“That lumber is too green to work up just yet,” Bart objected. “I’ll rest up in town till the sap quits flowing through those boards and they season up till a man can run a saw through ’em. The birds were singing in those very trees last week.” It was evident that Bart was bent upon having his vacation under any possible excuse. “All right--go ahead and relax,” said Carver. “Only don’t be gone too long.” “I’ll be drifting over to Casa and see how the County Seat ruckus is coming on,” Bart decided. “I’ll report on the latest developments when I come back.” A thriving town had come into being on the site of the box car which had once borne the name of Casa and which had been sacked and burned. A bank and a frame hotel, two general merchandise establishments, a hardware and implement concern, grocery stores, restaurants, saloons, two livery barns, a drug store, barber shop and pool hall, all glaringly new and mostly unpainted, made up the business district of Casa, which now numbered a population of four hundred souls. Various businesses were conducted in board-floored tents until such time as the proprietors could secure more permanent quarters. Casa, by virtue of both population and location, had considered herself the logical choice for County Seat. The government appointee charged with such locations had listened and agreed, provided only that a personal bonus of one thousand dollars be tendered him along with the other arguments. Graft was open and flagrant in the early days of the Strip and communities as well as individuals paid the price for official favors. The citizens’ council, a volunteer body of Casa business men, had flatly refused and the locater had thereupon designated Oval Springs, a little camp some miles to the south as the legal center of county government. This move was destined to precipitate one of the bitter and enduring county-seat wars for which the West is famed. Casa was not alone in her troubles, for this was but one of three such controversies at various points in the Strip.