"That question," returned Thorne, "strikes me as a little superfluous, considering that he's an utterly unscrupulous, scoundrelly vampire. Still, I dare say you can forgive him a good deal for the sake of his appearance."
Mrs. Farquhar laughed.
"The last, I suppose, is after all his chief offense."
Alison saw that this shot had reached its mark by the way Thorne drew down his brows. The man, as she had heard, had a quick temper, but she was not displeased that he should obviously resent the fact that Nevis had spent half an hour in her company. Then, remembering that Winthrop was a friend of Thorne's, she felt a little guilty, and when later on they all sauntered out across the prairie, she drew him aside.
"There's something I think I should mention," she said. "I told Nevis that Miss Calvert was to have married Winthrop. He seemed unusually interested."
Thorne started and looked hard at her.
"What on earth made you do that?" he asked sharply. "Did he lead up to it?"
"No," replied Alison with some reluctance, "I don't think he did. So far as I can remember, I volunteered the information."
There was no doubt about the man's displeasure.
"He certainly would be interested, and I'm very much afraid you have made trouble. But you haven't told me why you did it."
"I spoke on the spur of the moment—without thinking."
"Without thinking clearly," Thorne corrected. "For all that, it's possible you had a kind of subconscious motive. You can't deny that you are prejudiced against Winthrop."
Alison was sensible of a certain relief, and she smiled at him. The man had shown some insight, but he had not gone quite far enough in his surmises, for it was not Winthrop but Lucy Calvert against whom she was prejudiced.
"What have I done?" she asked. "If it's any harm, I'm sorry."
Her companion's face relaxed. He never cherished his anger long.
"Well," he explained, "I'm afraid you have put Nevis on Winthrop's trail, though the thing's not certain. After all, it's possible that there's another reason for his interest."
"And that is?"
"He's a man with a weakness for pretty faces, which will probably get him into trouble by and by, though he's generally supposed to be a clever—philanderer. It'snot quite the thing to abuse any one you don't like when he's absent, but in spite of that I can't help saying that he's absolutely unprincipled and should be avoided by every self-respecting woman."
Again Alison smiled. He had spoken strongly, though he had carefully picked his words, and she had little difficulty in following the workings of his mind, which on the whole were amusing. He had meant the speech as a warning to her.
"I suppose Miss Calvert could be called good-looking?" she suggested.
"That," answered Thorne, with a trace of sharpness, "is not quite the point. She's a girl who has a good deal to contend with and is making a very plucky fight. Whether she's wise in being as fond of Winthrop as she seems to be is another matter; one that doesn't concern us. Anyway, she has difficulties enough without it. It's not easy for two women to make a living out of a farm of the kind they're running when it's burdened with a heavy debt."
Alison could forgive him a good deal for his chivalrous pity, though the fact that it was Lucy Calvert who had excited it still somewhat irritated her. It seemed, however, that he had a little more to say.
"In any case," he added, "I'm glad you told me."
Then he turned back toward the others and she had no opportunity for further speech with him. She noticed, however, that he seemed unusually thoughtful during the rest of the evening.
After breakfast the next morning Alison sat sewing in a thoughtful mood. She now genuinely regretted having given Nevis the information about Lucy Calvert, and in addition to this Thorne's reserve on the previous evening somewhat troubled her. He had not thought fit to tell her what he meant to do, but she was convinced that he would do something, and the most obvious course would be to warn Lucy against any attempt which Nevis might make to trace her lover. It was possible that the man might cunningly entrap her into some admission that would be of assistance to him. On the other hand, Alison realized that Thorne's task was not so simple as it appeared on the face of it. Though quick-witted, he was, she suspected, by no means subtle, and she supposed that he would find it difficult to put Lucy on her guard without betraying the part that she had played in the matter. She was quite sure that nothing would induce him to let this become apparent.
It was, however, necessary that Lucy should be warned as soon as possible, and Alison decided that as she was the one who had made the trouble it was she who should set it right. This would be only an act of justice, besides which it would give her an opportunity for forming a clearer opinion of Lucy than she had as yet been able to do. As the result of it all, she obtained Mrs. Farquhar's permission to visit the Calvert homestead, which was not very far away, during the afternoon.
In the meanwhile Nevis had been considering how he could best make use of the information she had supplied him, and his mind was still occupied with the question when he drove across the prairie that afternoon. It was a fiercely hot day, and the wide grassland, which had turned dusty white again, was flooded with dazzling light. The usual invigorating breeze was still, and Nevis's horse had fallen to a walk, pursued by a cloud of flies, when he made out the mail-carrier plodding slowly down the rut-marked trail in front of him. Nevis was quite aware that a prairie mail-carrier is usually more or less acquainted with the affairs of every farmer in the district he visits, and he pulled up when he overtook him.
"What's the matter with your horse?" he asked. "Isn't it stipulated that you should keep one?"
"That's so," assented the man. "The trouble is that you can't get a horse that won't go lame on a round like this. I had to leave him at Stretton's an hour ago."
"Going far?" Nevis asked.
"Round by Mrs. Calvert's to the ravine."
Nevis decided that he was fortunate, but he carefully concealed any sign of satisfaction.
"I can give you a lift as far as the first place, if you like to get in."
The man was glad to do so, and Nevis presently handed him a cigar.
"Do you get letters for all the farms every round?"
"No," replied his companion; "I'm quite glad I don't; guess I'd use up two horses if I did. It saves me a league or two when I can cut out some of my visits."
"Yes," agreed Nevis, who had a purpose in pursuing the topic. "One can understand that. It's the people back from the trail who will give you most trouble. It must be a morning's ride to Boyton's or Walthew's; and Mrs. Calvert's is almost as much off your round. Do you have to go there often?"
The question was asked casually, with no show of interest, and the mail-carrier evidently suspected nothing.
"Most every trip the last few weeks," he replied.
Nevis felt that the scent was getting hot. He made a sign of sympathy.
"That's rough on you; anyway, if you have to pack out any weight," he said. "Some of these people get a good many implement catalogues and circulars from Winnipeg, no doubt?"
"In Mrs. Calvert's case it's one blamed letter takes me most a league off the trail."
Nevis asked no more questions; they did not seem necessary. He had discovered that somebody wrote to Mrs. Calvert or her daughter once a week, and he had no trouble in deciding who it must be. He also remembered that letters bore postmarks, and he had a strong desire to ascertain where Winthrop was then located.
"If you like, I'll hand that letter in," he offered. "I'm calling on Mrs. Calvert anyway, and you can go straight to the next place if you give it to me."
