"To farm with. You've got to begin to make some money. You can't stay on this land any longer without a title; that isn't business. I could move you, but I don't want to; wouldn't feel right about it. I want to get you to farming right so you can make some money and buy from me the piece of ground you're squatting on. What have you got cleared here—five acres? You ought to have about ten. We'll measure off ten here, and go on with our clearing round you. Now, what do you say?"
"You mean it?"
Payne crossed the clearing and stood before the squatter.
"Do you think I'm fooling you?" he asked.
The squatter shamefacedly put his rifle away.
"My name, suh, is Calhoun Blease," he said in a new manner. "I don't understand this yit, but I do not believe you are foolin' with me, suh."
"If I am, you've still got your rifle," said Payne. "Now, tell me something: Didn't Mr. Garman send you word that my job was not to be molested or hindered?"
At the mention of Garman's name, Blease's thin figure seemed to collapse.
"Garman? Garman don't know we're here, does he? Are—are you a friend of Mr. Garman's, suh?"
"I think," replied Payne, "he is the worst enemy I've got. Do you know him?"