ression. George recognized him as the landlord of a hotel at the
settlement.

"Your crop's not looking too good," the stranger greeted him.

"No," returned George. "It was badly put in, and we've had unusually
dry weather."

"I forgot," the other rejoined. "You're the fellow Jake Gillet had the
trouble with. Beat him down on the price, didn't you? He's a bad man
to bluff."

"The point that concerned me was that he asked a good deal more than
his work was worth."

The man looked at George curiously.

"That's quite possible, but you might have let him down more gently
than you did. As a newcomer, you don't want to kick too much or run up
against things other folks put up with."

George wondered where the hint he had been given led.

"I rode over to bring this paper for you to sign," the man went on.

Glancing through it, George saw that it was a petition against any
curtailment of the licenses at Sage Butte, and a testimonial to the
excellent manner in which the Sachem Hotel was conducted by its owner,
Oliver Beamish. George had only once entered the place, but it had
struck him as being badly kept and frequented by rather undesirable
customers.

"Some fool temperance folks are starting a campaign--want to shut the
hotels," his visitor explained. "You'll put your name to this."

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mr. Beamish. I can't form an
opinion; I haven't heard the other side yet."

"Do you want to hear them? Do you like that kind of talk?"

George smiled, though he was not favorably impressed by the man. His
tone was too dictatorial; George expected civility when asked a favor.

"After all," he said, "it would only be fair."

"Then you won't sign?"

"No."

Beamish sat silent a moment or two, regarding George steadily.

"One name more or less doesn't matter much, but I'll own that the
opinion of you farmers who use my hotel as a stopping-place counts with
the authorities," he told him. "I've got quite a few signatures. You
want to remember that it won't pay you to go against the general wish."

There was a threat in his manner, and George's face hardened.

"That consideration hasn't much weight with me," he said.

"Well," returned Beamish, "I guess you're wrong; but as there's nothing
doing here, I'll get on."

He rode away, and George thought no more of the matter for several
days. Then as he was riding home with Edgar from a visit to a neighbor
who had a team to sell, th