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Updated: May 11, 2025
Say, I'll tell ye," Brimstead came close to Harry and added in a low tone: "If Biggs tries any fightin' business with Collar he'll git killed sure. That man loves excitement. He don't take no nonsense at all, and he can put a bullet into a gimlet hole at ten rods." They had their swim in the creek and got back to the house at dinner time.
Brimstead expressed his private opinion in a clearly audible whisper: "Say, that kind o' protection is better'n none. A humly boy don't git tramped on an' nibbled too much." Annabel and Harry sat in a corner playing checkers. They seemed to be much impressed by the opinion of Mr. Brimstead. For a moment their game was forgotten. "That boy has a way with the gals," Samson laughed.
"Good land o' Goshen! How did you get here?" Samson asked. Brimstead answered: "Through the help of a feller that looks like you an' the grit of a pair o' hosses. Come down this road early in September on my way to the land o' plenty. Found Peasley here. Couldn't help it. Saw his name on the barn. Used to go to school with him in Orwell.
"You are standing at the corner of Grand Avenue and Empire Street, in the growing city of El Dorado, near the great water highway of Illinois," Brimstead declaimed. "Where's the growin'?" Samson demanded. Brimstead came closer and said in a confidential tone: "If you stand right where you are an' listen, you'll hear it growin'."
Sarah exclaimed, with a look of pity. They had a good dinner of fresh biscuit and honey and venison and eggs and tea. While they were eating Samson told Brimstead of the land of plenty. After dinner, while Brimstead was bringing the team, one of his children, the blonde, pale, tattered little girl of six, climbed into the wagon seat and sat holding a small rag doll, which Sarah had given her.
He hit so hard the boards bent and the whole barn roared and trembled. The other feller tried to get his pistol out of its holster, but Brimstead, who stood beside him, grabbed it, and I got his hoss by the bits and, we both held on. The young feller lay on the ground shakin' as if he had the ague. Ye never see a man so spylt in a second. Traylor picked him up.
In the middle of the afternoon they came in sight of the home of Henry Brimstead. "Here's where we stop and feed, and listen to Henry's secrets," said Samson. The level fields were cut into squares outlined by wooden stakes. Brimstead was mowing the grass in his dooryard. He dropped his scythe and came to welcome the travelers.
"That same railroad has been expected in a thousand places since '32," said Samson. "I know, it's the most expected thing in the United States but that won't scare it away," Brimstead went on. "Everybody is yellin' for it." "You can't call a railroad as you would a dog by whistling," Abe warned him. "But it's got beyond Buffalo on its way," said Brimstead.
"Who is that big sucker who grabbed my friend?" the stranger asked Brimstead. "His name is Samson Traylor. Comes from Vermont," was the answer. "He's the dog-gonedest steam engyne of a man I ever see, 'pon my word," said the stranger. "An' he's about the gentlest, womern hearted critter that ever drawed the breath o' life," said Brimstead. "If he don't look out 'Liph Biggs'll kill him certain."
A brain that has treated its owner as shameful as mine has treated me should be compelled to do its own thinkin' er die. I've invented some things that may sell. I've been hopin' my luck would turn." "It'll turn when you turn it," Samson assured him. Brimstead thoughtfully scuffed the sand with his bare foot.
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