The man hesitated a moment, and then shook his head.
"I'm sorry it can't be done," he said. "It's safer to stick to the regulations, and then if you have any trouble nobody can turn round on you."
Nevis was too wise to urge the point, though hemeant, if it could by any means be managed, to get the letter into his hands.
"Well," he assented, "I guess you're right in that."
They drove on to the Calvert homestead, which was rudely built of birch logs sawed in a neighboring bluff, and Nevis sprang down first when an elderly woman with a careworn face appeared in the doorway. The mail-carrier, who followed him more slowly, stood still a moment fumbling in his bag until the woman spoke to him.
"Got something to-day, Steve?"
"I've got it all right," was the answer. "Letter for Lucy. The trouble is to find the thing."
Nevis, standing nearer the house, waited until the man took out an envelope. Then he stretched out his hand, as though willing to save him the trouble of walking up to the door, but the mail-carrier either did not notice the action or was too punctilious in the execution of his duty to deliver the letter to him.
"Here it is, Mrs. Calvert," he said. "Thank you, Mr. Nevis."
He strode away and Nevis turned to the woman with a smile.
"May I come in?" he asked. "I'll leave the horse here; he'll stand quietly."
Mrs. Calvert made no objections, though he noticed that she laid the envelope on a table across the room when he sat down.
"It's two or three years since I was in this house," he began.
"Three," corrected the woman.
"I suppose it is," acknowledged Nevis, who seemed to reflect. "I got on with your husband pleasantly, andI'm sorry in several ways that our connection has been broken off. I don't think the thing was any fault of mine."
Mrs. Calvert did not answer at once. Winthrop was not a great favorite of hers, and although she had made no attempt to turn Lucy against him she had on the other hand not altogether sympathized with the latter's views concerning her present visitor. She remembered that her husband had liked the man, and there was no doubt that the goods he supplied were of excellent quality. Nevis was certainly not scrupulous, and he had treated some of those who dealt with him with harshness, but he at least never descended to any petty trickery over the sale of a machine. For one thing, he was too clever; he recognized that it was not worth his while.
"Well," he added, "I don't like for old friends to leave me, and I decided to look you up again. Will you want a new binder or a back-set plow this fall?"
"We'll want a binder," answered his hostess, who was a woman of somewhat yielding nature. "Still, I guess we'll get it from Grantly."
"His things are good enough, though he stands out for the top price," responded Nevis, who was too wise to disparage openly a rival's goods. "Just now, however, I'm rather loaded up, and the orders aren't coming along, so I'm making a special cut. I'll knock an extra four dollars off the list figure for the binder, and wait for the money until you have hauled in your wheat."
Nobody would have suspected that he did not care in the least whether he secured the order or not, or that he had long ago decided that any business he was likely to do with the woman was not worth his attention. She, however, appeared to consider the offer.
"It's cheap, and that's a fact," she said. "It's most a pity I can't buy the thing from you."
"I suppose that trouble over Winthrop has turned Miss Calvert against me?"
"You have got it," was the answer. "Lucy's mad with you. She runs this place, and she deals with Grantly."
This was the lead Nevis had been waiting for, and he seized upon it.
"If she's about, I'd like a talk with her. I might reason her out of her prejudice against me."
"It wouldn't be easy. She drove over to the bluff, but she should be back at any time now."
Nevis had no particular desire to see Miss Calvert, but he had made up his mind to wait for an opportunity to examine the postmark on the letter, if it could be managed. Taking a catalogue out of his pocket, he proceeded to talk about the machines and implements described in it, until at length there was a rattle of wheels outside and, somewhat to his astonishment, Alison walked in. He rose when she greeted Mrs. Calvert, and noticed that there was something which suggested hostility in her eyes when for a moment she let them rest on him.
"Farquhar's hired man brought me; he's going to Bagshaw's place," she announced. "I came over to see Lucy, but she seems to be out."
Mrs. Calvert asked her to wait a little, and when she was seated Nevis sat down again. Alison, however, noticed that he had now moved to another chair which was nearer the table than the one he had previously occupied, and she wondered whether he could have had any particular motive for changing his place. Then, leaning one elbow on the table, she looked around the room.
There was only one window in it, for even with double casements it is difficult enough to keep a small prairie homestead warm in winter, and the place was somewhat shadowy. The log walls were uncovered, and she could see the chinking of moss and clay which had been driven into the crevices in them; and there was, as usual, nothing on the very roughly boarded floor. One bright ray of sunshine, however, streamed in, and fell dazzlingly across the table, upon which an apparently unopened letter lay. The white envelope which caught the light seized her attention, and she remembered that the mail-carrier visited the district that day. As Lucy Calvert was not in, it was reasonable to suppose that the letter was addressed to her, which would explain why her mother had not opened it, and this supposition carried her a little farther. The most likely person to write to the girl was her lover, and Alison was almost sure that it was a man who had inscribed the address on the envelope. By and by she saw Nevis glance at the square of paper in what did not appear to be an altogether casual fashion, and the half-formed idea in her mind grew into definite shape. There was a reason why he should be interested in the letter, and she decided to sit him out. She opened a conversation with Mrs. Calvert, and some time had slipped away when a distant rattle of wheels rose out of the prairie. Nevis, rising, addressed his hostess.
"I guess that's Miss Calvert, and as there's a point or two about our binder which I believe I forgot to mention, I'd like to explain the thing before she turns up," he said. "I want to get on again as soon as possible after I've had a word with her. No doubt Miss Leigh will excuse us for a minute."
He moved forward toward the table with what appeared to be a photograph of some harvesting machinery in his hand, and as he did so Alison, who remembered that they had been laughing and speaking rather loudly during the last three or four minutes, fancied she heard a footstep outside the open window. She was, however, not quite sure of this, and she watched the man with every sense strung up as he approached her hostess. It struck her that his object was to get near enough to see the writing or the postmark on the envelope, which would probably be impossible after Lucy arrived.
Leaning forward a little, she rested one arm farther on the table, which was covered with a light cloth, and drew the latter toward her with a slight movement of her elbow until a wider strip of it overhung the edge. She could not warn her hostess in the hearing of the man, when she had only suspicion to act on, but she was determined that he should not discover Winthrop's whereabouts if she could help it. Nevis's eyes, as she noticed, were fixed on the envelope, but he was evidently still too far off to read the postmark, and she waited another moment, watching him with mingled disgust and anger at the means he used.
