d on, Samson's pommel and
said in a confidential toner "El Dorado was one of the wickedest cities
in history. It was like Tyre and Babylon. It robbed me. Look at that pile
of stakes."

Samson saw a long cord of stakes along the road in the edge of the
meadow.

"They are the teeth of my city," said Brimstead in a low voice. "I've
drawed 'em out. They ain't goin' to bite me no more."

"They are the towers and steeples of El Dorado," Samson laughed. "Have
any of the notes been paid?"

"Not one and I can't get a word from my broker about the men who drew the
notes--who they are or where they are."

"I'm going to Chicago and if you wish I'll try to find him and see what
he says."

"That's just what I wish," said Brimstead. "His name is Lionel Davis. His
address is 14 South Water Street. He put the opium in our pipes here in
Tazewell County. It was his favorite county. He spent two days with us
here. I sold him all the land I had on the river shore and he gave me his
note for it."

"If you'll let me take the note I'll see what can be done to get the
money," Samson answered.

"Say, I'll tell ye," Brimstead went on. "It's for five thousand dollars
and I don't suppose it's worth the paper it was wrote on. You take it
and if you find it's no good you lose it just as careful as you can. I
don't want to see it again. Come into the house. The woman is making a
johnny-cake and fryin' some sausage."

They had a happy half-hour at the table, Mrs. Brimstead being in better
spirits since her husband had got back to his farming. Annabel, her form
filling with the grace and charm of womanhood, was there and more comely
than ever.

They had been speaking of Jack Kelso's death.

"I heard him say once that when he saw a beautiful young face it reminded
him of noble singing and the odor of growing corn," said Samson.

"I'd rather see the face," Joe remarked, whereupon they all laughed and
the boy blushed to the roots of his blond hair.

"He's become a man of good judgment," said Brimstead.

Annabel's sister Jane who had clung to the wagon in No Santa Claus Land
was a bright-eyed, merry-hearted girl of twelve. The boy Robert was a
shy, good-looking lad a little younger than Josiah.

"Well, what's the news?" Samson asked.

"Nothin' has happened since we saw you but the fall of El Dorado,"
Brimstead answered.

"There was the robbery of the mail stage last summer a few miles north of
here," said Mrs. Brimstead. "Every smitch