“I’m fer Californy as soon as I c’n get a grub stake. That cussed woman won’t trust me fer a nickel’s wuth of anything, and I’m busted. Was aimin’ to claim a section o’ that land--it’s two sections big about--but I’ll give you the location for twenty dollars cash, and ef that ain’t cheap as dirt then old Sam Warner’s Injun-crooked.” The street echoed with shouting, the mud gurgled and splashed. Once more a stream of profanity, and then the Emory boys rode by. Hank Emory leaned in the saddle as he passed and stared at Cameron with his bloodshot little eyes, then at the tall old-timer. In a moment they were out of sight, the report of their progress still coming back. “Mebbe you’d figger me not wuth my word,” put in Warner. “Waal, there’s George Abernethy now with his bumbershoot.” The staid governor picked his way down the muddy thoroughfare. Warner raised an arm. “George, I’m talkin’ turkey to this young feller and I’d like yore say-so about me.” Abernethy clapped Cameron on the back. “It’s our young fighter, isn’t it? Well, whatever Sam Warner tells you is so. There’s just one exception I make.” “What mought that be, George?” asked Warner, shifting his chaw. “When you are drunk you’re of no use to anybody.” And into a shop Abernethy turned, smiling. “That’s right, that’s right, but I’m sober’n a judge right now. Just wish I had four bits fer a drink.” Cameron made a swift decision. “Come into the store and show me the location. If it sounds good I’ll pay twenty for it.” One hour later Cameron, dried and warmed, came out of the place possessing a rough chart of the hidden valley southeast of Oregon City. It was, according to Warner, not hard to find, but only off the beaten track of incoming settlers and hitherto undiscovered by them. A bowl of meadow and beaver dam land two sections in extent, roughly, and just big enough for two preemptions. Cameron’s and Follett’s. Cameron bent through the interminable drizzle to the camp. Night fell suddenly without the transition of twilight. A ring of fires swayed and guttered in the chilly gusts of wind. Old Man Follett still hung over his own blaze; Mrs. Follett and Susan were inside. “Reckon our troubles are mostly over,” announced Cameron and shoved the map at the elder. “Hyars movin’ orders. We’ll start out first thing at daylight. Let the rest travel another week if they want. We’ll be settled in two days.” * * * * *