In the meanwhile it was clear that Mrs. Calvert had no suspicion of what was going forward, for there was nothing to show that Alison's heart was beating a good deal faster than it generally did, or that the man was conscious of a vindictive satisfaction. His approach had been ostensibly careless, and there was only a faintly suggestive hardness in his eyes. The girl sat very still, and if her face was a little more intent than usual her hostess did not notice it.
Alison fancied that she heard a sound outside the window again, but she paid no heed to it, and as Nevis wasabout to lay his hand on the table and lean over it she moved her elbow sharply. The next moment the cloth slid down into a heap on the floor, and the letter disappeared.
Nevis closed one hand viciously, but he opened it again immediately as he turned to Alison. The man was quick, and held himself well in hand, and she felt a certain satisfaction in outwitting him, for it was clear that he had not suspected her of having any motive for jerking the cloth off.
"Am I accountable for the accident?" he asked.
"No," replied Alison; "it was my fault."
The danger, however, was not quite over. Alison quietly felt with one little, lightly shod foot beneath the cloth, part of which had caught and rested on her dress. Her shoe touched something that seemed harder than the soft fabric, and she contrived to draw it toward her.
"You knocked a letter off the table," said Nevis. "It must have fallen somewhere near. Permit me."
He stooped to pick up the cloth, and Alison saw that Mrs. Calvert was at last uneasy. It was obvious that she did not wish Nevis to lay his hands on the envelope. He raised the cloth, and after a glance beneath it moved a pace or two and shook it vigorously, but nothing fell out, and Alison quietly pushed back her chair.
"It's here beneath my skirt."
She picked it up and handed it to Mrs. Calvert, who laid it on a shelf across the room. After that there was a moment's silence, during which the two women looked at each other curiously, while Nevis, whose face was expressionless, looked at them both. Then the awkward stillness was broken by the entrance of Thorne. Ignoring Nevis completely, he turned to Mrs. Calvert with a smile.
"I don't know whether I need an excuse for this visit, but it occurred to me that I could drive Miss Leigh home," he explained. "I was hauling in logs for Gillow when Farquhar's hired man came along and told me he'd brought Miss Leigh over but wasn't sure when he could come back for her. Lucy will be here in a minute."
He leaned on a chair, talking about the wheat crop, until the rattle of wheels, which had been growing louder, stopped, when he moved toward the door, saying that he would help Lucy with the team. It was some time before he reappeared with her, and then the girl turned imperiously to Nevis.
"You here!" she exclaimed. "What do you want?"
"I was trying to sell your mother a binder," Nevis answered blandly.
Lucy, standing very straight, looked at him with a snap in her eyes.
"Then I guess you're wasting time. While there are implements to be had anywhere between here and Winnipeg we'll buy none from you."
Nevis favored her with a single swift glance, and then took up his hat.
"In that case I may as well get on again. I dare say your mother and Miss Leigh will excuse me."
He did not offer to shake hands with either of them, which may have been due to the fact that Mrs. Calvert's face was now hard and suspicious, and Alison carefully looked away from him. There was, also, a gleam of ironical amusement, which probably had some effect, in Thorne's eyes. Soon after he disappeared, Mrs. Calvert asked Thorne to come out and look at a mower which she said the hired man had had some trouble with, and when they left the room Lucy leaned back in her chair with hereyes fixed on Alison in a significant manner. They were of a clear blue, and Alison admitted that, with the somewhat unusual color in her cheeks and the light on her mass of gleaming hair, the girl was aggressively pretty.
"I'm glad they've gone—I guess I have to thank you for what you did," she said. "It was right smart, and I'm not sure my mother caught on to the thing."
"How did you know?" Alison asked in rather disturbed astonishment.
Lucy laughed.
"Mavy saw you through the window. The mail-carrier told him Nevis was here, and it was quite easy to figure what he was after. That's why Mavy hitched his team behind the willows and crept up quiet to see what was going on, so he could spoil his game, but he left it to you when he saw that you were on to it. Said he felt quite sure you could fix the man."
Alison remembered the footstep at the window, but she was curious about another aspect of the matter.
"Why did he tell you?" she asked.
Lucy's manner changed, and there was a hint of hardness in her expression.
"Well," she answered, "perhaps he wanted me to know what you had done, and, anyway, he had to put me on my guard. Still, though Mavy's quick, they're none of them very smart after all, and there was a point that didn't seem to strike him. He wasn't clear as to why Nevis would try to pick up Jake's trail through me."
The last words were flung sharply at the listener, and Alison made a gesture of appeal.
"Of course," she returned, "he wouldn't tell you that."
"No," declared Lucy; "nothing would have got it outof him. That's the kind of man he is." She paused a moment. "What made you send Nevis after me?"
"It was done without thinking. I couldn't foresee that it might make trouble. I was sorry afterward; I am sorry now."
Her companion looked at her with disconcerting steadiness.
"We'll let it go at that. There's just this to say—you haven't any reason to be afraid of me. I don't know a straighter man than Mavy Thorne—but I don't want him! Jake's quite enough for me, and there's trouble in front of him, with Nevis on his trail."
It cost Alison an effort to retain a befitting composure. This plain-speaking girl had obviously taken a good deal for granted, but Alison was uneasily conscious that she had certainly arrived at the truth. It was a relief to her when Mrs. Calvert and Thorne presently entered the room together.
Nevis was not, as a rule, easily turned aside when he had taken a task in hand, and his failure at the Calvert homestead only made him more determined to run Winthrop down. Besides, he had not failed altogether, for he had at least caught a glimpse of the stamp on the letter, and he had no doubt that it was a Canadian one. There was an appreciable difference in the design and color of the American stamps. This indicated that in all probability Winthrop was still in Canada, in which case there would be no difficulty in arresting him once his whereabouts could be discovered. The tracing of the latter promised to be less easy, but Nevis set about it, and shortly afterward fortune once more favored him.
His business was an extensive one; he had money laid out here and there over a wide stretch of country, and he had already discovered that it required a good deal of watching. As a matter of fact, the latter was advisable, for some of the men to whom he lent it were addicted to disappearing without leaving any address or intimation as to what they had done with the movable portion of their hypothecated possessions. It is true that they generally had repaid Nevis a large part of his loan, as well as an exorbitant interest for a considerable time, but then had abandoned the struggle in despair. From his point of view, however, neither fact had any particular bearing on the matter. He expected a good deal morethan the value of a hundred cents when he laid down a dollar.
