“Agnes is like him. It will be a great relief to her to go home with you. Does she ever talk of her mother?” “No,” I answered. “I thought not; nor does she ever talk of the Devil. But I’ll be bound she talks a great deal of her father. I think Agnes will never marry, preferring to remain an old maid rather than introduce a husband to her mother; and I don’t blame her. She complains during the few weeks that the poor girl is at home because Agnes is not away earning money for her strong-box, into which goes every dollar of it. If Agnes has any money, Biggs gives it to her; for she has to account for every penny of her earnings to her mother, who says she needs that, and more, to buy something decent to wear. She talks a great deal about having nothing decent to wear, as if anything would look well on her angular old bones except a shroud.” “What does Biggs do for a living?” I asked, anxious to know as much about the family as possible. “To be candid with you,” Big Adam replied, in a confidential way, “I don’t know; although he has some way of making money, for he always has it. He organizes the farmers for one thing, and is a member of the Legislature for another. Once he started a Farmers’ Store here, at a place over in the hills there,” pointing in the direction, “where the roads cross, and where the Smoky Hill post-office is kept. He told the people they must organize for protection, and he somehow made them agree to patronize his store if he would start one. They were honest men who made the agreement, and lived up to it a long while; but in time they found out that he was charging them a great deal more for his goods than the dangerous men he had warned them against in town. I was in the place when they came in to hang him; and one man walked up to the rope-reel, and wanted to know how much rope would be necessary. But Biggs made them a speech from a vinegar barrel, and so worked upon their feelings that they went away content with the harmless revenge of calling him a little whiffet. Biggs put me in charge, and galloped away to find a purchaser for his store. He found one by representing that an entire neighborhood of fools had signed an agreement to pay him in cash whatever price he asked for his goods. The purchaser wanted to shoot Biggs when he found out how matters really stood--for he had paid a big price--but for some reason he changed his mind. Biggs is that kind of man. Now you know as much about him as I do.” As though he had been idling away too much time already, Big Adam began to work with great energy, and refused to talk any more, so I put the horses to the wagon alone; but after I had driven through the gate and into the road he came out as if there was one word more he desired to say, and lifting himself up by putting one foot on the wheel, he whispered in my ear:-- “My father was killed by the Indians.” He looked so distressed that I expressed some sort of regret, and said it was a pity.