The ProjectGutenberg eBook,The Cattle-Baron's

Daughter, byHarold Bindloss

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Title: The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

Author: Harold Bindloss

Release Date: November 1, 2008 [eBook#27115]

Language: English

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A FIERCE WHITE FROTHING ABOUT HIM.—Page335.

THECATTLE-BARON’S

DAUGHTERBY

HAROLD BINDLOSSAuthor of “Alton of Somasco,” etc.

NEW YORKFREDERICK A. STOKES

COMPANYPUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1906, byFREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

This Edition published in September,1906

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I The Portent II Hetty Takes Heed

III The Cattle-Barons IV Muller Stands Fast V Hetty Comes Home

VI The Incendiary VII Larry Proves Intractable

VIII The Sheriff IX The Prisoner X On the Trail

XI Larry’s Acquittal XII The Sprouting of the Seed

XIII Under Fire XIV Torrance’s Warning XV Hetty’s Bounty

XVI Larry Solves the Difficulty

XVII Larry’s Peril XVIII A Futile Pursuit

XIX Torrance Asks a Question XX Hetty’s Obstinacy

XXI Clavering Appears RidiculousXXII The Cavalry Officer

XXIII Hetty’s Avowal XXIV The Stock Train XXV Cheyne Relieves His Feelings

XXVI Larry’s Reward

XXVII Clavering’s Last Card XXVIII Larry Rides to Cedar

XXIX Hetty Decides XXX Larry’s Wedding Day

XXXI Torrance Rides Away

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

“Come Down!”

“She’ll shoot me before she means to.”A white face and shadowy head, from which the furcap had fallen.“Aren’t you a trifle late?”There was a note in her voice that set the man’s heart

beating furiously.A fierce white frothing about him.

THE CATTLE-BARON’SDAUGHTER

I

THE PORTENT

The hot weather had come suddenly, atleast a month earlier than usual, and NewYork lay baking under a scorching sunwhen Miss Hetty Torrance sat in thecoolest corner of the Grand Central Depotshe could find. It was by her own wish shehad spent the afternoon in the cityunattended, for Miss Torrance was a self-reliant young woman; but it was fate andthe irregularity of the little gold watch,which had been her dead mother’s gift,that brought her to the depot at least a

quarter of an hour too soon. But she wasnot wholly sorry, for she had desired moresolitude and time for reflection than shefound in the noisy city, where a visit to aneminent modiste had occupied most of herleisure. There was, she had reasons forsurmising, a decision of some moment tobe made that night, and as yet she was nonearer arriving at it than she had beenwhen the little note then in her pocket hadbeen handed her.

Still, it was not the note she took out whenshe found a seat apart from the hurryingcrowd, but a letter from her father,Torrance, the Cattle-Baron, of CedarRange. It was terse and to the point, asusual, and a little smile crept into thegirl’s face as she read.

“Your letter to hand, and so long as youhave a good time don’t worry about thebills. You’ll find another five hundreddollars at the bank when you want them.Thank God, I can give my daughter whather mother should have had. Two yearssince I’ve seen my little girl, and now itseems that somebody else is wanting her!Well, we were made men and women, andif you had been meant to live alonedabbling in music you wouldn’t have beengiven your mother’s face. Now, I don’toften express myself this way, but I’ve hada letter from Captain Jackson Cheyne, U.S. Cavalry, which reads as straight as I’vefound the man to be. Nothing wrong withthat family, and they’ve dollars to spare;but if you like the man I can put down twofor every one of his. Well, I might write a

good deal, but you’re too much like yourfather to be taken in. You want dollars andstation, and I can see you get them, but in acontract of this kind the man is everything.Make quite sure you’re getting the rightone.”

There was a little more to the samepurpose, and when she slipped the letterinto her pocket Hetty Torrance smiled.

“The dear old man!” she said. “It is verylike him; but whether Jake is the right oneor not is just what I can’t decide.”

Then she sat still, looking straight in frontof her, a very attractive picture, as someof the hurrying men who turned to glanceat her seemed to find, in her long lightdress. Her face, which showed a delicateoval under the big white hat, was a trifle

paler than is usual with mostEnglishwomen of her age, and the figurethe thin fabric clung about less decided inoutline. Still, the faint warmth in hercheeks emphasized the clear pallor of herskin, and there was a depth of brightnessin the dark eyes that would have atonedfor a good deal more than there was in hercase necessity for. Her supple slendernessalso became Hetty Torrance well, andthere was a suggestion of nervous energyin her very pose. In addition to all this,she was a rich man’s daughter, who hadbeen well taught in the cities, and hadsince enjoyed all that wealth andrefinement could offer her. It had alsobeen a cause of mild astonishment to thefriends she had spent the past year with,that with these advantages, she had

remained Miss Torrance. They had beensomewhat proud of their guest, andopportunities had not been wanting hadshe desired to change her status.

While she sat there musing, pale-facedcitizens hurried past, great locomotivescrawled to and fro, and long trains of cars,white with the dust of five hundredleagues, rolled in. Swelling in deepercadence, the roar of the city came faintlythrough the din; but, responsive to thethrob of life as she usually was, HettyTorrance heard nothing of it then, for shewas back in fancy on the grey-whiteprairie two thousand miles away. It was adesolate land of parched grass and bitterlakes with beaches dusty with alkali, but arich one to the few who held dominion

over it, and she had received the homageof a princess there. Then she heard avoice that was quite in keeping with thespirit of the scene, and was scarcelyastonished to see that a man was smilingdown on her.

He was dressed in city garments, and theybecame him; but the hand he held out waslean, and hard, and brown, and, for hestood bareheaded, a paler streak showedwhere the wide hat had shielded a facethat had been darkened by stinging alkalidust from the prairie sun. It was a quietlyforceful face, with steady eyes, which hada little sparkle of pleasure in them, andwere clear and brown, while something inthe man’s sinewy pose suggested that hewould have been at home in the saddle.

Indeed, it was in the saddle that HettyTorrance remembered him most vividly,hurling his half-tamed broncho straight ata gully down which the nondescript packstreamed, while the scarcely seen shape ofa coyote blurred by the dust, streaked theprairie in front of them.

“Hetty!” he said.

“Larry!” said the girl. “Why, whatever areyou doing here?”

Then both laughed a little, perhaps toconceal the faint constraint that was uponthem, for a meeting between formercomrades has its difficulties when one is aman and the other a woman, and the bondbetween them has not been defined.

“I came in on business a day or two ago,”

said the man. “Ran round to check somepackages. I’m going back again to-morrow.”

“Well,” said the girl, “I was in the city,and came here to meet Flo Schuyler andher sister. They’ll be in at four.”

The man looked at his watch. “That givesus ’most fifteen minutes, but it’s not goingto be enough. We’ll lose none of it. Whatabout the singing?”

Hetty Torrance flushed a trifle. “Larry,”she said, “you are quite sure you don’tknow?”

The man appeared embarrassed, and therewas a trace of gravity in his smile. “Yourfather told me a little; but I haven’t seenhim so often of late. Any way, I would

sooner you told me.”

“Then,” said the girl, with the faintest ofquivers in her voice, “the folks whounderstand good music don’t care to hearme.”

There was incredulity, which pleased hiscompanion, in the man’s face, but hisvoice vaguely suggested contentment.

“That is just what they can’t do,” he saiddecisively. “You sing most divinely.”

“There is a good deal you and the boys atCedar don’t know, Larry. Any way, lots ofpeople sing better than I do, but I shouldbe angry with you if I thought you werepleased.”

The man smiled gravely. “That wouldhurt. I’m sorry for you, Hetty; but again

I’m glad. Now there’s nothing to keep youin the city, you’ll come back to us. Youbelong to the prairie, and it’s a betterplace than this.”

He spoke at an opportune moment. Sinceher cherished ambition had failed her,Hetty Torrance had grown a trifle tired ofthe city and the round of pleasure that mustbe entered into strenuously, and therewere times when, looking back in reverie,she saw the great silent prairie roll backunder the red sunrise into the east, andfade, vast, solemn, and restful, a cool landof shadow, when the first pale stars cameout. Then she longed for the jingle of thebridles and the drumming of the hoofs, andfelt once more the rush of the gallop stirher blood. But this was what she would

not show, and her eyes twinkled a triflemaliciously.

“Well, I don’t quite know,” she said.“There is always one thing left to most ofus.”

She saw the man wince ever so slightly,and was pleased at it; but he was, as shehad once told him in the old days, grit allthrough, and he smiled a little.

“Of course!” he said. “Still, the trouble isthat there are very few of us good enoughfor you. But you will come back for alittle?”

Miss Torrance would not commit herself.“How are they getting along at theRange?”

“Doesn’t your father write you?”

“Yes,” said the girl, colouring a trifle. “Ihad a letter from him a few days ago, buthe seldom mentioned what he was doing,and I want you to tell me about him.”

The man appeared thoughtful. “Well,” hesaid, “it’s quite three months since I spoketo him. He was stirring round as brisk asever, and is rolling the dollars in thisyear.”

“But you used to be always at the Range.”

The man nodded, but the slight constraintthat was upon him did not escape the girl.“Still, I don’t go there so often now. TheRange is lonesome when you are away.”

Miss Torrance accepted the speech as onemade by a comrade, and perhaps waswrong, but a tramp of feet attracted her

attention then, and she looked away fromher companion. Driven by the railroadofficials, and led by an interpreter, a bandof Teutons some five or six hundred strongfiled into the station. Stalwart and stolid,tow-haired, with the stamp of acquiescentpatience in their homely faces, they cameon with the swing, but none of the usualspirit, of drilled men. They asked noquestions, but went where they were led,and the foulness of the close-packedsteerage seemed to cling about them. For atime the depot rang to the rhythmic trampof feet, and when, at a sign from theinterpreter, it stopped, two bewilderedchildren, frowsy and unwashed, in greasyhomespun, sat down and gazed at MissTorrance with mild blue eyes. She signedto a boy who was passing with a basket

slung before him, and made a littleimpatient gesture when the man slippedhis hand into his pocket.

“No,” she said; “you’ll make me vexedwith you. Tell him to give them all he has.They’ll be a long while in the cars.”

She handed the boy a silver coin, andwhile the children sat still,undemonstratively astonished, with thegolden fruit about them, the man passedhim a bill.

“Now get some more oranges, and beginright at the top of the line,” he said. “If thatdoesn’t see you through, come back to mefor another bill.”

Hetty Torrance’s eyes softened. “Larry,”she said, “that was dreadfully good of

you. Where are they all going to?”

“Chicago, Nebraska, Minnesota,Montana,” said the man. “There are thecars coming in. Just out of Castle Garden,and it’s because of the city improvementsdisorganizing traffic they’re bringing themthis way. They’re the advance guard, yousee, and there are more of them coming.”

The tramp of feet commenced again, butthis time it was a horde of diversenationality, Englishmen, Irishmen, Poles,and Finns, but all with the stamp of toil,and many with that of scarcity upon them.Bedraggled, unkempt, dejected, eager withthe cunning that comes of adversity, theyflowed in, and Hetty Torrance’s face grewpitiful as she watched them.

“Do they come every week like this and,

even in our big country, have we got roomfor all of them?” she said.

There was a curious gleam in the man’sbrown eyes. “Oh, yes,” he said. “It’s thebiggest and greatest country this old worldhas ever seen, and the Lord made it as ahome for the poor—the folks they’ve nofood or use for back yonder; and, whilethere are short-sighted fools who wouldclose the door, we take them in, outcastand hopeless, and put new heart in them.In a few short years we make them menand useful citizens, the equal of any on thisearth—Americans!”

Hetty Torrance nodded, and there waspride but no amusement in her smile; forshe had a quick enthusiasm, and thereticence of Insular Britain has no great

place in that country.

“Still,” she said; “all these people comingin must make a difference.”

The man’s face grew grave. “Yes,” hesaid; “there will have to be a change, andit is coming. We are only outwardlydemocratic just now, and don’t seem toknow that men are worth more thanmillionaires. We have let them get theirgrip on our industries, and too much of ourland, until what would feed a thousandbuys canvas-backs, and wines fromEurope for one. Isn’t what we raise inCalifornia good enough for Americans?”

Miss Torrance’s eyes twinkled. “Some ofit isn’t very nice, and they don’t live oncanvas-backs,” she said. “Still, it seems tome that other men have talked like that

quite a thousand years ago; and, while Idon’t know anyone better at breaking abroncho or cutting out a steer,straightening these affairs out is too big acontract for you.”

The man laughed pleasantly. “That’s allright, but I can do a little in the place Ibelong to, and the change is beginningthere. Is it good for this country that oneman should get rich feeding his cattle onleagues of prairie where a hundredfamilies could make a living growingwheat?”

“Now,” said the girl drily, “I know whyyou and my father haven’t got on. Youropinions wouldn’t please him, Larry.”

“No,” said the man, with a trace ofembarrassment, “I don’t think they would;

and that’s just why we’ve got to convincehim and the others that what we want to dois for the good of the country.”

Hetty Torrance laughed. “It’s going to behard. No man wants to believe anything isgood when he sees it will take quite a pileof dollars out of his pocket.”

The man said nothing, and Hetty fanciedhe was not desirous of following up thetopic, while as they sat silent a biglocomotive backed another great train ofemigrant cars in. Then the tramp of feetcommenced again, and once more afrowsy host of outcasts from theovercrowded lands poured into the depot.Wagons piled with baggage had precededthem, but many dragged their pitifulbelongings along with them, and the

murmur of their alien voices rang throughthe bustle of the station. Hetty Torrancewas not unduly fanciful, but thosefootsteps caused her, as she afterwardsremembered, a vague concern. Shebelieved, as her father did, that Americawas made for the Americans; but it wasevident that in a few more years every unitof those incoming legions would be acitizen of the Republic, with rights equalto those enjoyed by Torrance of CedarRange. She had seen that as yet theconstitution gave no man more than hecould by his own hand obtain; but itseemed not unlikely that some, at least, ofthose dejected, unkempt men had struckfor the rights of humanity that were deniedthem in the older lands with dynamite andrifle.

Then, as the first long train of grimy carsrolled out close packed with their frowsyhuman freight, a train of another kind camein, and two young women in light dressesswung themselves down from the platformof a car that was sumptuous with polishedwoods and gilding. Miss Torrance rose asshe saw them, and touched her companion.

“Come along, Larry, and I’ll show youtwo of the nicest girls you ever met,” shesaid.

The man laughed. “They would have beennicer if they hadn’t come quite so soon,”he said.

He followed his companion and was dulypresented to Miss Flora and MissCaroline Schuyler. “Larry Grant ofFremont Ranch,” said Miss Torrance.

“Larry is a great friend of mine.”

The Misses Schuyler were pretty.Carolina, the younger, pale, blue-eyed,fair-haired and vivacious; her sisterequally blonde, but a trifle quieter.Although they were gracious to him, Grantfancied that one flashed a questioningglance at the other when there was a haltin the conversation. Then, as if by tacitagreement, they left him alone a momentwith their companion, and Hetty Torrancesmiled as she held out her hand.

“I can’t keep them waiting, but you’llcome and see me,” she said.

“I am going home to-morrow,” said theman. “When are you coming, Hetty?”

The girl smiled curiously, and there was a

trace of wistfulness in her eyes. “I don’tquite know. Just now I fancy I may notcome at all, but you will not forget me,Larry.”

The man looked at her very gravely, andHetty Torrance appeared to findsomething disconcerting in his gaze, forshe turned her head away.

“No,” he said, and there was a littletremor in his voice, “I don’t think I shallforget you. Well, if ever you grow tired ofthe cities you will remember the lonelyfolks who are longing to have you homeagain back there on the prairie.”

Hetty Torrance felt her fingers quiverunder his grasp, but the next moment hehad turned away, and her companionsnoticed there was a faint pink tinge in her

cheeks when she rejoined them. But beingwise young women, they restrained theirnatural inquisitiveness, and asked noquestions then.

In the meanwhile Grant, who watchedthem until the last glimpse of their lightdresses was lost in the crowd, stoodbeside the second emigrant train vacantlyglancing at the aliens who thronged aboutit. His bronzed face was a trifle weary,and his lips were set, but at last hestraightened his shoulders with a littleresolute movement and turned away.

“I have my work,” he said, “and it’s goingto be quite enough for me.”

II

HETTY TAKES HEED

It was evening when Hetty Torrance satalone in a room of Mrs. Schuyler’s houseat Hastings-on-the-Hudson. The room waspretty, though its adornment was garishand somewhat miscellaneous, consistingas it did of the trophies of Miss Schuyler’sEuropean tour. A Parisian clock, rich ingilded scroll work to the verge ofbarbarity, contrasted with the artisticseverity of one or two good Italianmarbles, while these in turn stood quaintlyupon choice examples of time-mellowed

English cabinet-work. There was taste inthem all, but they suffered from thejuxtaposition, which, however, wassomewhat characteristic of the country.Still, Miss Schuyler had not spoiled thesplendid parquetrie floor of Americantimber.