One night a week or two after he called on Mrs. Calvert, he strolled out on to the platform of a train that had been run on to a lonely side-track beside a galvanized iron shed and a big water-tank. He was leaning on the rails, when the conductor came out of the vestibule behind him.
"We're not scheduled to stop," he commented.
"No, sir," replied the conductor. "Guess the company had once a notion of making a station here, but they cut it out. It's used as a section-depot and side-track, and now and then a freight pulls up for water. There's a soft spring here, and you can't get good water right along the line. Any kind won't do in a locomotive boiler."
The man was unusually loquacious for a western railroad hand, and Nevis, who had been glancing out at the shadowy sweep of prairie, amid which the straight track lost itself, felt inclined to talk.
"But what's holding us up?" he asked.
"Montreal express. She's on the next section, and it's quite a long one. They side-track everything to let her through."
A thought took shape in Nevis's mind. The point that suggested itself appeared at least worth attention, and he asked a question:
"Would a wire to anybody in the district be sent to the station ahead?"
The conductor said that it would, and added that the man in charge of the place where they were then stopping was called up only in case of necessity to hold a train on the side-track. He explained that although theinstruments clicked out any message sent right along the circuit the operators, as a rule, listened only when they got their particular signal. This had a certain significance to Nevis.
"Is there often a freight-train waiting here when you come along?" he asked.
"That's so," said his companion. "We take the section if the Atlantic flyer's late, and they have to cut out the pick-up freight if she's in front of us. When she was standing yonder one night a little while back I saw what struck me as quite a curious thing. Just as we struck the tail switches a man dropped off a caboose coupled on behind the freight-cars; it was good clear moonlight, and I watched him. He kept the train between him and the shack behind you, and started out over the prairie as fast as he could. Then we ran in behind the freight-cars, but as soon as we were clear the engineer pulled them out, and as I looked back the man dropped into the grass like a stone. Bill, who runs this place, was standing outside his shack, and that may have had something to do with it."
"It sounds strange," commented Nevis. "Can you remember when it was?"
The conductor contrived to do so, and Nevis was not astonished when he heard the date. He decided that it would be wise to compare his conclusion with any views his companion might have about the matter.
"It's possible it was only one of the boys stealing a ride," he suggested.
"In that case he needn't have been so scared of Bill," was the answer. "It's most unlikely he'd have got out on the prairie after him. Strikes me the man was mighty anxious nobody should see him. Anyway, I thought nomore about the thing, and only remembered it to-night."
Just then the scream of a whistle came ringing up the track, and the conductor pointed to a fan-shaped blaze of brightness which swept up out of the prairie.
"The express; I'll have to get along. We'll be off in two or three minutes now."
Nevis lighted a cigar as soon as he was left alone, and by the time the great express had flashed by with a clash and clatter he felt convinced that Corporal Slaney had erred in assuming that Winthrop had escaped across the frontier. Having arrived at this decision, he strolled back into the lighted car as the train crept out across the switches on to the waste of prairie. He had now something to act upon.
In the meanwhile, a weary man, dressed in somewhat ragged duck, sat one evening outside a tent pitched in the hollow of a prairie coulée, with a letter in his hand. His attitude was suggestive of dejection, but he clenched the paper in hard, brown fingers, and there was an ominous look in his weather-darkened face. It was careworn, though he was young, and his general appearance and expression seemed to indicate that he was a simple man who had borne a burden too heavy for him, until at last he had revolted in desperation against the intolerable load.
A new branch line crept along the side of the shallow coulée, which wound deviously across the great white sea of grass, and the trestles of a half-finished bridge rose, a gaunt skeleton of timber, above the creek that flowed through the valley. A cluster of tents and a galvanized iron shack, with a funnel projecting above it, crowned the crest of a neighboring ridge, and a murmur of voicesand laughter rose faintly from the groups of men who lay about them. Winthrop, however, had pitched his camp a little distance from the others, so as to be nearer his work, which consisted in removing the soil from the side of the coulée to make room for the road-bed. He had obtained a team from a neighboring rancher, and a satisfactory rate of payment from the railroad contractor. Indeed, during the last few weeks he had almost fancied that he was at last leaving his troubles behind him, and then that afternoon another blow had suddenly fallen. The letter from Lucy Calvert contained the disturbing news that Nevis, who seemed to have discovered that he had not left Canada, was still in pursuit of him.
Presently two of his comrades from the camp strolled up to his tent and stretched themselves out on the harsh, white grass in front of it. They were attired as he was, and they had toiled hard under a scorching sun all day handling heavy rails, but one was a man of excellent education, and the other had owned a wheat farm until the frost had reaped his crop and ruined him.
"You're looking blue to-night," commented the latter.
"Well," acknowledged Winthrop grimly, "there's a reason. I've put quite a lot of work in on that road-bed the last few weeks, but the trouble is I won't get a dollar unless I stay with it and keep up to specification until next pay-day."
"Of course!" said the man who had spoken. "Why should you want to quit?"
Winthrop glanced at the letter.
"I've had a warning. Guess I'll have to pull out again sudden one of these days."
There was silence for a few moments after this. Themen had gone on well together, and within certain limits the toilers in a track-grading camp make friends rapidly, but for all that there are unwritten rules of etiquette in such places, and questions on some points are apt to be resented.
Still, Winthrop's face was troubled, and his expression hinted that it might be a consolation to take somebody into his confidence.
"Creditors?" one of his companions ventured to suggest.
"You've hit it first time, Drakesford. Bondholder who's been bleeding me quite a few years now. Raked in what I made each harvest—left me not quite enough to live on—until I began to see that I'd have to work a lifetime to get clear of him. When I knocked a little off the debt one good year he piled up something else on me. Then I was short last payment, and he shut down on my farm."
Drakesford turned to his companion.
"Ever hear anything like that before, Watson?"
There was a trace of dryness in the other man's smile.
"I have," he answered; "it's not quite new on the prairie. One or two of the boys I know have been through that mill."
He turned toward Winthrop.
"How did the blamed insect first get hold of you?"
"I'd a notion of getting married, and meant to raise a record crop. Went along to the blood-sucker, who was quite willing to back me, and took out a mortgage. Pledged him all the place and stock for what he let me have."
"Probably a third of its value," interposed Drakesford.
"About that," Winthrop agreed. "A big crop might have cleared me then, but we had frost that year, and he commenced to play me. Made me insure stock and homestead in his company—and I guess he stuck me over that. Then I had to buy implements and any stores he sold from him, at about twice the usual figure; and one way or another the debt kept piling up."
