Indignation was in every fiber of Hardy’s gaunt frame.  He was losing his temper, and he was wise enough to know that that would never do.  The unforgivable sin was to lose control of oneself.  He must hold on to his voice, his movements; but a nest of hornets, under attack, could not have been angrier.  “I protest!” he said, as calmly as he could.  “Here I been settin’ around waitin’ for this place for five years!  You can’t come here an’ take it away from me like this!  No, sir, I won’t have it!”

“Look here,” Gilbert stepped in and said.  “You’re getting your money!  What are you boiling about?”

“Red” had been listening attentively.  He came close to Gilbert now, and said, “He wants the place.  Didn’t he just say so?”

“The place?” Gilbert repeated.  “What the devil does he want the place for?”

Pell was growing impatient.  There was too much quibbling.  “We’re losing time.  Come on, let’s get things settled.”

Jones, however, was not to be hurried.  “But I want to know why he wants this place so much.”  His suspicions were thoroughly aroused.

No one had observed Uncle Henry, who had silently wheeled his chair about until he got to the table, where Pell had left his satchel long ago.  Like a curious old woman he now picked it up, brazenly opened it, and exclaimed: 

“Hey!  What the Sam Hill!” and backed away; but not until he had dipped his hands into the bag.

“What’s the matter?” Gilbert asked, turning.

“It’s full o’ dirt!  Just dirt!” Uncle Henry cried, and glanced about to see the effect of his surprising information.

“Dirt?” Gilbert said, not understanding.

“Yes, look!” And the old man pointed to the bag.

“But whose bag is it?” Gilbert persisted.

Uncle Henry lifted a thin finger and directed it to Pell.  “His’n!” he said.

But Gilbert was still in a daze.

“But what in the world could anybody be taking specimens of the soil around here for?” he inquired, and then began to think.

“Just to show the character of the ground, to see what will grow best,” Pell hastened to explain.

“But it won’t grow nothin’—­not even rocks, an’ you know it,” the occupant of the wheel chair said.  Then a new thought came to him, and he shot out, “By golly, I got it!  He’s an oil man, ain’t he?”

Pell, furious, cried, “Oh, shut up!  You old busybody!”

“He wants to buy this ranch because there’s oil here!” Uncle Henry went on, not dismayed in the least at the other’s insult.

“Bah!” Pell scornfully ejaculated.

Gilbert’s face was a study.  His eyes went from one to another in the room.  “Oil?” he said.  “Oil?”

“Yes, an’ that’s why he wants it, too!” cried Uncle Henry, pointing to Hardy this time, “The big skin!”

Pell took up the satchel—­the little bag that had caused such a big sensation—­and walked over to Uncle Henry’s chair.