a ranch he owns up at Hat Creek, near Mount Lassen. You'll have to go
there if you want to see him."

I knew better than to report back to Barnes without the story, so there
was nothing to it but to drive up to Hat Creek, and a long, hard drive
it was. I made Redding late that night; the next day I drove on to
Burney and asked for directions to the Doctor's ranch.

"So you're going up to Doc Livermore's, are you?" asked the Postmaster,
my informant. "Have you got an invitation?"

I assured him that I had.

"It's a good thing," he replied, "because he don't allow anyone on his
place without one. I'd like to go up there myself and see what's going
on, but I don't want to get shot at like old Pete Johnson did when he
tried to drop in on the Doc and pay him a little call. There's something
mighty funny going on up there."

* * * * *

Naturally I tried to find out what was going on but evidently the
Postmaster, who was also the express agent, didn't know. All he could
tell me was that a "lot of junk" had come for the Doctor by express and
that a lot more had been hauled in by truck from Redding.

"What kind of junk?" I asked him.

"Almost everything, Bub: sheet steel, machinery, batteries, cases of
glass, and Lord knows what all. It's been going on ever since he landed
there. He has a bunch of Indians working for him and he don't let a
white man on the place."

Forced to be satisfied with this meager information, I started old
Lizzie and lit out for the ranch. After I had turned off the main trail
I met no one until the ranch house was in sight. As I rounded a bend in
the road which brought me in sight of the building, I was forced to put
on my brakes at top speed to avoid running into a chain which was
stretched across the road. An Indian armed with a Winchester rifle stood
behind it, and when I stopped he came up and asked my business.

"My business is with Dr. Livermore," I said tartly.

"You got letter?" he inquired.

"No," I answered.

"No ketchum letter, no ketchum Doctor," he replied, and walked stolidly
back to his post.

"This is absurd," I shouted, and drove Lizzie up to the chain. I saw
that it was merely hooked to a ring at the end, and I climbed out and
started to take it down. A thirty-thirty bullet embedded itself in the
post an inch or two from my head, and I changed my mind about taking
down that chain.

"No ketchum letter, no ketchum Doctor," said the Indian