r, and that I,
in the character of a wooden puppet, set pen to paper in the interest of
somebody, so much, and no more, is certain.

Silverado, then under my immediate sway, belonged to one whom I will
call a Mr. Ronalds. I only knew him through the extraordinarily
distorting medium of local gossip, now as a momentous jobber; now as a
dupe to point an adage; and again, and much more probably, as an
ordinary Christian gentleman like you or me, who had opened a mine and
worked it for awhile with better and worse fortune. So, through a
defective window-pane, you may see the passer-by shoot up into a
hunch-backed giant, or dwindle into a pot-bellied dwarf.

To Ronalds, at least, the mine belonged; but the notice by which he
held it would run out upon the 30th of June--or rather, as I suppose, it
had run out already, and the month of grace would expire upon that day,
after which any American citizen might post a notice of his own, and
make Silverado his. This, with a sort of quiet slyness, Rufe told me at
an early period of our acquaintance. There was no silver, of course; the
mine "wasn't worth nothing, Mr. Stevens," but there was a deal of old
iron and wood around, and to gain possession of this old wood and iron,
and get a right to the water, Rufe proposed, if I had no objections, to
"jump the claim."

Of course, I had no objection. But I was filled with wonder. If all he
wanted was the wood and iron, what, in the name of fortune, was to
prevent him taking them? "His right there was none to dispute." He might
lay hands on all to-morrow, as the wild cats had laid hands upon our
knives and hatchet. Besides, was this mass of heavy mining plant worth
transportation? If it was, why had not the rightful owners carted it
away? If it was, would they not preserve their title to these movables,
even after they had lost their title to the mine? And if it were not,
what the better was Rufe? Nothing would grow at Silverado; there was
even no wood to cut; beyond a sense of property, there was nothing to be
gained. Lastly, was it at all credible that Ronalds would forget what
Rufe remembered? The days of grace were not yet over; any fine morning
he might appear, paper in hand, and enter for another year on his
inheritance. However, it was none of my business; all seemed legal; Rufe
or Ronalds, all was one to me.

On the morning of the 27th, Mrs. Hanson appeared with the milk as usual,
in her sun-bonnet. The time would be out on Tues