"Couldn't you have gone short in your payments before it got too big, and let him sell the place?" suggested Drakesford. "In that case, anything over and above what he advanced would have had to be refunded to you. Still, the man you dealt with would probably have provided for that difficulty."
Watson grinned.
"A sure thing! He wouldn't shut down until it was a year when wheat was cheap and farms were bringing mighty little. Then he'd sell him up and buy the place in through a dummy, 'way down beneath its value. After that he'd rent it out until wheat went up and he'd get twice what he gave for it from some sucker."
It is possible that the farmer had arrived at something very near the truth, but his companion, who still seemed thoughtful, looked at Winthrop.
"When you got notice of foreclosure I suppose you cleared out and left him the place," he said. "How does that give him a hold on you?"
"I sold the team and stock first," replied Winthrop grimly. "He sent the police after me."
The man made a sign of comprehension.
"Naturally! But haven't you got some homestead exemption laws in this part of the country?"
"They don't apply to mortgaged property," Watson broke in. Then he looked up sharply. "But, I guessyou've hit it. The debt secured by mortgage wasn't a big one, and the man piled up more on to it afterward. The law would exempt from seizure on that."
Winthrop considered this moodily.
"Well," he answered at length, "suppose you're right. Who's going to take up my case, and where am I to get the money to put up a fight? The only lawyer in the district wouldn't act against the bondholder, and I couldn't get at my mortgage deed anyway. It's in the man's hands, and I haven't a copy. I got out with the price of a few beasts, and left the rest to him." He paused, and clenched a big, brown hand. "If he's wise he'll be content with that, and quit; but you can't satisfy that man. He's got my farm; he's made my life bitter; brought three years of trouble on the girl I meant to marry; and now he's after me again. Seems to me I've laid down under it about long enough!"
He broke off and sat silent a while, gazing out across the prairie toward where the red glow of sunset burned far off on the lonely grassland's rim. Iron shack and clustered tents stood out against it sharply now, and the faint sound of voices that came up through the still, clear air seemed to jar on the man.
"They can laugh," he complained. "I could, once."
Then Watson changed the subject.
"Butler had a notion he'd try a shot or two to-morrow where the road goes through the rise, and he sent some giant-powder along. He wants you to clinch the detonators on the fuses and put them in."
Now dynamite is not often used in prairie railroading, but Winthrop had once handled it in another part of the country, and had mentioned the fact to a foreman who was disposed to experiment with it.
"It's no use in that loose stuff," he pointed out.
"Butler wants to try it," answered Watson. "There's no reason why you shouldn't let him. I dumped the magazine he sent you in the coulée. I didn't want to lie about smoking too near the detonators."
He walked away a little distance and came back with a case, out of which Winthrop took what looked like several yellow wax candles. Then he cut off three or four pieces of fuse, and carefully pinched down a big copper cap on the end of each of them. These he inserted into different sticks of the semi-plastic giant-powder in turn, and his companions drew a little away from him as he did so. It was getting dark now, but they could still see his face, and it was very hard and grim. It impressed them unpleasantly as they watched him handle the yellow rolls which contained imprisoned within them such tremendous powers. Giant-powder is a somewhat unstable product, as Winthrop knew from experience and the other two had heard, and in case of a premature explosion there was very little doubt as to what the fate of the party would be. Annihilation in its most literal sense was the only word that would describe it, for there was force enough in those yellow sticks to transform material flesh and blood into unsubstantial gases. The fulminate in the detonators he cautiously imbedded was even more terrible, and sitting with his bent form outlined darkly against the shadowy waste of grass, he looked curiously sinister. He finished his task at last and handed one of them the magazine.
"Shouldn't there be another stick?" Watson asked. "Have you left it in the grass?"
"You can look," said Winthrop curtly, as he moved aside.
Watson glanced round the place where he had been sitting.
"I can't see it, anyway. I dare say I couldn't have brought another one, after all."
He moved away with Drakesford and looked at the latter when they were some distance from the tent.
"It's curious about that stick," he observed. "I'm not convinced yet that I've got as many as I brought with me."
"Why should he want to keep one?" his companion asked.
"I don't know," Watson confessed. "But there was something in his face that didn't please me."
"Yes," agreed Drakesford; "I've once or twice seen overdriven men look like that, and so far as I can remember there was trouble afterward."
They said nothing further, and while they proceeded along the crest of the coulée Winthrop, still sitting beside his tent, took a stick of giant-powder from his pocket.
The sun had just dipped, and there was a wonderful invigorating coolness in the dew-chilled air. Winthrop sat in the cook-shed which was built against the back of the iron store-shack. Outside, as he could see through the doorway, the prairie ran back, a vast gray-white stretch, to the horizon, beneath as vast a sweep of green transparency. The little shed, however, was growing shadowy, and a red twinkle showed through the front of the stove in which the sinking fire was still burning.
The cook was somewhere outside talking with the boys, and Winthrop, who wished to beg a cotton flour-bag from him to use in mending his clothes, sat quietly smoking while he waited until he should come back. He felt no inclination to join the others, for he had grown anxious and morose since Lucy's warning had reached him a week or two earlier. He was quite aware that there was some danger in remaining at his work, but pay-day was approaching and he meant at least to wait until he could collect the money due him. After that he would disappear again if anything transpired to render it necessary. Just then Watson looked into the shed.
"I guess you'd better come right out," he said hurriedly. "There are two strangers riding into camp."
Winthrop was on his feet in a moment, and the haste with which he rose betrayed his anxiety. Going out, he ran forward until he could obtain an uninterrupted viewof the plain. The waste of grass was growing dim, but two mounted figures showed up black on it. Watson indicated them with outstretched hand.
"Notice anything interesting about them?"
"Yes," Winthrop answered grimly; "they ride like police troopers."
"That's just how it seemed to me," exclaimed Drakesford. "They're coming from southward, and if they'd left the trunk line soon after the Vancouver train came in they would get here about now. They could have borrowed horses from the rancher near the station."
Winthrop watched them steadily before he spoke.
"They're troopers, sure," he said at length. "The short one looks like Corporal Slaney, who's out after me; and they'll be in before I could catch either of my horses. I turned them out in the soft grass some way back in the coulée."
"You have got to do something," declared Watson, "and do it right now!"
Winthrop glanced out across the great, level plain, and his face grew set.
"They'd sure search the coulée, and, except for that, there isn't cover for a coyote for a league or two. It won't be dark for half an hour yet, and they'd ride me down in three or four minutes in the open."
