"I couldn't help myself," said Peakslow.
"It seems to me I would have helped myself, if the land was rightfully mine!" cried Jack. "They might tear my house down,—they might try to drive me out of the county,—I don't believe I would deed away my land, just because they threatened me, and I was afraid."
"It's easy to talk that way," Peakslow replied. "But, come case in hand,—the loaded muzzles in your face,—you'd change your mind."
"Didn't they pay for the land they took?"
"Barely nothin'; jest the guv'ment price; dollar 'n' a quarter an acre. But jest look at that land to-day,—the best in the State,—wuth twenty dollars an acre, if 't is a cent."
"What was Betterson's claim?" Jack asked; "for men don't often do such things without some sort of excuse."
"They hild that though the survey gin me the land, it was some Betterson had supposed belonged to his purchase. Meanwhile he had j'ined a land-claim society, where the members all agreed to stand by one another; and that was the reason o' their takin' sich high-handed measures with me."
Jack was inclined to cross-question Peakslow, and sift a little this astonishing charge against Betterson and the land-claim society. But they had now reached the pasture bars, and the question relating to the ownership of the horse was to be settled.
The Betterson boys were still sitting on the fence, where Jack had left them; but Snowfoot had returned to his grazing.
"Call him," said Jack. "If he doesn't come for you, then see if he will come for me."