, and we won't try to steal the landscape. We'll pay
for every foot of ground that's claimed by anybody that seen it first.
We won't try to move no ancient landmarks, like log houses that dates
back to Jack Wilson. We'll put in the yard at the lower end of the
town, provided that Mr. Thomas Osby, Esquire, gives his
permission--always admittin' there may be just as good places for Mr.
Thomas Osby, Esquire, a little farther back in the foot-hills, if he
feels like goin' there. Now I reckon Miss Constance makes Mr. Thomas
Osby, Esquire, yardmaster at the new deepot."

"Of course," assented Constance; and her father nodded.

"That'd be fair, and it'd be easy," went on Tom. "We'll fix it up
that-a-way, me and Miss Constance--not you. And as soon as we get to a
telegraft office, we fire the general counsel, Mr. Barkley; don't we,
Miss Constance?" The girl nodded grimly.

"He's fired," said Tom. "You can take care of that the first thing you
do, Mr. Ellsworth. Then you can make out my papers as yardmaster and
general boss of the deepot. You can be clerk.

"Now here we go, the railroad cars a choo-chooin' up our canon, same as
down here at Sky Top. In the front car is the president, which is Miss
Constance, with me clost along, the new yardmaster. Your pa is
somewhere back on the train, Miss Constance, with the money to pay off
the hands. He's useful, but not inderspensible."

"Go on!" applauded Constance. "Who besides us and poor old dad?"

Tom Osby turned and looked at her gravely.

"And there comes down to meet us at the station," he concluded, "the
only man we needed to help us put this thing through." Tom Osby
finished his tea in silence. Constance herself made no comment. Her
gaze was on the far-off mountains.

"That there man," he resumed, shaking out the grounds from his tea-cup,
"is the new division counsel for the road, the first mayor of Heart's
Desire,--after Miss Constance,--and mighty likely the next
Congressional delergate from this Territory. Now can you both guess
who that man is?"

"I'll admit he's a bigger man than Barkley," said Ellsworth, slowly.
"That boy would make a grand trial lawyer. They couldn't beat him."

"No," said Tom Osby, "they'd think he was square, and that means a lot.
They _do_ think he's square; and the boys are goin' to do something
for him if they can. Now if he gets back--"

Constance turned upon him with a glance of swift appeal.

"As I was sayin', _whe