He talked on.  Slowly Bob came to an understanding of the man’s position.  His argument, stripped of its verbiage and self-illusion, was simplicity itself.  The public domain was for the people.  Men selected therefrom what they needed.  All about him, for fifty years, homesteads had been taken up quite frankly for the sake of timber.  Nobody made any objections.  Nobody even pretended that these claims were ever intended to be lived on.  The barest letter of the law had been complied with.

“I’ve seen a house, made out’n willow branches, and out’n coal-oil cans, called resident buildin’s under the act,” said Samuels, “and they was so lost in the woods that it needed a compass to find ’em.”

He, Samuels, on the other hand, had actually planted an orchard and made improvements, and even lived on the place for a time.  Then he had let the claim lapse, and only recently had decided to resume what he sincerely believed to be his rights in the matter.

Bob did not at any point suggest any of the counter arguments he might very well have used.  He listened, leaning back against the rail, watching the moonlight drop log by log as the luminary rose above the verandah roof.

“And so there come along last week a ranger and started to tack up a sign bold as brass that read:  ‘Property of the United States.’  Property of hell!”

He ceased talking.  Bob said nothing.

“Now you got it; what you think?” asked the old man at last.

“It’s tough luck,” said Bob.  “There’s more to be said for your side of the case than I had thought.”

“There’s a lot more goin’ to be said yet,” stated Samuels, truculently.

“But I’m afraid when it comes right down to the law of it, they’ll decide against your claim.  The law reads pretty plain on how to go about it; and as I understand it, you never did prove up.”

“My lawyer says if I hang on here, they never can get me out,” said Samuels, “and I’m a-goin’ to hang on.”

“Well, of course, that’s for the courts to decide,” agreed Bob, “and I don’t claim to know much about law—­nor want to.”

“Me neither!” agreed the mountaineer fervently.

“But I’ve known of a dozen cases just like yours that went against the claimant.  There was the Brown case in Idaho, for instance, that was exactly like yours.  Brown had some money, and he fought it through up to the Supreme Court, but they decided against him.”

“How was that?” asked Samuels.

Bob explained at length, dispassionately, avoiding even the colour of argument, but drawing strongly the parallel.

“Even if you could afford it, I’m almighty afraid you’d run up against exactly the same thing,” Bob concluded, “and they’d certainly use the Brown case as a precedent.”

“Well, I’ve got money!” said Samuels.  “Don’t you forget it.  I don’t have to live in a place like this.  I’ve got a good, sawn-lumber house, painted, in Durham and a garden of posies.”