tell 'em to go somewheres else, because I seen this place first, and I
like it. Ain't that the law in this country? Ain't it _always_ been
the law?"

Dan Anderson nodded. He held out his hand to Tom Osby and looked him
straight in the eye. "I'll take care of you, Tom," he promised.

"Then that'll be about all," said Tom; "giddup, boys!"

In some way news of the early advent of the railroad had gotten about in
Heart's Desire, and Dan Anderson found talk of it on every tongue, talk
very similar to that of Tom Osby. Uncle Jim Brothers, owner of the
one-story hotel and restaurant, the father and the feeder of all Heart's
Desire when the latter was in financial stress, was the next to come to
him; and Uncle Jim was grave of face.

"See here, man," said he, "how about this here new railroad? Do we want
it, or _do_ we? Seems to me like we always got along here pretty well
the way things was."

Dan Anderson nodded again. Uncle Jim shifted from one large foot to the
other, and thrust a great hand into the pocket of one trouser leg.

"All I was going to say to you, Dan," he went on, "is, if it comes to
takin' any sides, we all know which side you're on. You're with _us_.
Now, there's my place down there, where you've et many a time with the
rest of the boys. You've helped me build the tables in the dining
room--done a lot of things which makes me feel obliged to you." (Ah!
lovable liar, Uncle Jim, who could feed a man broke and hungry, and still
let him feel that the operation was a favor to the feeder!) "Now, I just
wanted to say, Dan, I was sure, in case any railroad ever did come
cavortin' around here, you'd sort of look after the old place. Will you
do that?"

"Of course he will," broke in Doc Tomlinson, who had strolled down the
street and overheard the conversation. "Dan Anderson, he's our lawyer.
We've got him retained permanent, ain't we, Dan? Now, there's my old
drug store--ain't much in it, but it's where I settled when I first driv
into the valley, and I like the place. Ain't no railroad going to boost
me out without a scrap."

Dan Anderson turned away, sick at heart. For three days he kept to his
cabin on the far side of the _arroyo_.

But if hesitation sat on the soul of any man of the community, if doubt
or questionings harassed the minds of any, there was no uncertainty on
the part of the management of the railroad, whose coming was causing this
uneasiness. One day Dan Anderson was star