"A piece of wild, raw land such as that I could not estimate it as being so valuable."

"M-m. Have you any knowledge of what land has brought in that neighborhood, Reverend. You see, value is a very delicate thing to estimate. We cannot always be the judge in such matters. The usual estimate of what anything is worth is what some one is willing to pay. Do you recall of having ever heard your daughter or any one say what deeded land in that section sold for?"

"Well, I have heard my daughter say that a place near there had brought five thousand dollars."

"Which would not compare with the value you put on the place your daughter held."

"It would not seem to."

"M-m. You say this was your daughter's place entirely?"

"It was," returned the Reverend promptly.

"And she paid for it out of her own money?"

"Well, no. She did not."

"I see. M-m. Then who purchased it for her, Reverend?"

"I think he did that. Yes, I think he did."

"I see. Do you recall the consideration. I understand that he purchased what is called a relinquishment. I understand such transactions slightly. I have read of such deals in Oklahoma. Seems to be a sort of recognized custom in securing land in new countries, notwithstanding the subtlety of the transaction."

"I think he claimed to have paid two thousand dollars for the relinquishment, which I would consider too much, considerably too much."

"But, inasmuch as your knowledge of new countries has been brief, perhaps, you would not set your judgment up as a standard for values there," suggested the Bishop, pointedly. "You will grant that the individual in the controversy would likely be able to judge more correctly with regard to values?"

"It is obvious."

"Yes, yes. Quite likely." The Reverend was very uncomfortable. If the Bishop would only stop where he was it wouldn't be so bad, but if he kept on with such questions. That was what he had disliked about Jean Baptiste.... He had a habit of asking questions—too many questions, he had thought; but this man before him was the Bishop, a law unto himself. And he must answer. The Bishop knew a great deal more about the West than he had thought he did, however.

"Who bought your daughter's place, my dear Elder? A white man or a Negro? Which of course, doesn't matter, but if I understand all the details, it would be more clear, you understand."

"Of course, my dear Bishop. Naturally. A white man bought the place."

"I understand now. A white man," he repeated thoughtfully. During all the questioning, the Bishop had looked into the Reverend's eyes only occasionally. Most of the time he had kept his eyes upon the carpet before him, as if he were studying a spot thereon.

"It seems by the paper that the man, according to the accusations set forth in the complaint, had once contested the claim."