In the selection of the marshal’s office Williams was overruled and rather than make a contest of it, since he could not deny the economy in using a building already erected, and knowing that his store was nearly as well protected, he gave his slow assent to Carney’s offer; and soon the lean-to was cleared out, a table, some chairs, and a rough bunk put in it, the latter at the marshal’s insistence. Over the door were two words, newly painted: CITY MARSHAL. The question of a jail came next, and was quickly solved by the addition to the lean-to of a room constructed of two-inch planks, walls, floor, and roof. Two pairs of new, shining handcuffs and a new badge, appropriately labeled, completed the civic improvements in the way of law and order. All prisoners guilty of major offenses were to be taken down to Willow and there tried; while minor offenders could sit in the jail until a suitable time had elapsed. From his chair in the door of his office, Tex could keep watch of nearly all of the main street, and the trail leading in from the C Bar for half a mile. The end of his first week as peace officer found him in his favorite place, contentedly puffing on his pipe, despite the heat of the day. A few miners straggled past, grinning and exchanging shafts of heavy wit with the smiling officer. Blascom drifted into town a little later, learned of the appointment, and hurried down from the hotel to congratulate his new friend. Tex reached behind him and pulled a chair outside the door. "Sit down, Blascom," he invited. "How’s th’ sump comin’ along?" Blascom glanced around before replying. "I’m sorry you ain’t sheriff, as well," he replied. "I reckon I’m out of bounds, out there on Buffalo, an’ I’m shore to be rushed if I’m figgerin’ right on that crick. Anybody in th’ new jail?" "Not yet," smiled Tex. "Talk low an’ nobody’ll hear you. Strike somethin’?" "I’ll gamble on it. I’m so shore of it, I’m filin’ a new claim: th’ old one didn’t quite cover it. You know where th’ sump’s located, of course; an’ you remember how rapid it filled up with water every time I tried to bail it out?" Tex nodded and waved carelessly at the C Bar trail as though discussing something far from placering. "Send th’ location papers off through Jerry Saunders--tell him they’re from me. Ever follow a trail herd day after day?" he asked. "No; why?" "Ever do anythin’, out here, except minin’?" "Shore; why?" "What was it?" "Freightin’ from Atchison to Denver an’ back: why?"