"Why my outfit is still in the supply house in Omaha," countered the midget. "I am to take it out when you and Jess come back through here with the Adkins-Helstrom Great Congress of Living Wonders. I'll meet you here on that date in my full regalia. Anyhow, much obliged, Lew, and Mr. Welborn I will help you out with the car and trailer so that you can load out tonight." Down at the edge of the lot where the city streets pointed to the business district of the city, the ancient model paused for the final conference between the new partners. "Now what's your address, Mr. Welborn?" asked Davy, searching about for pencil and paper. "If any of our plans go haywire, I would want to let you know." "And that's just another inconvenience in the business," replied Welborn in a cautious manner. "My mail address is Adot. I get--" "Adot? Adot? Where? What?" interposed the midget. "A dot on what?" "The post office is Adot," replied the miner. "Capital _A-d-o-t_, Adot. It was probably so named from its importance on the map. It's just a wide spot in the road and a dirt road. We get mail twice a week and I am fifteen miles away. Neither will the telegraph lines help; there's no station nearer than this town. I have no telephone. The only way I could be reached, would be for you to go to the broadcasting station in Omaha and put through an S.O.S. on Tuesday night, as I have a radio. But you would have to put the call in early as I am going to be in this town bright and early Wednesday morning." "That's the spirit," crowed the little man. "Both of us, right here in Cheyenne, Wednesday morning. I will be here unless this Union Pacific folds up and quits. Why when you come to think of it, I wouldn't want to be where there was mail deliveries, telephones, and such; that's what I am running away from, that and the mob. Good-by, Sam," he called out, as the car took the green lights. "I'll meet you here on the A-Dot." "Good-by, Prince," said the big man as the car got under way. That night, an ancient model T followed by a ramshackle, home-made trailer, pulled away from the shipping platforms of the Cheyenne Outfitting & Supply Company loaded to the guards with pump, pump jack, pipe, lag-screws, wrenches, hand drills, dynamite, fuses and caps, and a hundredweight of groceries. Cramped under the wheel, driving as carefully as his cargo would warrant, sat Sam Welborn, the second happiest man west of the Missouri. The happiest man west of the big river was flouncing around in his berth on the third section of the Great International Circus trains bound for North Bend, Nebraska, planning his outfit to be purchased in a few days at Omaha. 3