In some way news of the early advent of the railroad had gotten about in Heart’s Desire, and Dan Anderson found talk of it on every tongue, talk very similar to that of Tom Osby.  Uncle Jim Brothers, owner of the one-story hotel and restaurant, the father and the feeder of all Heart’s Desire when the latter was in financial stress, was the next to come to him; and Uncle Jim was grave of face.

“See here, man,” said he, “how about this here new railroad?  Do we want it, or do we?  Seems to me like we always got along here pretty well the way things was.”

Dan Anderson nodded again.  Uncle Jim shifted from one large foot to the other, and thrust a great hand into the pocket of one trouser leg.

“All I was going to say to you, Dan,” he went on, “is, if it comes to takin’ any sides, we all know which side you’re on.  You’re with us.  Now, there’s my place down there, where you’ve et many a time with the rest of the boys.  You’ve helped me build the tables in the dining room—­done a lot of things which makes me feel obliged to you.” (Ah! lovable liar, Uncle Jim, who could feed a man broke and hungry, and still let him feel that the operation was a favor to the feeder!) “Now, I just wanted to say, Dan, I was sure, in case any railroad ever did come cavortin’ around here, you’d sort of look after the old place.  Will you do that?”

“Of course he will,” broke in Doc Tomlinson, who had strolled down the street and overheard the conversation.  “Dan Anderson, he’s our lawyer.  We’ve got him retained permanent, ain’t we, Dan?  Now, there’s my old drug store—­ain’t much in it, but it’s where I settled when I first driv into the valley, and I like the place.  Ain’t no railroad going to boost me out without a scrap.”

Dan Anderson turned away, sick at heart.  For three days he kept to his cabin on the far side of the arroyo.

But if hesitation sat on the soul of any man of the community, if doubt or questionings harassed the minds of any, there was no uncertainty on the part of the management of the railroad, whose coming was causing this uneasiness.  One day Dan Anderson was startled to hear a knock at his door, and to see the dusty figure of Porter Barkley, general counsel of the A. P. and S. E., just from a long buckboard ride from the head of the rails.  With him came Grayson, chief engineer.  Dan Anderson invited them in.

“Well, Mr. Anderson,” said Barkley, “here we are, close after you.  We’re following up the right-of-way matters sharp and hard now.  We can’t hold back our graders, and before the line gets abreast of this canon, we’ve got to know what we can do here.  Now, what can you tell us by this time?”

“I can tell you, as I said, the status of every town lot and every mining claim in this valley,” replied Dan Anderson.  “It’s all simple so far as that is concerned.”

“How about that town site?  Grayson, here, is ready to go ahead with the new plat.  If you never had any town site filed, how were real-estate transfers made?”