“Well, I say there ain’t no such town,” snapped Buck Ashley, “nor no such a company’s office buildin’, ‘cause I was down there day before yesterday myself, right where them surveyin’ fellers have been foolin’ ‘round for weeks, peekin’ through spy-glasses at each other and measurin’ off so many feet this way and so many feet that way, like a bunch o’ kids playin’ some game. No, siree, there’s nothin’ but long rows of white stakes driv in the ground. Looks to me as if they was a-gettin’ ready to build a lot of henhouses. Of course the railroad’s there, and the only thing changed that I could see was a lot of side-tracks they’ve put in.” “Well, things have been humming the last two days,” laughed Munson. “This afternoon I found all the side-tracks filled with trains of lumber, carload after carload, and not less than two or three hundred workmen, all as busy as nailers. Looked to me as if a three-ring circus were getting ready for a big show. They are already running up electric light poles and stringing the wires. Some of the men are unloading cars, some stacking up lumber, others are putting up tents, and the entire business reminded me of a hive of extremely busy bees. Go down and look for yourself, Buck, and you’ll be convinced at last that the new town has arrived.” The old storekeeper had come from behind the counter, and stood leaning against a stack of boxes. “I’ve been here for more’n a quarter of a century, boys,” he said, in a tone of seriousness that approached to sadness, “and this old store seems like home to me. I’m some fighter and I’m some stayer. But, hell, I reckon I know when I’m licked. I guess this new town puts a crimp in me and my business, and—” “Honk-honk; honk-honk”—it was the distant warning of an automobile that interrupted Buck’s speech, and drew all four present to the doorway. There was the glare of twin headlights on the southern road. “Some of the Los Angeles buyers, most likely,” suggested the sheriff. And so the travellers proved to be. The automobile halted at the store, but only one of the party of four or five descended.. He was a bright-faced, clean-shaven man, of dapper build and faultlessly attired. In his hand was a bunch of papers. “Mr. Buck Ashley?” he inquired. “I’m your man,” replied Buck, stepping from the doorway. “Well, we can’t stop tonight. But we wanted to say ‘how-do.’ I represent the Los Angeles Trust Syndicate, and these documents just arrived yesterday from Washington, D. C.” “Can’t be for me, then,” replied Buck, hesitating to take the proffered papers. “But they are,” replied the stranger with a laugh. “Oh, we haven’t forgotten the interests of the old identities. We’ve had your name in mind all the time, and this is a removal order from the Government to change your postoffice over to the new town of Tejon.” Buck was speechless as his fingers closed on the documents.