Samson hired horses for the journey and set out early next morning with his son, Josiah, bound for the new city.  The boy had begged to go and both Samson and Sarah thought it would be good for him to take a better look at Illinois than his geography afforded.

“Joe is a good boy,” his mother said as she embraced him.  He was, indeed, a gentle-hearted, willing-handed, brown-eyed youth who had been a great help to his father.  Every winter morning he and Betsey had done the chores and ridden on the back of Colonel to Mentor Graham’s school where they had made excellent progress.

Joe and his father set out on a cold clear morning in February.  They got to Brimstead’s in time for dinner.

“How d’y do?” Samson shouted as Henry came to the door.

“Better!” the latter answered.  He put his hand on, Samson’s pommel and said in a confidential toner “El Dorado was one of the wickedest cities in history.  It was like Tyre and Babylon.  It robbed me.  Look at that pile of stakes.”

Samson saw a long cord of stakes along the road in the edge of the meadow.

“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.”

“I’m going to Chicago and if you wish I’ll try to find him and see what he says.”

“That’s just what I wish,” said Brimstead.  “His name is Lionel Davis.  His address is 14 South Water Street.  He put the opium in our pipes here in Tazewell County.  It was his favorite county.  He spent two days with us here.  I sold him all the land I had on the river shore and he gave me his note for it.”

“If you’ll let me take the note I’ll see what can be done to get the money,” Samson answered.

“Say, I’ll tell ye,” Brimstead went on.  “It’s for five thousand dollars and I don’t suppose it’s worth the paper it was wrote on.  You take it and if you find it’s no good you lose it just as careful as you can.  I don’t want to see it again.  Come into the house.  The woman is making a johnny-cake and fryin’ some sausage.”

They had a happy half-hour at the table, Mrs. Brimstead being in better spirits since her husband had got back to his farming.  Annabel, her form filling with the grace and charm of womanhood, was there and more comely than ever.

They had been speaking of Jack Kelso’s death.

“I heard him say once that when he saw a beautiful young face it reminded him of noble singing and the odor of growing corn,” said Samson.

“I’d rather see the face,” Joe remarked, whereupon they all laughed and the boy blushed to the roots of his blond hair.

“He’s become a man of good judgment,” said Brimstead.