n the bluff. Several
cross streets, connecting these two parts of the city, had been dug out
with infinite labor, to a great depth through the red clay, and it was
up one of these that Glen now walked.

He was so far below the level of the airy building-lots on either side
that he could not see whether they were occupied or not. Only an
occasional long flight of wooden steps, leading up from the street, led
him to suppose they might be. He was beginning to wonder where the city
was, or if there were any more of it beyond the straggling business
street that bordered the railroad, when he came to the main thoroughfare
of the new town, and gazed about him with amazement. Although it was yet
so early that the sun had only just risen, the broad avenue presented a
scene of the most lively activity.

In Brimfield the erection of a new house, or building of any kind, was a
matter of general interest that afforded a topic of conversation for
weeks. Here were dozens, yes, scores of them, springing up in every
direction. A few were of brick; but most of those intended for business
purposes were long and low, though furnished with pretentious false
fronts that towered as high again as the roof itself. Everywhere was
heard the din of hammer and saw, or the ring of the mason's trowel, and
in every direction Glen could see the city growing, spreading, and
assuming new aspects as he gazed.

At length a pang of hunger recalled him to his present situation, and he
inquired of a man, who was hurrying past, the way to the Kaw House.

"Up there a piece," answered the man almost without pausing, and
pointing vaguely up the street. "There comes the surveyor's wagon from
there now," he added, nodding his head towards one, drawn by two mules,
that was dashing in their direction at that moment.

The surveyor's wagon. Then, perhaps, Mr. Brackett was in it, thought
Glen. Acting on the impulse of the moment, he sprang into the middle of
the street, and waved his rifle in the faces of the advancing mules. The
driver reined them in sharply, and the team came to a standstill.
"Hello, young fellow, what do you want now?" he shouted.

"I want to know if Mr. Brackett is in this wagon," answered Glen.

"Yes, he is, and that's my name," said a pleasant-faced young man,
dressed in a red-flannel shirt, a pair of army trousers tucked into his
boot-legs, and what had once been a stylish cutaway coat, who sat beside
the driver. "What can I do for you?"