They had come to cleared land at the bottom of the hill, and Low’s house was plainly seen in the moonlight a few rods away. None of the windows were lighted. “No,” said Nick; “your wife and children are asleep by this time, and we might wake them up. We can talk out here just as well, can’t we?” “Sure.” They sat down on a log near a shallow brook that crossed the farm. The moon rays reflected from the water straight into Nick’s eyes, and his attention was curiously attracted. “Must be handy having running water on your place,” he remarked. “Huh!” returned Low, “that’s whar you reckon wrong. I thought so when I took this land, and I found out my mistake too late.” “What’s the matter?” “Durned ef I know. The cattle won’t drink it, and I don’t like the taste myself. I’ve had to dig a well up on the hill thar and run the water to my house and barn through pipes. That cost a good bit, but it was the only way I could get water that would do.” They were silent for a moment. Then Low said: “I seen that cuss, Judson, to-day.” “So?” “Yes. He was up here with Claymore in the early morning. I met ’em and we had a jawin’ match. I spoke pretty hot, I reckon, but I can’t help it when I think how I’ve been used. Thar’s my wife and children, you see. I never have been able to give them the nice things I’d like to. Ef they had let me in on the deal I mought ha’ got money enough to dress my children right smart and send them to school in the city.” “What should you say,” suggested Nick, “if you heard that the company had got left in buying your land.” “Eh? Got left? What do you mean?” “Suppose that, after all, the land proves to be as worthless as you thought?” “B’gosh! ’twould serve ’em right.” “I guess that’s the case.” “Wal, I’m durn glad to hear it, but it don’t make me feel any better toward those swindlers. I kind o’ thought the preacher chap wanted to squar’ things, but I found I was mistaken.” “So? How was that?” “He met me again in the city, and asked me to call on him at the hotel. Reckon he had some new, slick scheme up his sleeve.” “Did you call on him?” “Yep.” “Well?” “He wouldn’t see me.” “That’s odd.” “I thought so at the time. I told him I’d be there at half-past three, and he said he’d wait for me. I was there on time, and I went right up to his room.” “What did he say?” “Say? He didn’t say nothin’. I didn’t see him. He wouldn’t let me in.” “Did he know you were there?” “Sure! I knocked, and heard somebody stirrin’ in the room. I’m sure of that. So, when he didn’t say ‘Come in,’ I knocked again. ‘It’s Hank Low,’ says I, loud and sharp. ‘Ef you want to see me, speak up quick, fer I ain’t got any time to waste on ye.’ “Thar wa’n’t no answer to that, so I sung out that he was off, and I waltzed downstairs fast. “I was kind o’ ’fraid he might call me back, and I didn’t want to hear him, for I was as mad as a hornet, and I was afraid that ef him and me got together thar’d be trouble.”