-but I ain't Indian, and don't
you forgit it. The fact that I git all the booze I like from Charlie
Mac settles that in this burg."

It was a sore point with the newcomer, for at least three-quarters of
him was white, and part of it first-class white at that.

He took off his hat.

"Ever see an Indian with hair like that?"

He pushed a tousled head of flaring red hair under the blacksmith's
nose. He struck his chest dramatically with his fist.

"Donald McTavish McGregor, that's my name. And I'm off to take your
advice, but you can keep the mare till she's shod."

He swaggered out.

At the door he had to side-step--much to his disgust--to get out of
the way of one, Ben Todd, who was not in the habit of making way for
anyone but a lady. Todd was the Editor and Manager of the _Vernock and
District Advertiser_, the man behind most of the political moves in
the Valley. He was a hunchback, with a brain that always seemed to
have a "hunch" before any other brain in the country started to wake
up.

"Hullo, John!" shouted Todd.

"Fine day, Ben!" returned Pederstone.

"See the Government's turned down the new Irrigation Scheme!"

"What?" shouted Pederstone. "The mean pikers!"

"Guess it's about time we had a new Government, John!"

"Yes!--or at least a new member for the Valley," returned the smith.

"Well,--there's truth in that, too. And, as you're President of the
Association, why don't you get the boys to change their man? The one
we've got has been too long on the job. Seems to think he's in for
life."

"The trouble is, Ben,--who could we get that would be an improvement?"

"Why not have a try at it yourself, John, at the coming election?"
suggested the editor as a feeler.

"What!--me?" exclaimed the smith in surprise, viewing the serious look
on the face of the bearded hunchback.

"Sure!--why not?"

"It isn't a question of why not," laughed Royce Pederstone, "but
rather one of WHY."

"Because we want you," returned the editor. "You're one of us, and you
know what this Valley requires better than any other."

Royce Pederstone was silent.

"Would you run if we put you up?" pursued Ben Todd.

"Might," grinned the smith, "but I won't say where I'd run to."

"But straight goods?"

"No, siree! Not for me! A bit of ranching and my work here in the
shop keeps me busy enough. In fact, I've been thinking lately that I
would like to give up this strenuous labour in the smithy."

Ben Todd was about to