The windows were open wide, and whena little breeze from the darkening rivercame up across the lawn, Hetty languidlyraised her head. The coolness wasgrateful, the silken cushions she reclinedamidst luxurious, but the girl’s eyes grewthoughtful as they wandered round theroom, for that evening the suggestion ofwealth in all she saw jarred upon hermood. The great city lay not very faraway, sweltering with its crowded

tenement houses under stifling heat; andshe could picture the toilers who herdedthere, gasping for air. Then her fancy fledfurther, following the long emigrant trainas it crawled west from side-track to side-track, close packed with humanity thatwas much less cared for than her father’scattle.

She had often before seen the dusty carsroll into a wayside depot to wait until theluxurious limited passed, and the grimyfaces at the windows, pale and pinched,cunning, or coarsely brutal, after thefashion of their kind, had roused no morethan a passing pity. It was, however,different that night, for Grant’s words hadroused her to thought, and she wonderedwith a vague apprehension whether the

tramp of weary feet she had listened towould once more break in upon hersheltered life. Larry had foreseen changes,and he was usually right. Then shebrushed these fancies into the background,for she had still a decision to make.Captain Cheyne would shortly arrive, andshe knew what he came to ask. He wasalso a personable man, and, so far as theSchuylers knew, without reproach, whileHetty had seen a good deal of him duringthe past twelve months. She admitted aliking for him, but now that the time hadcome to decide, she was not certain thatshe would care to spend her life with him.As a companion, he left nothing to bedesired, but, as had happened alreadywith another man with whom MissTorrance had been pleased, that position

did not appear to content him; and she hadmisgivings about contracting a morepermanent bond. It was almost a reliefwhen Miss Schuyler came in.

“Stand up, Hetty. I want to look at you,”she said.

Miss Torrance obeyed and stood beforeher, girlishly slender in her long dress,though there was an indefinite suggestionof imperiousness in her dark eyes.

“Will I pass?” she asked.

Flora Schuyler surveyed her critically andthen laughed. “Yes,” she said. “You’repretty enough to please anybody, andthere’s a style about you that makes itquite plain you were of some importanceout there on the prairie. Now you can sit

down again, because I want to talk to you.Who’s Larry Grant?”

“Tell me what you think of him.”

Miss Schuyler pursed her lipsreflectively. “Well,” she said, “he’s notNew York. Quite a good-looking man,with a good deal in him, but I’d like to seehim on horseback. Been in the cavalry?You’re fond of them, you know.”

“No,” said Hetty, “but he knows moreabout horses than any cavalry officer.Larry’s a cattle-baron.”

“I never quite knew what the cattle-baronswere, except that your father’s one, andthey’re mostly rich,” said Miss Schuyler.

Hetty’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t thinkLarry’s very rich. They’re the men or the

sons of them, who went west when theprairie belonged to the Indians and theBlackfeet, Crows, and Crees made themlots of trouble. Still, they held the landthey settled on, and covered it with cattle,until the Government gave it to them,’most as much as you could ride across ina day, to each big rancher.”

“Gave it to them?”

Hetty nodded. “A lease of it. It means thesame thing. A few of them, though I think itwasn’t quite permitted, bought otherleases in, and out there a cattle-baron is abigger man than a railroad king. You see,he makes the law—all there is—as wellas supports the industry, for there’s not asheriff in the country dares question him.The cattle-boys are his retainers, and

we’ve a squadron of them at the Range.They’d do just what Torrance of Cedartold them, whatever it was, and there arefew men who could ride with them in theU. S. Cavalry.”

“Then,” said Flora Schuyler, “if theGovernment ever encouragedhomesteading in their country they’d maketrouble.”

Hetty laughed. “Yes,” she said drily, “Iguess they would, but no governmentdares meddle with us.”

“Well,” said Flora Schuyler, “you haven’ttold us yet who Larry is. You know quitewell what I mean.”

Hetty smiled. “I called him my partnerwhen I was home. Larry held me on my

first pony, and has done ’most whatever Iwanted him ever since. Fremont isn’t veryfar from the Range, and when I wanted toride anywhere, or to have a new horsebroken, Larry was handy.”

Miss Schuyler appeared reflective, butthere was a bond of confidence betweenthe two, and the reserve that characterizesthe Briton is much less usual in thatcountry.

“It always seemed to me, my dear, that anarrangement of that kind is a little roughon the man, and I think this one is too goodto spoil,” she said.

Hetty coloured a trifle, but she smiled. “Itis all right with Larry. He never expectedanything.”

“No?” said Flora Schuyler. “He nevertried to make love to you?”

The tinge of colour grew a trifle deeper inHetty’s cheek. “Only once, and I scarcelythink he meant it. It was quite a long whileago, and I told him he must never do itagain.”

“And since then he has tamed your horses,and bought you all the latest songs andbooks—good editions in English artbindings. It was Larry who sent you thoseflowers when we could scarcely get one?”

Hetty for some reason turned away herhead. “Don’t you get things of that kind?”

A trace of gravity crept into FloraSchuyler’s blue eyes, which wereunusually attractive ones. “When they

come too often I send them back,” shesaid. “Oh, I know I’m careless now andthen, but one has to do the square thing,and I wouldn’t let any man do all that forme unless I was so fond of him that Imeant to marry him. Now I’m going to talkquite straight to you, Hetty. You’ll have togive up Larry by and by, but if you findthat’s going to hurt you, send the other manaway.”

“You don’t understand,” and there was alittle flash in Hetty’s dark eyes. “Larry’skind to everyone—he can’t help it; but hedoesn’t want me.”

Flora Schuyler gravely patted hercompanion’s arm. “My dear, we don’twant to quarrel, but you’ll be careful—toplease me. Jake Cheyne is coming, and

you might be sorry ever after if you madea mistake to-night.”

Hetty made no answer, and there wassilence for a space while the light grewdimmer, until the sound of voices rosefrom without, and she felt her heart beat atrifle faster than usual, when somebodysaid, “Captain Cheyne!”

Then there was a rustle of draperies andMrs. Schuyler, thin, angular, andconsiderably more silent than is customarywith women of her race, came in, with heryounger daughter and a man in her train.The latter bore the stamp of the soldierplainly, but there was a distinction in hispose that was not the result of a militarytraining. Then as he shook hands withFlora Schuyler the fading light from the

window fell upon his face, showing itclean cut from the broad forehead to thesolid chin, and reposeful instead ofnervously mobile. His even, low-pitchedvoice was also in keeping with it, forJackson Cheyne was an unostentatiousAmerican of culture widened by travel,and, though they are not always to befound in the forefront in their own country,unless it has need of them, men of his typehave little to fear from comparison withthose to be met with in any other one.

He spoke when there was occasion, andwas listened to, but some time had passedbefore he turned to Mrs. Schuyler. “Iwonder if it would be too great a liberty ifI asked Miss Torrance to give us somemusic,” he said. “I am going away to-

morrow to a desolate outpost in NewMexico, and it will be the last time formonths that I shall have a treat of thatkind.”

Flora Schuyler opened the piano, andHetty smiled at Cheyne as she took herplace; but the man made a little gesture ofnegation when Mrs. Schuyler would haverung for lights.

“Wouldn’t it be nicer as it is?” he said.

Hetty nodded, and there was silencebefore the first chords rang softly throughthe room. Though it may have been that theabsence of necessity to strive and stain herdaintiness amidst the press wasresponsible for much, Hetty Torrance’svoice had failed to win her fame; but shesang and played better than most well-

trained amateurs. Thus there was no rustleof drapery or restless movements until thelast low notes sank into the stillness. Thenthe girl glanced at the man who hadunobtrusively managed to find a placeclose beside her.

“You know what that is?” she said.

Carolina Schuyler laughed. “Jake knowseverything!”

“Yes,” said the man quietly. “A nocturne.You were thinking of something when youplayed it.”

“The sea,” said Flora Schuyler, “when themoon is on it. Was that it, Hetty?”

“No,” said Miss Torrance, whoafterwards wondered whether it wouldhave made a great difference if she had

not chosen that nocturne. “It was theprairie when the stars are coming out overCedar Range. Then it seems bigger andmore solemn than the sea. I can see it now,wide and grey and shadowy, and so stillthat you feel afraid to hear yourselfbreathing, with the last smoky flushburning on its northern rim. Now, you maylaugh at me, for you couldn’t understand.When you have been born there, youalways love the prairie.”

Then with a little deprecatory gesture shetouched the keys again. “It will bedifferent this time.”

Cheyne glanced up sharply during theprelude, and then, feeling that the girl’seyes were upon him, nodded as out of theswelling harmonies there crept the theme.

It suggested the tramp of marching feet, butthere was a curious unevenness in itsrhythm, and the crescendo one of thelisteners looked for never came. The roomwas almost dark now, but none of thosewho sat there seemed to notice it as theylistened to the listless tramp of marchingfeet. Then the harmonies drowned it again,and Hetty looked at Cheyne.

“Now,” she said, “can you tell me whatthat means?”

Cheyne’s voice seemed a trifle strained,as though the music had troubled him. “Iknow the march, but the composer neverwrote what you have played to-night,” hesaid. “It was—may mine be defendedfrom it!—the shuffle of beaten men. Howcould you have felt what you put into the

music?”

“No,” said Hetty. “Your men could nevermarch like that. It was footsteps goingwest, and I could not have originated theirdragging beat. I have heard it.”

There was a little silence, until Cheynesaid softly, “One more.”

“Then,” said Hetty, “you will recognizethis.”

The chords rang under her fingers untilthey swelled into confused and conflictingharmonies that clashed and jarred upon thetheme. Their burden was strife andstruggle and the anguish of strain, until atlast, in the high clear note of victory, thetheme rose supreme.

“Yes,” said Flora Schuyler, “we know

that. We heard it with the Kaiser in Berlin.Only one man could have written it; buthis own countrymen could not play itbetter than you do. A little overwhelming.How did you get down to the spirit of it,Hetty?”

Lights were brought in just then, and theyshowed that the girl’s face was a triflepaler than usual, as closing the piano, sheturned, with a little laugh, upon the music-stool.

“Oh!” she said, “I don’t quite know, anduntil to-night it always cheated me. I got itat the depot—no, I didn’t. It was there Ifelt the marching, and Larry brought theprairie back to me; but I couldn’t haveseen what was in the last music, because ithasn’t happened yet.”

“It will come?” said Flora.

“Yes,” said Hetty, “wherever those wearymen are going to.”

“And to every one of us,” said Cheyne,with a curious graveness they afterwardsremembered. “That is, the stress and strain—it is the triumph at the end of it only thefew attain.”

Once more there was silence, and it was arelief when the unemotional Mrs. Schuylerrose.

“Now,” she said, and her voice, at least,had in it the twang of the country, “youyoung folks have been solemn quite longenough. Can’t you talk something kind oflively?”

They did what they could, and—for

Cheyne could on occasion display apolished wit—light laughter filled theroom, until Caroline Schuyler, perhaps notwithout a motive, suggested a stroll on thelawn. If there was dew upon the grassnone of them heeded it, and it was butseldom anyone enjoyed the privilege ofpacing that sod when Mr. Schuyler was athome. Every foot had cost him manydollars, and it remained but an imperfectimitation of an English lawn. There wason the one side a fringe of maples, and itwas perhaps by Mrs. Schuyler’scontrivance that eventually Hetty foundherself alone with Cheyne in their deepershadow. It was not, however, a surprise toher, for she had seen the man’s desire andtacitly fallen in with it. Miss Torrance haddiscovered that one seldom gains anything

by endeavouring to avoid the inevitable.

“Hetty,” he said quietly, “I think you knowwhy I have come to-night?”

The girl stood very still and silent for aspace of seconds, and afterwardswondered whether she made the decisionthen, or what she had seen and heard sinceshe entered the depot had formed it forher.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I am so sorry!”

Cheyne laid his hand upon her arm, andhis voice trembled a little. “Don’t be toohasty, Hetty,” he said. “I would not askyou for very much just now, but I hadventured to fancy you could in time growfond of me. I know I should have waited,but I am going away to-morrow, and I only

want you to give me a promise to takeaway with me.”

It was with a visible effort the girl liftedher head and looked at him. “I feelhorribly mean, Jake, but I can’t,” she said.“I ought to have made you realize that longago, but I liked you, and, you see, I didn’tquite know. I thought if I waited a little Imight be more sure of what I felt for you!”

“Then,” said the man, a trifle hoarsely,“give me what you can now and I will bepatient.”

Hetty turned half way from him and closedone hand. The man was pleasant to lookupon, in character and disposition all shecould desire, and she had found a curiouscontent in his company. Had that daypassed as other days had done, she might

have yielded to him, but she had beenstirred to the depths of her nature duringthe last few hours, and Flora Schuyler’swarning had been opportune. She had, asshe had told him, a liking for JacksonCheyne, but that, she saw very clearlynow, was insufficient. Destiny had sentLarry Grant, with the associations thatclung about him, into the depot.

“No,” she said, with a little tremble in hervoice, “it wouldn’t be honest or fair toyou. I am not half good enough for you.”

The man smiled somewhat mirthlessly, buthis voice was reproachful. “You alwaysspeak the truth, Hetty. My dear, knowingwhat the best of us are, I wonder how Idared to venture to ask you to share yourlife with me.”

Hetty checked him with a little gesture.“Can’t you understand?” she said. “Thegirl who sang to you now and then isn’tme. I am selfish, discontented, andshallow, and if you hadn’t heard me singor play you would never have thought ofme. There are people who sing divinely,and are—you see, I have met them withthe mask off—just horrible.”

“Hetty,” said Cheyne, “I can’t allowanyone to malign you, even if it’s yourself,and if you have any faults, my dear, I’lltake them with the rest. In fact, I would beglad of one or two. They would only bringyou a little nearer to me.”

The girl lifted her hand and silenced him.“Jake,” she said appealingly, “please takeyour answer and go away. If I could only

be fond of you in the right way I would,but I can’t, you see. It is not my fault—itisn’t in me.”

The man recognized the finality in hertone, but, feeling that it was useless, madea last endeavour.

“I’m going away to-morrow,” he said.“You might think differently when I comeback again.”

The girl’s voice quivered a little. “No,”she said. “I have to be straightforwardnow, and I know you will try to make iteasier for me, even if I’m hurting you. It’sno use. I shall think the same, and by andby you’ll get over this fancy, and wonderwhat you ever saw in me.”

The man smiled curiously. “I am afraid it

will take me a lifetime,” he said.

In another moment he had gone, and Hettyturned, a trifle flushed in face, towards thehouse across the lawn.

“He took it very well—and I shall neverfind anyone half so nice again,” she said.

It was half an hour later, and MissTorrance had recovered at least heroutward serenity, when one of Mrs.Schuyler’s neighbours arrived. Shebrought one or two young women, and aman, with her. The latter she presented toMrs. Schuyler.

“Mr. Reginald Clavering,” she said.“He’s from the prairie where MissTorrance’s father lives, and is staying aday or two with us. When I heard he knew

Hetty I ventured to bring him over.”

Mrs. Schuyler expressed her pleasure, and—for they had gone back to the lightedroom now—Hetty presently found herselfseated face to face with the stranger. Hewas a tall, well-favoured man, slender,and lithe in movement, with dark eyes andhair, and a slightly sallow face thatsuggested that he was from the South. Italso seemed fitting that he wasimmaculately dressed, for there was acurious gracefulness about him that stillhad in it a trace of insolence. No onewould have mistaken him for aNortherner.

“It was only an hour ago I found we wereso near, and I insisted upon coming acrossat once,” he said. “You have changed a

good deal since you left the prairie.”

“Yes,” said the girl drily. “Is it veryastonishing? You see, we don’t spend halfour time on horseback here. You didn’texpect to find me a sharp-tongued Amazonstill?”

Clavering laughed as he looked at her, butthe approval of what he saw was a trifletoo evident in his black eyes.

“Well,” he said languidly, “you were ourPrincess then, and there was only one ofyour subjects’ homage you never tookkindly to. That was rough on him, becausehe was at least as devoted as the rest.”

“That,” said the girl, with a trace ofacerbity, “was because he tried topatronize me. Even if I haven’t the right to

it, I like respect.”

Clavering made a little gesture, and thedeference in it was at least half sincere.“You command it, and I must try to makeamends. Now, don’t you want to hearabout your father and the Range?”

“No,” said Hetty. “I had a talk with Larryto-day.”

“In New York?”

“Yes. At the depot. He is going back to-morrow. You seem astonished?”

Clavering appeared thoughtful. “Well, it’sChicago he usually goes to.”

“Usually?” said Hetty. “I scarcelyremember him leaving Fremont once inthree years.”

Clavering laughed. “Then he leaves it agood deal more often now. A man musthave a little diversion when he lives aswe do, and no doubt Larry feels lonely.You are here, and Heloise Durand hasgone away.”

Hetty understood the implication, for shehad some notion how the men who spentmonths together in the solitude of theprairie amused themselves in the cities.Nor had she and most of her neighbourswholly approved of the liberal views heldby Heloise Durand. She had, however, anunquestioning belief in Larry, and none inthe man beside her.

