"It's a-gittin' cold," said Samuels, rising abruptly. "Let's git inside!"
Bob followed him to the main room of the cabin where the mountaineer lit a tallow candle stuck in the neck of a bottle.
"Oh, pa, come to bed!" called a sleepy voice, "and quit your palavering."
"Shet up!" commanded Samuels, setting the candle in the middle of the table, and seating himself by it. "Ain't there no decisions the other way?"
"I'm no lawyer," Bob pointed out, dropping into a stool on the other side, so that the candle stood between them, "and my opinion is of no value"—the old man grunted what might have been assent, or a mere indication of attention—"but as far as I know, there have been none. I know all the leading cases, I think" he added.
"So they can put me off, and leave all these other fellows, who are worse off than I be in keepin' up with what the law wants!" cried Samuels.
"I hope they'll begin action against every doubtful claim," said Bob soberly.
"It may be the law to take away my homestead, but it ain't justice," stated the old man.
Bob ventured his first aggressive movement.
"Did you ever read the Homestead Law?" he asked.