The Homesteader. Micheaux Oscar

nice. And you own such nice land, I don't wonder," she said thoughtfully.

      "Oh, well," he replied, modestly, "I think I should like it anyhow."

      "Of course; but when one has property—such nice land as you own, they have everything to like it for."

      "I'm compelled to agree with you."

      "I'm sorry we don't own any," she said regretfully. "But of course in a way we are not entitled to. We didn't get in 'on the ground floor,' therefore we must be satisfied as renters."

      He was silent but attentive.

      "Papa never seems to have been very fortunate. It may be due to his quaint old fashioned manner, but he has never owned any land at all, poor fellow." She said the last more to herself than to him. He was interested and continued to listen.

      "We went to Western Kansas with a little money and very good stock, and were dried out two years straight, and the third year when we had a good crop with a chance to get back at least a little of what we had lost, along came a big hail storm and pounded everything into the ground."

      "Wasn't that too bad!" he cried sympathetically.

      "It sure was! It is awfully discouraging to work as hard and to have sacrificed as much as we had, and then come out as we did. It just took all the ambition out of him."

      "I shouldn't wonder," he commented tenderly.

      "And then we went back to Indiana—broke, of course, and having no money and no stock; because we had to sell what we had left to get out of Western Kansas. So since 'beggars can't be choosers' we had to take what we could get. And that was a poor farm in a remote part of Indiana, in a little place that was so poor that the corn was all nubbins. They called it 'Nubbin Ridge.'"

      He laughed, and she had to also when she thought of it.

      "Well, we were able to live and pay a little on some more stock. Because my brothers didn't take much to run around with like other boys but stayed home and worked, we finally succeeded in getting just a little something together again and then a real estate man came along and told us about this place, so here we are." She bestowed a smile upon him and sighed. She had told more of themselves than she had intended, but it had been a pleasant diversion at that; moreover, she was delighted because he was such an attentive listener.

      "So that is how you came here?" he essayed. "I have enjoyed listening to you. Your lives read like an interesting book."

      "Oh, that isn't fair. You are joking with me!" Notwithstanding, she blushed furiously.

      "No, no, indeed," he protested.

      She believed him. Strangely she reposed such confidence in the man that she felt she could sit and talk with him forever.

      "But it is certainly too bad that you have been so unfortunate. I am sure it will not always be so. You are perseverant, I see, and 'riches come to him who waits.'"

      "An old saying, but I hope it will not wait too long. Papa is getting old, and—my brothers would be unable to manage with any effect alone...." He understood her and the incident was overlooked.

      "Your mother is dead?"

      "Yes, my mother is dead, Mr. Baptiste."

      "Oh."

      "Died when I was a baby."

      "Well, well...."

      "I never knew her."

      "Well, I do say!" He paused briefly, while she was silent but thinking deeply.... Thinking of what her father had started to say and never finished.

      "And I venture to say that you have just about raised yourself?"

      She blushed.

      "You must be a wonderful girl."

      She blushed again and twisted her hands about. She tried to protest; but couldn't trust herself to say anything just then. How she liked to hear him talk!

      "You have my best wishes, believe me," he was at a loss for the moment as to how to proceed.

      "Oh, thank you." She didn't dare raise her eyes. He regarded her as she sat before him, blushing so beautifully, and wished they were of the same race.... Footsteps were heard at that moment, and both sat up expectantly. Quickly, then, she rose to her feet and went to the door and opened it in time to meet her father who was about to enter.

      "Oh, it's you, father! I'm glad you've come. Mr. Baptiste is here to see you."

      "Ah-ha, Mr. Baptiste, I am honored," cried Jack Stewart, her father, and he marched forward with outstretched hand and much ado; Scotch propriety.

      "Glad to know you, Judge," Baptiste returned warmly, grasping the proffered hand.

      "Be seated, be seated and make yourself comfortable; make yourself at home," he said, pushing forward the chair out of which Baptiste had risen. Agnes was smiling pleasantly. She could see that the two were going to become friends, for both were so frank in their demeanor.

      "Now, Aggie, you must prepare supper for Mr. Baptiste and myself," he said, taking hold of her arm.

      "Oh, no," disdained Baptiste. "Don't think of it!"

      "Now, now, my worthy friend," admonished Stewart, and then stopped. "Why—you have met my daughter?"

      "Yes, we have met," they spoke in the same breath, exchanging glances.

      "Then, while you fix us something good to eat, we will discuss our business."

      They found no difficulty in reaching a bargain in regard to Bill, the bargain being that Bill was to board home and sleep there also; and the consideration was to be one dollar per day, and by the time this was completed, Agnes called them to supper.

      "This is an unexpected pleasure, even though it be an intrusion," said Baptiste as he was gently urged into a seat.

      "Ah-ha, and I see you have a sense of humor," whereupon Jack Stewart's eyes glistened humorously behind the old style glasses he wore. Baptiste colored unseen, while Agnes regarded him smilingly.

      "We haven't much, but what is here you are welcome to," she said.

      "It's a feast," said he.

      "About as good as baching, anyhow," joined Stewart.

      "Hush!"

      "How do you like it?"

      "Didn't I say hush? That should be sufficient!" Agnes took a seat and surveyed the table carefully to see that all was there. Her father was pious. He blessed the table, and when this was over, fell to eating with his knife.

      "By the way," cried Baptiste near the end of the meal. "Did you hear the news?"

      "What news," they asked in chorus.

      "The man dead in the well."

      "Is that so!" they exclaimed, shocked.

      He then told them in detail all about the finding of the body, and the opinion that it was a suicide. They listened with the usual awe and curiosity. But Jean Baptiste did not voice his suspicions, or tell them anything he knew. At a later hour he took his leave.

      And neither of the three realized then that the self-same tragedy linked strangely an after event in their lives. But when Jean Baptiste went over the hill to his sod house that stood on the claim, Jack Stewart went outside and walked around for almost an hour. He was thinking. Thinking of something he knew and had never told.

CHAPTER XIII

       Table of Contents

      THE COMING OF THE RAILROAD

      IT IS NOT likely that the people in the neighborhood of Dallas would have ever known any more than they did regarding A.M. Barr,