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Updated: June 7, 2025
The livery barn of Samuel Poston grew a story in stature, and there was such a thing as hay hay not imported in wired bales. In the little city there were three buildings with bells above them. There was a courthouse of many rooms; for Ellisville had stolen the county records from Strong City, and had held them through Armageddon.
"News?" said Franklin gaily, holding his hands behind his back. "I've news that you can't guess good news." "You don't mean to tell me they've moved the land office into Ellisville, do you, Ned?" "Oh, no, better than that." "You've not discovered gold on your quarter section, perchance?" "Guess again it's better than that." "I'll give it up. But leave me a look at your hands."
Daly; who could, perhaps, tell something of the forgotten days of the past, the days of two years ago, before the present population of Ellisville came West. There was, perhaps, a graveyard, but the headstones had been so few that one could tell but little of it now.
The men who came out from the East wore wide hats and carried little guns; but when they found the men of Ellisville wearing small, dark hats and carrying no guns at all, they saw that which was not to be believed, and which was, therefore, not so written in the literary centres which told the world about the Ellisvilles.
Strangers asked Ellisville about the days of the cattle drive, and Ellisville raised its eminently respectable eyebrows. There was a faint memory of such a time, but it was long, long ago. Two years ago! All the world had changed since then. There had perhaps been a Cottage Hotel. There was perhaps a Mrs. Daly, who conducted a boarding-house, on a back street.
Scattered into hundreds and scores and tens, the local market of the Ellisville settlers took its share also of the cheap cattle from the South, and sent them out over the cheap lands. It was indeed the beginning of things. Fortune was there for any man. The town became a loadstone for the restless population ever crowding out upon the uttermost frontier.
Town's got two hotels, good livery stable that's mine half a dozen stores, nigh on to a dozen saloons, an' two barber-shops. Yes, sir, Ellisville is the place!" "Which way are you bound, sir?" asked the stranger, still sitting, apparently in thought, with his chin resting on his hand. "Well, you see, they's another town goin' up below here about twenty mile old man Plum's town, Plum Centre.
Lots on the main street there sold for three hundred dollars last week. You see, old man Plum has got it figgered out that his town is right in the middle of the United States, ary way you measure it. We claim the same thing for Ellisville, and there you are. We've got the railroad, and they've got my stage line. There can't no one tell yet which is goin' to get the bulge on the other.
The morning after the first official ball in Ellisville dawned upon another world.
At some signal some signal written on the sky all the old life of Ellisville had taken up its journey into a farther land, into another day. The cowman, the railroad man, and the gambling man had gone, leaving behind them the wide and well-perforated Cottage, the graveyard with its double street, the cattle chutes with well-worn, hairy walls.
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