o his rival or as an expression of resignation, Boyle moved
back a little into the crowd, where he stood whispering with his
friends. Peterson's face lit up again; he swallowed and stretched his
neck, wetting his dry lips with his tongue.

The preliminaries were gone over again by the clerks with deliberate
dignity; the card bearing the doctor's signature was produced, his
identity established, and the chart of the reservation again drawn
forward to check off the land as he gave the description.

"What tract have you selected, Dr. Slavens?" asked the clerk with the
blank.

Dr. Slavens drew from the pocket of his coat a crumpled yellow paper,
unfolded it, and spread it on the shelf.

"The northwest quarter of Section Six, Township Twelve, Range
Thirty-three," he replied, his eyes on Hun Shanklin's figures.

Jerry Boyle almost jumped at the first word. As the doctor completed the
description of the land he strode forward, cursing in smothered voice.

"Where did you get that paper?" he demanded, his voice pitched an octave
above its ordinary key by the tremulous heat of his anger.

Dr. Slavens measured him coldly with one long, contemptuous look. He
answered nothing, for the answer was obvious to all. It was none of
Boyle's business, and that was as plain as spoken words.

Boyle seemed to wilt. He turned his back to the winner of Number One,
but from that moment he stuck pretty close to Axel Peterson until
something passed between them again, this time from Peterson's hand to
Boyle's. Peterson sighed as he gave it up, for hope went with it.

Meantime a wave of information was running through the crowd.

"It's Number One," men repeated to each other, passing the word along.
"Number One got here!"

Hurrying to the hotel, Agnes was skirting through the thinner edges of
the gathering at the very moment when Dr. Slavens turned from the
window, his papers in his hand. As he went to his weary horse and took
up the reins, the creature greeted him with a little chuckling whinny,
and the people gave him a loud and hearty cheer.

When the cheering spread to the people around her, Agnes stopped and
asked a man why they did that. She spoke a little irritably, for she was
out of humor with people who would cheer one man for taking something
that belonged to another. That was the way she looked at it, anyhow.

"Why, haven't you heard?" asked the man, amazed, but enlarged with
importance, because he had the chance of telling