This had ever been, and was, the great contention in the early days of the country of our story. But to get back to the characters in question, we must come back to the little town near the creek valley.

The winter preceding, when the town had been started, men had chosen to cast their lot with it, and by the time spring arrived, there was a half dozen or more business places represented. From Des Moines a man had come and started a lumber yard; while from elsewhere a man had cooperated with the promoters in establishing a bank. Two men, whose reputations were rather notorious, but who, nevertheless, were well fitted for what they chose, started a saloon. From a town that had no railroad in the state on the south, a man came with a great stock of merchandise. A weazened creature had been made postmaster; while a doctor, beliquored until he was uncertain, had come hither with a hope of redemption and had hung out his shingle. He was succeeding in the game of reform (?) as the best customer the saloon had. A tired man was conducting a business in a building that had been hauled many miles and was being used as a hotel. Many other lines of business were expected, but at this time the interest was largely in who the settlers were that had come, and those who were to come.

A beautiful quarter section of land joined the town on the east, and the man who had drawn it had already established his residence thereupon, so that he was known. On the south the land was the allotment of an Indian; while the same was true on the west. Naturally, when it was reported that a Negro held the place on the north, considerable curiosity prevailed to meet this lone Ethiopian.

But Jean Baptiste was a mixer, a jolly good fellow of the best type and by this time such was well known. As to where he had come from, we know; but his name had occasioned much comment because it was odd. To make it more illustrious, the settlers had added "Saint," so he was now commonly know as St. Jean Baptiste. The doctor, whose name was Slater, had improved even upon this. He called him "St. John the Baptist." But nobody took Doc very seriously. So full was he of red liquor most of the time, that he was regarded as a joke except in his profession. Here he was considered one of the best,—his redeeming feature.

The coal The Homesteader had hauled from Bonesteel was not all for himself, but for the lumber yard which sold it at fifteen dollars the ton, and the quality was soft, and not of the best grade at that.

He hauled it into town the morning following the episode of our story, and after unloading it and taking his check for the hauling, returned home, took care of his stock, and upon returning to town, forgot to relate anything concerning his experiences.... Perhaps he forgot.... Jean Baptiste could be depended upon to forget some things.... Especially the things that were best forgotten.