“Lydia,” he said, dropping into Amos’ chair and folding his big arms, “you know my tract of land—­the one I was going to buy from an Indian?  I paid young Lone Wolf a ten dollar option on it while I looked round to see how I could raise enough to pay him a fair price.  He’s only a kid of seventeen and stone blind from trachoma.  Well, yesterday I found that Marshall had bought it in.  Of course, I didn’t really think Lone Wolf knew what an option was, but Marshall and the Indian Agent and Levine and all the rest knew what I was trying to do, so I thought they’d keep their hands off.”

“What a shame!” exclaimed Lydia.

“Yes,” said Billy grimly, a certain tensity in his tones that made Lydia look at him more closely, “Yes, a shame.  The way Marshall did it was this.  He looked young Lone Wolf up and gave him a bag of candy.  The Indians are crazy for candy.  Then he told him to make his cross on a piece of paper.  That that was a receipt that he was to keep and if he’d show it at the store whenever he wanted candy, he’d have all he wanted, for nothing.  And he had two half-breeds witness it.  What Marshall had done was to get Lone Wolf to sign a warranty deed, giving Marshall his pine land.  The poor devil of an Indian didn’t know it till yesterday when he showed me his ‘receipt’ in great glee.  Of course, they’ll swear he’s a mixed blood.”

Lydia was speechless with disgust for a moment, then she burst out, “Oh, I wish that reservation had never been heard of!  It demoralizes every one who comes in contact with it.”

“Lydia,” said Billy, slowly, “I’m going to expose Marshall.”

“What do you mean?” Lydia looked a little frightened.

“I mean that I’m going to show up his crooked deals with the Indians.  I’m going to rip this reservation graft wide open.  I’m not going to touch an acre of the land myself so I can go in with clean hands and I’m not going to forget that I came pretty close to being a skunk, myself.”

“Oh, but, Billy!” cried Lydia.  “There’s John Levine and all our friends—­oh, you can’t do it!”

“Look here, Lydia,” Billy’s voice was stern, “are you for or against Indian graft?”

Lydia drew a long breath but was spared an immediate answer for there was a knock on the door and Kent came in, followed shortly by Professor Willis.

“Well,” said Kent, after Lydia had settled them all comfortably, “I just left Charlie Jackson—­poor old prune!”

“Oh, how is he?” asked Lydia eagerly, “and what is he doing?”

“He’s pretty seedy,” answered Kent.  “He’s been trying to keep the whites off the reservation by organizing the full bloods to stand against the half-breeds.  But after a year of trying he’s given up hope.  The full bloods are fatalists, you know, and Charlie has gone back to it himself.”

“Charlie Jackson is an old schoolmate of ours.”  Lydia turned to Willis and gave him a rapid sketch of Charlie’s life.  The Harvard man was deeply interested.