He
knew Bill Wagstaff.
"Wise man," he nodded, over the description. "If some more uh these
boys that have blazed trails through this country would do the same
thing, they'd be better off. A chunk of land anywhere in this country
is a good bet now. We'll have rails here from the coast in a year.
Better freeze onto a couple uh lots here in Hazleton, while they're
low. Be plumb to the skies in ten years. Natural place for a city,
Bill. It's astonishin' how the settlers is comin'."
There was ocular evidence of this last, for they had followed in a road
well rutted from loaded wagons. But Bill invested in no real estate,
notwithstanding the positive assurance that Hazleton was on the ragged
edge of a boom.
"Maybe, maybe," he admitted. "But I've got other fish to fry. That
one piece up by Pine River will do me for a while."
Here where folk talked only of gold and pelts and railroads and
settlement and the coming boom that would make them all rich, Bill
Wagstaff added two more ponies to his pack train. These he loaded down
with food, staples only, flour, sugar, beans, salt, tea and coffee, and
a sack of dried fruit. Also he bestowed upon Nigger a further burden
of six dozen steel traps.
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