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Biggs and his companion came out of the door with Brimstead. "We will take the niggers to the river and put them on a boat," Biggs was saying. His face and shirt and bosom were smeared with blood. He asked Mrs. Brimstead for a basin of water and a towel. The good woman took him to the washstand and supplied his needs.
"We must be off if we are to get there before dark," the young statesman declared. They saddled their horses and mounted and rode up to the door. After their acknowledgments and farewells Brimstead came close to Samson and said in confidence: "I enjoy bein' a millionaire for a few minutes now an' then. It's as good as goin' to a circus an' cheaper."
"I guess it was one that the others picked up on the road." They set out across the sown fields, while Brimstead, in his most divulging mood, confided many secrets to the young man. Suddenly he asked: "Say, did you take partic'lar notice o' that yaller nigger?" "I didn't see much of him."
"Look here-that's downright selfish," said his wife, "If we tried to keep you here Henry Brimstead would never forgive us. He talks about you morning, noon and night. Any one would think that you was the Samson that slew the Philistines." "How is Henry?" Samson asked. "He married my sister and they're about as happy as they can be this side the river Jordan," she went on.
The long story of those years of separation was told as they rode along. Biggs had been killed in a drunken brawl at Alton. Davis had gone to the far West a thoroughly discredited man. Henry Brimstead had got his new plow on the market and was prospering beyond all his hopes. Eli had become a merchant of unusual ability and vision.
"They are the teeth of my city," said Brimstead in a low voice. "I've drawed 'em out. They ain't goin' to bite me no more." "They are the towers and steeples of El Dorado," Samson laughed. "Have any of the notes been paid?" "Not one and I can't get a word from my broker about the men who drew the notes who they are or where they are."
We was all crazy to go West an' here we are. If it wasn't for the deer an' the fish I guess we'd 'a' starved to death long ago." "Where did ye come from?" "Orwell, Vermont." "What's yer name?" "Henry Brimstead," the stranger whispered. "Son of Elijah Brimstead?" "Yes, sir." Samson took his hand and shook it warmly. "Well, I declare!" he exclaimed. "Elijah Brimstead was a friend o' my father."
"A team of healthy snails would get here soouer," Samson insisted. "El Dorado can make out with a canal to Lake Michigan, carrying its manufactures and the product of the surrounding country straight to the big cities of the East," said Brimstead. "Every corner lot in my city has been sold and paid for, half cash and half notes." "The brokers in Chicago got the cash and you got the notes?"
Brimstead leaned close to the ear of Samson and said in a low tone: "Say, everything knew how to jump there. I had a garden that could hop over the fence and back ag'in. Sometimes it was there and sometimes it was off on a vacation. I jumped as soon as I got the chance." "We call it No Santa Claus Land," said Samson. "Do ye remember how the little girl clung to the wagon?"
"Harry had better look out," said Mrs. Brimstead. "Abe is going to get a divorce for her an' I guess from now on the grass won't have a chance to grow under Harry's feet. The boy has worried a good deal lately. Wouldn't wonder if he'd heard o' those rich fellers but he hasn't let on about it."
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