“I scarcely think you need have beenjealous of him,” she said. “Larry wasn’tMiss Durand’s kind, and he couldn’t be

lonely. Everybody was fond of him.”

Clavering nodded. “Of course! Still, Larryhasn’t quite so many friends lately.”

“Now,” said Hetty with a little flash in hereyes, “when you’ve told me that you havegot to tell the rest. What has he beendoing?”

“Ploughing!” said Clavering drily. “I didwhat I could to restrain him, but nobodyever could argue with Larry.”

Hetty laughed, though she felt a littledismay. It was then a serious affair todrive the wheat furrow in a cattle country,and the man who did it was apt to beregarded as an iconoclast. Nevertheless,she would not show that she recognized it.

“Well,” she said, “that isn’t very dreadful.

The plough is supreme in the Dakotas andMinnesota now. Sooner or later it has gotto find a place in our country.”

“Still, that’s not going to happen whileyour father lives.”

The girl realized the truth of this, but sheshook her head. “We’re not here to talkwheat and cattle, and I see Flo Schuylerlooking at us,” she said. “Go across andmake yourself agreeable to the others forthe honour of the prairie.”

Clavering went; but he had left anunpleasant impression behind him, as hehad perhaps intended, while soon after hetook his departure Flora Schuyler foundher friend alone.

“So you sent Jake away!” she said.

“Yes,” said Hetty. “I don’t know whatmade me, but I felt I had to. I almost meantto take him.”

Flora Schuyler nodded gravely. “But itwasn’t because of that man Clavering?”

“It was not,” said Hetty, with a littlelaugh. “Don’t you like him? He is rather afamous man back there on the prairie.”

Flora Schuyler shook her head. “No,” shesaid; “he reminded me of that Florentinefiligree thing. It’s very pretty, and I boughtit for silver, but it isn’t.”

“You think he’s that kind of man?”

“Yes,” said Miss Schuyler. “I wouldn’ttake him at face value. The silver’s all ontop. I don’t know what is underneath it,and would sooner somebody else found

out.”

III

THE CATTLE-BARONS

It was a still, hot evening when asomewhat silent company of bronze-facedmen assembled in the big living room ofCedar Range. It was built of birch trunks,and had once, with its narrow windowsand loopholes for rifle fire, resembled afortalice; but now cedar panelling coveredthe logs, and the great double casementswere filled with the finest glass. Theywere open wide that evening. Around thisroom had grown up a straggling woodenbuilding of dressed lumber with pillars

and scroll-work, and, as it stood then,flanked by its stores and stables, barnsand cattle-boys’ barracks, there was nohomestead on a hundred leagues of prairiethat might compare with it.

Outside, on the one hand, the prairierolled away in long billowy rises, a vastsea of silvery grey, for the grass that hadbeen green a month or two was turningwhite again, and here and there astockrider showed silhouetted, a duskymounted figure against the paling flickerof saffron that still lingered upon thehorizon. On the other, a birch bluff dippedto the Cedar River, which came downfaintly chilled with the Rockies’ snowfrom the pine forests of the foothills.There was a bridge four miles away, but

the river could be forded beneath theRange for a few months each year. Atother seasons it swirled by, frothing ingreen-stained flood, swollen by thedrainage of snowfield and glacier, andthere was no stockrider at the Range whodared swim his horse across.

Sun and wind had their will with thehomestead, for there was little shelterfrom icy blizzard and scorching heat atCedar; but though here and there theframe-boarding gaped and the roof-shingles were rent, no man accustomed tothat country could fail to notice the signsof careful management and prosperity.Corrals, barns, and stables were the bestof their kind; and, though the character ofall of them was not beyond exception, in

physique and fitness for their work itwould have been hard to match the sinewymen in blue shirts, wide hats, and longboots, then watering their horses at theford. They were as daring andirresponsible swashbucklers as ever rodeout on mediæval foray, and, having oncesold their allegiance to Torrance ofCedar, and recognized that he was not tobe trifled with, were ready to do withoutcompunction anything he bade them.

In the meanwhile Torrance sat at the headof the long table, with Clavering ofBeauregard at his right hand. His face wasbronzed and resolute, and the stamp ofcommand sat plainly upon him. There wasgrey in his dark hair, and his eyes werekeen and black, with a little glint in them;

but, vigorous as he still seemed, the handon the table was smooth and but slightlytinted by the sun, for Torrance was onewho, in the language of that country, didhis work, which was usually arduous,with his gloves on. He was dressed inwhite shirt and broadcloth, and a diamondof price gleamed in the front of the former.

His guests were for the most part younger,and Clavering was scarcely half his age:but when they met in conclave somethingusually happened, for the seat of thelegislature was far away, and their willconsiderably more potent thereabouts thanthe law of the land. Sheriff, postmaster,railroad agent, and petty politician carriedout their wishes, and as yet no man hadsucceeded in living in that region unless

he did homage to the cattle-barons. Theywere Republicans, admitting in theabstract the rights of man, so long as noventuresome citizen demanded too muchof them; but they had discovered that inpractice liberty is usually the prerogativeof the strong. Still, they had done theirnation good service, for they had found theland a wilderness and covered it withcattle, so that its commerce fed therailroads and supported busy woodentowns. Some of the older men haddisputed possession with the Indian, andmost of them in the early days, enduringthirst and loneliness and unwearying toil,had held on stubbornly in the face of ruinby frost and drought and hail. It was notastonishing that as they had made that land—so they phrased it—they regarded it as

theirs.

There were eight of them present, and fora time they talked of horses and cattle asthey sipped their wine, which was thechoicest that France could send them; andit is also probable that no better cigarsever came from Cuba than those theysmoked. By and by, however, Torrancelaid his aside.

“It’s time we got down to work,” he said.“I sent for ten of you, and eight have come.One sent valid excuses, and one made noanswer.”

“Larry Grant,” said Clavering. “I guess hewas too busy at the depot bringing a fatDutchman and a crowd of hard-facedDakota ploughboys in.”

There was a little murmur of astonishmentwhich, had the men been different, wouldnot have been quite free fromconsternation, for it was significant news.

“You’re quite sure?” asked Torrance, andhis face was stern.

“Well,” said Clavering languidly, “I sawhim, and bantered him a little on hisprepossessing friends. Asked him why,when he was at it, he didn’t go toManitoba for Canadians. Larry didn’t takeit nicely.”

“I’m sorry,” said one of the older men.“Larry is one of us, and the last man I’dfigure on committing that kind of meannesswould be the son of Fremont Grant. Quitesure it’s not a fit of temper? You have notbeen worrying him, Torrance?”

Torrance closed one hand. “Grant ofFremont was my best friend, and when hedied I ’most brought the lad up as a son.When he got hold of his foolish notions ithurt me considerably, and I did what Icould to talk him out of them.”

There was a little smile in the faces ofsome of the men, for Torrance’s draconicfashion of arguing was known to them.

“You put it a little too straight, and he toldyou something that riled you,” said one.

“He did,” said Torrance grimly. “Still, for’most two years I kept a curb on mytemper. Then one evening I told him hehad to choose right then between hisfancies and me. I could have no dealingswith any man who talked as he did.”

“Do you remember any of it?” askedanother man.

“Yes,” said Torrance. “His father’sfriends were standing in the way ofprogress. Land that would feed a thousandfamilies was keeping us in luxury noAmerican was entitled to. This was goingto be the poor man’s country, and theplough was bound to come!”

Clavering laughed softly, and there weretraces of ironical amusement in the facesof the rest. Very similar predictions hadmore than once been flung at them, andtheir possessions were still, they fancied,secure to them. They, however, becamegrave again, and it was evident that LarryGrant had hitherto been esteemed by them.

“If it had been any one else, we could

have put our thumb on him right now,”said one. “Still, I don’t quite figure itwould work with Larry. There are toomany folks who would stand in with him.”

There was a little murmur of approbation,and Clavering laughed. “Buy him off,” hesaid tentatively. “We have laid out a fewthousand dollars in that way before.”

Some of the men made gestures of decidednegation, and Torrance looked at thespeaker a trifle sternly.

“No, sir,” he said. “Larry may be foolish,but he’s one of us.”

“Then,” said somebody, “we’ve got togive him time. Let it pass. You havesomething to tell us, Torrance?”

Torrance signed to one of them. “You had

better tell them, Allonby.”

A grey-haired man stood up, and hisfingers shook a little on the table. “Mylease has fallen in, and the Bureau will notrenew it,” he said. “I’m not going to moanabout my wrongs, but some of you knowwhat it cost me to break in that place ofmine. You have lived on the bitter waterand the saleratus bread, but none of youhas seen his wife die for the want of thefew things he couldn’t give her, as I did. Igave the nation my two boys when thegood times came, and they’re dead—buried in their uniform both of them—andnow, when I’d laid out my last dollar onthe ranch, that the one girl I’ve left memight have something when I’d gone, theGovernment will take it away from me.

Gentlemen, is it my duty to sit downquietly?”

There was a murmur, and the men lookedat one another with an ominous question intheir eyes, until Torrance raised his hand.

“The land’s not open to location. I guessthey’re afraid of us, and Allonby’s thereon toleration yet,” he said. “Gentlemen,we mean to keep him just where he is,because when he pulls out we will have togo too. But this thing has to be donequietly. When the official machinerymoves down here it’s because we pull thestrings, and we have got to have the lawupon our side as far as we can. Well,that’s going to cost us money, and we wanta campaign fund. I’ll give Allonby acheque for five hundred dollars in the

meanwhile, if he’ll be treasurer; but as wemay all be fixed as he is presently, we’llwant a good deal more before we’rethrough. Who will follow me?”

Each of them promised five hundred, andthen looked at Clavering, who had notspoken. One of them also fancied thatthere was for a moment a trace ofembarrassment in his face; but he smiledcarelessly.

“The fact is, dollars are rather tight withme just now,” he said. “You’ll have towait a little if I’m to do as much as therest of you. I am, however, quite willing.”

“I’ll lend you them,” said Torrance.“Allonby, I’ll make that cheque athousand. You have got it down?”

Allonby accepted office, and one of theother men rose up. “Now it seems to methat Torrance is right, and with our leasesexpired or running out, we’re all in thesame tight place,” he said. “The first moveis to get every man holding cattle landfrom here to the barren country to stand in,and then, one way or another, we’ll freezeout the homesteaders. Well, then, we’llconstitute ourselves a committee, withTorrance as head executive, and as wewant to know just what the others aredoing, my notion is that he should start offto-morrow and ride round the country. Ifthere are any organizations ready, it mightsuit us to affiliate with them.”

It was agreed to, and Clavering said, “Itseems to me, sir, that the first question is,

‘Could we depend upon the boys if wewanted them?’”

Torrance strode to an open window andblew a silver whistle. Its shrill note hadscarcely died away when a mounted mancame up at a gallop, and a band of othersin haste on foot. They stopped in front ofthe window, picturesque in blue shirts andlong boots, sinewy, generously fed, andirresponsibly daring.

“Boys,” he said, “you’ve been told there’sa change coming, and by and by thiscountry will have no more use for you.Now, if any folks came here and pulledour boundaries up to let the mean whitesfrom back east in, what are you going todo?”

There was a burst of hoarse laughter.

“Ride them down,” said one retainer, withthe soft blue eyes of a girl and a figure ofalmost matchless symmetry.

“Grow feathers on them,” said another.“Ride them back to the railroad on a rail.”

“I scarcely think that would benecessary,” said Torrance quietly. “Still,you’d stand behind the men who payyou?”

There was a murmur that expressed agood deal, though it was inarticulate, anda man stood forward.

“You’ve heard them, sir,” he said. “Well,we’ll do just what you want us to. This isthe cattle-baron’s country, and we’re here.It’s good enough for us, and if it meanslots of trouble we’re going to stay here.”

Torrance raised his hand, and when themen moved away turned with a little grimsmile to his guests. “They’ll be quite asgood as their word,” he said.

Then he led them back to the table, andwhen the decanter had gone round, one ofthe younger men stood up.

“We want a constitution, gentlemen, andI’ll give you one,” he said. “The CedarDistrict Stockraisers’ Committeeincorporated to-day with for sole objectthe defence of our rights as Americancitizens!”

Clavering rose with the others, but therewas a little ironical smile in his eyes as hesaid, “If necessary against any unlawfulencroachments made by the legislature!”

Torrance turned upon him sternly. “No,sir!” he said. “By whatever means mayappear expedient!”

The glasses were lifted high, and whenthey had laid them down the men rodeaway, though only one or two of themrealized the momentous issues which theyand others had raised at about much thesame time. They had not, however, met inconclave too soon, for any step that manmakes forward towards a wider life isusually marked by strife, and the shadowof coming trouble was already upon theland. It had deepened little by little, andthe cattle-barons had closed their eyes, asother men who have held the reins havedone since the beginning, until the leanhands of the toilers fastened upon them,

and fresh horrors added to an ancientwrong were the price of liberty that waslost again. They had done good service totheir nation, with profit to themselves, andwould not see that the times werechanging and that the nation had no longerneed of them.

Other men, however, at least suspected it,and there was an expectant gathering onehot afternoon in the railroad depot of alittle wooden town where Grant stoodwaiting for the west-bound train. Therewas little to please the eye about thestation, and still less about the town.Straight out of the great white levels ranthe glistening track, and an unsightlybuilding of wood and iron rose from theside of it, flanked by a towering water-

tank. A pump rattled under it, and thesmell of creosote was everywhere. Cattlecorrals ran back from the track, andbeyond them sun-rent frame houses roofedwith cedar shingles straggled away on theone hand, paintless, crude, and square. Onthe other, a smear of trail led the dazzledvision back across the parched levels tothe glancing refraction on the horizon, andthe figure of a single horseman showingdimly through a dust cloud emphasizedtheir loneliness. The town was hot anddusty, its one green fringe of willowsdefiled by the garbage the citizensdeposited there, and the most lenientstranger could have seen no grace orbeauty in it. Yet, like many another placeof the kind, it was destined to rise toprosperity and fame.

The depot was thronged that afternoon.Store and hotel keeper, citizens in whiteshirts and broadcloth, jostled blue-shirtedcattle men, while here and there a pettypolitician consulted with therepresentative of a Western paper. Thesmoke of cigars drifted everywhere, andthe listless heat was stirred by the hum ofvoices eager and strident. It was evidentthat the assembly was in an expectantmood, and there was a murmur ofapprobation when one newspaper manlaid hold of Grant.

“I couldn’t light on you earlier, but tenminutes will see us through,” he said.“We’ll make a half-page of it if you’ll letme have your views. New epoch in thecountry’s history! The small farmer the

coming king! A wood-cut of the man whobrought the first plough in.”

Larry Grant laughed a little. “There arequite a few ahead of me, and if you spreadmy views the barons would put theirthumb on you and squeeze you flat,” hesaid. “On the other hand, it wouldn’t suitme if you sent them anything I told you topublish.”

The man appeared a trifle embarrassed.“The rights of the Press are sacred in afree country, sir,” he said.

“Well,” said Grant drily, “although I hopeit will be, this country isn’t quite free yet.I surmise that you don’t know that theoffice of your contemporary farther eastwas broken into a few hours ago, and anarticle written by a friend of mine pulled

out of the press. The proprietor wasquietly held down upon the floor when heobjected. You will hear whether I am rightor wrong to-morrow.”

What the man would have answered didnot appear, for just then somebodyshouted, and a trail of smoke swept upabove the rim of the prairie. It rose higherand whiter, something that flasheddazzlingly grew into shape beneath it, andthere was a curious silence when the dustycars rolled into the little station. It wasfollowed by a murmur as an elderly manin broad white hat and plain storeclothing, and a plump, blue-eyed youngwoman, came out upon the platform of acar. He wore a pair of spectacles andgazed about him in placid inquiry, until

Grant stepped forward. Then he helpedthe young woman down, and held out abig, hard hand.

“Mr. Grant?” he said.

Grant nodded, and raised his hat to thegirl. “Yes,” he said. “Mr. Muller?”

“Ja,” said the other man. “Also derfräulein Muller.”

There was a little ironical laughter fromthe crowd. “A Dutchman,” saidsomebody, “from Chicago. They raisethem there in the sausage machine. Thehogs go in at one end, and they rake theDutchmen out of the other.”

Muller looked round inquiringly, butapparently failed to discover the speaker.

“Dot,” he said, “is der chestnut. I himhave heard before.”

There was good-humoured laughter—foreven when it has an animus an Americancrowd is usually fair; and in themeanwhile five or six other men got downfrom a car. They were lean and brown,with somewhat grim faces, and weredressed in blue shirts and jean.

“Well,” said one of them, “we’reAmericans. Got any objections to usgetting off here, boys?”

Some of the men in store clothing noddeda greeting, but there were others in widehats, and long boots with spurs, whojeered.

“Brought your plough-cows along?” said

one, and the taunt had its meaning, for it isusually only the indigent and incapablewho plough with oxen.

“No,” said one of the newcomers. “Wehave horses back yonder. When we wantmules or cowsteerers, I guess we’ll findthem here. You seem to have quite a fewof them around.”