This was obvious, and silence followed until Winthrop spoke again.
"I haven't a gun of any kind."
"That's fortunate," said Drakesford. "What do you want a gun for, anyway? Plugging one of the troopers wouldn't help you."
In the meanwhile, the mounted figures were rapidly drawing nearer. The three men stood tensely watchingthem until Winthrop suddenly swung round toward his companions.
"You can tell them where my tent is, and they'll waste some minutes going there. That's all I want you to do."
Watson looked at him inquiringly, but he made a sign of impatience.
"I'm going back to the cook-shed. You can't help any. Keep out of this trouble."
Moving away from them, he disappeared into the shadowy interior of the shed, and his companions waited until the rest of the men came running up as the police rode in. The latter asked a few questions which Watson answered truthfully, and then they rode off toward Winthrop's tent. Presently one dismounted trooper reappeared, and proceeded to search the other tents, amid ironical banter and a few protests. This took him some time, and darkness was not far off when he reached the iron shack, the door of which was unusually difficult to open, though Watson, who had visited it in the meanwhile, could have explained the cause of it. Then the other trooper came back, and led both horses out upon the prairie. Leaving them there, he joined his comrade, who addressed the men.
"Boys," he said, "we're holding a warrant for your partner, and we've got to have him."
"Nobody's stopping you," one of them answered. "We haven't a place to hide him in unless he's crawled down a gopher-hole."
As a gopher is smaller than an ordinary squirrel, the point of this was evident, and while a laugh went up the policemen conferred together in front of the iron shack; then, after looking in, they walked around to the back of it. They had no doubt already noticed the cook-shed,but as it was very small and the door stood partly open, it appeared a most unpromising place for the fugitive to seek refuge. Now, however, they moved close to it, and Winthrop, sitting back in the shadow, became dimly visible.
"Come out! We've got you!" one trooper cried.
The man did not move, but he had something in his hand, which was stretched out toward the stove. One of the pot-holes in the top of the stove was open, and a faint glow shone upon the object he held clenched in his fingers. It bore, as Corporal Slaney noticed, no resemblance to a pistol.
"Come out!" he repeated. "There's no use in making trouble."
Winthrop laughed in a jarring fashion.
"I guess I'll stay a while right where I am."
Then he raised his voice.
"If you're wise you'll wait outside, Corporal."
Slaney stood still just outside the door, peering into the shed; and the trooper behind him had his carbine ready.
"Don't be foolish, Jake. We've got you sure," he called.
He moved a pace nearer, and Winthrop leaned forward a little farther over the pot-hole.
"See what this is?" he inquired, glancing down at the object in his hand.
"It's not a gun, anyway," said the trooper to his superior.
"It's a stick of giant-powder. There's a detonator in it and an inch or two of fuse. As soon as you're inside the door I drop it in the stove."
Slaney promptly recoiled a yard or two. Having hadsome experience in dealing with men driven to extremities, he knew that Winthrop's warning was not empty bluff. There was something in the man's voice that convinced him that he meant what he said. For the next few moments he and the trooper stood irresolutely still, wondering what they should do, while the motionless figure quietly watched them through the doorway. The corporal was by no means timid or overcautious, and had Winthrop held a pistol it is highly probable that he would have attempted to rush him. Except in the hands of a master of it, the short-barreled weapon is singularly unreliable, and shots fired by a man disturbed by fear or anger as a rule go wide; but the stick of dynamite meant certain death. Slaney had not the nerve to face that, and, besides, as he rightfully reflected, it would serve no purpose except to nip in the bud the career of a promising police officer. Then Winthrop spoke again.
"You'll have to haul off this time, Corporal. Letting this thing drop is quicker than shooting, even if you had me covered."
"We could plug you from a distance through the shack," Slaney pointed out.
"That's so," Winthrop assented calmly; "I guess you could; but I'm not sure your bosses would thank you for doing it."
There was, as the corporal recognized, some truth in this. The police would be held blameless for shooting down a fugitive who refused to surrender, but after all the exploit would not count to their credit unless the man were a desperado guilty of some particularly serious offense. It was their business to capture the person for whom they had a warrant.
Drawing back a little farther, the corporal conferredwith the trooper, who suggested several ways of getting over the difficulty, none of which, however, appeared altogether practicable. For one thing, he said, they could wait, sleeping in turn, until from utter weariness Winthrop's vigilance relaxed; but that, it was evident, would most likely take more time than they could spare. They could also seek the assistance of the trackgraders and arrange with them to make a diversion while they crept up unobserved. Against this there was, however, as the corporal pointed out, the probability that the men were more or less in sympathy with the fugitive, and that as a result any assistance they might be commanded to render could not be depended on. He added that he would rather wait for daylight, and then, if it should be absolutely necessary, fire into the shed.
In the meantime Watson was discussing the affair with Drakesford.
"That man has some kind of plan in his mind, though I can't tell you what it is," he declared. "Anyway, it would be better that the troopers hadn't their horses handy in case he gets out in the dark and makes a break for the prairie."
"They're back behind the tents," observed Drakesford, pointedly.
"Picketed," grinned Watson. "They should have knee-hobbled them. A horse will now and then pull a picket out when the soil's light."
It was too dark to see his companion's face clearly, but Drakesford appeared to smile in a manner that suggested comprehension, and they strolled a little nearer the corporal, who had just sent for the cook. The corporal explained that he had ridden a long way since his dinner, and asked for a can of coffee and some eatables,and the cook proceeded dubiously toward the shed. He came back empty-handed in a minute or two.
"I can't get you anything," he said. "The man you're after won't let me in."
The corporal expressed his feelings somewhat freely, but the cook grinned.
"You want to be reasonable," he protested. "How do you expect me to get in, when he's holding off the two of you, and you've got arms?"
Watson touched his companion's shoulder.
"It's my opinion that our friend would better get out to-night," he whispered. "The boys are holding off in the meanwhile, but if they can't get their breakfast there'll probably be trouble."
Drakesford agreed with this, and shortly afterward he proceeded circuitously toward the troopers' horses.
In the meanwhile, Slaney and his subordinate sat down on the grass well apart from each other and about sixty yards from the cook-shed, and, rolling their blankets about them, prepared to spend the night as comfortably as possible. It was not very dark, though there was no moon, and a slight haze, which promised an increased obscurity, was now creeping across the sky. They could see the black shape of the shed, and it was evident that nobody could slip out from it without their observation; and they had their carbines handy. Slaney would have crept up a little nearer, only that he felt it desirable to keep outside the striking range of the giant-powder, in case Winthrop happened to get drowsy and drop it in the stove.
