The County Assessor
valued the Swiggart ranch at the rate of _one_, and our domain at
_six_ dollars per acre. We owned two leagues of land, our
neighbours but half a section. Yet, in consequence of dry seasons and
low prices, we were hardly able to pay our bills, whereas the
Swiggarts confounded all laws of cause and effect by living in
comparative splendour and luxury.
"Uncle Jake believes that he stole our steers," continued Ajax,
puffing slowly at his pipe.
Some two years before we had lost fifteen fat steers. We had employed
Laban to look for them, and he had charged us thirty dollars for
labours that were in vain.
"Ajax," said I, "we have eaten the Swiggarts' salt, not to mention
their fatted chicks, their pickled peaches, their jams and jellies.
It's an outrage to insinuate, as you do, that these kind neighbours
are common thieves."
My brother looked quite distressed. "Of course Mrs. Swiggart can know
nothing about it. She is a real good sort; the best wife and mother in
the county. And I'm only quoting Uncle Jake. He says that fifteen
steers at $30 a head make $450. Laban built a barn that spring, and
put up a tank and windmill.
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