mile, and
the hicks come right in and pick up a rifle. I'm coinin' money, and
I'm having the time of my young life. Last night a miner bet me five
dollars against a kiss he could knock over ten ducks in ten shots. He
did it, and I paid up like a sport. It got the gang started at the
game, and in the end I grabbed off thirty bucks, and only kissed twice.
Pretty soft--what? I guess you're horrified, Hiram?" She glanced at
him with coquettish defiance.

"Disgusted," Hiram could truthfully have said, but he only grinned and
thanked his stars for his escape.

Lucy's dark eyes flashed daggers at the broad back of Hiram Hooker as
he left her and swung along indifferently up the street. With a
woman's intuition she had known in San Francisco that the big, handsome
countryman with the soft, drawling voice had fallen a victim to her
charms. Now, because of Jerkline Jo, he was utterly indifferent to
her. Lucy was piqued, angry at him, angrier at Jerkline Jo. She did
not love Hiram, but she wanted him to love her, and though she did not
want him she wanted no other woman to own him.

"I'll fix you one o' these days, you big hick!" she threatened between
clenched teeth.

Summer passed all too quickly for those who labored incessantly, and
the winter rains set in. They at once grew harder and more frequent,
and then it poured as it does only in the West. Snow fell in the
mountains. Then the activities of Al Drummond ceased abruptly.

No wonder, for often as high as twenty teams were hooked on to the
enormous wagons of Jerkline Jo, and every animal was obliged to pull to
the limit of his strength to move the terrific weight, hub-deep in the
clinging mud. This did not tend to improve the road, of course, and
all of Drummond's efforts to corduroy it and otherwise preserve a firm
path for his machines were unavailing. The tortoise had won the race!

Drummond had gambled away his profits, and now it was whispered about
that he still owed money on his trucks. Before the last of November he
gave up in despair, allowed his trucks to be taken by the mortgagees,
and settled down to a life of gambling on the proceeds of his
shooting-gallery concession.

One day there trudged into Ragtown a strange figure, marked by the
desert, bent and old, in the wake of six lamenting burros laden with
mining supplies and tools. He gave the name of Basil Filer, and said
that he was seeking gold. Ragtown promptly wrote him down as a cr