"That was my first thought; but I consulted with Robert, and he was anxious to have me carry on the ranch with his help."
"A foolish plan!" he remarked. "Excuse me for saying so. Of course you, being a woman, are not competent to carry it on--"
"I have my son Robert to help me," said the widow.
"No; not a mere boy. His father's death and his affection for me have made a man of him at sixteen. He rises early every morning, goes to the fields, and superintends the farming operations. Peter, my head man, says that he is a remarkably smart boy, and understands the business about as well as a man."
"Still I predict that he'll bring you deeper in debt every year."
"I don't think so; but, at any rate, I have promised to try the experiment for one year. I can then tell better whether it will be wise to keep on or sell."
"Now, Mrs. Burton, I have a better plan to suggest."
"In fact, I have two plans. One is that you should sell me the ranch. You know I hold a mortgage on it for three thousand dollars?"
"I know it, Mr. Wolverton!" answered the widow, gravely.
"I'll give you three thousand dollars over and above, and then you will be rid of all care."
"Will you explain to me how Robert and I are going to live on the interest of three thousand dollars, Mr. Wolverton?"
"You'll get something, and if the boy runs the ranch you'll get nothing. He can earn his living, and I don't think you will suffer, even if you have only three thousand dollars."
"It is quite out of the question. Mr. Burton considered the ranch worth ten thousand dollars."
"A very ridiculous over-valuation--pardon me for saying so."
"There's another little circumstance I ought to mention," added Wolverton, nervously. "There is half a year's interest due on the mortgage. It was due on the very day of your husband's death."
"What do you mean, Mr. Wolverton?" she said. "My husband started for your office on the fatal morning of his death, carrying the money--one hundred and fifty dollars--to meet the interest. Do you mean to tell me that he did not pay it?"
"That is strange, very strange," stammered Aaron Wolverton, wiping his forehead with a bandana handkerchief. "What became of the money?"
"Do you mean to say that it was not paid to you?" asked the widow, sharply.