the stable, and Heine Schultz, temporary
wrangler, showed Hiram ten immense black horses, not one of them under
sixteen hundred pounds.

"Get 'em out," ordered Jo.

Hiram went to work immediately, with a briskness that caused Heine to
wink at Jo, he threw on the heavy harness and led forth the big-footed
teams. He did not ask which were the leaders or the wheelers, for this
was indicated by the nature of their respective harness and bridles.
Heine noted this and winked again. Hiram was told, when he asked, the
names of the ten, and pointers and swing teams were indicated. In a
period of time utterly bewildering to Mr. Tweet the man from Wild-cat
Hill had his ten black beauties strung out in twos before one of the
wagons, and was speaking to Jerkline Jo.

"I see you ride in the wagons," he observed. "I always rode the nigh
wheeler hoss, ma'am."

"You may do so if you choose. We've saddles."

"Your way suits me," Hiram returned. "It's easier work, I reckon."

The girl climbed into the wagon with Hiram. Heine Schultz did
likewise. Mr. Tweet, being a gregarious person, did not like to be
left alone, so followed the others' example.

"Which way, ma'am?" asked the new skinner.

Jo pointed. "Up that street, and turn the corner to your left," she
directed.

The wagon was about half loaded with the blacksmith's outfit. To add
to this the horse wrangler set the heavy brakes.

Hiram grasped the jerkline, but allowed it to hang slack in his hands.
Now came his soft, caressing drawl, low and musical:

"Pete! Abe! Feel of it! Molly! Steve! Ben! Prince! Up ahead,
there--Jane! Buck!"

As a team the great animals started the heavy wagon, and moved off with
a jingle of chains and bells and the creak of harness.

Heine released the brake and looked at Jo, and this time he merely
nodded.

A block up the street Hiram gave a single pull on his jerkline, and
called: "Haw, Jane!" An instant later--"Gee, Steve! Gee, Molly!
_Gee_, Molly! Steady! Good enough!"

With the leaders and the swings pulling to the left and turning into
the cross street, and the pointers heaving slightly to the right, the
long string made the turn, and the wagon rolled around the corner in
the middle of the street.

This street that they had entered was one of the oldest in
Palada--built by Mexicans in the old Spanish style. There were no
sidewalks--there was not room for them.

"Turn to your right at the next corner," comma