"You mean the man as was owner," corrected Foyle. "This half section belongs to me now."
As he spoke he looked at the old man.
"You're the Edward Pullar person what's scratched his name on them agreements?" was his observation as he studied the other contemplatively. "What's eating you now?"
Ned was surprised to see a look of terror dart from his father's eyes. There was a confusion about the manner of the old man that caused a little alarm in Ned himself.
"I—I don't understand," said Edward Pullar helplessly.
At his words an angry flush darkened Foyle's face.
"Like the hired man, here, you ain't wise to the deal, eh?" There was a note of derision in his voice. "Better put it straight," said he, with a shutting of his jaws. "You mean you don't want to understand. Getting foxy, old boy? It won't do, farmer. You can't string Hank Foyle. You'll have to tumble to facts. Hank Foyle shuts up like a clam; sticks like a leech. Noted for it. Your farm's mine and mine's yours, and you are due in Athabasca Landing agin the crops are in. That's what the paper says. You plant the crop here. I plant it at the Landing. Then we swaps farms and hikes for home. You'll have a whole section a scrub to wander through a-lookin' fur the cows."
"You are on the wrong farm," said the old man weakly. "We have not entered any such deal."
"You're Edward Pullar, what owned this place?" quizzed Foyle, with an impudent grin. "You haven't said so yet."
"I am Edward Pullar," was the acknowledgment.