A man stepped forward, jingling his spurs,with his jacket of embroidered deerskinflung open to show, though this was as yetunusual, that he wore a bandolier. Rollingback one loose sleeve he displayed abrown arm with the letters “C. R.”tattooed within a garter upon it. “See this.You’ve heard of that mark before?” hesaid.

“Cash required!” said the newcomer, with

a grin. “Well, I guess that’s notastonishing. It would be a blame foolishman who gave you credit.”

“No, sir,” said the stockrider. “It’s CedarRange, and there’s twenty boys and morecattle than you could count in a long daycarrying that brand. It will be a cold daywhen you and the rest of the Dakotas startkicking against that outfit.”

There was laughter and acclamation, inthe midst of which the cars rolled on; butin the meanwhile Grant had seized theopportunity to get a gang-ploughpreviously unloaded from a freight-carinto a wagon. The sight of it raised ademonstration, and there were hoots, andcries of approbation, while a man with aflushed face was hoisted to the top of a

kerosene-barrel.

“Boys,” he said, “there’s no use howling.We’re Americans. Nobody can stop us,and we’re going on. You might as wellkick against a railroad; and because theplough and the small farmer will do morefor you than even the locomotive did, theyhave got to come. Well, now, some of youare keeping stores, and one or two I seehere baking bread and making clothes.Which is going to do the most for yourtrade and you, a handful of rich men, whowouldn’t eat or wear the things you haveto sell, owning the whole country, or afamily farming on every quarter section?A town ten times this size wouldn’t bemuch use to them. Well, you’ve had yourcattle-barons, gentlemen most of them; but

even a man of that kind has to step out ofthe track and make room when the nation’smoving on.”

He probably said more, but Grant did nothear him, for he had as unostentatiously aspossible conveyed Muller and the fräuleininto a wagon, and had horses led up forthe Dakota men. They had some difficultyin mounting, and the crowd laughed good-humouredly, though here and there a manflung jibes at them; while one, jolting inhis saddle as his broncho reared, turned toGrant with a little deprecatory gesture.

“In our country we mostly drive inwagons, but I’ll ride by the stirrup and getdown when nobody sees me,” he said.“The beast wouldn’t try to climb out thisway if there wasn’t something kind of

prickly under his saddle.”

Grant’s face was a trifle grim when hesaw that more of the horses were inclinedto behave similarly, but he flicked histeam with the whip, and there wascheering and derision when, with adrumming of hoofs and rattle of wheels,wagons and horsemen swept away into thedust-cloud that rolled about the trail.

“This,” he said, “is only a little joke oftheirs, and they’ll go a good deal furtherwhen they get their blood up. Still, I triedto warn you what you might expect.”

“So!” said Muller, with a placid grin. “Itis noding to der franc tireurs. I was in derchase of Menotti among der Vosges. Alsoat Paris.”

“Well,” said Grant drily, “I’m ’mostafraid that by and by you’ll go throughvery much the same kind of thing again.What you saw at the depot is going onwherever the railroad is bringing thefarmers in, and we’ve got men in thiscountry who’d make first-grade franctireurs.”

IV

MULLER STANDS FAST

The windows of Fremont homestead wereopen wide, and Larry Grant sat by one ofthem in a state of quiet contentment after along day’s ride. Outside, the prairie,fading from grey to purple, ran back to thedusky east, and the little cool breeze thatcame up out of the silence and flowed intothe room had in it the qualities of snow-chilled wine. A star hung low to thewestward in a field of palest green, and ashaded lamp burned dimly at one end ofthe great bare room.

By it the Fräulein Muller, flaxen-haired,plump, and blue-eyed, sat knitting, andLarry’s eyes grew a trifle wistful when heglanced at her. It was a very long whilesince any woman had crossed histhreshold, and the red-cheeked fräuleingave the comfortless bachelor dwelling acuriously homelike appearance.Nevertheless, it was not the recollectionof its usual dreariness that called up thesigh, for Larry Grant had had his dreamslike other men, and Miss Muller was notthe woman he had now and then daringlypictured sitting there. Her father, perhapsfrom force of habit, sat with a bigmeerschaum in hand, by the empty stove,and if his face expressed anything at all itwas phlegmatic content. Opposite him satBreckenridge, a young Englishman, lately

arrived from Minnesota.

“What do you think of the land, nowyou’ve seen it?” asked Grant.

Muller nodded reflectively. “Der land isgood. It is der first-grade hard wheat shewill grow. I three hundred and twentyacres buy.”

“Well,” said Grant, “I’m willing to let youhave it; but I usually try to do the squarething, and you may have trouble beforeyou get your first crop in.”

“Und,” said Muller, “so you want tosell?”

Grant laughed. “Not quite; and I can’t sellthat land outright. I’ll let it to you whilemy lease runs, and when that falls inyou’ll have the same right to homestead a

quarter or half section for nothing as anyother man. In the meanwhile, I and one ortwo others are going to start wheat-growing on land that is ours outright, andtake our share of the trouble.”

“Ja,” said Muller, “but dere is much dot isnot clear to me. Why you der troublelike?”

“Well,” said Grant, “as I’ve tried to tellyou, it works out very much like this. Itwas known that this land was speciallyadapted to mixed farming quite a fewyears ago, but the men who ran their cattleover it never drove a plough. You want toknow why? Well, I guess it was for muchthe same reason that an association of ourbig manufacturers bought up the patents ofan improved process, and for a long while

never made an ounce of material underthem, or let any one else try. We had topay more than it was worth for an inferiorarticle that hampered some of the mostimportant industries in the country, andthey piled up the dollars in the old-timeway.”

“Und,” said Muller, “dot is democraticAmerica!”

“Yes,” said Grant. “That is the Americawe mean to alter. Well, where one manfeeds his cattle, fifty could plough andmake a living raising stock on a smallerscale, and the time’s quite close upon uswhen they will; but the cattle-men havegot the country, and it will hurt them to letgo. It’s not their land, and was only lentthem. Now I’m no fonder of trouble than

any other man, but this country fed andtaught me, and kept me two years inEurope looking round, and I’d feel mean ifI took everything and gave it nothing back.Muller will understand me. Do you,Breckenridge?”

The English lad laughed. “Oh, yes; thoughI don’t know that any similar obligationwas laid on myself. The country I camefrom had apparently no use for a youngerson at all, and it was kicks and snubs itusually bestowed on me; but if there’s arow on hand I’m quite willing to stand byyou and see it through. My folks will,however, be mildly astonished when theyhear I’ve turned reformer.”

Grant nodded good-humouredly, for hewas not a fanatic, but an American with a

firm belief in the greatness of hiscountry’s destiny, who, however, realizedthat faith alone was scarcely sufficient.

“Well,” he said, “if it’s trouble you’reanxious for, it’s quite likely you’ll find ithere. Nobody ever got anything worthhaving unless he fought for it, and we’vetaken on a tolerably big contract. We’regoing to open up this state for any manwho will work for it to make a living in,and substitute its constitution for the lawof the cattle-barons.”

“Der progress,” said Muller, “she isirresistible.”

Breckenridge laughed. “From what I wastaught, it seems to me that she movesround in rings. You start with the luxury ofthe few, oppression, and brutality, then

comes revolution, and worse things thanyou had before, progress growing out of itthat lasts for a few generations until thefew fittest get more than their fair share ofwealth and control, and you come back tothe same point again.”

Muller shook his head. “No,” he said, “itis nod der ring, but der elastic spiral. Derprogress she march, it is true, round undround, but she is arrive always der oneturn higher, und der pressure on der voluteis nod constant.”

“On the top?” said Breckenridge.“Principalities and powers, traditionaland aristocratic, or monetary. Well, itseems to me they squeeze progress downtolerably flat between them occasionally.Take our old cathedral cities and some of

your German ones, and, if you demand it,I’ll throw their ghettos in. Then put theNew York tenements or most of thesmaller western towns beside them, andsee what you’ve arrived at.”

“No,” said Muller tranquilly. “Weightabove she is necessary while dercivilization is incomblete, but der force isfrom der bottom. It is all time positive andprimitive, for it was make when man wasmake at der beginning.”

Grant nodded. “Well,” he said, “ourwork’s waiting right here. What other menhave done in the Dakotas and Minnesotawe are going to do. Nature has beenstoring us food for the wheat plant forthousands of years, and there’s more goldin our black soil than was ever dug out of

Mexico or California. Still, you have toget it out by ploughing, and not by makingtheories. Breckenridge, you will stay withme; but you’ll want a house to live in,Muller.”

Muller drew a roll of papers out of hispocket, and Grant, who took them fromhim, stared in wonder. They weredrawings and calculations relating tobuilding with undressed lumber, madewith Teutonic precision and accuracy.

“I have,” said Muller, “der observationmake how you build der homestead in thiscountry.”

“Then we’ll start you in to-morrow,” saidGrant. “You’ll get all the lumber you wantin the birch bluff, and I’ll lend you one ortwo of the boys I brought in from

Michigan. There’s nobody on thiscontinent handier with the axe.”

Muller nodded and refilled his pipe, andsave for the click of the fräulein’s needlesthere was once more silence in the bareroom. She had not spoken, for the knittingand the baking were her share, and themen whose part was the conflict must beclothed and fed. They knew it could not beevaded, and, springing from the samecolonizing stock, placid Teuton with hisvisions and precision in everyday details,eager American, and adventurousEnglishman, each made ready for it in hisown fashion. Free as yet from passion, ordesire for fame, they were willing to takeup the burden that was to be laid uponthem; but only the one who knew the least

awaited it joyously. Others had also thesame thoughts up and down that lonelyland, and the dusty cars were alreadybringing the vanguard of the homeless hostin. They were for the most part quiet andresolute men, who asked no more thanleave to till a few acres of the wilderness,and to eat what they had sown; but therewere among them others of a differentkind—fanatics, outcasts, men with wrongs—and behind them the human vultureswho fatten on rapine. As yet, the latterfound no occupation waiting them, buttheir sight was keen, and they knew theirtime would come.

It was a week later, and a hot afternoon,when Muller laid the big crosscut sawdown on the log he was severing and

slowly straightened his back. Then hestood up, red and very damp in face, aburly, square-shouldered man, and, havingmislaid his spectacles, blinked about him.On three sides of him the prairie, swellingin billowy rises, ran back to the horizon;but on the fourth a dusky wall of foliagefollowed the crest of a ravine, and themurmur of water came up faintly from thecreek in the hollow. Between himself andits slender birches lay piled amidst theparched and dusty grass, and the firstcourses of a wooden building, rank withthe smell of sappy timber, already stood infront of him. There was no notch in theframing that had not been made and pinnedwith an exact precision. In its scantyshadow his daughter sat knitting beside asmouldering fire over which somebody

had suspended a big blackened kettle. Thecrash of the last falling trunk had diedaway, and there was silence in the bluff;but a drumming of hoofs rose in a sharpstaccato from the prairie.

“Now,” said Muller quietly, “I think thechasseurs come.”

The girl looked up a moment, noticed thefour mounted figures that swung over thecrest of a rise, and then went on with herknitting again. Still, there was for asecond a little flash in her pale blue eyes.

The horsemen came on, the dust floating inlong wisps behind them, until, with ajingle of bridle and stirrup, they pulled upbefore the building. Three of them werebronzed and dusty, in weather-stainedblue shirts, wide hats, and knee-boots that

fitted them like gloves; and there wasironical amusement in their faces. Each sathis horse as if he had never known anyother seat than the saddle; but the fourthwas different from the rest. He wore ajacket of richly embroidered deerskin, andthe shirt under it was white; while he satwith one hand in a big leather gloveresting on his hip. His face was sallowand his eyes were dark.

“Hallo, Hamburg!” he said, and his voicehad a little commanding ring. “You seemkind of busy.”

Muller blinked at him. He had apparentlynot yet found his spectacles, but he had inthe meanwhile come upon his axe, andnow stood very straight, with the long haftreaching to his waist.

“Ja,” he said. “Mine house I build.”

“Well,” said the man in the embroideredjacket, “I fancy you’re wasting time.Asked anybody’s leave to cut that lumber,or put it up?”

“Mine friend,” said Muller, smiling,“when it is nod necessary I ask nodings ofany man.”

“Then,” said the horseman drily, as heturned to his companions, “I fancy that’swhere you’re wrong. Boys, we’ll take himalong in case Torrance would like to seehim. I guess you’ll have to walk home,Jim.”

A man dismounted and led forward hishorse with a wrench upon the bridle thatsent it plunging. “Get your foot in the

stirrup, Hamburg, and I’ll hoist you up,”he said.

Muller stood motionless, and thehorseman in deerskin glancing round in hisdirection saw his daughter for the firsttime. He laughed; but there was somethingin his black eyes that caused the Teuton’sfingers to close a trifle upon the haft of theaxe.

“You’ll have to get down, Charlie, aswell as Jim,” he said. “Torrance has hisnotions, or Coyote might have carriedMiss Hamburg that far as well. Sorry tohurry you, Hamburg, but I don’t likewaiting.”

Muller stepped back a pace, and the axe-head flashed as he moved his hand; while,dazzled by the beam it cast, the half-tamed

broncho rose with hoofs in the air. Itsowner smote it on the nostrils with his fist,and the pair sidled round each other—theman with his arm drawn back, the beastwith laid-back ears—for almost a minutebefore they came to a standstill.

“Mine friend,” said Muller, “other day Ider pleasure have. I mine house have tobuild.”

“Get up,” said the stockrider. “Ever seenanybody fire off a gun?”

Muller laughed softly, and glanced at theleader. “Der rifle,” he said drily. “I wasat Sedan. To-day it is not convenient that Icome.”

“Hoist him up!” said the leader, and oncemore, while the other man moved

forward, Muller stepped back; but thistime there was an answering flash in hisblue eyes as the big axe-head flashed inthe sun.

“I guess we’d better hold on,” saidanother man. “Look there, Mr. Clavering.”

He pointed to the bluff, and the leader’sface darkened as he gazed, for four menwith axes were running down the slope,and they were lean and wiry, with verygrim faces. They were also apparentlysmall farmers or lumbermen from the bushof Michigan, and Clavering knew suchmen usually possessed a terribleproficiency with the keen-edged weapon,and stubbornness was native in them. Twoothers, one of whom he knew, camebehind them. The foremost stopped, and

stood silent when the man Claveringrecognized signed to them, but not beforeeach had posted himself strategicallywithin reach of a horseman’s bridle.

“You might explain, Clavering, what youand your cow-boys are doing here,” hesaid.

Clavering laughed. “We are going to takeyour Teutonic friend up to the Range. Heis cutting our fuel timber with nobody’spermission.”

“No,” said Grant drily; “he has mine. Thebluff is on my run.”

“Did you take out timber rights with yourlease?” asked Clavering.

“No, I hadn’t much use for them. None ofmy neighbours hold any either. But the

bluff is big enough, and I’ve no objectionto their cutting what billets they want.Still, I can’t have them driving out anyother friends of mine.”

Clavering smiled ironically. “You havebeen picking up some curiousacquaintances, Larry; but don’t you thinkyou had better leave this thing toTorrance? The fact is, the cattle-men arenot disposed to encourage strangersbuilding houses in their country just now.”

“I had a notion it belonged to this State.It’s not an unusual one,” said Grant.

Clavering shrugged his shoulders. “Ofcourse, it sounds better that way. Have itso. Still, it will scarcely pay you to makeyourself unpopular with us, Larry.”

“Well,” said Grant drily, “it seems to meI’m tolerably unpopular already. But that’snot quite the point. Take your boys away.”

Clavering flung his hand up in half-ironical salutation, but as he was about towheel his horse a young Englishmanwhose nationality was plainly stampedupon him seized his bridle.

“Not quite so fast!” he said. “It would bemore fitting if you got down and expressedyour regrets to the fräulein. You haven’theard Muller’s story yet, Larry.”

“Let go,” said Clavering, raising theswitch he held. “Drop my bridle or takecare of yourself!”

“Come down,” said Breckenridge.

The switch went up and descended hissing

upon part of an averted face; but the ladsprang as it fell, and the next moment thehorse rose almost upright with two menclinging to it; one of them, whose sallowcheeks were livid now, swaying in thesaddle. Then Grant grasped the bridle thatfell from the rider’s hands, and hurled hiscomrade backwards, while some of thestockriders pushed their horses nearer,and the axe-men closed in about them.

Hoarse cries went up. “Horses back! Pullhim off! Give the Britisher a show! Leavethem to it!”

It was evident that a blunder would haveunpleasant results, for Clavering, withswitch raised, had tightened his left handon the bridle Grant had loosed again,while a wicked smile crept into his eyes,

and the lad stood tense and still, withhands clenched in front of him, and a wealon his young face. Grant, however,stepped in between them.

“We’ve had sufficient fooling,Breckenridge,” he said. “Clavering, I’llgive you a minute to get your men away,and if you can’t do it in that time you’lltake the consequences.”

Clavering wheeled his horse. “The oddsare with you, Larry,” he said. “You havemade a big blunder, but I guess you knowyour own business best.”

