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"This is our land!" exclaimed one of what seemed to be the man’s sons.

"My friend Jenkins was here first—" began Mr. Bush.

"This whole country!" shouted the young man. "We been lookin’ at this whole country for years, watchin’ the government hold it for them d— Indians, and then they open it to us one day and you Yankees come and git it the next."

Another one called out, "We know they pay you a hundred dollars a head to come out here and vote the black abolitionist ticket! Should of stayed in your own d— part of the country! You never cared about this country till you found out there was gonna be slaves here. What I think is, you don’t want this country—you jest don’t want us to have it!"

Now Thomas spoke up. "If you live here, you’ll be surrounded on every side by people who hold views that are opposed to yours. How can you expect us to be neighborly after you stole our friend’s land? And what will it be like for you if you have no neighbors you can befriend?"

"Sir," shouted the old man, "look on these four boys! These are all the friends I need, and they are all the friends they themselves need!" He now fell silent, as if attributing to them the desire for neighborly relations was the reddest insult of all.

"I repeat," said Mr. Bush, "we are willing to buy you out, with as much over as we can afford to repay your labor and your trouble—"

"There are settlements not far from here that you would find more congen—"

The old man shot his rifle into the air. Frank reached around and picked up his. The other horses spooked, but not Jeremiah, and everyone stood absolutely still in anticipation of the shooting to come. The old man said, "We’re talkin’ too much here. When I say no, it makes me mad to keep talkin’. You men keep talkin’, and now I am mad."

There was a long silence. Once again, it appeared, all parties were finally reluctant to level at one another the weapons they all had with them. The leaves on the trees, which were still green but had begun to dry, rattled suggestively in the breeze. Finally Mr. Jenkins said, bravely, I thought, "Well, we aren’t finished talking. I’ve got more to say, but perhaps it is best said another day."

I was being quiet, but I was not being quiet enough, because the next moment, two of the Missourians looked in our direction, and then our men turned around to look, too. Not wishing to seem furtive, I urged Jeremiah out of the copse he was standing in and walked him toward the others. I was conscious that I was strangely dressed, and surely Thomas and all the others recognized me, but no one laughed or even betrayed amusement. Jeremiah’s hooves made the only sound, of snapping underbrush. Frank stayed where he was. I noticed that the Missouri boy was whispering to his brother, and then he suddenly called out, "Whooie! Lazarus!" Jeremiah’s ears swiveled forward inquisitively. Then the boy said, "That’s Lazarus! I know that gray horse!" I came up to our men and reined Jeremiah in. I tried to act as if I had heard nothing.

The old man said, "Henry White had some horses stolen a month ago, that’s true, and one was a gray horse with a white tail." They peered at Jeremiah suspiciously, and I made up my mind to back away if they tried to come any closer. Jeremiah betrayed no knowledge of them, but then he wasn’t a dog, and they weren’t claiming to be his owners, either. The old man called, "Son, you better get down from there and bring that horse over here so we can have a better look at him!"

It took me a moment to realize that they were talking to me. Thomas now spoke up and said, "I don’t believe that our two parties are on such terms as would permit my friend here"—he slightly emphasized the word "friend," and I felt that thing we shared, an enjoyment of oddities, pass between us—"to believe that you really do recognize this animal, especially since he has no particular distinguishing marks. Let’s allow that issue to rest for now."

"Those are fine words for a horse thief, is what I think," said the old man.

"Lazarus!" shouted