agne, turned with a jeer to Plume.

"She can't dance, Plume," he called across to the editor, who was at
some little distance in the crowd.

Those nearest to the dancer urged her to continue, but she had heard
Wickersham's jeer, and she suddenly faced him and, pointing her long,
bare arm toward him, said: "Put that man out, or I won't go on."

Wickersham gave a laugh. "Go on? You can't go on," he said, trying to
steady himself on his feet. "You can't dance any more than a cow."

He had never heard before the hum of an angry crowd.

"Throw him out! Fling him out of the window!" were the words he caught.

In a second a score of men were about him, and more than a score were
rushing in his direction with a sound that brought him quickly to
his senses.

Fortunately two men with cool heads were near by. With a spring Keith
and a short, stout young fellow with gray eyes were making their way to
his side, dragging men back, throwing them aside, expostulating,
ordering, and, before anything else had happened than the tearing of his
coat half off of his back, Wickersham found himself with Keith and Dave
Dennison standing in front of him, defending him against the angry
revellers.

The determined air of the two officers held the assailants in check
long enough for them to get their attention, and, after a moment, order
was restored on condition that Wickersham should "apologize to the lady
and leave town."

This Wickersham, well sobered by the handling he had received, was
willing to do, and he was made to walk up and offer a humble apology to
Terpsichore, who accepted it with but indifferent grace.

* * * * *

That winter the railroad reached Gumbolt, and Gumbolt, or New Leeds, as
it was now called, sprang at once, so to speak, from a chrysalis to a
full-fledged butterfly with wings unfolding in the sun of prosperity.

Lands that a year or two before might have been had for a song, and
mineral rights that might have been had for less than a song, were now
held at fabulous prices.

Keith was sitting at his table, one day, writing, when there was a heavy
step outside, and Squire Rawson walked in on him.

When all matters of mutual interest had been talked over, the squire
broached the real object of his visit; at least, he began to approach
it. He took out his pipe and filled it.

"Well, it's come," he said.

"What has come?"

"The railroad. That young man Rhodes said 'twas comin