"Five!"

"Then," said the President, summing up the Revised Statutes of the State
of California in one strong sentence; "then we don't want no d----d
warrant."


CHAPTER V

WHO HAD A LIEN ON IT


It was high noon at Tres Pinos. The three pines from which it gained its
name, in the dusty road and hot air, seemed to smoke from their balsamic
spires. There was a glare from the road, a glare from the sky, a glare
from the rocks, a glare from the white canvas roofs of the few shanties
and cabins which made up the village. There was even a glare from the
unpainted red-wood boards of Roscommon's grocery and tavern, and a
tendency of the warping floor of the veranda to curl up beneath the
feet of the intruder. A few mules, near the watering trough, had shrunk
within the scant shadow of the corral.

The grocery business of Mr. Roscommon, although adequate and sufficient
for the village, was not exhausting nor overtaxing to the proprietor;
the refilling of the pork and flour barrel of the average miner was the
work of a brief hour on Saturday nights, but the daily replenishment of
the average miner with whisky was arduous and incessant. Roscommon spent
more time behind his bar than his grocer's counter. Add to this the fact
that a long shed-like extension or wing bore the legend, "Cosmopolitan
Hotel, Board or Lodging by the Day or Week. M. Roscommon," and you