The miner let his eyes rove superciliously over his questioner. He saw a young man almost as tall as himself, with curly black hair. His features were clean-cut, his figure straight, and his shoulders broad and powerful. He wore the comfortable, careless western costume of that period, now dusty and mud-splashed from traveling; but he carried no pistol at his hip. Except for an indefinable air of breeding about him, and a soft drawl in his speech that proclaimed him as a Southerner, there was little to distinguish him from any member of the group before which he stood. “You gits a bull’s-eye, Curly,” the tall man answered, making no effort to conceal the sneer in his voice. “This is the great an’ in-famous metropolis o’ Ramapo, itself! An’, bein’ one of its leadin’ citizens an’ misfortunes, I hereby welcomes you, an’ invites you to plant your stakes in this fertile landscape an’ decorate the scenery with your charmin’ personality.” There was a little snicker behind him. “Thanks,” the stranger answered coolly, his gray eyes, under his broad-brimmed hat, looking steadily into the other’s. “Evidently Ramapo has some curious attractions.” “The keenness o’ your observation is astonishin’” the other replied, his face pushing and his eyes narrowing. “Ramapo has special attractions to induce the weary traveler to locate here, the most convincin’ o’ which is a good supply o’ lead, forty-four caliber, which it hastens to offer to them as has command o’ language, but no control of it.” “I suppose you’re a newcomer then,” the curly-haired man remarked evenly. Then, seeing the other’s scowl darken, he added quietly: “Perhaps you can direct me to Major Dudley’s house.” The other’s face instantly became suspicious. “What do you want there?” he asked. “I reckon you needn’t worry about that, friend,” the stranger answered pleasantly. “Now, if you will kindly point out the major’s house to me, I won’t take up any more of your undoubtedly valuable time.” For a moment the other eyed him angrily. Then he smiled. “Why, yes. I’ll do that, Curly,” he said slowly. “I al’ys endeavors to prevent the wayfarer gittin’ lost in the mazes o’ this here metropolis. It’s that one yonder that you see stickin’ above the trees at the bend in the road.” The stranger looked up the road in the direction indicated. “There are three white ones there,” he said. “From your vivid description, it might be either.” The ugly grin deepened on the miner’s face. “I never was no hand at disseminatin’ description,” he drawled. “The domicile to which I refers, Curly, is the one with the broken winder in front.” With careless unconcern yet astonishing speed he drew his revolver and fired. From where they stood they could all see a pane in a front window of the farthest house collapse. The tinkle of breaking glass came to their ears.