The shrewd eyes of Mr. Harkutt, proprietor, glanced at the occupation of
the speaker as if even his foresight might have its possible drawbacks,
but he said nothing.

"There'll be no show for Sidon until you've got a wagon road from here
to the creek," said Billings languidly, from the depths of his chair.
"But what's the use o' talkin'? Thar ain't energy enough in all Tasajara
to build it. A God-forsaken place, that two months of the year can only
be reached by a mail-rider once a week, don't look ez if it was goin' to
break its back haulin' in goods and settlers. I tell ye what, gentlemen,
it makes me sick!" And apparently it had enfeebled him to the extent of
interfering with his aim in that expectoration of disgust against the
stove with which he concluded his sentence.

"Why don't YOU build it?" asked Wingate, carelessly.

"I wouldn't on principle," said Billings. "It's gov'ment work. What did
we whoop up things here last spring to elect Kennedy to the legislation
for? What did I rig up my shed and a thousand feet of lumber for benches
at the barbecue for? Why, to get Kennedy elected and make him get a
bill passed for the road! That's MY share of building it, if it comes to
that. And I only wish some folks, that blow enough about what oughter be
done to bulge out that ceiling, would only do as much as I have done for
Sidon."

As this remark seemed to have a personal as well as local application,
the storekeeper diplomatically turned it. "There's a good many as DON'T
believe that a road from here to the creek is going to do any good to
Sidon. It's very well to say the creek is an embarcadero, but callin' it
so don't put anough water into it to float a steamboat from the bay, nor