Dick went for the dried-up ink bottle while Saryann hunted for the pen.  Caleb’s hand trembled violently as he took the parchment, glanced carefully over it—­yes, this was it—­the thing that had made him a despised pauper.  He glanced around quickly.  Dick and Saryann were at the other end of the room.  He rose, took one step forward and stuffed the deed into the blazing fire.  Holding his revolver in his right hand and the poker in the left, he stood erect and firm, all sign of weakness gone; his eyes were ablaze, and with voice of stern command he hissed “Stand back!” And pointed the pistol as he saw Dick rushing to rescue the deed.  In a few seconds it was wholly consumed, and with that, as all knew, the last claim of the Pogues on the property, for Caleb’s own possessory was safe in a vault at Downey’s.

“Now,” thundered Caleb, “you dirty paupers, get out of my house!  Get off my land, and don’t you dare touch a thing belonging to me.”

He raised his voice in a long “halloo” and rapped three times on the table.  Steps were heard outside.  Then in came Raften with two men.

“Magistrate Raften, clear my house of them interlopers, if ye please.”

Caleb gave them a few minutes to gather up their own clothes, then they set out on foot for Downey’s, wild with helpless rage, penniless wanderers in the world, as they had meant to leave old Caleb.

Now he was in possession of his own again, once more comfortably “fixed.”  After the men had had their rough congratulations and uproarious laughter over the success of the trick, Raften led up to the question of money, then left a blank, wondering what Caleb would do.  The good old soul pulled out the wad.

“There it is, Bill.  I hain’t even counted it, and a thousand times obliged.  If ever you need a friend, call on me.”

Raften chuckled, counted the greenbacks and said “All right!” and to this day Caleb doesn’t know that the fortune he held in his hand that day was nothing but a lot of worthless paper.

A week later, as the old Trapper sat alone getting his evening meal, there was a light rap at the door.

“Come in.”

A woman entered.  Turk had sprung up growling, but now wagged his tail, and when she lifted a veil Caleb recognized Saryann.

“What do you want?” he demanded savagely.

“’Twasn’t my doing, father; you know it wasn’t; and now he’s left me for good.”  She told him her sorrowful story briefly.  Dick had not courted Saryann, but the farm, and now that that was gone he had no further use for her.  He had been leading a bad life, “far worse than any one knew,” and now he had plainly told her he was done with her.

Caleb’s hot anger never lasted more than five minutes.  He must have felt that her story was true, for the order of former days was reestablished, and with Saryann for housekeeper the old man had a comfortable home to the end of his days.