"Sorry you couldn't stay longer," he answered, taking off his hat with a belated flourish. "Good evening," he added and then, jamming on his hat, he drove off where he could be alone.
After twenty-four hours of conflicting emotions Rimrock weakened and took his troubles to Hassayamp; and after a passionate presentation of his side of the misunderstanding he acknowledged that the lady was right. He was nothing but a brute, a despicable barbarian, not worthy to look at her; a presumptuous hound, and so on. But he told Hassayamp, as one friend to another, that there would soon be a dead dog in camp; and if Andy McBain ever crossed his path he would shoot him down in his tracks.
With all this on his mind he made very poor company and Gunsight had just about decided he had failed on his mine when it awoke to a sudden miracle. A large party of surveyors had come in during the night and were running a line to the south. Straight out across the desert, while the morning light was good, they had driven their line of stakes; a line which sighted as true as a rifle to the Tecolote Hills. It was for a wagon road, perhaps—but why these surveyors when the whole desert was as flat as a board? A railroad! The whole town jumped to the same conclusion at once and the rush for the Tecolotes was on.
The men who had laughed at Rimrock Jones for months were leaders in the wild stampede and Hassayamp roused up Rimrock from where he was brooding and warned him to get to his ground.
"They'll jump you," he bellowed, "the whole town is going. They'll stake every claim for miles!"
"Let 'em stake!" answered Rimrock whose mood was vindictive, "and the first man that jumps me, I'll jump him, by grab, with this!"
He patted his pistol which, in its ancient holster was once more slung on his hip, and stalked sullenly out into the street. Every wagon and buckboard in the town of Gunsight seemed lined up in front of the stores. Men rushed to and fro with canteens and grub-sacks or half-filled boxes and sacks.
"Is it a railroad?" they yelled as Rimrock appeared and he answered:
"You bet your life it is!"
That settled it, and soon across the desert there went a procession of horsemen and wagons. Those who could travel no other way filled syrup cans with water and started for the Tecolotes on foot. A railroad! Well, why had they never thought of that in the long, wasted days before? Even L. W., the scoffer, caught the sudden contagion; but Andrew McBain did not stir. He was a cautious man and good friends had told him that Rimrock Jones had threatened his life. He stayed in town—and Rimrock stayed also—and soon the procession came back. It was led by L. W. in his cactus-proof automobile, and he reported all the ground as staked. He reported further that the ground was worthless, but Rimrock Jones only smiled.