"Ye are very welcome," said the other.
"Of course!" said Alton simply; "still, I can't stop. I'm here to talk business, Callender."
Seaforth noticed that in face of the typical absence of protest or compliment there was nothing the most critical could find fault with in the invitation or the refusal. The old man was dressed in very curiously-patched jean, but he was almost stately in his simplicity, and nothing could have been more apposite than the little nod with which Alton made his affirmation. It implied a good deal more than speech could have done.
"Ye will be asking about the place?" said Callender. "I'm wanting three thousand dollars. It's worth all that."
Alton nodded, and it was evident that the men understood each other, for there was no endeavour to lessen or enhance the value of the property. "It will be worth more presently, but that's about the fair thing now," he said.
"Weel," said Callender simply, "by then I may be dead. Twenty years I've lived on my lone here, and I thought at one time I would be content to lie down by between the bush and the river, but now a longing to see the old land grips me. Ye will not understand it. Ye were born in Canada."
"No," said Alton gravely. "The land that has fed me is good enough for me."
The old man made a little gesture of assent. "Aye," he said. "It's a good country, but I feel the old one calling me. It's just three thousand dollars I'm asking ye."
Alton drew a sheet which seemed covered with calculations from his wallet, and glanced at it silently. Then he looked at the rancher.
"One thousand down, one thousand in six months, and the rest any time in two years, with six per cent," he said. "You might get the dollars in your wallet if you made the deal with a land agent in Vancouver."