"That will depend upon contingencies. Should Master Holt--for I believe that is my predecessor's name--should he prove _amiable_, I may consent to go a little in your debt, and pay him for whatever log-chopping he has done. If otherwise, by the Lady of Guadalupe!--you remember our old Mexican shibboleth--he shall be cleared out of his clearing _sans facon_. Perhaps we have been wasting words upon an ideal existence! Perhaps there is no squatter after all; or that old Holt has long since `gone under' and only his ghost will be found flitting around the precincts of this disputed territory. Would not that be an interesting companion for my hours of midnight loneliness? A match for the wolves and wild-cats! Ha! ha! ha!" "Well, old comrade; I trust it may turn out no worse. The ghost of a squatter might prove a less unpleasant neighbour than the squatter himself, dispossessed of his _squatment_. Notwithstanding this badinage, I know you will act with judgment; and you can count upon my help in the matter, if you should require it." I grasped the speaker's hand, to express my gratitude; and the tight pressure returned, told me I was parting with one of the few friends I had in the world. My _impedimenta_ had been already packed. They did not need much stowage. A pair of saddle-bags was sufficient to contain all my personal property--including the title-deeds of my freehold! My arms I carried upon my person: my sword only being strapped along the saddle. Bidding adieu to my friend, I mounted my noble Arab; and, heading him to the road, commenced journeying towards the _Western Reserve_. CHAPTER TEN. A CLASSIC LAND.