“Wot, you ain’t goin’ to-night, are you?” said the boy. “You’ll lose your ’omestead, hafter——”
“I’ll lose more if I don’t go. And I would have lost it, lost it all, if it had not been for you. God bless you, London! Stay and file on your homestead. I’ll not be wanting one at present. I’m thinking I will be unable to perform the residence duties for a while,” he added, with a bitter little laugh.
“But stay,” he continued. “Have you selected your land?”
“Yep. Just takin’ my chance with the rest o’ them. Hi’ve a list of the hopen lands ’ere, an’ Hi reckon to strike somethink——”
“Yes, you’ll strike a sand bed or an alkali mine. Here’s a list of four quarters I have looked over personally. They appear in the order of my preference. Take it, you’re welcome to it.”
There was a look of gratitude in the boy’s eyes which could find no expression in words. The two friends held each other’s hand a moment in a firm grasp, and then Burton hurried toward the station. He reached it just in time to buy a ticket and board his train.
Once in a car and seated, the lights of the city died out of view, and Burton was left to collect his thoughts. His sudden resolution to go to his trial regardless of consequences had left him bereft of any plan of campaign or any definite course of action. For months he had studied how he might evade the law, but now his only fear was that he might not reach Plainville in time to appear before the Court and receive his sentence. That he would be found guilty he took as a matter of course. He did not deceive himself with any hope of acquittal on any ground whatever. He was not going back to match himself against his fate; he was going back to accept his fate. He wondered how long his sentence would be. It might be one year, it might be five; it might be ten. That he supposed would depend in some degree upon the digestion of the judge, and whether his lordship might decide to make an example of him for the benefit of other evil-doers.
But he felt only a casual interest in these matters. To his great surprise neither judge, jury nor jail had any terror for him. He regarded them with an impersonal feeling of unconcern, except a desire to be done with all of them. He wondered if they would let him wear his own shirts in jail.