Baxter lounged down the street, greeting one acquaintance after another with a jovial laugh, a hearty handshake, or a slap on the shoulder, his round, red face aglow with good fellowship. But his gray eyes were cold and preoccupied. At the court-house door he stopped to talk with Dan Tillinghurst, the sheriff, and Little Jack Wilder, his deputy. "Say, Jack," said the sheriff, as the Congressman went on up the street, "what sort o' hell do you-all reckon Dell Baxter's cookin' up now? He's too jolly not to have somethin' on hand. The louder he laughs the more sulphur you can bet he's got in his pockets." "Be careful, Dan," warned Jack, "or that nomination for sheriff will miss fire." "Don't you worry about that--Dell an' me's all right; you-all just worry about the fellow that's made his eyes look like a dead fish's. Dell's sure got somethin' on his mind." There was something on Baxter's mind. He was still wondering why Alexander Bancroft had insisted so strongly upon the importance of young Conrad's opposition, which the Congressman did not believe was of much consequence. He chuckled and his left lid drooped lower as he finally decided: "I reckon he wants me to pull some chestnut or other out of the fire for him. I'll just let him think I'm taking it all in. I'd like to know what it is, though, for if I don't keep a good hold on Aleck he's likely to get heady and try to step into my shoes." CHAPTER V CHASTISEMENT CONDIGN Dan Tillinghurst and Little Jack Wilder sat under the big cottonwood in front of the court-house, commenting upon things in general, and, presently, more particularly upon Curtis Conrad and his mare, Brown Betty, when they espied him talking with the landlord in front of the hotel across the stream. The town of Golden lay in a gulch among the foot-hills. It had been a thriving silver camp in the older days. Discovered in the heyday of the pale metal, it had yielded so richly that the men flocking thither, in sheer, exultant contempt of the value of its yellow brother, had named the camp "Golden Gulch." The mines had been in the bottom of the gulch, and near them, along the banks of the stream, had been built all the houses of the mining days. The earliest roads had run along each side of the water, and these were still the main streets of the town. Facing one another across the two streets and the bed of the creek were all the public buildings and business houses, the two hotels, some of the best residences, and many of the poorer ones. The Mexican quarter, called "Doby Town" by the Americans, straggled along these thoroughfares and up the hillsides just beyond the heart of the town. Down their entire length cottonwoods of notable girth and majesty spread their branches.