f the Old World states.

Fringing the hitching rails in front of its buildings were various
vehicles--the heavy wagons of Mexican freighters, the light buckboard
of the cattleman, and the prairie schooner of the homesteader.
Mingling with the vehicles were the cow-ponies of horsemen who had
ridden into town on various errands; and in the company corrals were
many cattle awaiting shipment.

Sanderson stood beside his horse at the hitching rail for a look at
Okar.

There was one street--wide and dust-windrowed, with two narrow board
walks skirting it. The buildings--mostly of one story--did not
interest Sanderson, for he had seen their kind many times, and his
interest centered upon the people.

"Different from Tombstone," he told Owen as the two entered the hotel.
"Tombstone is cattle--Okar is cattle and business. I sort of like
cattle better."

Owen grinned. "Cattle are too slow for some of Okar's men," he said.
"There's men here that figure on making a killing every
day--financially. Gamblers winning big stakes, supply dealers charging
twenty times the value of their stuff; a banker wanting enormous
interest on his money; the railroad company gobbling everything in
sight--and Silverthorn and Dale framing up to take all the land and the
water-rights. See that short, fat man playing cards with the little
one at that table?"

He indicated a table near the rear of the barroom, visible through an
archway that opened from the room in which a clerk with a thin, narrow
face and an alert eye presided at a rough desk.

"That's Maison--Tom Maison, Okar's banker. They tell me he'd skin his
grandmother if he thought he could make a dollar out of the deal."
Owen grinned. "He's the man you're figuring to borrow money from--to
build your dam."

"I'll talk with him tomorrow," said Sanderson.

In their room Sanderson removed some of the stains of travel. Then,
telling Owen he would see him at dusk, he went out into the street.

Okar was buzzing with life and humming with activity when Sanderson
started down the board walk. In Okar was typified the spirit of the
West that was to be--the intense hustle and movement that were to make
the town as large and as powerful as many of its sister cities.

Threading his way through the crowd on the board walk, Sanderson
collided with a man. He grinned, not looking at the other, apologized,
and was proceeding on his way, when he chanced to look toward the
doorway of the buil