But now came this man from Leavenworth, fresh from litigious soil, bearing with him in his faded blue army overcoat germs of civilization, seeds of discontent.  He wailed aloud that the pride of the community, meaning this pig, which he had brought solitary in a box at the tail of the wagon when he moved in, was now departed; that there was naught left to distinguish this community from any other camp in the mountains; that the pig had been the light of his home, the apple of his eye, the pride of the community; that he had entertained large designs in connection with this pig the following fall; that its taking off was a shame, an outrage, a disgrace, an act utterly illegal, and one for which any man in Kansas would promptly have had the law of his neighbor.

Hitherto the “double roll,” even in connection with a curly-tailed black pig, had not been considered actionable in Heart’s Desire; but the outcry made by this man from Leavenworth, now the postmaster of the town and in some measure a leader in the meetings of the population, began to attract attention.  It began to play upon the nicely attuned instrument of Public Spirit.  What, indeed, asked the community gravely, was to separate Heart’s Desire in the eye of Eastern Capital, from any other camp in the far Southwest?  Once the town could claim a pig, which no other camp of that district could do.  Now it could do so no more forever.  This began to put a different look upon the face of things.

“It seems like the ole man took it some hard,” said Curly, lighting a cigarrillo.  “He don’t seem to remember that I was due to be a member of the family right soon, same as the pig.  I don’t like to think I’m shy when it comes to comparison with a shoat.  Gimme time, and I reckon I could take the place of the pig in my new dad’s affections.  But I say deliberate that pigs has got no call to be in a cow country, not none, unless salted.  Say, can’t we salt this one?  Then, who’s the worse off for it?  What’s all this furse about, anyway?”

“That’s right, Curly,” said Dan Anderson, who stood with hands in pockets and pipe in mouth, leaning against the door-jamb in front of his “law office.”  “You have enunciated a great principle of law in that statement.  They have got to prove damages.  Moreover, you have got a counter-claim.  It’s laceratin’ to be compared to a shoat.”

“And me just goin’ to be married,” said Curly.

“Sure, it ain’t right.”

“Andersen,” said I, moving up to the group, “did you ever hear of such things as champerty and maintenance?  The first thing you know, you’ll get disbarred for stirring up litigation.”

“Keep away from my client,” said Dan Anderson, grinning.  “You’re jealous of my professional success, that’s all.  Neither of us has had a case yet, and now that it looks like I was going to get one, you’re jealous.  Do you want to pass up the first lawsuit ever held in the county?  Come now, I’m bored to death.  Let’s have some fun.”