Besides, was this mass
of heavy mining plant worth transportation? If it was, why had not
the rightful owners carted it away? If it was, would they not
preserve their title to these movables, even after they had lost
their title to the mine? And if it were not, what the better was
Rufe? Nothing would grow at Silverado; there was even no wood to
cut; beyond a sense of property, there was nothing to be gained.
Lastly, was it at all credible that Ronalds would forget what Rufe
remembered? The days of grace were not yet over: any fine morning
he might appear, paper in hand, and enter for another year on his
inheritance. However, it was none of my business; all seemed
legal; Rufe or Ronalds, all was one to me.
On the morning of the 27th, Mrs. Hanson appeared with the milk as
usual, in her sun-bonnet. The time would be out on Tuesday, she
reminded us, and bade me be in readiness to play my part, though I
had no idea what it was to be. And suppose Ronalds came? we asked.
She received the idea with derision, laughing aloud with all her
fine teeth. He could not find the mine to save his life, it
appeared, without Rufe to guide him. Last year, when he came, they
heard him "up and down the road a hollerin' and a raisin' Cain."
And at last he had to come to the Hansons in despair, and bid Rufe,
"Jump into your pants and shoes, and show me where this old mine
is, anyway!" Seeing that Ronalds had laid out so much money in the
spot, and that a beaten road led right up to the bottom of the
clump, I thought this a remarkable example.
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