on the whim of chance. They gathered in the blazing
sun in front of the office of the paper, looking in at Editor Mong, who
seemed more like a quack doctor that morning than ever before, with his
wrinkled coat-sleeves pushed above his elbows and his cuffs tucked back
over them, his black-dyed whiskers gleaming in shades of green when the
sun hit them, like the plumage of a crow.

For all the news that came to Comanche over the telephone-wire that day
must come through the office of _The Chieftain_. There was but one
telephone in the town; that was in the office of the stage-line, and by
arrangement with its owners, the editor had bottled up the slightest
chance of a leak.

There would be no bulletins, the editor announced. Anyone desiring news
of the drawing must pay twenty-five cents for a copy of the paper
containing it. It was the editor's one great chance for graft, and he
meant to work it until it was winded.

The lottery was to open in Meander at ten o'clock; but long before that
hour the quivering excitement which shook the fabric of Comanche had
reached the tent where Mrs. Reed mothered it over the company of
adventurers. The lumberman and insurance agent were away early; Sergeant
Schaefer and Milo Strong followed them to the newspaper office very
shortly; and the others sat out in front, watching the long shadows
contract toward the peg that June had driven in the ground the day
before at the line of ten o'clock.

"Well, this is the day," said William Bentley. "What will you take for
your chance, Doctor?"

"Well, it wouldn't take very much to get it this morning," Dr. Slavens
replied, peering thoughtfully at the ground, "for it's one of those
things that grow smaller and smaller the nearer you approach."

"I'd say twenty-five hundred for mine," offered Horace.

"Great lands!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed, blinking, as she looked out across
the open toward the river. "If anybody will give me three dollars for my
chance he can take it, and welcome."

"Then you'd feel cheap if you won," June put in. "It's worth more than
that even up in the thousands; isn't it, Mr. Walker?"

Walker was warm in his declaration that it would be a mighty small and
poor piece of Wyoming that wouldn't be worth more than that.

"We haven't heard from you, Miss Horton," said William Bentley.

"I'm afraid nothing would tempt me to part with my chance," Agnes
replied. "I hold it just the reverse of Dr. Slavens. The longer I look
at it