“I came down as hot as the devil, and steps into a saloon to get a drink, when who should walk up to me but ‘Teeth’ Barker himself! “‘You’re dead,’ said I. “‘Do I look like it?’ he asked. He got sort of hot under the collar about it, too. “Well, the long and short of it all was that I had gone and taken all that trouble with a tombstone for a stranger. “‘The least that you can do, “Teeth” Barker,’ said I, ‘is to come up and see that beautiful monument I erected over you. It took as much trouble to make as a year’s assessment work.’ “Well, he didn’t see it that way. Said he wouldn’t go up there if I was to pay him. And that was after I had taken all that trouble! Gratitude! There ain’t no such thing any more in Arizona,” concluded the foreman. Story after story was put forth for the edification of the crowd until the grating of wheels outside told of the arrival of the stage. A moment later heavy footsteps resounded on the porch, and the burly stage-driver, with two great mail-sacks slung over his shoulder, swung into the office. “Evening, gents!” he called in answer to the general salutation. He stepped over to Stephen’s desk and threw down a little bunch of envelopes. “Four telegrams,” he said. Loring rapidly slit open the envelopes, laying the telegrams on one side, and after running through the contents, began to sort the mail. “Any passengers?” he asked the driver. “Yes, six. Drummers mostly. They are over there eating now. There was two men and a lady; but they stopped to eat supper at the station. They will be up later.” “It’s lucky Mrs. Brown built those new sleeping quarters to her place; she’ll be running a regular hotel here soon,” said the driver, as he swung on his heel and tramped out to unharness his horses. Stephen sorted the mail rapidly, and deftly scaled the letters to the fortunate recipients. “That is all,” he said, as he tossed the last. Every one left the office with the exception of McKay who, with a woebegone expression on his face, lingered behind. “What is the matter?” asked Loring. “Nothing,” answered McKay gruffly. “Well, how is this?” said Stephen, taking from his pocket a letter which was addressed in large square characters to McKay. “You see she did not forget you, after all.” McKay blushed to the roots of his hair, then opened the letter with seeming nonchalance. “It seems to me that you have a pretty steady correspondent there,” said Stephen, while he straightened up his desk preparatory to the evening’s work. “I have handed you a letter like that every night this week.” McKay colored even more, then stretched out his hand. “Shake, Steve! I am going to get spliced. I have been meaning to tell you before this.” Loring jumped up and pounded him on the back. “You gay winner of hearts, who is she?” “Do you remember Jane Stevens, back at Quentin? Well, it’s her.” Loring’s eyes twinkled. “How did you ever get the nerve?” he asked.