Next day at breakfast Mr. Morris came in. He was an ordinary young Western farmer, rough but kindly, ill-educated but sensible. When his appetite was satisfied he wanted to know whether they had heard the news.
“No,” Mrs. Conklin replied eagerly, “we've heard nothing unless p'r'aps the Elder in Eureka”—but her husband shook his head, and Morris went on:
“Folks say the Government in Washington has sent General Custer out with troops to pertect the Indian Territory. Away East they think the settlers have been stealing the Reserve, an' the soldiers are coming with surveyors to draw the line again.”
After a pause, “That seems right,” said the Elder; “thar' ain't nothin' agen that.”
“But you've ploughed and raised crops on the Indian land across the crik,” objected Morris; “we all hev. Air we to give it up?”
There was no answer.
“Anyway,” Morris continued, “Custer's at Wichita now. He'll be here in a day or two, an' we've called a meetin' in the school-house for this evenin' an' we hope you'll be on hand. 'Tain't likely we're goin' to stand by an' see our crops destroyed. We must hold together, and all'll come right.”
“That's true,” said the Elder, thinking aloud, “and good. Ef we all held together there'd not be much wrong done.”
“Then I kin tell the boys,” resumed Morris, rising, “that you'll be with us, Elder. All us young uns hold by you, an' what you say, we'll do, every time.”
“Wall,” replied the Elder slowly, “I don't know. I kain't see my way to goin'. I've always done fer myself by myself, and I mean to—right through; but the meetin' seems a good idee. I'm not contradictin' that. It seems strong. I don't go much though on meetin's; they hain't ever helped me. But a meetin' seems strong—for them that likes it.”