“Now just sign your names, there. Good! That completes the filing of your entry, except the payment of the fees. As you are taking up one hundred and sixty acres, you must pay the government ten dollars; if you had taken only eighty, or less, it would only have been five: I am entitled to a commission of a dollar and a half for each forty acres and a fee of a dollar and a half for administering the oath and taking your affidavit, nineteen dollars in all.
“Ah, thank you,” as Ted handed him the money. “Now, if you wish, at the end of fourteen months, you can commute your entry. That is, by paying a dollar and a quarter an acre and the necessary fees for being sworn, having four witnesses testify that you have lived on and cultivated the land for fourteen consecutive months, and the cost of notice by publication in a newspaper of your intended commutation, you can obtain your title to the land, which is called the patent. Of course, at the end of three years, without any charge per acre but with the fees for witnesses and the rest, you can obtain your patent just the same. The rest of the details you can learn from this pamphlet.”
“Then you have accepted our entry?” asked Ted, after a silence of several seconds had brought no more questions.
“Not by any means.” And there was a sinister smile about the registrar’s mouth. “I have merely entered your claim.”
As they heard the words, so evidently portent with meaning, the boys’ hearts sank, for they had taken hope as the interrogation had proceeded so smoothly.
“Doesn’t this constitute the filing of our entry?” hazarded Phil, timidly.
“No, I told you.”
“Why not? Has—has any one filed before us?” stammered Ted.
“What makes you ask that?”
“Why—” began the boy, when Phil broke in: “We were told this would be the regular form.”