Penny and Louise waited, hoping that the old man would tell more. After a little silence, he resumed meditatively:
“The Widder was the smartest o’ the lot of us. From the first she said Burmaster was out to gobble up all the best land for hisself. Nobody could get her to sign no papers. That’s why she’s got her little place today and the rest of us is tryin’ to make a livin’ out o’ these stone patches.”
“Burmaster forced all of the valley folk off their land?” Penny inquired, perplexed. “How could he do that?”
“Some of ’em sold out to him,” Old Silas admitted. “But mostly the land was owned by a rich feller in Boston. He never paid no attention to his holdings ’cept to collect a bit o’ rent now and then. But last spring he up and sold out to Burmaster, and we was all told to git off the land.”
Penny nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that was entirely legal. If Mr. Burmaster bought and paid for the land one couldn’t accuse him of dishonest dealings.”
“I ain’t accusin’ nobody o’ nothin’,” Old Silas replied. “I’m jes’ tellin’ you how things are in this here valley. Ye came to find out about that Headless Horseman, didn’t ye?”
“Well, yes, we did,” Penny acknowledged.
“Figured you would. You’ll never win that reward Burmaster’s offerin’, but you could do a heap o’ good in this here valley.”
“How?” asked Penny, even more puzzled.
“You got a pa that runs a big city newspaper. When he prints an editorial piece in that paper o’ his, folks read it and pay attention.”