“If you say so we’ll close this right now,” he said ingratiatingly, taking from his pockets a form of agreement and opening it. “I’ll just fill this in and you two can sign it.” He went to the worn poplar table and spread out his paper, the while Queeder and his wife eyed the proceeding with intense interest. Neither could read or write but the farmer, not knowing how he was to get his eight hundred, could only trust to the ingenuity of the prospector to solve the problem. Besides, both were hypnotized by the idea of selling this worthless old land so quickly and for so much, coming into possession of actual money, and moved and thought like people in a dream. Mrs. Queeder’s eyelids had narrowed to thin, greedy lines. “How much did yuh cal’late yuh’d give tuh bind this hyur?” she inquired tensely and with a feverish gleam in her eye. “Oh,” said the stranger, who was once more looking at Queeder with an explanatory light in his eye, “about a hundred dollars, I should say. Wouldn’t that be enough?” A hundred dollars! Even that sum in this lean world was a fortune. To Mrs. Queeder, who knew nothing of the value of the mineral on the farm, it was unbelievable, an unexplainable windfall, an augury of better things. And besides, the two thousand to come later! But now came the question of a witness and how the paper was to be signed. The prospector, having filled in (in pencil) a sample acknowledgment of the amount paid—$100—and then having said, “Now you sign here, Mr. Queeder,” the latter replied, “But I kain’t write an’ nuther kin my wife.” “Thar wuzn’t much chance fer schoolin’ around’ hyur when I wuz young,” simpered his better half. “Well then, we’ll just have to let you make your marks, and get some one to witness them. Can your son or daughter write?” Here was a new situation and one most unpleasant to both, for Dode, once called, would wish to rule, being so headstrong and contrary. He could write his name anyhow, read a little bit also—but did they want him to know yet? Husband and wife looked at each dubiously and with suspicion. What now? The difficulty was solved by the rumble of a wagon on the nearby road. “Maybe that is some one who could witness for you?” suggested Crawford. Queeder looked out. “Yes, I b’lieve he kin write,” he commented. “Hi, thar, Lester!” he called. “Come in hyur a minute! We wantcha fer somepin.” The rumbling ceased and in due time one Lester Botts, a farmer, not so much better in appearance than Queeder, arrived at the door. The prospector explained what was wanted and the agreement was eventually completed, only Botts, not knowing of the mineral which Queeder’s acres represented, was anxious to tell the prospector of better land than this, from an agricultural view, which could be had for less money, but he did not know how to go about it. Before she would sign, Mrs. Queeder made it perfectly clear where she stood in the matter.