striking it on the
new yellow door-casing lighted his pipe.

Andy moved uneasily. He did not like that man, for all he appeared so
thankful for information. The fellow had a narrow forehead and broad,
high cheek bones and a predatory nose. His eyes were the wrong shade of
blue and the lids drooped too much at the outer corners. Andy studied
him curiously. Did the man know what he was up against, or did he not?
Was he sincere in his ready thanks, or was he sarcastic? The man looked
up at him then. His eyes were clean of any hidden meaning, but they
were the wrong shade of blue--the shade that is opaque and that you feel
hides much that should be revealed to you.

"Seems like there's been quite a crop of shacks grown up since I rode
over this way," Weary announced suddenly, returning from a brief scurry
after the leaders, that inclined too much toward the south in their
travel.

"Yes, the country's settling up pretty fast," conceded the man in the
doorway.

"Well, by golly!" bellowed Slim, popping up from below on a heaving
horse. Slim was getting fatter every year, and his horses always
puffed when they climbed a hill under his weight. His round eyes glared
resentfully at the man and the shack and at the three who were sitting
there so quietly on their horses--just as if they had ridden up for a
friendly call. "Ain't this shack on your land?" he spluttered to Andy.

"Why, yes. It is, just right at present." Andy admitted, following the
man's example in the matter of a smoke, except that Andy rolled and
lighted a cigarette. "He's going to move it, though."

"Oh. Thanks." With the one-sided smile.

"Say, you needn't thank ME," Andy protested in his polite tone. "YOU'RE
going to move it, you know."

"You may know, but I don't," corrected the other.

"Oh, that's all right. You may not know right now, but don't let that
worry yuh. This is sure a great country for pilgrims to wise up in."

Big Medicine came up over the hill a hundred feet or so from them;
goggled a minute at the bold trespass and came loping across the
intervening space. "Say, by cripes, what's this mean?" he bawled.
"Claim-jumper, hey? Say, young feller, do you realize what you're
doing--squattin' down on another man's land. Don't yuh know
claim-jumpers git shot, out here? Or lynched?"

"Oh, cut out all that rough stuff!" advised the man wearily. "I know who
you are, and what your bluff is worth. I know you can't held a foot of
land if anybody