T was a cold, dry day about the middle of January. They were killing hogs at the farm. Seven or eight negroes, men and women, had gathered from all about in the neighborhood to assist in the work and get the parts of the meat usually given away in payment for such services.
Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron pot with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs heaped over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be put into the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to do this than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were grunting and squealing in a big pen near the barn.
Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden out to see them on business. “I think it's the railroad,” Alan informed his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement when the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being entertained by Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival. They all sat down before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs of embarrassment at first, but gradually threw them off and got down to the matter in hand quite with his office manner.
“I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop,” he opened up, with a slight flush on his face. “I've been making some inquiries about Wilson, and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us out—or you rather—by holding off till you are obliged to sell your property for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it.”
“You think so,” grunted Bishop, pulling a long face.
“Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are independent of him.”
“Huh!” ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly—“huh! I say!”
Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he was about to make. “I must confess,” he smiled, “that I can' t well see how we can show independence right now.”