“I’ll give you a hundred, and that’s fifty more than he’s worth,” the doctor offered.
“Oh, well, seein’ you’re in such a rush,” the man sighed.
As he pocketed the price he gave the directions asked.
“They’s two roads to Meander,” he explained; “one the freighters use that runs over the hills and’s solid in most all kinds of weather, and the stage-road, that follows the river purty much. It’s shorter by a 171 few miles and easier to foller; but it’s got some purty loose ground here and there.”
“Much obliged,” said the doctor, striking his heels to his horse’s sides and galloping off, following the road which he had seen the stages take to Meander, in the days when Claim Number One was farther off even than eight hours and sixty miles.
CHAPTER XI
NUMBER ONE
In Meander that morning people began to gather early at the land-office, for it was the first day for filing, and a certain designated number, according to the rules laid down and understood before the drawing, must appear and make entry on their chosen tracts.
There had been a good deal of talk and excitement over the nonappearance in Meander of the man who drew the first chance. The story had gone around, from what source nobody knew, that he would lapse, in which case Number Two would become Number One, and all along the line would advance. Number One would have to be there to file first, as Number Two could not be entered ahead of him, and if he did not step up to the window when it opened, his chance was gone forever.
The United States Government would accept no excuses; the machinery of its vast, admirable business could not be thrown out of gear for an hour or a day, and stand idle while the clerks waited for the holder of Claim Number One to come from some distant part and step into his own. So there was a good deal of nervousness and talking, and speculating and crowding forward in the waiting line, as the hour for opening the office drew near. 173