men. For nine years they had lived on, firm in their faith in the mighty
Paymaster; and now again, for the hundredth time, the old hope rose up
in their breasts. The town was theirs, they had seen it grow from
nothing to a city of brick and stone, and they loved its ruins still.
All it needed was some industry to put blood into its veins and it would
thrill with energy and life. Even the Widow forgot her envy and her
anger at his deception and greeted Wiley Holman with a smile.

"Well--hello!" he hailed when he saw her in the crowd. "I thought you
were going away."

"Not much!" she returned. "Bring your men in to dinner. I'm having my
dishes unpacked!"

"Umm--good!" responded Wiley and, shrugging his shoulders, he led the
way on to the mine. There were other faces that he would as soon have
seen as the Widow's fighting mien, and he had brought his own cook
along; but Mrs. Huff was a lady and as such it was her privilege to
claim her woman's place in the kitchen. The town was part hers and the
restaurant was her livelihood; and then, of course, there was Virginia.
Having bidden her good-by, and taken care of her cats, he had reconciled
himself to her loss, but not even the smile in her welcoming dark eyes
could make him quite forget the Widow. She was an uncertain quantity,
like a stick of frozen dynamite that will explode if it is thawed too
soon; and there was a bombshell to come which gave more than even
promise of producing spontaneous combustion. So Wiley sighed as he fired
his cook, and told his men that they would board with the Widow.

The first dinner was not so much, consisting largely of ham and eggs
with the chickens out on a strike; but there was plenty of canned stuff
and the Widow promised wonders when she got all her boxes unpacked. Yet
with all her work before her and the dishes unwashed, she followed the
crowd to the mine. That was the day of days, from which Keno would date
time if Wiley made his promise good; and every man in town, and woman
and child, went over to watch them begin. Up the old, abandoned road the
auto trucks crept and crawled, and the shed and the houses that had been
prepared by Blount now gave shelter to his hated successor. Only one man
was absent and he sat on the hill-top, looking down like a lonely
coyote. It was Stiff Neck George, that specter at the feast, the
harbinger of evil to come; but as Wiley ordered the empty trucks to back
up against the dump he glanced at the hil