There was
lead in every cabin, moulded into balls for him; many of his brothers
had enriched the grass with their blood. The fault of it all lay far
back.
When the state was young, she felt the need of attracting newcomers,
and of rewarding those pioneers already within her borders. Year
after year she issued land scrip--Headrights, Bounties, Veteran
Donations, Confederates; and to railroads, irrigation companies,
colonies, and tillers of the soil galore. All required of the grantee
was that he or it should have the scrip properly surveyed upon the
public domain by the county or district surveyor, and the land thus
appropriated became the property of him or it, or his or its heirs and
assigns, forever.
In those days--and here is where the trouble began--the state's
domain was practically inexhaustible, and the old surveyors, with
princely--yea, even Western American--liberality, gave good
measure and over-flowing. Often the jovial man of metes and bounds
would dispense altogether with the tripod and chain. Mounted on a pony
that could cover something near a "vara" at a step, with a pocket
compass to direct his course, he would trot out a survey by counting
the beat of his pony's hoofs, mark his corners, and write out his
field notes with the complacency produced by an act of duty well
performed.
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