JIMVILLE 



Says Jim Jenkins, " What was the mat- 

 ter of him ? " 



" Who ? Bill ? Abe Johnson shot him ; 

 he was fooling around Johnson's wife, an' 

 Tom sold me the mine dirt cheap." 



" Why did n't he work it himself ? " 



" Him ? Oh, he was laying for Abe and 

 calculated to have to leave the country 

 pretty quick." 



" Huh ! " says Jim Jenkins, and the tale 

 flows smoothly on. 



Yearly the spring fret floats the loose 

 population of Jimville out into the desolate 

 waste hot lands, guiding by the peaks and 

 a few rarely touched water-holes, always, 

 always with the golden hope. They de- 

 velop prospects and grow rich, develop oth- 

 ers and grow poor but never embittered. 

 Say the hills. It is all one, there is gold 

 enough, time enough, and men enough to 

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