“Because he had just sold his place to Mr. Mechlin, intending to locate here. So when he went to town to sign his conveyance, I put some boards in a wagon and came here, and in two hours my father and myself had put up my cabin. Then we put up this fence around one acre, and by nightfall we had placed my boundary stakes. That night I brought my blankets and my rifle, to sleep in my cabin. Mother sent father to keep me company, and we slept soundly, in splendid style. I wasn't afraid of Mathews. Next morning, at daybreak, we heard the rumbling of a wagon, and soon after we spied old Mathews sitting on the top of his boards. He came smack against my fence.
“What the devil is this?” said he, and began to swear a perfect blue streak. Then he took a hammer from his wagon, and began hammering.
I jumped up, took my rifle and hallooed to him, as if I didn't know him, “Who is there, hammering my fence?”
“Your fence?” said he; “your fence?”
“Yes, sir, mine. I located here yesterday.”
“You! you! Get a beard first,” said he, and with another streak of oaths, began hammering again.
I came up nearer, holding my rifle in good position. I said, “Look here, Mr. Mathews, leave my fence alone, or you will get into trouble.” I leveled my rifle at him. “Will you stop? I give you just two minutes.”
He stopped.
“You have no right to locate—you are a minor,” said he, livid with rage.
“You just inform yourself better, by asking a polite question or two of my parents. They will tell you that I am just twenty-one years and two days old, and I can prove it by our family Bible and certificate of baptism. I am a Christian, I am, though you don't seem to be, judging by your cursing,—and as for my beard, you be patient, and you'll see it, for it is coming as fast as your gray hairs.”