He nodded, including the fräulein, with aneasy insolence that yet became him,touched the horse with his heel, and inanother moment he and his cow-boys wereswinging at a gallop across the prairie.

Then, as they dipped behind a rise, thosewho were left glanced at one another.Breckenridge was very pale, and one ofhis hands was bleeding where Clavering’sspur had torn it.

“It seems that we have made a beginning,”he said hoarsely. “It’s first blood to them,but this will take a lot of forgetting, andthe rest may be different.”

Grant made no answer, but turned andlooked at Muller, who stood very straightand square, with a curious brightness inhis eyes.

“Are you going on with the contract?There is the girl to consider,” said Grant.

“COME DOWN!”—Page 47.

“Ja,” said the Teuton. “I was in derVosges, and der girl is also FräuleinMuller.”

“Boys,” said Grant to the men fromMichigan, “you have seen what’s in frontof you, and you’ll probably have to usemore than axes before you’re through.Still, you have the chance of clearing outright now. I only want willing men behindme.”

One of the big axe-men laughedscornfully, and there was a little sardonicgrin in the faces of the rest.

“There’s more room for us here than there

was in Michigan, and now we’ve got ourfoot down here we’re not going backagain,” he said. “That’s about all there isto it. But when our time comes, the othermen aren’t going to find us slacker than theDutchman.”

Grant nodded gravely. “Well,” he saidvery simply, “I guess the Lord who madethis country will know who’s in the rightand help them. They’ll need it. There’s abig fight coming.”

Then they went back to their hewing in thebluff, and the Fräulein Muller went onwith her knitting.

V

HETTY COMES HOME

It was an afternoon of the Indian summer,sunny and cool, and the maples about theSchuyler villa flamed gold and crimsonagainst a sky of softest blue, when HettyTorrance sat reflectively silent on thelawn. Flora Schuyler sat near her, with abook upside down upon her knee.

“You have been worrying about somethingthe last few weeks,” she said.

“Is that quite unusual?” asked Hetty.“Haven’t a good many folks to worry all

the time?”

Flora Schuyler smiled. “Just finding it out,Hetty? Well, I have noticed a change, andit began the day you waited for us at thedepot. And it wasn’t because of JakeCheyne.”

“No,” said Hetty reflectively. “I supposeit should have been. Have you heard fromhim since he went away?”

“Lily Cheyne had a letter with somephotographs, and she showed it to me. It’sa desolate place in the sage bush he’sliving in, and there’s not a white man,except the boys he can’t talk to, withinmiles of him, while from the picture I sawof his adobe room I scarcely think folkswould have it down here to keep hogs in.Jake Cheyne was fastidious, too, and there

was a forced cheerfulness about his letterwhich had its meaning, though, of course,he never mentioned you.”

Hetty flushed a trifle. “Flo, I’m sorry.Still, you can’t blame me.”

“No,” said Miss Schuyler, “though therewas a time when I wished I could. Youcan’t help being pretty, but it ought tomake you careful when you see another ofthem going that way again.”

Hetty made a little impatient gesture. “Ifthere ever is another, he’ll be pulled upquite sharp. You don’t think theirfoolishness, which spoils everything, isany pleasure to me. It’s too humiliating.Can’t one be friends with a nice manwithout falling in love with him?”

“Well,” said Miss Schuyler drily, “itdepends a good deal on how you’re made;but it’s generally risky for one or theother. Still, perhaps you might, for I havea fancy there’s something short in you.Now, I’m going to ask you a question. Is itthinking of the other man that has madeyou restless? I mean the one we saw at thedepot?”

Hetty laughed outright. “Larry? Why, as Itried to tell you, he has always been justlike a cousin or a brother to me, anddoesn’t want anything but his horses andcattle and his books on political economy.Larry’s quite happy with his ranching, andhis dreams of the new America. Ofcourse, they’ll never come to anything; butwhen you can start him talking they’re

quite nice to listen to.”

Flora Schuyler shook her head. “Iwouldn’t be too sure. That man is inearnest, and the dreams of an earnestAmerican have a way of coming true. Youhave known him a long while, and I’veonly seen him once, but that man will domore than talk if he ever has theopportunity. He has the quiet grit one findsin the best of us—not the kind that makethe speeches—and some Englishmen, inhim. You can see it in his eyes.”

“Then,” said Hetty, with a little laugh,“come back with me to Cedar, and ifyou’re good you shall have him. It isn’teverybody I’d give Larry to.”

There was a trace of indignation in FloraSchuyler’s face. “I fancy he would not

appreciate your generosity, and there’s agood deal you have got to find out, Hetty,”she said drily. “It may hurt you when youdo. But you haven’t told me yet what hasbeen worrying you.”

“No,” said Hetty, with a little wistfulsmile. “Well, I’m going to. It’s hard toown to, but I’m a failure. I fancied I couldmake everybody listen to my singing, and Iwould come here. Well, I came, and foundout that my voice would never bring mefame, and for a time it hurt me horribly.Still, I couldn’t go back just then, andwhen you and your mother pressed me Istayed. I knew what you expected, and Idisappointed you. Perhaps I was toofastidious, but there were none of themthat really pleased me. Then I began to see

that I was only spoiling nicer girls’chances and trying the patience ofeverybody.”

“Hetty!” said Flora Schuyler, but MissTorrance checked her.

“Wait until I’m through. Then it becameplain to me that while I’d been wasting mytime here the work I was meant for waswaiting at Cedar. The old man who gaveme everything is very lonely there, and heand Larry have been toiling on while Iflung ’most what a ranch would cost awayon lessons and dresses and fripperies,which will never be any good to me. Still,I’m an American, too, and now, whenthere’s trouble coming, I’m going back tothe place I belong to.”

“You are doing the right thing now,” said

Flora Schuyler.

Hetty smiled somewhat mirthlessly.“Well,” she said, “because it’s hard, Iguess I am; but there’s one thing wouldmake it easier. You will come and staywith me. You don’t know how much Iwant you; and New York in winter doesn’tsuit you. You’re pale already. Come andtry our clear, dry cold.”

Eventually Miss Schuyler promised, andHetty rose. “Then it’s fixed,” she said.“I’ll write the old man a dutiful letternow, while I feel like doing it well.”

The letter was duly written, and, as ithappened, reached Torrance as he satalone one evening in his great bare roomat Cedar Range. Among the papers on thetable in front of him were letters from the

cattle-men’s committees, which hadsprung into existence every here and there,and Torrance apparently did not find themreassuring, for there was care in his face.It had become evident that the bigranchers’ rights were mostly traditional,and already, in scattered detachments, thevanguard of the homesteaders’ host wasfiling in. Here and there they had madetheir footing good; more often, by meansnot wholly constitutional, their outpostshad been driven in; but it was noticeablethat Torrance and his neighbours stillbelieved them no more than detachments,and had not heard the footsteps of the rest.Three years’ residence in that land hadchanged the aliens into American citizens,but a lifetime of prosperity could scarcelyefface the bitterness they had brought with

them from the east, while some, in spite oftheir crude socialistic aspirations, weredrilled men who had herded the imperiallegions like driven cattle into Sedan.More of native birth, helots of the cities,and hired hands of the plains, were alsoturning desiring eyes upon the widespaces of the cattle country, where therewas room for all.

Torrance opened his letter and smiledsomewhat drily. It was affectionate andnot without its faint pathos, for Hetty hadbeen stirred when she wrote; but the grimold widower felt no great desire for thegentle attentions of a dutiful daughter justthen.

“We shall be at Cedar soon after you getthis,” he read among the rest. “I know if I

had told you earlier you would haveprotested you didn’t want me, just becauseyou foolishly fancied I should be lonely atthe Range; but I have been very selfish,and you must have been horribly lonelytoo; and one of the nicest girls you eversaw is coming to amuse you. You can’thelp liking Flo. Of course I had to bring amaid; but you will have to make the bestof us, because you couldn’t stop us now ifyou wanted to.”

It was noticeable that Torrance took thepains to confirm this fact by reference to arailroad schedule, and, finding itincontrovertible, shook his head.

“Three of them,” he said.

Then he sat still with the letter in his hand,while a trace of tenderness crept into his

face, which, however, grew grave again,until there was a tapping at the door, andClavering came in.

“You seem a trifle worried, sir, and ifyou’re busy I needn’t keep you long,” hesaid. “I just wanted to hand you a chequefor the subscription you paid for me.”

“Sit down,” said Torrance. “Where didyou get the dollars from?”

Clavering appeared almost uneasy for amoment, but he laughed. “I’ve beenthinning out my cattle.”

“That’s not a policy I approve of just now.We’ll have the rabble down upon us assoon as we show any sign of weakening.”

Clavering made a little deprecatorygesture. “It wasn’t a question of policy. I

had to have the dollars. Still, you haven’ttold me if you have heard anythingunpleasant from the other committees.”

Torrance appeared thoughtful. Hesuspected that Clavering’s ranch wasembarrassed, and the explanation wasplausible.

“No,” he said. “It was something else.Hetty is on her way home, and she isbringing another young woman and a maidwith her. They will be here before I canstop them. Still, I could, if it wasnecessary, send them back.”

Clavering did not answer for a moment,though Torrance saw the faint gleam in hisdark eyes, and watched him narrowly.Then he said, “You will find a change inMiss Torrance, sir. She has grown into a

beautiful young woman, and has, I fancy,been taught to think for herself in the city;you could not expect her to come back asshe left the prairie. And if anything hasinduced her to decide that her place ishere, she will probably stay.”

“You’re not quite plain. What couldinduce her?”

Clavering smiled, though he saw that theshot had told. “It was astonishing thatMiss Torrance did not honour me with herconfidence. A sense of duty, perhaps,although one notices that the motives ofyoung women are usually a trifleinvolved. It, however, appears to me thatif Miss Torrance makes up her mind tostay, we are still quite capable of guardingour women from anxiety or molestation.”

“Yes,” said Torrance grimly. “Of course.Still, we may have to do things we wouldsooner they didn’t hear about or see. Well,you have some news?”

Clavering nodded. “I was in at therailroad, and fifty Dakota men came in onthe cars. I went round to the hotel with thecommittee, and, though it cost somedollars to fix the thing, they wouldn’t takethem in. The boys, who got kind of savage,found a pole and drove the door in, but weturned the Sheriff, who had already swornsome of us in, loose on them. Four or fivemen were nastily clubbed, and one ofJames’s boys was shot through the arm,while I have a fancy that the citizenswould have stood in with the other crowd;but seeing they were not going to get

anything to eat there, they held up a store,and as we told the man who kept it howtheir friends had sacked Regent, he firedat them. The consequence is that theSheriff has some of them in jail, and therest are camped down on the prairie. Wehold the town.”

“Through the Sheriff?”

Clavering laughed. “He’ll earn his pay.Has it struck you that this campaign isgoing to cost us a good deal? Allonbyhasn’t much left in hand already.”

“Oh, yes,” said the older man, with a littlegrim smile. “If it’s wanted I’ll throw mylast dollar in. Beaten now and we’rebeaten for ever. We have got to win.”

Clavering said nothing further, though he

realized, perhaps more clearly than hisleader, that it was only by the downfall ofthe cattle-men the small farmer couldestablish himself, and, when he hadhanded a cheque to Torrance, went out.

It was three days later when HettyTorrance rose from her seat in a bigvestibule car as the long train slackenedspeed outside a little Western station. Shelaughed as she swept her glance round thecar.

“Look at it, Flo,” she said; “gilding andvelvet and nickel, all quite in keeping withthe luxury of the East. You are environedby civilization still; but once you step offthe platform there will be a difference.”

Flora Schuyler, who noticed the littleflush in her companion’s face, glanced out

of the dusty window, for the interior of thegently-rocking car, with its lavishdecoration and upholstery, was not new toher, and the first thing that caught her eyewas the miscellaneous deposit of rubbish,old boots, and discarded clothing, amidstthe willows that slowly flitted by. Thenshe saw a towering water-tank, woodenhouses that rose through a haze of blowingdust, hideous in their unadornment, againsta crystalline sky, and a row of close-packed stock-cars which announced thatthey were in the station.

It seemed to be thronged with thepopulace, and there was a murmur,apparently of disappointed expectancy,when, as the cars stopped, the threewomen alone appeared on the platform.

Then there was a shout for the conductor,and somebody said, “You’ve no rustlersaboard for us?”

“No,” said the grinning official wholeaned out from the door of the baggage-car. “The next crowd are waiting untilthey can buy rifles to whip you with.”

Hoarse laughter followed, and somebodysaid, “Boys, your friends aren’t coming.You can take your band home again.”

Then out of the clamour came the roll of adrum, and, clear and musical, the ringingof bugles blown by men who had marchedwith Grant and Sherman when they wereyoung. The effect was stirring, and a cheerwent up, for there were other men presentin whom the spirit which, underlyingimmediate issues, had roused the North to

arms was living yet; but it broke off intolaughter when, one by one, discordantinstruments and beaten pans joined in. Thedin, however, ceased suddenly, whensomebody said, “Hadn’t you better let up,boys, or Torrance will figure you sent theband for him?”

Miss Schuyler appeared a triflebewildered, the maid frightened; butHetty’s cheeks were glowing.

“Flo,” she said, “aren’t you glad youcame? The boys are taking the trail. We’llshow you how we stir the prairie up byand by!”

Miss Schuyler was very doubtful as towhether the prospect afforded her anypleasure; but just then a grey-haired man,dressed immaculately in white shirt and

city clothes, kissed her companion, andthen, taking off his hat, handed her downfrom the platform with ceremoniouscourtesy. He had a grim, forceful face,with pride and command in it, and MissSchuyler, who felt half afraid of him then,never quite overcame the feeling. Shenoticed, however, that he paid equalattention to the terrified maid.

“It would be a duty to do our best for anyof Hetty’s friends who have been so kindto her in the city, but in this case it’s goingto be a privilege, too,” he said. “Well, youwill be tired, and they have a mealwaiting you at the hotel. This place is alittle noisy to-day, but we’ll start on thefirst stage of your journey when you’reready.”

He gave Miss Schuyler his arm, andmoved towards the thickest of the crowd,which, though apparently slightly hostile,made way for him. Here and there a mandrove his fellows back, and one, catchingup a loose plank, laid it down for the partyto cross the rail switches on. Torranceturned to thank him, but the man swept hishat off with a laugh.

“I wouldn’t worry; it wasn’t for you,” hesaid. “It’s a long while since we’ve seenanything so pretty as Miss Torrance andthe other one.”

Flora Schuyler flushed a little, but Hettyturned to the speaker with a sparkle in hereyes.

“Now,” she said, “that was ’most worth adollar, and if I didn’t know what kind of

man you were, I’d give it you. But whatabout Clarkson’s Lou?”

There was a laugh from the assembly, andthe man appeared embarrassed.

“Well,” he said slowly, “she went offwith Jo.”

Miss Torrance nodded sympathetically.“Still, if she knew no better than that, Iwouldn’t worry. Jo had a cast in his eye.”

The crowd laughed again, and FloraSchuyler glanced at her companion withsome astonishment as she asked, “Do youalways talk to them that way?”

“Of course,” said Hetty. “They’re ourboys—grown right here. Aren’t theysplendid?”

Miss Schuyler once more appeareddubious, and made no answer; but shenoticed that the man now preceded them,and raised his hand when they came upwith the band, which had apparentlyhalted to indulge in retort or badinagewith some of those who followed them.

“Hold on a few minutes, boys, and downwith that flag,” he said.

Then a tawdry banner was loweredsuddenly between two poles, but notbefore Miss Torrance had seen part of theblazoned legend. Its unvarnishedforcefulness brought a flush to hercompanion’s cheek.

“Dad,” she asked more gravely, “what isit all about?”

Torrance laughed a little. “That,” he said,“is a tolerably big question. It would takequite a long while to answer it.”

They had a street to traverse, and Hettysaw that it was filled with little knots ofmen, some of whom stared at her father,though as she passed their hats came off.Miss Schuyler, on her part, noticed thatmost of the stores were shut, and felt thatshe had left New York a long way behindas she glanced at the bare wooden housescracked by frost and sun, rickety plankwalks, whirling wisps of dust, and groupsof men, splendid in their lean, muscularsymmetry and picturesque apparel. Therewas a boldness in their carriage, and agrace that approached the statuesque inevery poise. Still, she started when they

passed one wooden building where blue-shirted figures with rifles stoodmotionless in the verandah.

“The jail,” said Torrance, quietly. “TheSheriff has one or two rioters safe insidethere.”

They found an indifferent meal ready atthe wooden hotel, and when theydescended in riding dress a wagon withtheir baggage was waiting outside thedoor, while a few mounted men with widehats and bandoliers came up with threesaddle-horses. Torrance bestowed themaid in the light wagon, and, when thetwo girls were mounted, swung himselfinto the saddle. Then, as they trotted downthe unpaved street, Hetty glanced at himand pointed to the dusty horsemen.

“What are the boys for?” she asked.

Torrance smiled grimly. “I told you wehad our troubles. It seemed better to bringthem, in case we had any difficulty withLarry’s friends.”

