"Let me hear them; and believe me, Hickman Holt, I shall judge them most liberally." "Fust, then, you called me a coward. Do you take that back?" "Willingly I do." "So fur good; an' now for tother proposal I hev to make. I don't acknowledge yur right to this clarin'. I've made it; an' call it my own, as a sovereign citizen of these United States; an' I don't care a cuss for pre-emption right, since I don't believe in any man's right to move me off o' the groun' I've clared. But I ain't so durned pertickler 'bout this hyur bit. Another 'll answer my bizness equally as well-- maybe better--an' ef ye'll pay me for my _improvements_, ye can take both clarin' an' cabin, an' hev no more muss about it. Them's my proposals." "How much do you expect for these improvements? At what sum do you value them?" I trembled as I awaited the answer. My poor purse felt light as it lay against my bosom--far lighter than the heart within: though that had been heavier but an hour before. I knew that the sack contained less than two hundred dollars, in notes of the Planters' Bank; and I feared that such a sum would never satisfy the expectations of the squatter. "Wal, stranger," replied he, after a pause, "thur worth a good wheen o' dollars; but I shan't valley 'em myself. I'll leave that part o' the bizness to a third individooal--my friend as stands thur; an' who's a just man, an's been some'at o' a lawyer too. He'll say what's fair atween us. Won't ye, Josh?" I thought this rather a familiar style of address, on the part of the squatter, towards his clerical and saint-like friend; but I refrained from showing my astonishment. "Oh, yes," replied the other, "I'll value the property with pleasure-- that is, if the gentleman desires me to do so." "How much do you think it worth?" I inquired with nervous anxiety. "Well, I should say that, for the improvements Mr Holt has made, a hundred dollars would be a fair compensation." "A hundred dollars?" "Yes--in cash, of course, I mean." "Will you be satisfied with that sum?" said I, turning to Holt for the answer. "Parfitly satisfied--so long's it's in cash." "I agree to give it then." "All right, strenger! a bargain's a bargain. You kin shell out the dollars; and I'll gie ye pursession afore this gentleman--who'll witness it in writin', ef you like." "I want no writing. I can trust to your word." It was no flattery: I felt at the moment that the squatter--rudely as he had acted--was still possessed of an honourable principle; and I knew that, under the circumstances, his word would not only be as good as his bond, but _better_! I made no hesitation, therefore; but, counting out the money, placed it upon the stump--alongside that curious document, impaled there by the blade of the squatter's knife. "When 'ud ye like to take pursession?" asked the outgoing tenant. "At your convenience," I replied, wishing to behave as courteously as possible.