They passed a tar-paper house, with sagging window frames and gaping doors; behind it stretched small fields which had been cleared of stumps, but which were now grown up to the sparse June grass. Fences were broken and some of the posts had been burned as they stood. A man was plowing half a mile away; in another direction a pile of freshly pulled stumps smouldered.
"Jim's a money maker," Lucius volunteered. "You see, when Chief Pontiac got their damn sites they had to take a lot of this here plains from th' lumber company, so Jim takes it from th' comp'ny an' sells it out to suckers."
"I see."
"Yup. He's a sellin' fool, too! They come in an' starve out an' quit, an' it ain't long before he's sold th' place again."
"But over there"—pointing to the wheat, beside which grew young fruit trees and behind which spotted cattle grazed—"that looks good."
Again Lucius laughed in his superior manner and winked, as though he conferred a great favor by his familiarity.
"Sure, that's headquarters. That's what th' suckers see what can grow on light land. What they don't see is th' train loads of high-priced fertilizer Jim brings up, an' what they don't know is that he has a devil of a time to make a showin' in two or three fields even at that. If they ever get roads and schools in here, his sucker business 'll be better. An' you watch Jim! He'll get 'em!" He giggled.
The car rattled on. They passed a house close to the road where a man worked at a broken windmill.
"Sometimes, a fella fells sorry for th' suckers at that," admitted Lucius. He waved his hand and the man
