At the head of the line, holding a card with certain figures on it, stood Axel Peterson, a bony-faced man with lean, high shoulders, engineer in the flour-mill at Meander. Peterson strained his long neck and lifted his chin as if his loose collar bound him and choked his aspirations.
It was a racking hour for Axel Peterson, who had been offered a sum which was riches to him if he would file on the land described by the figures on the card, pay its purchase price to the government on the spot with the money provided him for that purpose, and then step out. Already he had signed an agreement to make a deed to it. However, the land was yet in the mists of uncertainty just ahead, beyond his grasp.
For it was stipulated in his agreement that if the-holder of the first choice should appear in time to file, then Peterson was to hand over the money which he carried in his pocket to purchase immediate title to the claim. In that case, Jerry Boyle, the Governor’s son, who stood side by side with Peterson before the window and held Peterson’s agreement to deed certain described lands in his hand; in that case Jerry Boyle would be free to open negotiations with the holder of the first chance.
There was no secret among those gathered to file regarding what was going forward at the head of the line. It was generally understood, also, that others were on hand to grab the same piece of land as that which Boyle was so eager to get into his possession. 174 Gold, some said. Others were strong in the statement that it was coal and oil. At any rate there was another man present who had been active with Peterson, but he had arrived too late. Boyle already had the Scandinavian down in writing.
Milo Strong was in his place, hoping in his heart that Dr. Slavens would not appear, as the physician’s lapse would set him one forward. Off to one side, among hundreds gathered to witness the filing on lands which would mean the development of a great stretch of country around Meander, and thereby add to its prosperity and importance, were William and Horace Bentley and Agnes.
They watched the clerks in the land-office arrive and enter through the side door. A shelf had been arranged in one of the front windows of the office, past which the entrants could file without going into the building. At nine o’clock this window would be opened. It was before it that Peterson and Jerry were standing.
William Bentley looked at his watch.
“Seven minutes more,” he announced.
“He’ll never come,” said Agnes, shaking her head sadly. “His chance is slipping away.”
“I’ve hoped right up to this minute that he would come,” said William, “but I drop out now. It would have been such easy money for him, too.”