“Larry’s friends?” asked Hetty, almostindignantly.

Torrance nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Youhave seen a few of them. They werecarrying the flag with the inscription at thedepot.”

Hetty asked nothing further, but FloraSchuyler noticed the little flash in hereyes, and as they crossed the railroadtrack the clear notes of the bugles roseagain and were followed by a tramp offeet. Glancing over their shoulders the

girls could see men moving in a body,with the flag they carried tossing amidstthe dust. They were coming on in openfours, and when the bugles ceased deepvoices sent a marching song ringing acrossthe wooden town.

Hetty’s eyes sparkled; the stockridersseemed to swing more lightly in theirsaddles, and Flora Schuyler felt a littlequiver run through her. Something thatjingling rhythm and the simple wordsexpressed but inarticulately stirred herblood, as she remembered that in hernation’s last great struggle the longbattalions had limped on, ragged andfootsore, singing that song.

“Listen,” said Hetty, while the colourcrept into her face. “Oh, I know it’s

scarcely music, and the crudest verse; butit served its purpose, and is there anynation on earth could put more swing andspirit into the grandest theme?”

Torrance smiled somewhat drily, but therewas a curious expression in his face.“Some of those men are drawing theirpension, but they’re not with us,” he said.“It’s only because we have sent in all theboys we can spare that the Sheriff, whohas their partners in his jail, can hold thetown.”

A somewhat impressive silence followedthis, and Flora Schuyler glanced at Hettywhen they rode out into the white prairiewith two dusty men with bandoliers oneither flank.

VI

THE INCENDIARY

Events of no apparent moment haveextensive issues now and then, and whilecattle-man and homesteader bracedthemselves for the conflict which they feltwould come, the truce might have lastedlonger but for the fact that one nightMuller slept indifferently in the new househe had built. He was never quite sure whatmade him restless, or prompted him toopen and lean out of his window; and,when he had done this, he saw and heardnothing unusual for a while.

On one hand the birch bluff rose, a duskywall, against the indigo of the sky, and infront of him the prairie rolled away, silentand shadowy. There was scarcely a soundbut the low ripple of the creek, until,somewhere far off in the distance, acoyote howled. The drawn-out wail had init something unearthly, and Muller, whowas by no means an imaginative man,shivered a little. The deep silence of thegreat empty land emphasized by the soundreacted upon him and increased hisrestlessness.

Scarcely knowing why he did so, exceptthat he felt he could not sleep, he slippedon a few garments, and moved softly to thedoor, that he might not disturb hisdaughter. There was no moon when he

went out, but the stars shone clearly in thegreat vault of blue, and the barns andstables he had built rose black against thesky. Though Grant had lent him assistanceand he had hewn the lumber on the spot,one cannot build a homestead and equip itfor nothing, and when he had providedhimself with working horses, Muller hadsunk the last of his scanty capital in theventure. It was perhaps this fact whichinduced him to approach the stable,moving noiselessly in his slippers, andglance within.

The interior was black and shadowy, butthere was no doubting the fact that thebeasts were moving restlessly. Mullerwent in, holding his breath as he peeredabout him, and one broncho backed away

as he approached its stall. Muller patted iton the flank, and the horse stood still, asthough reassured, when it recognized him,which was not without its meaning. Helistened, but hearing nothing groped roundthe stable, and taking a hayfork went outas softly as he had entered, and took up hispost in the deepest shadow, where hecommanded outbuildings and house. Therewas, he knew, nobody but Grant dwellingwithin several leagues of him, and as yetproperty was at least as safe in thatcountry as it was in Chicago or NewYork; but as he leaned, impassivelywatchful, against the wall, he rememberedan episode which had happened a fewweeks earlier.

He had been overtaken by a band of

stockriders when fording the creek withhis daughter, and one who loitered behindthem reined his horse in and spoke to thegirl. Muller never knew what his wordshad been; but he saw the sudden colour inthe fräulein’s face, and seized the man’sbridle. An altercation ensued, and whenthe man rejoined his comrades, whoapparently did not sympathize with him,his bridle hand hung limp and the farmerwas smiling as he swung a stick. Mullerattached no especial importance to theaffair; but Grant, who did not tell him so,differed in this when he heard of it. Heknew that the cattle-rider is usually ratherchivalrous than addicted to distastefulgallantries.

In any case, Muller heard nothing for a

while, and felt tempted to return to his bedwhen he grew chilly. He had, however,spent bitter nights stalking the franctireurs in the snow, and the vigilancetaught and demanded by an inflexiblediscipline had not quite deserted him,though he was considerably older and lessnimble now. At last, however, a dim,moving shadow appeared round a cornerof the building, stopped a moment, andthen slid on again towards the door. Sonoiseless was it that Muller could almosthave believed his eyes had deceived himuntil he heard the hasp rattle. Still, hewaited until the figure passed into thestable, and then very cautiously creptalong the wall. Muller was not sovigorous as he had been when proficiencyin the use of the bayonet had been drilled

into him; but while his fingers tightened onthe haft of the fork he fancied that he hadstill strength enough to serve his purpose.He had also been taught to use it to thebest advantage.

He straightened himself a little when hestood in the entrance and looked abouthim. There was a gleam of light in thestable now, for a lantern stood upon amanger and revealed by its uncertainglimmer a pile of prairie hay, with akerosene-can upon it, laid against the logs.Muller was not wholly astonished, but hewas looking for more than that, and thenext moment he saw a shadowy objectapparently loosing the nearest horse’shalter. It was doubtless a merciful deed,but it was to cost the incendiary dear; for

when, perhaps warned by some faintsound, he looked up suddenly, he saw ablack figure between him and the door.

On the instant he dropped the halter, andthe hand that had held it towards his belt;but, as it happened, the horse pinned himagainst the stall, and his opportunity hadpassed when it moved again. Muller haddrawn his right leg back with his kneebent a trifle, and there was a rattle as hebrought the long fork down to the charge.Thus, when the man was free the deadlypoints twinkled in a ray from the lanternwithin a foot of his breast. It was alsounpleasantly evident that a heave of thefarmer’s shoulder would bury them in thequivering flesh.

“Hands oop!” a stern voice said.

The man delayed a second. The butt of thepistol that would equalize the affair wasalmost within his grasp, and Muller stoodin the light, but he saw an ominous glint inthe pale blue eyes and the farmer’s fingerstighten on the haft. There was also asuggestive raising of one shoulder; and hishands went up above his head. Mulleradvanced the points an inch or two,stiffening his right leg, and smiled grimly.The other man stared straight in front ofhim with dilated eyes, and a little greypatch growing larger in either cheek.

“Are you going to murder me, youcondemned Dutchman?” he said.

“Yes,” said Muller tranquilly, “if you dermovement make. So! It is done without dertrouble when you have der bayonet

exercise make.”

The points gleamed as they swungforward, and the man gasped; but theystopped at the right second, and Muller,who had hove his burly form a trifle moreupright, sank back again, bringing his footdown with a stamp. The littledemonstration was more convincing thanan hour of argument.

“Well,” said the man hoarsely, “I’mcorralled. Throw that thing away, and I’llgive you my pistol.”

Muller laughed, and then raised his greatvoice in what was to the other an unknowntongue. “Lotta,” he said, “Come quick, andbring the American rifle.”

There was silence for perhaps five

minutes, and the men watched each other,one white in the face and quivering alittle, his adversary impassive as a statue,but quietly observant. Then there was apatter of hasty footsteps, and the fräuleinstood in the lantern light with a flushed,plump face and somewhat scanty dress.She apparently recognized the man, andher colour deepened, but that was the onlysign of confusion she showed; and it wasevident that the discipline of the fatherlandhad not been neglected in Muller’shousehold.

“Lotta,” he said in English, “open derlittle slide. You feel der cartridge? Now,der butt to der shoulder, und der eye onder sight, as I have teach you. Der middleof him is der best place. I shout, und you

press quite steady.”

He spoke with a quiet precision that hadits effect; and, whatever the girl felt, sheobeyed each command in rotation. Therewas, however, one danger which thestranger realized, and that was that with aninvoluntary contraction of the forefingershe might anticipate the last one.

“She’ll shoot me before she means to,” hesaid, with a little gasp. “Come and takethe condemned pistol.”

“Der middle of him!” said Mullertranquilly. “No movement make, you!”

Dropping the fork he moved forward, notin front of the man, but to his side, andwhipped the pistol from his belt.

“One turn make,” he said. “So! Your hand

behind you. Lotta, you will now a halterget.”

The girl’s loose bodice rose and fell asshe laid down the rifle, but she was swift,and in less than another minute Muller hadbound his captive’s hands securely behindhis back and cross-lashed them from wristto elbow. He inspected the work criticallyand then nodded, as if contented.

“SHE’LL SHOOT ME BEFORE SHE MEANSTO.”—Page 66.

“Lotta,” he said, “put der saddle on derbroncho horse. Then in der house you dercordial find, und of it one large spoonfulmit der water take. My pipe you bring mealso, und then you ride for Mr. Grant.”

The girl obeyed him; and when thedrumming of horse-hoofs died awayMuller sat down in front of his prisoner,who now lay upon a pile of prairie hay,and with his usual slow precision lightedhis big meerschaum. The Americanwatched him for a minute or two, and thengrew red in the face as a fit of passionshook him.

“You condemned Dutchman!” he said.

Muller laughed. “Der combliment,” hesaid, “is nod of much use to-night.”

It was an hour later when Grant andseveral horsemen arrived, and he noddedas he glanced at the prisoner.

“I figured it was you. There’s not anotherman on the prairie mean enough for thiskind of work,” he said, pointing to thekerosene-can. “You didn’t even knowenough to do it decently, and you’re aboutthe only American who’d have let an oldman tie his hands.”

The prisoner winced perceptibly. “Well,”he said hoarsely, glancing towards thehayfork, rifle, and pistol, which still lay atMuller’s feet, “if you’re astonished, look

at the blamed Dutchman’s armoury.”

“I’ve one thing to ask you,” Grant saidsternly. “It’s going to pay you to be quitestraight with me. Who hired you?”

There was defiance in the incendiary’seyes, but Grant was right in his surmisethat he was resolute only because that ofthe two fears which oppressed him hepreferred to bear the least.

“You can ask till you get sick of it, butyou’ll get nothing out of me,” he said.

“Take him out,” said Grant. “Put him on tothe led horse. If you’ll come round to myplace for breakfast, I’ll be glad to see you,Muller.”

“I come,” said Muller. “Mit der franctireur it is finish quicker, but here in der

Republic we reverence have for der law.”

Grant laughed a little. “Well,” he saiddrily, “I’m not quite sure.”

He swung himself to the saddle, swept offhis hat to the girl, who stood with thelantern light upon her in the doorway,smiling but flushed, and shook his bridle.Then there was a jingle that was lost in thethud of hoofs, and the men vanished intothe shadowy prairie. Half an hour later thehomestead was once more dark and silent;but three men sent out by Grant wereriding at a reckless gallop across the greatdusky levels, and breakfast was notfinished when those whom they hadsummoned reached Fremont ranch.

They were young men for the most part,and Americans, though there were a few

who had only just become so among them,and two or three whose grim faces andgrey hair told of a long struggle withadversity. They were clad in blue shirtsand jean, and the hard brown hands ofmost betokened a close acquaintance withplough stilt, axe, and bridle, though hereand there one had from his appearanceevidently lived delicately. All appearedquietly resolute, for they knew that the lawwhich had given them the right to buildtheir homes upon that prairie as yet leftthem to bear the risks attached to the doingof it. Hitherto, the fact that the greatranchers had made their own laws andenforced them had been ignored or tacitlyaccepted by the State.

When they were seated, one of the men

deputed to question the prisoner, stood up.“You can take it that there’s nothing to begot out of him,” he said.

“Still,” said another, “we know he is oneof Clavering’s boys.”

There was a little murmur, for of all thecattle-barons Clavering was the only manwho had as yet earned his adversaries’individual dislike. They were prepared topull down the others because theirinterests, which they had little difficulty infancying coincided with those of theircountry, demanded it; but Clavering, withhis graceful insolence, ironical contemptof them, and thinly-veiled pride, was atype of all their democracy anathematized.More than one of them had winced underhis soft laugh and lightly spoken jibes,

which rankled more than a downrightinjury.

“The question is what we’re going to dowith him,” said a third speaker.

Again the low voices murmured, until aman stood up. “There’s one cure for hiscomplaint, and that’s a sure one, but I’mnot going to urge it now,” he said. “Boys,we don’t want to be the first to take up therifle, and it would make our intentionsquite as plain if we dressed him in a coatof tar and rode him round the town.Nobody would have any use for him afterthat, and it would be a bigger slap inClavering’s face than anything else wecould do to him.”

Some of the men appeared relieved, for itwas evident they had no great liking for

the sterner alternative; and there wasacclamation until Grant rose quietly at thehead of the table.

“I’ve got to move a negative,” he said. “Itwould be better if you handed him to theSheriff.”

There was astonishment in most of thefaces, and somebody said, “The Sheriff!He’d let him go right off. The cattle-menhave got the screw on him.”

“Well,” said Larry quietly, “he has donehis duty so far, and may do it again. Ifigure we ought to give him the chance.”

Exclamations of dissent followed, and aman with a grim, lean face stood up. Hespoke tolerable English, but his accentdiffered from that of the rest.

“The first man put it straight when he toldyou there was only one cure—the one theyfound out in France a hundred years ago,”he said. “You don’t quite realize it yet.You haven’t lived as we did back thereacross the sea, and seen your womenthrust off the pavement into the gutter tomake room for an officer, or been struckwith the sword-hilt if you resented aninsult before your fellow citizens. Willyou take off your hats to the rich men whoare trampling on you, you republicans,and, while they leave you the right ofspeech, beg them to respect your rightsand liberties? Do that, and sit still a little,and they’ll fasten the yoke we’ve groanedunder on your necks.”

“I don’t know that it isn’t eloquent, but it

isn’t business,” said somebody.

The man laughed sardonically. “That’swhere you’re wrong,” he said. “I’m tryingto show you that if you want your libertiesyou’ve got to fight for them, and yourleader doesn’t seem to know when, byhanging one man, he can save a hundredfrom misery. It’s not the man who laid thekindling you’re striking at, but, throughhim, those who employed him. Let themsee you’ll take your rights without leaveof them. They’ve sent you warning that ifyou stay here they’ll burn your homesteadsdown, and they’re waiting your answer.Hang their firebug where everyone cansee him, in the middle of the town.”

It was evident that the men werewavering. They had come there with the

law behind them, but, from their youth up,some following visions that could neverbe realized, had hated the bureaucrat, andthe rest, crippled by the want of dollars,had fought with frost and drought and hail.It was also plain that they felt the captureof the incendiary had given them anopportunity. Then, when a word wouldhave turned the scale, Grant stood up atthe head of the table, very resolute in face.

“I still move a negative and anamendment, boys,” he said. “First, thoughthat’s not the most important, because I’vea natural shrinking from butchering anunarmed man. Secondly, it was not thecattle-men who sent him, but one of them,and just because he meant to draw you onit would be the blamedest bad policy to

humour him. Would Torrance, or Allonby,or the others, have done this thing?They’re hard men, but they believe they’reright, as we do, and they’re Americans.Now for the third reason: when Claveringmeant to burn Muller’s homestead, hestruck at me, guessing that some of youwould stand behind me. He knew yourtemper, and he’d have laughed at us ashot-blooded rabble—you know how hecan do it—when he’d put us in the wrong.Well, this time we’ll give the law ashow.”

There was discussion, but Larry sat still,saying nothing further, with a curiousgravity in his face, until a man stood upagain.

“We think you’re right,” he said. “Still,

there’s a question. What are you going todo if they try again?”

“Strike,” said Larry quietly. “I’ll go withyou to the hanging of the next one.”

Nothing more was said, and the men rodeaway with relief in their faces, thoughthree of them, girt with rifle andbandolier, trotted behind the wagon inwhich the prisoner sat.

VII

LARRY PROVESINTRACTABLE

It was some little time after her arrival atCedar Range when Miss Torrance, whotook Flora Schuyler with her, rode outacross the prairie. There were a goodmany things she desired to investigatepersonally, and, though a somewhatindependent young woman, she was gladthat the opportunity of informing Torranceof her intention was not afforded her,since he had ridden off somewhere earlier

in the day. It also happened that althoughthe days were growing colder she arrayedherself fastidiously in a long, light skirt,which she had not worn since she leftCedar, and which with the white hat thatmatched it became her better than theconventional riding attire. Miss Schuylernaturally noticed this.

“Is it a garden party we are going to?” sheasked.

Hetty laughed. “We may meet some of ourneighbours, and after staying with you allthat while in New York I don’t want to goback on you. I had the thing speciallymade in Chicago for riding in.”

