Encouraged, Ralph put the kitten on his lap. “Her won’t bite; ’oo needn’t be ’fraid,” he said.
Mr. Wilson stroked the small cat mechanically and then lifted it to the ground—using its tail for a handle, to Ralph’s speechless indignation—then he faced us again, his forehead puckered with anxious wrinkles: “There’s one thing that I never thought of until early this morning—when I did, I hurried through with my chores and came right over here. It’s a stunner to find that Joe’s gone, now, in addition to all the rest, but we must keep a stiff upper lip. Fact is, I’m to blame for not thinking of this thing six weeks—yes, three months ago. I ought to have thought of it, children,” he swept us all with a compassionate glance, “the day that your father died. I’d be willing to bet a big sum, if I was a betting man—which I’m thankful to say that I ain’t—that Jake Horton thought of it, and has kept it well in mind all along; he ain’t the man to overlook such a thing as that.” Wiping his perplexed face with the red silk handkerchief that he always kept in his hat for that purpose, he continued, desperately: “This claim was taken up, lived on, built on, notices for proving up by Ralph C. Gordon. Ralph C. Gordon! Wal’,” he ran his fingers again through his iron-gray hair, making it stand more defiantly upright than ever, “there ain’t no Ralph C. Gordon!”
The point that we had overlooked, presented to us now, for the first time, almost on the eve of our proving up, was of such vital importance, as it occurred to our awakened understanding, that, at first, we could do nothing but stare at each other, and at him, in stunned dismay. But hope, as that saving angel will, stirred, and began to brighten as our friend proceeded.
“There are ways,” he said. “I’ve been thinking of some of ’em; but I am desperate afraid that none of ’em will do. The agent might, if he was disposed to be obligin’, transfer your father’s claim to you, Jessie, if you could swear that you are the head of a family, and that’s what you can’t do—not as the law requires it, you can’t. The law don’t recognize any one as the head of a family until of legal age. Even if you were of legal age, the agent might refuse, if he saw fit. If he should, all that you can do will be to file on the claim again and go in for another five years’ tussle with the homesteading problem. ’Pears like there was a pretty fair prospect of your whole family coming of age before another siege of homesteading is ended. Why didn’t I think of all this before? ’Cause I’m an old wooden head, I s’pose! No, I’m mighty afeared that the only thing we can do is for you to jest go down and file on the land in your own name, and say nothing about age, if the agent asks no questions. As I said before, you’ll be old enough for anything before it comes time for a second proving up.”
Jessie, who had been listening intently, here suddenly interposed with sparkling eyes, “I’m old enough now, Mr. Wilson, or, at least, I shall be to-morrow. To-morrow is my birthday, and I shall be eighteen!”
Mr. Wilson sprang up so suddenly that he overturned his chair, and sent Ralph’s new pet scurrying from the room in wild alarm.
“Hooray for us!” he cried, seizing Jessie’s hand. “The Gordons forever! Now we’re all right. I’ve felt certain all along that the agent would give you a deed if he could, but he couldn’t if you were all under age. ’Twouldn’t ’a’ been legal. But if one of you is of legal age, the homestead business is settled.”
“But suppose he should refuse to give us a deed on account of the claim’s standing in father’s name?” Jessie asked.
“In that case the thing to do is to file on it again, right there and then, in your own name—strange, ain’t it,” he interjected, suddenly, “that the law ’pears to declare that a girl’s as smart at eighteen as a boy is at twenty-one? Wal’, the law don’t know everything; you must go down there day after to-morrow, prepared to enter the claim again, though I do hope it won’t come to that.”
“That will cost a good deal, too, won’t it?” Jessie inquired, dejectedly.