They went out to the land, and there happened to meet Hank Low, as he was driving to the city with a small load of farm stuff for the market. By that time, of course, Low had learned just why his land had been bought. The farmer honestly believed that he had been swindled, because nobody had told him that the land he was selling was very valuable. “They might have let me in on the deal,” he grumbled. “The land was mine. S’pose it had been gold they found. Wouldn’t it be swindling to make me sell it dirt cheap just because I didn’t know what ’twas worth?” His neighbors told him he mustn’t expect any better treatment in a business deal. “But,” he argued, “they sprung the preacher on me, made me believe there was to be a school there. Ain’t that false pretenses? You bet ’tis! An’ ef ever I git my hands on that preacher I’ll make him suffer!” He hadn’t had his hands on the Reverend Elijah Judson, but he had made him suffer, just the same. “I hate to be called a swindler,” sighed the clergyman, as he stood there with Claymore. “Mr. Judson,” responded Claymore, “business is business, and the man who gets left in a trade is always sore. That’s all there is to it, and you mustn’t think anything more about it.” “Well,” said Mr. Judson, “I’ll try to think it’s all right, but if I should find that any wrong has been done I shall insist on making things right with Low.” There was a sneering expression on Claymore’s face, but he said nothing, and they returned to the city. Mr. Judson found new trouble there. He met one of his old church members on the street, and shook hands with him. “I didn’t know you were in this part of the country, Mr. Folsom,” said the clergyman. “I suppose not,” snapped Mr. Folsom, in reply, “and I presume you’d have liked it better if I had stayed away.” “Why, what do you mean?” “I came out here to look into the oil company I put my money in. That’s what I mean.” “Well----” “There isn’t any well! There ought to be several, but there isn’t one, and, what’s more, there won’t be any, and, what’s more yet, you know it.” “Why, brother Folsom----” “Don’t ‘brother’ me! You’ve lent your name to a swindle, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I can stand my loss, thank fortune! and it will teach me not to trust a minister again; but there are others, widows and orphans, who have put their all into your infernal scheme, and they can’t stand it. You’ve made them beggars, just to fatten yourself.” The clergyman grew ghastly pale as he listened, and even Claymore, who was still with him, looked troubled. “This is dreadful!” gasped Mr. Judson. “I’d die if I believed it to be half true!”