“What’s the matter with Paradise?” I asks. “Civilization,” says Mike. “Are we welcome?” asks Calamity, taking in the attitude of Mike, and sizing up the place. “You are,” replies Mike. “This place is neutral. I’d advise you to get out of line with that window. The town is divided against itself.” “What causes the divisions?” I asks, taking Mike’s advice. Mike bites off a fresh chew and settles back in his chair. * * * * * “Numerous and sundry things, Henry. Old man Whittaker is setting up there in Henderson’s barbershop, with a Winchester, swearing he’s going to perforate Harelip Hansen, who is across the street in Dug Chaffin’s corral, nursing a peeled nose and a six-shooter. The old man swears that Harelip stole his clothes. “Pole Cat Perkins is behind my place here, trying to jam some lead into Scenery Sims before Scenery can slip some to him. It seems that their trouble grows out of a clothes controversy, too. Pole Cat avers that he’s going to slit Scenery with a rusty sword. “Doughgod Smith seems to be seeking Hank Padden’s gore over something about Columbus’ daughter, and Dug Chaffin’s got the same thing against old man Whittaker and orates his intentions of puncturing the old man’s hide for prevarication. Bill McFee refuses to arrest anybody except Scenery Sims, and his feelings seem some rasped over this same Columbus thing. Who in —— is Miss Columbus, Henry?” “I don’t know.” “You don’t, eh?” laughs Mike. “The —— yuh don’t! You sure ought to, Henry. Yuh sent notes to both of the Mudgett sisters, to Hulda Peterson, cook at the Triangle, Annie Schmidt, at the Seven A, and to Mrs. ‘Breezy’ Benson, asking ’em to fill the part. Every one of them has been down here looking for you today. According to what I can find out there can’t more than one be it, and that seems to cause a heap of dissatisfaction, Henry. Abe Mudgett and Breezy was here today, and they are wishful to see yuh.” “Henry,” says Calamity, “you’ve overdone your duty.” “It would look thataway to a innocent bystander,” I agrees. “Where’s all the broncs, Mike? Did everybody walk in today?” “That’s where the civilization part comes in. A autymobile invades our fair city today, and she swept us clean of hossflesh. Out on them racks is fifteen pieces of rope flopping in the breeze. Old man Whittaker’s buckskin team was in the lead the last we seen of the race. That’s why nobody is leaving. They’d rather be shot at than walk.” “Who had the autymobile?” asks Calamity. “Nobody knows. It went too fast for us to see.” “Hoo, hoo!” comes a voice from outside, and we all ducks. “Hoo, hoo!” she comes again, and then we hears a female voice, “Is Mister Peck in there?” “Go out and see who it is,” I whispers to Mike, but he shakes his head: “Not me. She wants you, Henry.” “She can take it out in wanting. I don’t take no chances. You go out, Calamity. Nobody’s got a thing against you.”