fast. Axel Peterson, straining his long neck, swallowing dry
gulps, looked to the right, the left, the rear. The ends of his fingers
were fairly on Claim Number One; nobody was pressing forward to supplant
him and take away his chance.

Of course, in case Boyle could not induce the holder of the first
chance, in the event that he _might_ yet come, to file on the coveted
land, then there would be a chance left for Peterson. So Peterson
knew--Boyle had made that plain. But who could resist the amount Boyle
was ready to give? Nobody, concluded Axel Peterson, feeling a chill of
nervousness sweep him as the window-sash gave and the window opened,
showing the two clerks ready, with their pens in hand.

The preliminary questions were being asked; the card with Peterson's
signature on it was taken out of the file for its identification--although
he was personally known to everybody in the town--for no detail of caution
and dignity could be omitted on an occasion so important as that; Axel
Peterson was taking his breath in short bites, his hand trembling as he
took up the pen to enter his name when that moment should arrive; his
voice was shaking as he answered the questions put to him by the clerk.

There was a stirring down the line, and a crowding forward. From the
outer rim of the people gathered to bear witness to the important
ceremony there rose a subdued shout, like the expression of wonder or
surprise. The volume of this sound increased as it swept toward the
office. Those in the line, Axel Peterson first of all, saw a movement
in the crowd, saw it part and open a lane for a dusty man on a
sweat-drenched horse to pass.

One of the clerks arranged the detail-map of the reservation before him
with great deliberation, his pen ready to check off the parcel of land
when the entrant should give its description. The other spread the blank
on the desk, dipped his pen, and asked:

"What tract do you wish to file on, Mr. Peterson?"

The man on horseback had forged through the crowd and brought his
stumbling beast to a stand not a rod away from Axel Peterson's side.
Peterson had viewed the proceeding with a disturbing qualm. Boyle, as
talkative before as a washerwoman, now grew suddenly silent. His mouth
stood open impotently; the gray of a sinking heart came over his face as
he looked long at the battered man, who had dropped the reins to the
ground and was coming toward them on unsteady legs.

Then, in a flash, Boyle reco