“Reformers are no good unless the rank and file of the people come to think the way they do,” said Bob.  “That’s why we’ve got to start by being good citizens ourselves, no matter what the next man would do.”

Samuels peered at him strangely, around the guttering candle.  Bob allowed him no time to express his thought.

“But to get back to your own case,” said he.  “What gets me is why you destroy your homestead right for a practical certainty.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why, I personally think it’s a certainty that you will be dispossessed here.  If you wait for the law to put you off, you’ll have no right to take up another homestead—­your right will be destroyed.”

“What good would a homestead right do me these days?” demanded Samuels.  “There’s nothing left.”

“New lands are thrown open constantly,” said Bob, “and it’s better, other things being equal, to have a right than to want it.  On the other hand, if you voluntarily relinquish this claim, your right to take up another homestead is still good.”

At the mention of relinquishment the old mountaineer shied like a colt.  With great patience Bob took up the other side of the question.  The elements of the problem were now all laid down—­patriotism, the certainty of ultimate loss, the advisability of striving to save rights, the desire to do one’s part toward bringing the land grabbers in line.  Remained only so to apply the pressure of all these cross-motives that they should finally bring the old man to the point of definite action.

Bob wrestled with the demons of selfishness, doubt, suspicion, pride, stubbornness, anger, acquisitiveness that swarmed in the old man’s spirit, as Christian with Apollyon.  The labour was as great.  At times, as he retraced once more and yet again ground already covered, his patience was overcome by a great weariness; almost the elemental obstinacy of the man wore him down.  Then his very soul clamoured within him with the desire to cut all this short, to cry out impatiently against the slow stupidity or mulishness, or avariciousness, or whatever it was, that permitted the old man to agree to every one of the premises, but to balk finally at the conclusion.  The night wore on.  Bob realized that it was now or never; that he must take advantage of this receptive mood a combination of skill and luck had gained for him.  The old man must be held to the point.  The candle burned out.  The room grew chill.  Samuels threw an armful of pitch pine on the smouldering logs of the fireplace that balanced the massive cook stove.  By its light the discussion went on.  The red flames reflected strangely from unexpected places, showing the oddest inconsequences.  Bob, at times, found himself drifting into noticing these things.  He stared for a moment hypnotically on the incongruous juxtaposition of a skillet and an ink bottle.  Then he roused himself with a start; for, although his tongue had continued saying what his brain had commanded it to say, the dynamics had gone from his utterance, and the old man was stirring restlessly as though about to bring the conference to a close.  Warned by this incident, he forced his whole powers to the front.  His head was getting tired, but he must continuously bring to bear against this dead opposition all the forces of his will.