"
"What became of the third?"
The Hon. Sam was an ardent disciple of Sir Walter Scott:
"Well, just now the mayor is a-playin' Gurth to that little runt
for costs."
Outside, the wheels of the stage rattled, and as half a dozen
strangers trooped in, the Hon. Sam waved his hand: "Things is
comin'."
Things were coming. The following week "the booming editor"
brought in a printing-press and started a paper. An enterprising
Hoosier soon established a brick-plant. A geologist--Hale's
predecessor in Lonesome Cove--made the Gap his headquarters, and
one by one the vanguard of engineers, surveyors, speculators and
coalmen drifted in. The wings of progress began to sprout, but the
new town-constable soon tendered his resignation with informality
and violence. He had arrested a Falin, whose companions
straightway took him from custody and set him free. Straightway
the constable threw his pistol and badge of office to the ground.
"I've fit an' I've hollered fer help," he shouted, almost crying
with rage, "an' I've fit agin. Now this town can go to hell": and
he picked up his pistol but left his symbol of law and order in
the dust.
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