"'The Company invites settlers to go upon its lands before patents are issued or the road is completed, and intends in such cases to sell to them in preference to any other applicants and at a price based upon the value of the land without improvements,' and on the other page here," he remarked, "they refer to this again.'In ascertaining the value of the lands, any improvements that a settler or any other person may have on the lands will not be taken into consideration, neither will the price be increased in consequence thereof....Settlers are thus insured that in addition to being accorded the first privilege of purchase, at the graded price, they will also be protected in their improvements.' And here," he commented, "in Section IX.it reads, 'The lands are not uniform in price, but are offered at various figures from $2.50 upward per acre.Usually land covered with tall timber is held at $5.00 per acre, and that with pine at $10.00.Most is for sale at $2.50 and $5.00.""When you come to read that carefully," hazarded old Broderson, "it--it's not so VERY REASSURING.'MOST is for sale at two-fifty an acre,' it says.That don't mean 'ALL,' that only means SOME.
I wish now that I had secured a more iron-clad agreement from the P.and S.W.when I took up its sections on my ranch, and--and Genslinger is in a position to know the intentions of the railroad.At least, he--he--he is in TOUCH with them.All newspaper men are.Those, I mean, who are subsidised by the General Office.But, perhaps, Genslinger isn't subsidised, Idon't know.I--I am not sure.Maybe--perhaps""Oh, you don't know and you do know, and maybe and perhaps, and you're not so sure," vociferated Annixter."How about ignoring the value of our improvements? Nothing hazy about THATstatement, I guess.It says in so many words that any improvements we make will not be considered when the land is appraised and that's the same thing, isn't it? The unimproved land is worth two-fifty an acre; only timber land is worth more and there's none too much timber about here.""Well, one thing at a time," said Harran."The thing for us now is to get into this primary election and the convention and see if we can push our men for Railroad Commissioners.""Right," declared Annixter.He rose, stretching his arms above his head."I've about talked all the wind out of me," he said.
"Think I'll be moving along.It's pretty near midnight."But when Magnus's guests turned their attention to the matter of returning to their different ranches, they abruptly realised that the downpour had doubled and trebled in its volume since earlier in the evening.The fields and roads were veritable seas of viscid mud, the night absolutely black-dark; assuredly not a night in which to venture out.Magnus insisted that the three ranchers should put up at Los Muertos.Osterman accepted at once, Annixter, after an interminable discussion, allowed himself to be persuaded, in the end accepting as though granting a favour.Broderson protested that his wife, who was not well, would expect him to return that night and would, no doubt, fret if he did not appear.Furthermore, he lived close by, at the junction of the County and Lower Road.He put a sack over his head and shoulders, persistently declining Magnus's offered umbrella and rubber coat, and hurried away, remarking that he had no foreman on his ranch and had to be up and about at five the next morning to put his men to work.
"Fool!" muttered Annixter when the old man had gone."Imagine farming a ranch the size of his without a foreman."Harran showed Osterman and Annixter where they were to sleep, in adjoining rooms.Magnus soon afterward retired.
Osterman found an excuse for going to bed, but Annixter and Harran remained in the latter's room, in a haze of blue tobacco smoke, talking, talking.But at length, at the end of all argument, Annixter got up, remarking:
"Well, I'm going to turn in.It's nearly two o'clock."He went to his room, closing the door, and Harran, opening his window to clear out the tobacco smoke, looked out for a moment across the country toward the south.
The darkness was profound, impenetrable; the rain fell with an uninterrupted roar.Near at hand one could hear the sound of dripping eaves and foliage and the eager, sucking sound of the drinking earth, and abruptly while Harran stood looking out, one hand upon the upraised sash, a great puff of the outside air invaded the room, odourous with the reek of the soaking earth, redolent with fertility, pungent, heavy, tepid.He closed the window again and sat for a few moments on the edge of the bed, one shoe in his hand, thoughtful and absorbed, wondering if his father would involve himself in this new scheme, wondering if, after all, he wanted him to.
But suddenly he was aware of a commotion, issuing from the direction of Annixter's room, and the voice of Annixter himself upraised in expostulation and exasperation.The door of the room to which Annixter had been assigned opened with a violent wrench and an angry voice exclaimed to anybody who would listen:
"Oh, yes, funny, isn't it? In a way, it's funny, and then, again, in a way it isn't."The door banged to so that all the windows of the house rattled in their frames.
Harran hurried out into the dining-room and there met Presley and his father, who had been aroused as well by Annixter's clamour.
