whitey-brown holland coat, walking over the bridge. In a minute or two
he had overtaken him. As the Elder did not speak, he began:

"I thought I'd come with you, Elder. I don't know that I'm much good,
but I sympathize with you, and I'd like to help you if I could."

"Yes," replied the Elder, acknowledging thereby the proffered aid. "But
I guess you kain't. I guess not," he repeated by way of emphasis.

In silence the pair went on to the broad field of maize. At the corner
of the fence, the Elder stopped and said, as if speaking to himself:

"It runs, I reckon, seventy-five bushel to the acre, and there are two
hundred acres." After a lengthened pause he continued: "That makes nigh
on three thousand dollars. I must hev spent two hundred dollars this
year in hired labour on that ground, and the half ain't cut yet. Thar's
a pile of money and work on that quarter-section."

A few minutes more passed in silence. Bancroft did not know what to say,
for the calm seriousness of the Elder repelled sympathy. As he looked
about him there showed on the rise across the creek a knot of United
States cavalry, the young lieutenant riding in front with a civilian,
probably the surveyor, by his side. Bancroft turned and found that the
Elder had disappeared in the corn. He followed quickly, but as he swung
himself on to the fence the Elder came from behind a stook with a
burnished shot-gun in his right hand, and said decisively:

"Don't come in hyar. 'Tain't your corn and you've no cause to mix
yourself in this fuss."