Vague rumors of a legal tangle involving the land around Manti had reached Trevison’s ears, and this morning he had jumped on Nigger, determined to run the rumors down. He made a wide swing, following the river, which took him miles from his own property and into the enormous basin which one day the engineers expected to convert into a mammoth lake from which the thirst of many dry acres of land was to be slaked; and halting Nigger near the mouth of the gorge, watched the many laborers, directed by various grades of bosses, at work building the foundation of the dam. Later, he crossed the basin, followed the well-beaten trail up the slope to the level, and shortly he was in Hanrahan’s saloon across the street from Braman’s bank, listening to the plaint of Jim Lefingwell, the Circle Cross owner, whose ranch was east of town. Lefingwell was big, florid, and afflicted with perturbation that was almost painful. So exercised was he that he was at times almost incoherent.
“She’s boomin’, ain’t she? Meanin’ this man’s town, of course. An’ a man’s got a right to cash in on a boom whenever he gits the chance. Well, I’d figgered to cash in. I ain’t no hawg an’ I got savvy enough to perceive without the aid of any damn fortune-teller that cattle is done in this country—considered as the main question. I’ve got a thousand acres of land—which I paid for in spot cash to Dick Kessler about eight years ago. If Dick was here he’d back me up in that. But he ain’t here—the doggone fool went an’ died about four years ago, leavin’ me unprotected. Well, now, not digressin’ any, I gits the idea that I’m goin’ to unload consid’able of my thousand acres on the sufferin’ fools that’s yearnin’ to come into this country an’ work their heads off raisin’ alfalfa an’ hawgs, an’ cabbages an’ sons with Pick-a-dilly collars to be eddicated East an’ come back home some day an’ lift the mortgage from the old homestead—which job they always falls down on—findin’ it more to their likin’ to mortgage their souls to buy jew’l’ry for fast wimmin. Well, not digressin’ any, I run a-foul of a guy last week which was dead set on investin’ in ten acres of my land, skirtin’ one of the irrigation ditches which they’re figgerin’ on puttin’ in. The price I wanted was a heap satisfyin’ to the guy. But he suggests that before he forks over the coin we go down to the courthouse an’ muss up the records to see if my title is clear. Well, not digressin’ any, she ain’t! She ain’t even nowheres clear a-tall—she ain’t even there! She’s wiped off, slick an’ clean! There ain’t a damned line to show that I ever bought my land from Dick Kessler, an’ there ain’t nothin’ on no record to show that Dick Kessler ever owned it! What in hell do you think of that?
“Now, not digressin’ any,” he went on as Trevison essayed to speak; “that ain’t the worst of it. While I was in there, talkin’ to Judge Lindman, this here big guy that you fit with—Corrigan—comes in. I gathers from the trend of his remarks that I never had a legal title to my land—that it belongs to the guy which bought it from the Midland Company—which is him. Now what in hell do you think of that?”
“I knew Dick Kessler,” said Trevison, soberly. “He was honest.”
“Square as a dollar!” violently affirmed Lefingwell.
“It’s too bad,” sympathized Trevison. “That places you in a mighty bad fix. If there’s anything I can do for you, why—”
“Mr. ‘Brand’ Trevison?” said a voice at Trevison’s elbow. Trevison turned, to see a short, heavily built man smiling mildly at him.
“I’m a deputy from Judge Lindman’s court,” announced the man. “I’ve got a summons for you. Saw you coming in here—saves me a trip to your place.” He shoved a paper into Trevison’s hands, grinned, and went out. For an instant Trevison stood, looking after the man, wondering how, since the man was a stranger to him, he had recognized him—and then he opened the paper to discover that he was ordered to appear before Judge Lindman the following day to show cause why he should not be evicted from certain described property held unlawfully by him. The name, Jefferson Corrigan, appeared as plaintiff in the action.
Lefingwell was watching Trevison’s face closely, and when he saw it whiten, he muttered, understandingly:
“You’ve got it, too, eh?”