"You use pretty strong language when you call them thieves and robbers, Mr. Peakslow."
"Strong or not, it's the truth. Hain't they cheated me out o' the best part of my farm?"
"The Bettersons—cheated you!" exclaimed Jack.
They were now on the way to the pasture; and Peakslow, in a sort of lurid excitement, pointed to the boundary fence.
"My line, by right, runs five or six rod t' other side. I took up my claim here, and Betterson bought hisn, 'fore ever the guv'ment survey run through. That survey fixed my line 'way over yender in their cornfield. And there I claim it belongs, to this day."
"But, Mr. Peakslow, how does it happen that a man like Mr. Betterson has been able to rob a man like you,—take a part of your farm before your very eyes? He is a rather slack, easy man; while you, if I'm not greatly mistaken, are in the habit of standing up for your rights."
"I can gin'ly look out for myself," said Peakslow. "And don't suppose that Lord Betterson took me down and put his hands in my pockets, alone."
"Nine men, with masks on," cried Zeph, "come to our house one night, and told pa they'd jest tear his ruf right down over his head, and drive him out of the county, if he didn't sign a deed givin' Betterson that land."
"Hold your yawp, Zeph!" muttered Peakslow. "I can tell my own story. There was nine of 'em, all armed, and what could I do?"
"This is a most extraordinary story!" exclaimed Jack. "Did you sign the deed?"