“Nice outfit,” said he.  “Good start for a young fellow; and let me give you a word of advice.  Settle in Monterey County, as close to Monterey Centre as you can get.  People that drive through, hunting for the earthly paradise, are making a great mistake; for this is the garden spot of the garden of the world.  This is practically, and will without a shadow of doubt be permanently the county-seat of the best county in Iowa, and that means the best in the known world.  We are just the right distance from the river to make this the location of the best town in the state, and probably eventually the state capital.  Land will increase in value by leaps and bounds.  No stumps, no stones, just the right amount of rainfall—­the garden spot of the West, Mr. Vandemark, the garden spot—­”

“This boy,” said Pitt Bushyager, “has land already entered.  I told him you’d be able to show it to him.”

“Land already entered?” he queried.  “I don’t seem to remember the name of Vandemark on the records.  Sure it’s in this county?”

I went back to the little flat package in the iron-bound trunk, found my deed, and gave it to him.  He examined it closely.

“Not recorded,” said he.  “Out near Hell Slew, somewhere.  Better let me take you over to the recorder’s office, and have him send it in for record.  Name of John Rucker on the records.  I think the taxes haven’t been paid for a couple of years.  Better have him send and get a statement.  I’ll take you to the land.  That’s my business—­guarantee it’s the right place, find the corners, and put you right as a trivet all for twenty-five dollars.”

“To-day?” I asked.  “I want to get to breaking.”

“Start as soon as we get through here,” said he as we entered the little board shack which bore the sign, “County Offices.”  “No time to lose if you’re going to plant anything this year.  Le’me have that deed.  This is Mr. Vandemark, Bill.”

I don’t remember what “Bill’s” full name was, for he went back to the other county as soon as the government of Monterey was settled.  He took my deed, wrote a memorandum of filing on the back of it, and tossed it into a basket as if it amounted to nothing, after giving me a receipt for it.  Henderson L. had some trouble to get me to leave the deed, and the men about the little substitute for a court-house thought it mighty funny, I guess; but I never could see anything funny about being prudent.  Then he got his horse, hitched to a buckboard buggy, and wanted me to ride out to the land with him; but I would not leave my cows and outfit.  Henderson L. said he couldn’t bother to wait for cows; but when he saw my shotgun, and the twenty-five dollars which I offered him, he said if I would furnish the gun and ammunition he would kill time along the road, so that the whole outfit could be kept together.  He even waited while I dickered with Jim Boyd for a breaking plow, which I admitted I should need the first thing, as soon as Jim mentioned it to me[10].