After a while the track-graders, who had sat among the grass smoking and watching the troopers, began to drift away to their sleeping-quarters. The drama wasinteresting, but they had no part in it, and they would certainly have to rise soon after sunup to a long day's arduous toil. In the meanwhile, their attitude could best be described as reluctantly neutral. There were a few toughs among them who had no doubt sufficient reason for not loving a policeman of any kind, but the rest recognized the inadvisability of any interference with constituted authority. On the other hand, though they did not know the rights or wrongs of the matter, the desperate, cold-blooded courage of the hard-pressed man appealed to them, and they decided that Corporal Slaney need not look for any effective assistance which it might be in their power to render. Most of them were simple men who lived and toiled in the open, and, as is usual with their kind, their sympathies were with the weaker party.
In an hour or two the last of them had vanished, and if a few still watched outside their tents there was, at least, nothing that suggested their presence to Corporal Slaney. He lay resting on one elbow, with his eyes fixed on the shed, while a little chilly breeze set the dry grasses rustling about him. It was now slightly darker than it usually is on the prairie in summer-time, for the haze had gradually spread across most of the sky. The tents had faded almost out of sight, though the black shape of the shack remained, and now and then, when the breeze sank away, the silence grew almost oppressive. Once the corporal started as he heard a sound in the shed, but he sank down again when he recognized the clatter and rattle that succeeded it. Winthrop, who evidently did not mean to neglect any precaution, was, he decided, putting more fuel into the stove. After that the howl of a coyote came faintly up the breeze, which grewstronger, and the low murmur of the grasses began once more.
A pearly light was growing clearer on the eastern rim of the prairie when at length Slaney, damp with the dew, rose to his feet with a shiver and softly called the trooper, who announced that he had heard nothing suspicious during the night. After a brief parley they crept up cautiously a little nearer the shed, but there was, so far as they could make out, no sign of life within. Indeed, the stillness was becoming suspicious. Moving nearer still, they could look into part of the shed through the open door, and, for the light was getting clearer, it became evident that Winthrop was no longer sitting beside the stove. This was encouraging, because it looked as if he had fallen asleep.
Making a short detour, so as to keep to one side of the entrance, they crept up closer, with faces set and hearts beating a good deal faster than usual; but there was no sound except a faint crackle, apparently from the stove. Then Slaney lay down in the grass and crawled up to the doorway, where he rose and suddenly sprang into the shed. The next moment his voice rang out hoarse with anger, for the place was empty. He waited until the trooper joined him, and then pointed to a little door in the back of the larger building.
"That explains the thing!" he exclaimed. "You looked round the shack?"
"I did," the trooper admitted, and added, somewhat tactlessly, "so did you."
Slaney frowned at this reminder, but it was evident that a discussion as to whose fault it was that Winthrop had got away would in no way assist them in his capture, and they proceeded into the larger building, where theyhad no trouble in finding an explanation of his escape.
Men working on the prairie or in the bush of Canada are usually boarded by their employers at a weekly charge, and there were a good many of them engaged on the track. As a result of it, the iron shack was partly filled with provisions, and when Slaney and the trooper entered by the front they had seen a pile of cases and flour-bags apparently built up against one wall. It was, however, growing dark then, and neither of them had noticed that there was a narrow space behind the provisions which had been left to facilitate the entrance of the cook. Winthrop, it was clear, had slipped out through it in the darkness, and the shack had prevented either of the watchers from seeing him crawl away across the prairie. It occurred to Slaney that from the position of the tents it was scarcely likely he had got away quite unnoticed, but he had reasons for believing that it would be difficult to elicit any reliable information on that point from the man's comrades.
There was only one thing to be done, and that was to mount as soon as possible and endeavor to pick up the fugitive's trail; but when they reached the spot where they had left their horses there was no sign of them, and it was half an hour before the trooper came upon them some distance up the coulée. Slaney was quite convinced that neither of the beasts had succeeded in dragging the picket out of the ground unassisted, but this was a thing he could not prove; and when the cook had supplied them with a hastily prepared breakfast he and the trooper rode away across the prairie.
Thorne was driving Alison home from Graham's Bluff one afternoon about a week after Winthrop's escape when a couple of horsemen became visible on the crest of a low rise. The girl glanced at them from under her white parasol, which shone dazzlingly in the fierce sunlight, and then fixed her eyes on her companion.
"They're coming this way, aren't they?" she asked.
"They seem to be," replied Thorne. "One of them looks like the corporal, and I shouldn't wonder if he wanted a word with me."
He saw the girl's slight start, but was not greatly flattered, as he could not be sure whether it resulted from concern on his behalf or mere annoyance. He knew what she thought of Winthrop.
"There's no cause for alarm," he added with a laugh. "I haven't done anything particularly unlawful for some time."
He had half expected Alison to explain that she was not alarmed at all, but she disappointed him, and he wondered whether there was any significance in this. He had already discovered that she did not invariably reveal exactly what she felt.
"What can he want?" she asked.
"It probably concerns Winthrop. I don't think I told you that they almost caught him a little while ago, though he got away again."
"You didn't. Was that because you were afraid you could not trust me?"
A tinge of deeper color crept into her companion's face, and she decided rightly that this was due to displeasure. In the encounters which were not altogether infrequent between them she now and then delivered a galling thrust, but this, he thought, was striking below the guard.
"What a question, Miss Leigh!"
"It wouldn't have been unnatural if you had considered it wiser to be reticent. What happened on the last occasion would have justified it."
"If you are referring to Nevis's visit to Mrs. Calvert, I should be quite willing to leave you to outwit him again. The way you secured the letter was masterly. Still, in view of the opinions you expressed about Winthrop, I don't understand why you did it, and, so far as I can remember, you haven't explained the thing."
"I meant his visit to the Farquhar homestead when I told him about Lucy; but I'll try to answer you. For one reason, I wanted to make amends for my previous—rashness."
Alison paused at the word, as she remembered that Lucy had suggested that what she now termed rashness was jealousy.
"Well," laughed Thorne, "you were certainly rash, but I feel inclined to wonder whether you were anything else. Your hesitation just now was—significant."
Alison recognized that she had a quick-witted antagonist.
"I believe I have already admitted that I was prejudiced against Winthrop."
