Supposing that it was all right, he had put in his money, and had been made the president of the company. His name was printed in large type on the letters sent out by Claymore. These letters were sent to people in the far East, who had been members of the Rev. Mr. Judson’s church. They were sent to other places where his name was known, and they told all about the wonderful discovery of oil. Friends of the clergyman were to be allowed to invest in the company, if they wanted a sure thing. The letters did not state that money was needed for digging the wells or building a refinery. Oh, no! Persons who received the letters were given to understand that this was their chance to get rich quickly. And the Rev. Elijah Judson’s name as president of the oil company was enough to make everybody sure that it was all right. For, of course, the clergyman would not go into any business that was not perfectly straight and sure. That was quite the case—at least, the clergyman thought it was. He meant well, and he really believed that the company was square, and that there would be great profits in the business. There were many answers to the letters, and money came in rapidly. Not many persons invested large amounts, but the sum total was considerable. All this operation of raising money for the work took several months. At last the clergyman went to Colorado to look over the plant and do his share of the work. He was surprised to find that there wasn’t any plant. There was the land that had been bought; on it were a few small mounds of loose dirt to show where borings had been made; and in Denver there was an office of the company. Nothing more. Claymore explained that it took time to get the machinery for sinking the wells, and Mr. Judson was satisfied. 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 Rev. 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.