"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.
"My name, suh, is Calhoun Blease," he said in a new manner. "I don't
understand this yit, but I do not believe you are foolin' with me, suh."
"If I am, you've still got your rifle," said Payne. "Now, tell me
something: Didn't Mr. Garman send you word that my job was not to be
molested or hindered?"
At the mention of Garman's name, Blease's thin figure seemed to
collapse.
"Garman? Garman don't know we're here, does he? Are--are you a friend
of Mr. Garman's, suh?"
"I think," replied Payne, "he is the worst enemy I've got. Do you know
him?"
After a long pause Blease said slowly: "I was his caretaker over there
once."
"What do you think of him?"
"He is the worst enemy any man can have," muttered the squatter.
"He--don't know we're here? Good. Nobody does. He's too smart and
hard to be just a man. Garman is--he--he was the devil who made us
outcasts like we be--he did it. Hiding our faces from the world,
account of him!"
"Do you want to tell me what he did to you?"
Blease glanced at the little shack.
"No, no. I reckon I don't want to tell you. But--Mrs. Blease once was
secretary--never mind. Garman and his swimming pool---- No, I ain't
telling; I ain't telling!"