Payne looked about the clearing and saw that here, hidden from all the world in the dense elder growth, the squatter had attempted and succeeded in making a primitive sort of home. Fish nets and traps, otter and coon skins, hung on the walls of the shack. In the clearing was a cultivated patch of the Seminole "contie" root, which could be ground into flour, and a scattering of domestic vegetables. On a few stunted trees were a few dried-up oranges; and on the branches of one of the larger trees was hung a swing fashioned from tough-fibered creepers. On one side of the rude shack a patch of moon vine was being trained along the wall. "My name is Payne, neighbor," said Roger presently. The squatter eyed him suspiciously for a long while. At last he dropped the rifle in the hollow of his arm, keeping a ready thumb on the hammer. "Mine's Blease," he said at last. Roger regarded the man thoughtfully for a long time. To his surprise he perceived that Blease was not at all of the unfavorable type he had expected to find squatting in such a place. The man's hair was long and ragged, his beard likewise, and he was poorly nourished and clad; but Roger had lived enough in the open to learn how deceptive are external appearances in showing the true character of a man. As he looked at Blease, meeting the other's hard eyes, he sensed the true worth of the man hiding beneath the guise of a shiftless squatter. As for the woman, it was obvious that she was Blease's superior. "Tell me, Blease," said Payne suddenly, "How long have you been living on this land?" "'Bout two years," replied the squatter after a long pause. "You don't pretend you have a title to it?" Again the pause, then: "No, sir, I don't." "Have you got a mule?" broke out Roger suddenly. "A mule? No. Why?" "How do you expect to do any farming without a mule? Come over to my camp next week when I get some in and I'll try to fix you up." Blease stood looking at him, tugging at his ragged beard, shifting from one foot to the other, gazing hopelessly round for an answer to the miracle. Finally he cleared his throat. "Some catch there." "No." "How do you mean that, Mr. Payne?" "Just as I say; if we have an extra mule next week we'll let you have it." "What for?" "To farm with. You've got to begin to make some money. You can't stay on this land any longer without a title; that isn't business. I could move you, but I don't want to; wouldn't feel right about it. I want to get you to farming right so you can make some money and buy from me the piece of ground you're squatting on. What have you got cleared here--five acres? You ought to have about ten. We'll measure off ten here, and go on with our clearing round you. Now, what do you say?" "You mean it?" Payne crossed the clearing and stood before the squatter. "Do you think I'm fooling you?" he asked. The squatter shamefacedly put his rifle away.