“I hit the trail of them surveyors,” said he, “other side of Lone Mountain, day before yestiday.  They’ve got a line of pegs drove in the ground.  Looks like they was afraid their old railroad was goin’ to git lost from ’em, unless they picketed it out right strong.”

Reproachful eyes were turned on Curly, but he went on.

“It’s goin’ to run right between Carrizoso ranch and the mouth of our canon,” said he.  “You’ll have to cross it every time you come to town, McKinney.  When she gits to runnin’ right free and general, there’ll be a double row of cow corpses from here to Santa Rosa.  What this here new railroad is a-goin’ to do to your English stockholders, Mac, is a deep and abidin’ plenty.”

McKinney made no reply, but looked stolidly out across the valley.

“Them fellers come up into town for tobacco, Doc.”  Curly threw out the suggestion cheerfully.

“Tobacco ain’t drugs,” said Doc Tomlinson, annoyed.  He was sensitive about allusions to his stock of drugs, which had been imported some years before, and under a misapprehension as to Heart’s Desire’s future.

“We might shoot up the surveyors,” said Curly, tentatively.  But Dan Anderson shook his head.

“That’s the worst of it,” he answered, “We might shoot any one of us here, and the world wouldn’t care.  But if we shot even a leg off one of the least of these, them States folks would never rest content.  For me, I’m goin’ in with the railroad.  Looks like I’d have to be corporation counsel.”

“Well, I reckon we won’t have to drive our cows quite so far to market,” apologized McKinney, striving to see the silver lining.

“Oh, drop it,” snapped Doc Tomlinson.  “I might as well say I could get in my drugs easier.  Cows can walk; and as for importin’ things, everybody knows that Tom Osby can haul in everything that’s needed in this valley.”

The members of the plebiscite fell silent for a time, willing to wait for Tom Osby’s arrival, whenever that might be.

“Now, we ain’t downtrod none in this country,” finally began Doc Tomlinson, who had made political speeches in Kansas.

“Is anybody?” asked Curly, who had never lived anywhere but on the free range.

“We’ve had three squares a day,” said McKinney.  “This country’s just as good as the States.”

“States!” cried Dan Anderson.  “We’ve got a state of our own, or did have, right here, the Free State of Heart’s Desire.  But it ain’t good enough for us.  We want to hitch our little wagon to the star of progress.  I reckon we oughtn’t to holler if the star travels some fast.  It was ours, the Free State of Heart’s Desire!  And we—­well—­”

“Well,” said Curly, ruminatingly, “I don’t see as ole Carrizo is frettin’ any about these here things.”  He glanced up at the big mountain whose shadow lay athwart the valley.  Dan Anderson gazed thither as well.  McKinney sat looking quietly up the street.