Publisher's Synopsis
For a moment there was silence in the cross-roads store; then a lank, mud-splashed native arose from behind the stove, shoving his scarred hands deep into the ragged pockets of his trousers. "Young man," he said, harshly, "there's a few things you can't buy; you may think you can buy 'em-you may pay for 'em, too-but they can't be bought an' sold. You thought you bought Grier's tract; you thought you bought a lot o' deer an' birds an' fish, several thousand acres in timber, and a dozen lakes. An' you paid for 'em, too. But, sonny, you was took in; you paid for 'em, but you didn't buy 'em, because Grier couldn't sell God's free critters. He fooled ye that time." "Is that the way you regard it, Santry?" asked Burleson. "Is that the way these people regard private property?" "I guess it is," replied the ragged man, resuming his seat on the flour-barrel. "I cal'late the Lord A'mighty fashioned His wild critters f'r to peramble round about, offerin' a fair mark an' no favor to them that's smart enough to git 'em with buck, bird-shot, or bullet. Live wild critters ain't for sale; they never was made to buy an' sell. The spryest gits 'em-an' that's all about it, I guess, Mister Burleson." A hard-faced young man leaning against the counter, added significantly: "We talked some to Grier, an' he sold out. He come here, too, just like you." The covert menace set two spots of color deepening in young Burleson's lean cheeks; but he answered calmly: "What a man believes to be his own he seldom abandons from fear of threats." "That's kinder like our case," observed old man Santry, chewing vigorously.
