't going to kill me, Hiram. No need for all that
monkeywork, if that had been the case."

"I only saw the man with the razor," Hiram told her, "and got busy. Of
course, I didn't even know it was a razor then, but I saw steel. I
thought they were going to kill you. Didn't take much time to think,
at that."

"You terrible scrapper!" laughed the girl. "Who'd have thought that
I'd ever have needed such a man--and got him! Hiram, you've--you've
never kissed me since that night."

Hiram's face turned red as fire. "I ain't worthy to kiss ye, Jo," he
said, lapsing into his backwoods drawl. "Wait'll I settle this thing
that's come up for you. Wait'll I find out about 'the paper.' Then
maybe I'll have somethin' to offer you."

In his great embarrassment he pointed to the ground, where were tracks
and scratches.

"Ben a bob cat usin' thereabouts," he drawled.

With Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet the month that Hiram had been laid up
had developed a new and unforeseen situation. He laid the particulars
before Jerkline Jo and Hiram, both investors in his enterprise. The
conference took place when Jo's freight outfit jingled into Ragtown two
days later.

Tweet invited them to dinner in the Wigwam, a saloon and restaurant and
gambling house combined, where the patrons sat on stools before a high
counter which was in the nature of a continuation of the bar. The
three took seats at the farther end, so that their conversation would
be less likely to be overheard.

"Playmates," Tweet began, when their orders were before them, "I didn't
think our Uncle Sam would go to work and hand us a package just when we
were gettin' us a toehold. But that's just what he's done. I been
watchin' for it to develop for some little time. Now the leak has
sprung.

"You see, outside o' Paloma Rancho, every other section o' land in here
b'longs to the Gold Belt Cut-off, and adjoinin' sections are government
land. Maybe you c'n guess what's happened."

"Thrown open," Jerkline Jo said promptly.

"Yep--open to homesteaders. They're flockin' in in automobiles, in
perambulators, on motor cycles, burros, horseback, and afoot--in
everything but submarines. So far as any one can see, they're gettin'
just as good land as Paloma Rancho; and the folks we've sold to are
castin' dark looks at one Tweet. As if I was to blame! Two fellas
that hadn't paid in much have jumped their contracts with us, and are
takin' up claims. If many more pul