Miss Schuyler was not quite satisfied, butshe made no further comment, and therewas much to occupy her attention. The

bleached plain was bright with sunshineand rolled back into the distance under anarch of cloudless blue, while the crisp,clear air stirred her blood like an elixir.They swept up a rise and down it, thecolour mantling in their faces, over thelong hollow, and up a slope again, until,as the white grass rolled behind her, FloraSchuyler yielded to the exhilaration ofswift motion, and, flinging off theconstraint of the city, rejoiced in thespringy rush of the mettlesome beastbeneath her. Streaming white levels, theblue of the sliding sky, the kiss of the windon her hot cheek, and the roar of hoofs, allreacted upon her until she laughed aloudwhen she hurled her half-wild bronchodown a slope.

“This is surely the finest country in theworld,” she said.

The words were blown behind her, butHetty caught some of them, and, when atlast she drew bridle where a rise ransteep and seamed with badger-holesagainst the sky, nodded with a little air ofpride.

“Oh, yes, and it’s ours. All of it,” shesaid. “Worth fighting for, isn’t it?”

Flora Schuyler laughed a little, but sheshook her head. “It’s a pity one couldn’tleave that out. You would stay here withyour men folk if there was trouble?”

Hetty looked at her with a little flash inher eyes. “Why, of course! It’s ourcountry. We made it, and I’d go around in

rags and groom the boys’ horses if itwould help them to whip out the men whowant to take it from us.”

Flora Schuyler smiled a trifle drily. “Thetrouble is that when we fall out, one is aptto find as good Americans as we are, andsometimes the men we like the most,standing in with the opposition. It hashappened quite often since the war.”

Hetty shook her bridle impatiently. “Then,of course, one would not like them anylonger,” she said.

Nothing more was said until they crossedthe ridge above them, when Hetty pulledher horse up. Across the wide levelsbefore her advanced a line of dusty teams,the sunlight twinkling on the great breakerploughs they hauled, while the black loam

rolled in softly gleaming waves behindthem. They came on with slow precision,and in the forefront rolled a great machinethat seamed and rent the prairie into triplefurrows.

“What are they doing there? Do theybelong to you?” asked Miss Schuyler.

The flush the wind had brought thereturned to a deeper crimson in Hetty’susually colourless face. “To us!” she said,and her voice had a thrill of scorn.“They’re homesteaders. Ride down. Iwant to see who’s leading them.”

She led the way with one little glovedhand clenched on the dainty switch sheheld; but before she reached the foremostteam the man who pulled it up sprangdown from the driving-seat of the big

machine. A tall wire fence, with a noticeattached to it, barred his way. The otherploughs stopped behind him, somebodybrought an axe, and Hetty set her lipswhen the glistening blade whirled highand fell. Thrice it flashed in the sunlight,swung by sinewy arms, and then, as thefence went down, a low, half-articulatecry rose from the waiting men. It was notexultant, but there was in it the suggestionof a steadfast purpose.

Hetty sat still and looked at them, a littlesparkle in her dark eyes, and a crimsonspot in either cheek, while the laces thathung from her neck across the bodice ofthe white dress rose and fell. It occurredto Flora Schuyler that she had never seenher companion look half so well, and she

waited with strained expectancy for whatshould follow, realizing, with the dramaticinstinct most women have, who the manwith the axe must be. He turned slowly,straightening his back and stood for amoment erect and statuesque, with the blueshirt open at his bronzed neck and thegreat axe gleaming in his hand; and Hettygasped. Miss Schuyler’s surmise wasverified, for it was Larry Grant.

“Larry,” said her companion, and hervoice had a curious ring, “what are youdoing here?”

The man, who appeared to ignore thequestion, swung off his wide hat. “Aren’tyou and Miss Schuyler rather far fromhome?” he asked.

Flora Schuyler understood him when,

glancing round, she noticed the figure of amounted man forced up against the skylinehere and there. Hetty, however, hadevidently not seen them.

“I want an answer, please,” she said.

“Well,” said Larry gravely, “I was cuttingdown that fence.”

“Why were you cutting it down?”persisted Miss Torrance.

“It was in the way.”

“Of what?”

Grant turned and pointed to the men,sturdy toilers starved out of bleak Dakotaand axe-men farmers from the forests ofMichigan. “Of these, and the rest who arecoming by and by,” he said. “Still, I don’t

want to go into that; and you seem angry.You haven’t offered to shake hands withme, Hetty.”

Miss Torrance sat very still, one hand onthe switch, and another on the bridle,looking at him with a little scornful smileon her lips. Then she glanced at the prairiebeyond the severed fence.

“That land belongs to my friends,” shesaid.

Grant’s face grew a trifle wistful, but hisvoice was grave. “They have had the useof it, but it belongs to the United States,and other people have the right to farmthere now. Still, that needn’t make anytrouble between you and me.”

“No?” said the girl, with a curious

hardness in her inflection; but her facesoftened suddenly. “Larry, while you onlytalked we didn’t mind; but no one fanciedyou would have done this. Yes, I’m angrywith you. I have been home ’most a month,and you never rode over to see me; whilenow you want to talk politics.”

Grant smiled a trifle wearily. “I wouldsooner talk about anything else; and if youask him, your father will tell you why Ihave not been to the range. I don’t want tomake you angry, Hetty.”

“Then you will give up this foolishnessand make friends with us again,” said thegirl, very graciously. “It can’t come toanything, Larry, and you are one of us.You couldn’t want to take away our landand give it to this rabble?”

Hetty was wholly bewitching, as evenFlora Schuyler, who fancied sheunderstood the grimness in the man’s face,felt just then. He, however, looked awayacross the prairie, and the movement hadits significance to one of the company,who, having less at stake, was the moreobservant. When he turned again,however, he seemed to stand very straight.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he said.

“No?” said Hetty, still graciously. “Noteven when I ask you?”

Grant shook his head. “They have myword, and you wouldn’t like me to goback upon what I feel is right,” he said.

Hetty laughed. “If you will think a little,you can’t help seeing that you are very

wrong.”

Again the little weary smile crept intoGrant’s face. “One naturally thinks a gooddeal before starting in with this kind ofthing, and I have to go through. I can’t stopnow, even to please you. But can’t we stillbe friends?”

For a moment there was astonishment inthe girl’s face, then it flushed, and as herlips hardened and every line in her slightfigure seemed to grow rigid, she remindedMiss Schuyler of the autocrat of CedarRange.

“You ask me that?” she said. “You, anAmerican, turning Dutchmen and thesebush-choppers loose upon the people youbelong to. Can’t you see what the answermust be?”

Grant did apparently, for he mutely benthis head; but there was a shout just then,and when one of the vedettes on theskyline suddenly moved forward he seizedMiss Torrance’s bridle and wheeled herhorse.

“Ride back to the Range,” he said sharply,“as straight as you can. Tell your fatherthat you met me. Let your horse go, MissSchuyler.”

As he spoke he brought his hand downupon the beast’s flank and it went forwardwith a bound. The one Flora Schuylerrode flung up its head, and in anothermoment they were sweeping at a gallopacross the prairie. A mile had been leftbehind before Hetty could pull her half-broken horse up; but the struggle that taxed

every sinew had been beneficial, and shelaughed a trifle breathlessly.

“I’m afraid I lost my temper; and I’mangry yet,” she said. “It’s the first timeLarry wouldn’t do what I asked him, and itwas mean of him to send us off like that,just when one wanted to put on all one’sdignity.”

Miss Schuyler appeared thoughtful. “Ifancy he did it because it was necessary.Didn’t it strike you that you were hurtinghim? That is a good man and an honestone, though, of course, he may bemistaken.”

“He must be,” said Hetty. “Now I used tothink ever so much of Larry, and that iswhy I got angry with him. It isn’t nice tofeel one has been fooled. How can he be

good when he wants to take our land fromus?”

Flora Schuyler laughed. “You are quitedelightful, Hetty, now and then. You haveread a little, and been taught history. Can’tyou remember any?”

“Oh yes,” said Hetty, with a littlethoughtful nod. “Still, the men who madethe trouble in those old days were usuallyburied before anyone was quite surewhether they were right or not. Try to putyourself in my place. What would youdo?”

There was a somewhat curious look inMiss Schuyler’s blue eyes. “I think if I hadknown a man like that one as long as youhave done, I should believe in him—whatever he did.”

“Well,” said Hetty gravely, “if you had,just as long as you could remember, seenyour father and his friends taking nopleasure, but working every day, andputting most of every dollar they madeback into the ranch, you would find itquite difficult to believe that the man whomeant to take it from them now they weregetting old and wanted to rest and enjoywhat they had worked for was doinggood.”

Flora Schuyler nodded. “Yes,” she said,“I would. It’s quite an old trouble. Thereare two ways of looking at everything, andother folks have had to worry over themright back to the beginning.”

Then she suddenly tightened her grasp onthe bridle, for the ringing of a rifle rose,

sharp and portentous, from beyond therise. The colour faded in her cheek, andHetty leaned forward a trifle in hersaddle, with lips slightly parted, as thoughin strained expectancy. No sound nowreached them from beyond the low, whiteridge that hemmed in their vision but afaint drumming of hoofs. Then FloraSchuyler answered the question in hercompanion’s eyes.

“I think it was only a warning,” she said.

She wheeled her horse and they rode onslowly, hearing nothing further, until theRange rose from behind the big birchbluff. Torrance had returned when theyreached it, and Hetty found him in hisoffice room.

“I met Larry on the prairie, and of course I

talked to him,” she said. “I asked him whyhe had not been to the Range, and heseemed to think it would be better if hedid not come.”

Torrance smiled drily. “Then I guess heshowed quite commendable taste as wellas good sense. You are still decided not togo back to New York, Hetty?”

“Yes,” said the girl, with a little resolutenod. “You see, I can’t help being youngand just a little good-looking, but I’mMiss Torrance of Cedar all the time.”

Torrance’s face was usually grim, but itgrew a trifle softer then. “Hetty,” he said,“they taught you a good many things Inever heard of at that Boston school, butI’m not sure you know that all trade andindustry is built upon just this fact: what a

man has made and worked hard for is hisown. Would anyone put up houses or raisecattle if he thought his neighbours couldtake them from him? Now there’s going tobe trouble over that question here, and,though it isn’t likely, your father may bebeaten down. He may have to do thingsthat wouldn’t seem quite nice to a daintyyoung woman, and folks may denouncehim; but it’s quite plain that if you stayhere you will have to stand in withsomebody.”

The girl, who was touched by the unusualtenderness in his eyes, sat down upon thetable, and slipped an arm about his neck.

“Who would I stand in with but you?” shesaid. “We’ll whip the rustlers out of thecountry, and, whether it sounds nice at the

time or not, you couldn’t do anything butthe square thing.”

Torrance kissed her gravely, but he sighedand his face grew stern again when sheslipped out of the room.

“There will not be many who will comethrough this trouble with hands quiteclean,” he said.

It was during the afternoon, and Torrancehad driven off again, when, as the twogirls were sitting in the little room whichwas set apart for them, a horseman rodeup to the Range, and Flora Schuyler, whowas nearest the window, drew back thecurtain.

“That man should sit on horsebackalways,” she said; “he’s quite a picture.”

Hetty nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Still, youtold me you didn’t like him. It’sClavering. Now, I wonder what he putthose things on for—he doesn’t wear themvery often—and whether he knew myfather wasn’t here.”

Clavering would probably have attractedthe attention of most young women justthen, for he had dressed himself in thefashion the prairie stockriders wereaddicted to, as he did occasionally,perhaps because he knew it suited him. Hehad artistic perceptions, and could adapthimself harmoniously to his surroundings,and he knew Hetty’s appreciation of thepicturesque. His sallow face showedclean cut almost to feminine refinementunder the wide hat, and the blue shirt

which clung about him displayed hisslender symmetry. It was, however, notmade of flannel, but apparently of silk,and the embroidered deerskin jacketwhich showed the squareness of hisshoulders, was not only daintily wrought,but had evidently cost a good manydollars. His loose trousers and silverspurs were made in Mexican fashion: butthe boldness of the dark eyes, and thepride that revealed itself in the very poseof the man, redeemed him from any taint ofvanity.

He sat still until a hired man came up, thenswung himself from the saddle, and inanother few moments had entered theroom with his wide hat in his hand.

“You find us alone,” said Hetty. “Are you

astonished?”

“I am content,” said Clavering. “Why doyou ask me?”

“Well,” said Hetty naïvely, “I fancied youmust have seen my father on the prairie,and could have stopped him if you hadwanted to.”

There was a little flash in Clavering’sdark eyes that was very eloquent. “Thefact is, I did. Still, I was afraid he wouldwant to take me along with him.”

Hetty laughed. “I am growing up,” shesaid. “Three years ago you wouldn’t havewasted those speeches on me. Well, youcan sit down and talk to Flora.”

Clavering did as he was bidden. “It’s atime-honoured question,” he said. “How

do you like this country?”

“There’s something in its bigness that getshold of one,” said Miss Schuyler. “Onefeels free out here on these wide levels inthe wind and sun.”

Clavering nodded, and Flora Schuylerfancied from his alertness that he had beenwaiting for an opportunity. “It would bewise to enjoy it while you can,” he said.“In another year or two the freedom maybe gone, and the prairie shut off in littlesquares by wire fences. Then one will bepermitted to ride along a trail betweenrows of squalid homesteads flanked bypiles of old boots and provision-cans. Wewill have exchanged the stockrider for theslouching farmer with a swarm of unkemptchildren and a slatternly, scolding wife

then.”

“You believe that will come about?”asked Miss Schuyler, giving him the leadshe felt he was waiting for.

Clavering looked thoughtful. “It wouldnever come if we stood loyally together,but—and it is painful to admit it—one ortwo of our people seem quite willing todestroy their friends to gain cheappopularity by truckling to the rabble. Ofcourse, we could spare those men quitewell, but they know our weak points, andcan do a good deal of harm by betrayingthem.”

“Now,” said Hetty, with a sparkle in hereyes, “you know quite well that if some ofthem are mistaken they will do nothingmean. Can’t they have their notions and be

straight men?”

“It is quite difficult to believe it,” saidClavering. “I will tell you what one ortwo of them did. There was trouble downat Gordon’s place fifty miles west, and hiscow-boys whipped off a band ofDutchmen who wanted to pull his fencesdown. Well, they came back a night ortwo later with a mob of Americans, andlaid hands on the homestead. We areproud of the respect we pay women in thiscountry, Miss Schuyler, but that night Mrs.Gordon’s and her daughters’ rooms werebroken into, and the girls turned out on theprairie. It was raining, and I believe theywere not even allowed to providethemselves with suitable clothing. Ofcourse, nothing of that kind could happen

here, or I would not have told you.”

Hetty’s voice was curiously quiet as sheasked, “Was nothing done to provokethem?”

“Yes,” said Clavering, with a dry smile,“Gordon shot one of them; but is itastonishing? What would you expect of anAmerican if a horde of rabble who heldnothing sacred poured into his house atnight? Oh, yes, he shot one of them, andwould have given them the magazine, onlythat somebody felled him with an axe. TheDutchman was only grazed, but Gordon islying senseless still.”

There was an impressive silence, and theman sat still with the veins on his foreheada trifle swollen and a glow in his eyes.His story was also accurate, so far as it

went; but he had, with a purpose, not toldthe whole of it.

“You are sure there were Americansamong them?” asked Hetty, very quietly.

“They were led by Americans. You knowone or two of them.”

“No,” said Hetty, almost fiercely. “I don’tknow. But Larry wasn’t there?”

Clavering shook his head, but there was acurious incisiveness in his tone. “Still, wefound out that his committee wasconsulted and countenanced the affair.”

“Then Larry wasn’t at the meeting,” saidMiss Torrance. “He couldn’t have been.”

Clavering made her a little and verygraceful inclination. “One would respect

such faith as yours.”

Miss Schuyler, who was a young womanof some penetration, deftly changed thetopic, and Clavering came near topleasing her, but he did not quite succeed,before he took his departure. Then Hettyglanced inquiringly at her companion.

Flora Schuyler nodded. “I know just whatyou mean, and I was mistaken.”

“Yes?” said Hetty. “Then you like him?”

Miss Schuyler shook her head. “No. Ifancied he was clever, and he didn’t comeup to my expectations. You see, he wastoo obvious.”

“About Larry?”

“Yes. Are you not just a little inconsistent,

Hetty?”

Miss Torrance laughed. “I don’t know,”she said. “I am, of course, quite angrywith Larry, but nobody else has a right toabuse him.”

Flora Schuyler said nothing further, andwhile she sat in thoughtful silenceClavering walked down the hall withHetty’s maid. He was a well-favouredman, and the girl was vain. She blushedwhen he looked down on her with a traceof admiration in his smile.

“You like the prairie?” he said.

She admitted that she was pleased withwhat she had seen of it, and Clavering’sassumed admiration became bolder.

“Well, it’s a good country, and different

from the East,” he said. “There are a goodmany more dollars to be picked up here,and pretty women are quite scarce. Theyusually get married right off to a rancher.Now I guess you came out to betteryourself. It takes quite a long time to getrich down East.”

The girl blushed again, and when sheinformed him that she had a crippled sisterwho was a charge on the family,Clavering smiled as he drew on a leatherglove.

