Part 19 (2/2)

”Yes; I am, rather. I think I'm some disappointed too, maybe. What did Mr. Wilson say?”

”He said that my best plan--for it must go in my name, now--is to get to town to-morrow before Mr. Horton does, explain to the agent about father's death--he must have heard of it, Mr. Wilson says, but he is not obliged to take official note of a thing that has not been reported to him, and that he has only heard of incidentally--and ask him to make out the deed to me, as the present head of the family. Mr.

Wilson says that I must be there, ready to tell my story, the minute the office opens. He hopes that, in that way, we may frustrate Mr.

Horton, who is likely, he says, to be one of the very first on hand to-morrow morning. After I have explained matters to the agent, he will be forced to wait the arrival of my witnesses, of course, before he can do anything. But Mr. Wilson thinks that anything that Mr.

Horton may say, after the agent has seen me, and heard my story, will be likely to work in my favor, it will show so plainly what Mr. Horton is up to. Mr. Wilson says that I had better take a horse and start for town to-morrow, just as soon as it is light enough to see.”

”Twenty miles!” I said. ”How long will it take you to ride it?” I knew how long it would take me, on Frank's back, but Jessie is less wonted to the saddle than I.

”It will take me nearly four hours, I should think, shouldn't you?”

She stopped milking while she looked at me, anxiously awaiting my reply.

”Just about that, Jessie.”

”It would kill me to keep up such a gait as you and Frank seem to both take delight in,” she continued. ”So I must be poking along for four hours doing the distance that you could cover in two. The Land Office opens at seven o'clock--there's a rush of business just now, Mr.

Wilson says--and I must start not later than half-past two.”

”Dear me, Jessie, I hate to have you start out alone in the night, that way!”

”I don't like it very well myself,” Jessie admitted. ”But Mr. Wilson thought we'd better not say a word to any one about my going--lest it should get to Mr. Horton's ears some way, and he will drive around later in the morning and pick up the witnesses and bring them down.

Oh, and Leslie, above all things, don't forget the Bible. Be sure to put that in the wagon when Mr. Wilson comes.”

”Certainly I shall! Do you imagine that I would forget the one fundamental clause of our proving up?”

”No, of course you wouldn't. Mr. Wilson said that he would go down with me--we could drive his fast horse down in the light cart, if only Joe were here to bring down our witnesses. But he isn't, and I must go alone.”

It was evident that Jessie did not relish the prospect of taking a lonely night ride.

”I will leave the money--what little there is of it--for Mr. Wilson to bring down,” Jessie presently remarked. ”Then, if I am held up, we will have saved that much, anyhow.”

”And much good it will do us, with our fundamental clause in the hands of brigands,” I retorted laughingly. For, indeed, there was about as much danger of a hold-up as of an earthquake.

”What a fuss you are making, Guard--what's the matter?” Jesse said, in a tone of remonstrance, as she resumed the milking. The dog had been looking toward the house, growling and bristling, for some minutes.

His response to Jessie's remonstrance was a tumultuous rush toward the house, around the corner of which he disappeared. Presently we saw him bounding away into the oak scrub beyond, apparently in hot pursuit of some retreating object, for his voice, breaking out occasionally in angry clamor, soon died away in the distance.

”I hope there isn't another wildcat after the chickens,” Jessie remarked, as, the milking finished, we started toward the house.

”I don't think it's a wildcat,” I said; ”from all the legends we have heard lately, a wildcat would have stood its ground: more likely it was a polecat.”

Entering the house that we had left vacant, save for the sleeping child in the bed-room, we were startled at sight of a dusky, silent figure, sitting motionless before the fire--for, in the mountain country, a blaze is always welcome after night-fall, even in midsummer. At the sound of our approaching footsteps the figure turned toward us a head crowned with white wool, and smiled benignly.

”Joe!” we both cried, in a breath.

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