I
"And of course what I buy is my own," continued Burleson, patiently. "No
man here will question that, I suppose?"
For a moment there was silence in the cross-roads store; then a lank,
mud-splashed native arose from behind the stove, shoving his scarred
hands deep into the ragged pockets of his trousers.
"Young man," he said, harshly, "there's a few things you can't buy; you
may think you can buy 'em--you may pay for 'em, too--but they can't be
bought an' sold. You thought you bought Grier's tract; you thought you
bought a lot o' deer an' birds an' fish, several thousand acres in
timber, and a dozen lakes. An' you paid for 'em, too. But, sonny, you
was took in; you paid for 'em, but you didn't buy 'em, because Grier
couldn't sell God's free critters. He fooled ye that time."
"Is that the way you regard it, Santry?" asked Burleson. "Is that the
way these people regard private property?"
"I guess it is," replied the ragged man, resuming his seat on the
flour-barrel. "I cal'late the Lord A'mighty fashioned His wild critters
f'r to peramble round about, offerin' a fair mark an' no favor to them
that's smart enough to git 'em with buck, bird-shot, or bullet. Live
wild critters ain't for sale; they never was made to buy an' sell. The
spryest gits 'em--an' that's all about it, I guess, _Mister_ Burleson."
A hard-faced young man leaning against the counter, added significantly:
"We talked some to Grier, an' he sold out. He come here, too, just like
you."
The covert menace set two spots of color deepening in young Burleson's
lean cheeks; but he answered calmly:
"What a man believes to be his own he seldom abandons from fear of
threats."
"That's kinder like our case," observed old man Santry, chewing
vigorously.
Another man leaned over and whispered to a neighbor, who turned a grim
eye on Burleson without replying.
As for Burleson and his argument, a vicious circle had been completed,
and there was little chance of an understanding; he saw that plainly,
but, loath to admit it, turned towards old man Santry once more.
"If what has been common rumor is true," he said, "Mr. Grier, from whom
I bought the Spirit Lake tract, was rough in defending what he believed
to be his own. I want to be decent; I desire to preserve the game and
the timber, but not at the expense of human suffering. You know better
than I do what has been the history of Fox Cross-roads. Twenty-five
years ago your village was a large one; you had tanneries,
lumber-mills, paper-mills--even a newspaper. To-day the timber is gone,
and so has the town except for your homes--twenty houses, perhaps. Your
soil is sand and slate, fit only for a new forest; the entire country is
useless for farming, and it is the natural home of pine and oak, of the
deer and partridge."
He took one step nearer the silent circle around the stove. "I have
offered to buy your rights; Grier hemmed you in on every side to force
you out. I do not want to force you; I offer to buy your land at a fair
appraisal. And your answer is to put a prohibitive price on the land."
"Because," observed old man Santry, "we've got you ketched. That's
business, I guess."