far.”