"You see," continued Ike; "you hain't lived long here. A new country is a kind of self-sustainin' machine. We've all got-ter go in for ourselves. When folks take the brunt of settlin' wild land, somebody's got-ter and ought-ter suffer. Non-residents have ter pay all taxes. They have to pay onto the value, and onto our takin' care of their lands. We can't afford to scare off the animals and bring their property into market for nothin'. Why, old Sykes, who lives away down to the east'ard, pays half the taxes of Puddleford, and don't own more than four sections of land. The 'sessors kind-er look at the spirit of the law when they lay taxes, and the spirit of our tax-law stretches 'cordin' to circumstances. India-rubber ain't nothin' to it. Jest so in la' matters. The la' is favorable to Puddlefordians; our courts lean that way—it's kind-er second nater to 'em—a kind-er law of self-preservation—primary law of natur', you know—a duty; and therefore I was particular to know who the person was who claimed your land."
"Mine's a case," said I, after Ike concluded his digression, "of Puddleford against Puddleford."
"Puddleford against itself, both residents—a woman and two children against a man?"
"That's the case," said I.
"Well!" said Ike.
"The widow claims a life interest, and yet she signed the deed with her husband."
"Did sign it?" inquired Ike again. "What is she growlin' about, then?"
"She claims she was deranged."
"And didn't know nothin', ha?"
"And she says she can prove it."