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ABNER returned from the jail with a feeling that he had fallen from some great height. He felt stunned; his legs shook from the blow. His thoughts fell on his mind in sharp fragments as if they, too, had been shattered. His fortune was gone. His claim on the half of Lane County had been dissipated—overslept; and here he was back where he had started, a labourer, a teamster, one of the stew.

A sudden rage seized Abner at his own folly and neglect. He recalled how Railroad Jones had shrugged and smiled at him. In the financier's machinations he had been a straw, a bubble, a nothing at all.

By this time night had fallen and the teamster moved along the dark street muttering imprecations, cursing Railroad Jones for a thief, a swindler, a rascal—unassailable propositions.

A solitary figure was approaching Abner on the dark street, and as it drew near paused to peer at the teamster then ejaculated in a gratified voice, "That you, Abner? Say, I heard Jim Sandage was givin' Railroad Jones hell over at the jail while ago—anything to it?"

"Railroad Jones is a damn swindle!" flung out Abner.

The gossip stared, then clapped a hand over his mouth and presently said, "Oh, you mean he done you!"

Apparently news of Abner's downfall had already circulated over the electric web of village gossip.

"Why, hell!" cried the fellow, beginning to laugh irrepressibly, "didn't you know you wa'n't no match for Railroad Jones! Why, by God, Abner, I'm supprised at ye! You buckin' up agin Railroad Jones!"