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 them loading, the others holding their herds on the range near at hand waiting their turn at the pens, most of the men at liberty to amuse themselves in their most favored way.

There was much activity, much dust, a constant riding through the short street, a constant shifting of men and horses here and there. Tom had carried no feed, there being precious little of anything in that line on the Ellison place but hay. He put the horse in the livery stable for a feed of oats, sent his telegram to the Kansas City hide man and waited around the station for a reply.

Meantime he talked with the station agent about bones. The lumber dealer was the bone buyer in Drumwell, his business being brisk. How would a competitor's bones fare, Tom wanted to know, piled around there near the sidetrack until a carload could be assembled? The agent didn't know; it never had been attempted. He advised selling to the lumber dealer, although railroad property was pretty well respected there, and bones piled on the company's right of way might be perfectly safe. He would undertake to keep an eye on them during the day, but couldn't answer for what might happen at night.

All of which was in line with what Tom had been thinking as he rode to town that morning. He wondered if it wouldn't be just as well to let the whole thing slide, go on his way and forget it. There wouldn't be anything in hauling bones that long distance at five dollars a ton, the lumberman's price. It would require several trips to transport a carload, even with two wagons in train to each of them, as he and Waco had worked out their plan. Here in Drumwell the business did not appear half so promising