e of Le Boeuf, from
whom Holcomb himself had extracted a pledge, which, to the little
Kanuck's credit, he manfully kept. What was more to be feared was the
drove of stragglers, outlaws, and tramps who, attracted by the unusual
expenditure at Big Shanty, made Morrison's their resting place as long
as they had a dollar to pay for a lodging or a glass of whiskey.

In addition to these there came a more prosperous and, for that
reason, a more dangerous class--speculators, lumber sharps, land
agents, and the like, each one with a scheme for the improvement of
some part of Big Shanty. Most, if not all of them, Holcomb turned down
with a curt "No--don't want it." Now and then someone more shrewd
than the others would write direct to Thayor, and on the strength of
a formal business answer--"You might inquire of my superintendent, Mr.
William Holcomb," etc., etc., would use the document to pave the way
for an introduction.

One evening in June a rickety buck-board rattled up to Morrison's
and inquired the way to Big Shanty. The passenger was short and
broad-shouldered; wore a derby hat shading a pair of crafty eyes as
black as his thick, scrubby beard. In his hand he carried a small
black valise.

The stranger stepped into the bar, emptied his glass, waited until
Morrison had cleared his throat and uttered the customary remark of "I
goll--we cal'late to keep the best--" and then asked:

"How far did you say this place of Thayor's was?" The voice was harsh
and peremptory--with a nasal twang in it and a faint trace of Jewish
accent, despite the fact that he spoke the dialect of the country from
habit.

"'Bout two miles, we cal'late it by the new road," returned the
proprietor as he re-corked the bottle. "You'll see the new road 'bout
a hundred rod 'bove here to the left; you can't miss it."

"I've got a letter from Thayor himself," explained the stranger, as he
squinted over his hooked nose and searched cautiously the contents
of an inside pocket. "It's for a man named Holcomb--he's Thayor's
superintendent, ain't he?"

"Yes," said Morrison, "and a durn good one, too. I'll warrant Sam
Thayor got the feller he was lookin' for when he got Billy."

"Ain't the job gettin' too big for him?" ventured the man with an
attempt at a grin under the thick beard that grew to the corners of
his crafty eyes.

"He kin handle any job he's a mind to," said Morrison with rough
emphasis.

"Um!" grunted the man. "What's your name?" he ask