with Peterson if you are sure he will be Number One.
Be certain on numbers N. W. quar. 6-12-33. Repeat.
Jerry.

The reply which Shanklin had written and perhaps sent, preserving a copy
in his crafty, cautious way, was:

Peterson is Number One. N. W. quarter 6-12-33 is right.

There was neither name nor address on the telegram, but it was easy to
see that it was for "Jerry" at Meander. Some deal was on foot, a crooked
deal, no doubt, between Shanklin and somebody for something in which
Peterson and Number One----

Hold on! Slavens sat up with a quickening of interest in those two words
which he thought he never should feel again. Peterson! That was the name
of the winner of Number One. Certainly! Queer that he didn't put two and
two together at the first glance, thought he. He wondered how much they
were paying Peterson for his relinquishment, and what there was in the
northwest quarter of Section Six, Township Twelve, Range Thirty-three,
that Hun Shanklin wanted to get his hands on.

Well, it was interesting, at any rate, even though he didn't draw
himself. In a flash he thought of Agnes and of her hopes, and her high
number, and wondered whether she had gone to Meander to file. Slavens
held up Shanklin's coat by the collar and ran through the pockets in the
hope of finding something that would yield further particulars.

There was nothing else in the coat. It didn't matter, he reflected; his
interest in Claim Number One was gone forever. He didn't care who had
it, or what was done with it, or whether Hun Shanklin and the man called
Jerry gave ten thousand dollars for it or ten cents.

But that was a pretty good coat. It was a great deal better and more
respectable than the one he had on, and it looked as if it might come
nearer fitting. True, Shanklin was a thin man; but he was wide.

The doctor put on the garment. It was a very comfortable fit; the
sleeves were a little long, but there was room enough in the shoulders.
Surprising, said he, how wide that old rascal was in the chest. He
transferred his money to Hun Shanklin's pockets, chuckling at the
thought that he was returning it whence it came. In conscience, said he,
if conscience required such a palliative, he had made restitution.

On the floor at his foot lay the extra. In falling it had presented to
his view the other side of the fold. The ruled, double-column box, with
the surrounding typ