amid Gordon had wished on Steele and me. We was to apply
soothin' acts and financial balm to all the old grouches that Pyramid
had left behind him, you remember, on a commission basis.

Seems J. Bayard had been tracin' Hubbs up by mail for more'n a month,
and at that it was just by chance one of his letters had been forwarded
to the right place. So Hubbs had come on to see what it was all about.

"Course," says he, "I remember this Gordon; but I didn't think he would
me, and I can't see how settlin' up his will could----"

"Threw the hooks into you sometime or other, didn't he?" says I.

"I dun'no's you'd rightly call it that, either," says Hubbs, runnin' his
long fingers reflective through his heavy mop of wavy hair. "I was
station agent and dispatcher out at Kayuse Creek the only time we met
up--and of all the forsaken, dreary, one-mule towns along the line that
was the worst. I'd been there a year and a half, with no signs of ever
gettin' out, and I'd got so I hated every human, being in sight,
includin' myself. I even hated the people in the trains that went
through, because they was goin' somewhere, and I wasn't. You know how it
is."

"Well?" says I.

"So when this special pulled in, two private cars and a blind baggage,"
he goes on, "and a potty conductor asked me for a clear track to Omaha,
I turned him down flat. Might of done it, you know, for the express was
four hours behind schedule; but I was just too ornery. I let on I hadn't
got the order, made 'em back their old special on a siding, and held 'em
there all one blisterin' hot afternoon, while they come in by turns and
cussed me. But your Mr. Gordon was the only one that talked straight to
the point. 'Let us through, or I'll see that you're fired before
morning!' says he, and fired I was. The night freight dropped a new
agent, and by breakfast time I was a wanderer on the face of the earth.
Which was the best thing, Sir, that ever happened to me! I might have
stuck in Kayuse Creek until this day."

"How long was it until you discovered this Gopher spot?" says I. "Near a
dozen years," says he, "and during that time, Sir, I've had a whirl at
more different kinds of industry than you'd believe existed, from
runnin' a self-binder to canvassin' for the Life of James A. Garfield.
It was Possum Oil that brought me good luck. Boiled linseed with camphor
and a little tincture of iron was what it was really made of; but there
was a 'possum picture on the label