Colonel Gideon Ward. Estate wasn't
divided when the old man Ward died, and since we've been married I've
had power of attorney from my wife to represent her." His jaw-muscles
ridged under his gray beard, and his eyes narrowed in angry
reminiscence.

"We've had two annual settlements, me and her brother. First time
'twas a free fight--next time 'twas a riot--third time, well, if
there had been a third time I'd have killed him. So I saved myself
from State Prison by dividin' accordin' to the map, and then I sent
Crowther up to look the property over. There ain't no secret. You
sit down, Hiram."

"Considerin' the man, I should think you'd have done your lookin'
over before you divided," suggested the showman. He scented doleful
possibilities in Mr. Crowther's mien.

"If I'd done business with him fifteen minutes longer by the clock
I'd have been in prison now for murder--and it would have been a
bloody murder at that," blurted the Cap'n. "It had to be over and
done with short and sharp. He took half. I took half. Passed papers.
He got away just before I lost control of myself. Narrowest escape
I ever had. All I know about the part I've got is that it's well wooded
and well watered."

"It is," agreed Mr. Crowther, despondently. "It's the part where the
big reservoir dam flows back for most twenty miles. You can sail all
over it in a bo't, and cut toothpicks from the tops of the
second-growth birch. He collected all the flowage damages. He's
lumbered the rest of your half till there ain't northin' there but
hoop poles and battens. All the standin' timber wuth anything is on
his half. I wouldn't swap a brimstun' dump in Tophet for your half."

"How in the devil did you ever let yourself get trimmed that way?"
demanded Hiram. "It's all right for ten-year-old boys to swap
jack-knives, sight unseen, but how a man grown would do a thing like
you done I don't understand."

"Nor I," agreed the Cap'n, gloomily. "I reckon about all I was
thinkin' of was lettin' him get away before I had blood on my hands.
I'm afraid of my own self sometimes. And it's bad in the family when
you kill a brother-in-law. I took half. He took half. Bein' a
sailorman, I reckoned that land was land, acre for acre."

"The only man I ever heard of as bein' done wuss," continued Mr.
Crowther, "was a city feller that bought a quarter section of
township 'Leven for a game-preserve, and found when he got up there
that it was made up of Misery Bog and the