"That," returned Thorne, "is, perhaps, from yourpoint of view, no more than natural. In fact, I'm not sure I could say he was right in everything he has done." He paused a moment. "But, I shouldn't like to think that your prejudice extends to Lucy."
Alison had not expected this, and she wondered with some resentment exactly what he meant to imply.
"Of course," he added, "some of her ideas and some of the things she says might jar on you, but that doesn't count for very much, after all. The girl's staunch all through, and the way she has stuck to Winthrop in his trouble and the way she has run the farm would compel the respect of any one who understood what she has had to put up with."
Alison wondered whether he wished to reassure her concerning Lucy's devotion to her lover, which, as she remembered, the girl herself had already done; but she scarcely fancied that he would adopt such a course as this. It would, at least, be very much out of harmony with his usual conduct.
"I venture to believe that Lucy and I will be good friends in the future," she said.
Slaney and the trooper were now rapidly approaching, and a minute or two later Thorne pulled up and turned to the corporal, who reined in his horse close beside the wagon.
"You have something to say to me?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Slaney; "it's this: Do you know where Jake Winthrop is?"
"No," answered Thorne; "on the whole, I'm glad I don't. What's more, I haven't the least suspicion."
They looked at each other steadily, and it struck Alison that the little gesture Slaney made was a striking testimonial to her companion's character. It indicatedthat the corporal had no hesitation in taking the word of the man with whom he was at variance. Though she and Thorne occupied the same seat they were far enough apart for her to see his face, and as he sat with his broad hat tilted back, smiling down at Slaney, she recognized that in spite of the old blue duck he wore there was a virile grace in every line of his figure. In addition to this, by contrast with the smartly uniformed corporal, he looked, as she felt it could most fittingly be described, thoroughbred, and there was something in his half-whimsical manner that curiously pleased her.
"I guess you heard what happened up the track?" Slaney next inquired.
"I did. Rather amusing in some respects, wasn't it? I understand that you and the trooper sat out most of the night watching an empty shack."
"Well," asserted Slaney grimly, "there was nothing very amusing about the giant-powder. I tell you the man meant to drop it into the fire."
"From what I know of Winthrop, I'm inclined to believe he did. In fact, in my opinion, it would be considerably wiser of Nevis if he left that man alone. I'm not sure he has a very good case against him, anyway; though, of course, that's no concern of yours or mine. You can't pick up his trail?"
"That's a cold fact," declared the corporal. "I guess you wouldn't mind getting down and walking along a few yards with me?"
"It's not worth while. I've no objections to Miss Leigh's hearing what you have to say, and I'm afraid Volador wouldn't stand unless I kept the reins. The flies are bothering him, and he doesn't seem quite easywhen you're in the neighborhood." Thorne paused and laughed. "In a way, that's not astonishing."
Slaney disregarded the last observation.
"Then," he said, "I'm not the man to make useless trouble—anyway, unless it's going to give me a shove up toward promotion—but you're worrying me. The fact is, wherever I pick up Winthrop's trail I strike yours too. Now there was a night some while back when we ran one of you down close to the frontier."
Thorne saw Alison glance sharply at the corporal, and he smiled.
"Why should I ride for the frontier with the police after me?"
"That's what I don't exactly know, but I have my views. I want to say that we picked up a black plug hat when we were coming back along the trail. The point is that the thing was new. Then we found a brown duck jacket with a tear in it, but I figured the tear had been made quite lately."
"I don't think you could prove very much from that."
"Well," said Slaney, "I could try. It would look bad if I put the other matter of the horse Winthrop found near your homestead alongside it. Now I'll ask you right out—Are you going to mix yourself up with Jake's affairs any more?"
"In return, I'd like to hear whether you have any notion of carrying your investigations further?" Thorne parried.
They looked rather hard at each other, and then Slaney smiled.
"I guess it will depend a good deal on your answer; that is, unless Nevis gets hold of the thing."
"Then it's my intention to drop Jake Winthrop now.There's very little probability of his wanting any further assistance that I could render him."
"Well, let it go at that," replied Slaney simply. "I guess it will save you trouble. Good-day to you."
He rode away, and Alison turned to her companion when they drove on again.
"One could have imagined that you and the corporal were making a bargain," she suggested.
Thorne laughed.
"Well," he admitted, "I'm afraid it was quite illegal, but it amounted to something very much like that. The bargain, however, is only a provisional one. If Nevis chances on the truth, he may upset it by forcing Slaney's hand."
"But, after all, you gave each other only a vague hint. It would be difficult even to reproach the corporal if, as you say, he went back on it."
"Oh, yes," assented Thorne dryly. "Still, I haven't the least reason for believing that probable."
Alison made no comment, though the attitude of both men appealed to her. They were enemies in some respects, and yet once the indefinite understanding had been arrived at neither seemed to have the slightest fear that the other would violate it. They were, she remembered, men who lived in the open, who broke and rode wild horses, and who faced exposure and strenuous toil. Why this should be conducive to reliability of character was not very clear, but it apparently had that result. Then she remembered what the corporal had mentioned.
"You have been doing something to help Winthrop to escape since the night you let him have the horse?"
Thorne admitted it, and when she pressed him for the story he told it whimsically; but this time Alison felt noanger. A few plain words spoken by Lucy Calvert had obviated that, for it was now quite clear that the man had been prompted by mere chivalrous pity and lust of excitement, and had no desire to win the girl's favor.
"That was splendid!" she exclaimed.
Thorne smiled, though he looked at her in a somewhat curious fashion. Then at her request he related how Winthrop had held off the police. As it happened, he could tell a story with dramatic force, and both the brief narratives had their effect on Alison. She had imagination, and could picture the man who now sat beside her smashing furiously through the tangled bluff in the blackness of the night, and the other sitting grimly resolute beside the stove with the stick of giant-powder in his hand. After all, they were, she realized, the doings of primitive men; but charity that did not stop to count the cost, and steadfast, unflinching valor, were rudimentary too, and all the progress of a complex civilization had evolved nothing finer. Man could add nothing to them. They were perfect gifts to him, though there was reason for believing that they were not distributed broadcast.
Then they chatted about other matters, and Alison was almost sorry when the Farquhar homestead and its barns and stables rose, girt about with a sweep of tall green wheat, out of the prairie. Thorne stayed for supper, and he was standing beside his team with Farquhar an hour afterward when the latter suddenly made an excuse and moved away as his wife came out of the doorway. Thorne grinned at this, and there was still a gleam of amusement in his eyes when his hostess stopped beside him. He indicated the retreating Farquhar with a wave of his hand.