“You’ll find you have struck the rightplace,” he said. “Now I wonder if youcould fix a pin or something in this buttonshank. It’s coming off, you see.”

The girl did it, and when he went outfound a bill lying on the table where he

had been standing. The value of itsomewhat astonished her, but after a littledeliberation she put it in her pocket.

“If he doesn’t ask for it when he comesback I’ll know he meant me to keep it,”she said.

VIII

THE SHERIFF

Miss Schuyler had conjectured correctlyrespecting the rifle-shot which announcedthe arrival of a messenger; a few minutesafter the puff of white smoke on the crestof the rise had drifted away, a mountedman rode up to Grant at a gallop. Hishorse was white with dust and spume, buthis spurs were red.

“Railroad district executive sent me on tolet you know the Sheriff had lost yourman,” he said.

“Lost him,” said Grant.

“Well,” said the horseman, “put it as itpleases you, but, as he had him in the jail,it seems quite likely he let him go.”

There was a growl from the teamsterswho had clustered round, and Grant’s facegrew stern. “He was able to hold the twohomesteaders Clavering’s boys broughthim.”

“Oh, yes,” said the other, “he has themtight enough. You’ll remember one of thecattle-boys and a storekeeper got hurtduring the trouble, and our men are notgoing to have much show at the trialTorrance and the Sheriff are fixing up!”

“Then,” said Grant wearily, “we’ll stopthat trial. You will get a fresh horse in my

stable and tell your executive I’m going totake our men out of jail, and if it suits themto stand in they can meet us at the trailforks, Thursday, ten at night.”

The man nodded. “I’m tolerably playedout, but I’ll start back right now,” he said.

He rode off towards the homestead, andGrant turned to the rest. “Jake, you’ll takethe eastern round; Charley, you’ll ridewest. Give them the handful of oats atevery shanty to show it’s urgent. They’reto be at Fremont in riding order at nine to-morrow night.”

In another ten minutes the men were ridinghard across the prairie, and Grant, with asigh, went on with his ploughing. It wouldbe next year before he could sow, andwhether he would ever reap the crop was

more than any man in that region wouldhave ventured to predict. He workedhowever, until the stars were out that nightand commenced again when the red suncrept up above the prairie rim the nextday; but soon after dusk mounted men rodeup one by one to Fremont ranch. Theyrode good horses, and each carried aWinchester rifle slung behind him whenthey assembled, silent and grim, in the bigliving-room.

“Boys,” said Grant quietly, “we haveborne a good deal, and tried to keep thelaw, but it is plain that the cattle-men, whobought it up, have left none for us. Now,the Sheriff, who has the two homesteaderssafe, has let the man we sent him go.”

There was an ominous murmur and Grant

went on. “The homesteaders, who onlywanted to buy food and raised no troubleuntil they were fired on, will be tried bythe cattle-men, and I needn’t tell you whatkind of chance they’ll get. We pledgedourselves to see they had fair play whenthey came in, and there’s only one meansof getting it. We are going to take themfrom the Sheriff, but there will be nofighting. We’ll ride in strong enough toleave no use for that. Now, before westart, are you all willing to ride with me?”

Again a hoarse murmur answered him, andGrant, glancing down the row of set facesunder the big lamps, was satisfied.

“Then we’ll have supper,” he said quietly.“It may be a long while before any of usgets a meal again.”

It was a silent repast. As yet thehomesteaders, at least in that district, hadmet contumely with patience and resistedpassively each attempt to dislodge them,though it had cost their leader a strenuouseffort to restrain the more ardent from theexcesses some of their comrades farthereast had already committed; but at last themost peaceful of them felt that the time tostrike in turn had come. They mountedwhen supper was over and rode in silencepast willow bluff and dusky rise acrossthe desolate waste. The badger heard thejingle of their bridles, and now and then alonely coyote, startled by the softdrumming of the hoofs, rose with bristlingfur and howled; but no cow-boy heardtheir passage, or saw them wind in and outthrough devious hollows when daylight

came. Still, here and there an anxiouswoman stood, with hazy eyes, in the doorof a lonely shanty, wondering whether theman she had sent out to strike for the homehe had built her would ever ride backagain. For they, too, had their part in thestruggle, and it was perhaps the hardestone.

It was late at night when they rode into thewooden town. Here and there a windowwas flung open; but the night was thickand dark, and there was little to see butthe dust that whirled about the dimlyflitting forms. That, however, was nothingunusual, for of late squadrons ofstockriders and droves of weary cattle hadpassed into the town; and a long row ofshadowy frame houses had been left

behind before the fears of any citizen werearoused. It was, perhaps, their silent hastethat betrayed the horsemen, for they rodein ordered ranks without a word, as menwho have grim business in hand, until ahoarse shout went up. Then a pistolflashed in the darkness in front of them,doors were flung open, lights began toblink, and a half-seen horseman came onat a gallop down the shadowy street. Hepulled his horse up within a pistol-shotfrom the homesteaders, and sat still in hissaddle staring at them.

“You’ll have to get down, boys, or tell mewhat you want,” he said. “You can’t ridethrough here at night without a permit.”

There was a little ironical laughter, andsomebody asked, “Who’s going to stop

us?”

“The Sheriff’s guard,” said the horseman.“Stop right where you are until I bringthem.”

“Keep clear,” said Grant sternly, “orwe’ll ride over you. Forward, boys!”

There was a jingle of bridles, and theother man wheeled his horse as the heelswent home. Quick as he was, the foremostriders were almost upon him, and as hewent down the street at a gallop thewooden houses flung back a roar of hoofs.Every door was open now and the citizenspeering out. Lights flashed in thewindows, and somebody cried, “Therustler boys are coming!”

Other voices took up the cry; hoots of

derision mingled with shouts of greeting,but still, without an answer, the men fromthe prairie rode on, Grant peering into thedarkness as he swung in his saddle at thehead of them. He saw one or two mountedmen wheel their horses, and more on footspring clear of the hoofs, and then theflash of a rifle beneath the black front of abuilding. A flagstaff ran up into the nightabove it, and there were shadowy objectsupon the verandah. Grant threw up a hand.

“We’re here, boys,” he said.

Then it became evident that every man’spart had been allotted him, for while thehindmost wheeled their horses, and thensat still, with rifles across their saddles,barring the road by which they had come,the foremost pressed on, until, pulling up,

they left a space behind them andcommanded the street in front. The restdismounted, and while one man stood atthe heads of every pair of horses, the restclustered round Grant in the middle of theopen space. The jail rose dark and silentbefore them, and for the space of amoment or two there was an impressivestillness. It was broken by a shout fromone of the rearguard.

“There’s quite a crowd rolling up. Getthrough as quick as you can!”

Grant stood forward. “We’ll give you halfa minute to send somebody out to talk tous, and then we’re coming in,” he said.

The time was almost up before a voicerose from the building: “Who are you, anyway, and what do you want?”

“Homesteaders,” was the answer. “Wewant the Sheriff.”

“Well,” said somebody, “I’ll tell him.”

Except for a growing clamour in the streetbehind there was silence untilBreckenridge, who stood near Granttouched him,

“I don’t want to meddle, but aren’t wegiving them an opportunity of securingtheir prisoners or making their defencesgood?” he said.

“That’s sense, any way,” said anotherman. “It would be ’way better to go rightin now, while we can.”

Grant shook his head. “You have left thisthing to me, and I want to put it throughwithout losing a man. Men don’t usually

back down when the shooting begins.”

Then a voice rose from the building: “Youwanted the Sheriff. Here he is.”

A shadowy figure appeared at a window,and there was a murmur from Grant’s men.

“He needn’t be bashful,” said one of them.“Nobody’s going to hurt him. Can’t youbring a light, so we can see him?”

A burst of laughter followed, and Grantheld up his hand. “It would be better,Sheriff; and you have my word that we’llgive you notice before we do anything ifwe can’t come to terms.”

It seemed from the delay that the Sheriffwas undecided, but at last a light wasbrought, and the men below saw himstanding at the window with an anxious

face, and behind him two men with rifles,whose dress proclaimed them stockriders.He could also see the horsemen below, asGrant, who waited until the sight hadmade its due impression, had intended thathe should. There were a good many ofthem, and the effect of their silence and thetwinkling of light on their rifles wasgreater than that of any uproar would havebeen.

“Now you can see me, you needn’t keepme waiting,” said the Sheriff, with anattempt at jauntiness which betrayed hisanxiety. “What do you want?”

“Two of your prisoners,” said Grant.

“I’m sorry you can’t have them,” said theSheriff. “Hadn’t you better ride homeagain before I turn the boys loose on

you?”

But his voice was not quite in keepingwith his words, and it would have beenwiser if he had turned his face aside.

“It’s a little too far to ride back withoutgetting what we came for,” said Grantquietly. “Now, we have no great use fortalking. We want two homesteaders, andwe mean to get them; but that will satisfyus.”

“You want nobody else?”

“No. You can keep your criminals, or letthem go, just as it suits you.”

There was a laugh from some of thehorsemen, which was taken up by thecrowd and swelled into a storm of cries.Some expressed approval, others anger,

and the Sheriff stepped backwards.

“Then,” he said hoarsely, “if you wantyour friends, you must take them.”

The next moment the window shut with abang, and the light died out, leaving thebuilding once more in darkness.

“Get to work,” said Grant. “Forward,those who are going to cover the axe-men!”

There was a flash from the verandah,apparently in protest and without intent tohurt, for the next moment a few half-seenobjects flung themselves over thebalustrade as the men with the axes cameup, and others with rifles took their placesa few paces behind them. Then one of thehorsemen shouted a question.

“Let them pass,” said Grant.

The door was solid and braced with iron,but those who assailed it had swung theaxe since they had the strength to lift it,and in the hands of such men it is a veryeffective implement. The door shook andrattled as the great blades whirled andfell, each one dropping into the notch theother had made; the men panted as theysmote; the splinters flew in showers.

“Holding out still!” gasped one of them.“There’s iron here. Get some of the boysto chop that redwood pillar, and we’lldrive it down.”

There was an approving murmur, butGrant grasped the man by the shoulder.“No,” he said. “We haven’t come towreck the town. I’ve another plan if

you’re more than two minutes getting in.”

The axes whirled faster, and at last a manturned breathlessly. “Get ready, boys,” hesaid. “One more on the bolt head, Jake,and we’re in!”

A brawny man twice whirled the hissingblade about his head, and as he swungforward with both hands on the haft with adull crash the wedge of tempered steelclove the softer metal. The great doortilted and went down, and Breckenridgesprang past the axe-men through theopening. His voice came back exultantlyout of the shadowy building. “It was theold country sent you the first man in!”

The men’s answer was a shout as theyfollowed him, with a great tramplingdown the corridor, but the rest of the

building was very silent, and nobodydisputed their passage until at last a manwith grey hair appeared with a lanternbehind an iron grille.

“Open that thing,” said somebody.

The man smiled drily. “I couldn’t do it if Iwanted to. I’ve given my keys away.”

One or two of the homesteaders glanced atrifle anxiously behind them. The corridorwas filling up, and it dawned upon themthat if anything barred their egress theywould be helpless.

“Then what are you stopping for?” askedsomebody.

“It’s in my contract,” said the jailerquietly. “I was raised in Kentucky. Youdon’t figure I’m scared of you?”

“No use for talking,” said a man. “Youcan’t argue with him. Go ahead with youraxes and beat the blamed thing in.”

It cost them twenty minutes’ strenuous toil;but the grille went down, and two of theforemost seized the jailer.

“Let him go,” said Grant quietly. “Now,we can’t fool time away with you.Where’s the Sheriff?”

“I don’t quite know,” said the jailer, andthe contempt in his voice answered thequestion.

Grant laughed a little. “Well,” he said, “Iguess he’s sensible. Now, what you havegot to do is to bring out the twohomesteaders as quick as you can.”

“I told you I couldn’t do it,” said the other

man.

“You listen to me. We are going to takethose men out, if we have to pull thisplace to pieces until we find them. That,it’s quite plain, would let the others go,and you would lose the whole of yourprisoners instead of two of them. Tell uswhere you put them, and you can keep therest.”

“That’s square?”

“Oh, yes,” said Grant. “There are quiteenough men of their kind loose in thiscountry already.”

“Straight on,” said the jailer. “First door.”

They went on in silence, but there was ashout when somebody answered theirquestions from behind a door, which a

few minutes later tottered and fell beneaththe axes. Then, amidst acclamation, theyled two men out, and showed them to thejailer.

“You know them?” said Grant. “Well, youcan tell your Sheriff there wasn’t acartridge in the rifles of the men whoopened his jail. He’ll come back when thetrouble’s over, but it seems to me thecattle-men have wasted a pile of dollarsover him.”

He laughed when a question met them asthey once more trampled into theverandah.

“Yes,” he said. “The boys are bringingthem!”

Two horses were led forward, and the

released men swung themselves into thesaddle. There was a hasty mounting, andwhen the men swung into open fours ashout went up from the surging crowd.

“They have taken the homesteaders out.The Sheriff has backed down.”

A roar followed that expressedapprobation and disgust; it was evidentthat the sympathies of the citizens weredivided. In the momentary silence Grant’svoice rang out:

“Sling rifles! Keep your order anddistance! Forward, boys!”

Again a hoarse cry went up, but there wasonly applause in it now, for the crowdrecognized the boldness of the commandand opened out, pressing back against the

houses as the little band rode forward.Their silence was impressive, but theleader knew his countrymen, for, whiletaunts and display would have courted anonset, nobody seemed anxious to obstructthe men who sat unconcernedly in theirsaddles, with the rifles which alonewarranted their daring disdainfully slungbehind them.

On they went past clusters of wonderingcitizens, shouting sympathizers, and silentcattle-men, until there was a hoot ofderision, and, perhaps in the hope ofprovoking a conflict in which the restwould join, a knot of men pushed out intothe street from the verandah of the woodenhotel. Grant realized that a rash blowmight unloose a storm of passion and

rouse to fury men who were alreadyregretting their supineness.

“Keep your pace and distance!” hecommanded.

Looking straight in front of them, shadowyand silent, the leading four rode on, andonce more the crowd melted from in frontof them. As the last of the band passedthrough the opening that was made forthem a man laughed as he turned in hissaddle.

“We can’t stay any longer, boys, but itwasn’t your fault. It’s a man you want forSheriff,” he said.

“No talking there! Gallop!” said Grant,and the horsemen flitted across therailroad track, and with a sinking thud of

hoofs melted into the prairie. They hadaccomplished their purpose, and thecattle-men, going back disgustedly toremonstrate with the Sheriff, for a whilefailed to find him.

IX

THE PRISONER

The prairie was shining white in themoonlight with the first frost whenTorrance, Hetty, and Miss Schuyler droveup to Allonby’s ranch. They were late inarriving and found a company ofneighbours already assembled in the biggeneral room. It was panelled with cedarfrom the Pacific slope, and about thedoors and windows were rich hangings oftapestry, but the dust was thick upon themand their beauty had been wasted by themoth. Tarnished silver candlesticks and

lamps which might have come fromEngland a century ago, and a scarredpiano littered with tattered music, were inkeeping with the tapestry; for signs of tastewere balanced by those of neglect, whilehere and there a roughly patched piece offurniture conveyed a plainer hint thatdollars were scanty with Allonby. He wasfrom the South, a spare, grey-haired man,with a stamp of old-fashioned dignity, andin his face a sadness not far removed fromapathy and which, perhaps, accounted forthe condition of his property.

His guests, among whom were a numberof young men and women, were, however,apparently light-hearted, and had whiledaway an hour or two with song andbadinage. A little removed from them, in a

corner with the great dusty curtain of awindow behind her, sat Hetty Torrancewith Allonby’s nephew and daughter.Miss Allonby was pale and slight andsilent; but her cousin united the vivacity ofthe Northerner with the distinction that isstill common in the South, and—for hewas very young—Hetty found amischievous pleasure in noticing hisalmost too open admiration for FloraSchuyler, who sat close beside them. Agirl was singing indifferently, and whenshe stopped, Miss Allonby raised herhead as a rhythmical sound becameaudible through the closing chords of thepiano.

“Somebody riding here in a hurry!” shesaid.

It was significant that the hum of voiceswhich followed the music ceased as thedrumming of hoofs grew louder; thewomen looked anxious and the menglanced at one another. Tidings brought inhaste were usually of moment then.Torrance, however, stood up and smiledat the assembly.

“I guess some of those rascally rustlershave been driving off a steer again,” hesaid. “Can’t you sing us something,Clavering?”

Clavering understood him, and it was arollicking ballad he trolled out with verveand spirit; but still, though none of theguests now showed it openly, the anxioussuspense did not abate, and by and byMiss Allonby smiled at the lad beside her

somewhat drily.

“Never mind the story, Chris. I guess weknow the rest. That man is riding hard, andyou are as anxious as any of us,” she said.

A minute or two later there was a murmurof voices below, and Allonby went out.Nobody appeared to notice this, but thehum of somewhat meaningless talk whichfollowed and the strained look in one ortwo of the women’s faces had its meaning.Every eye was turned towards thedoorway until Allonby came back andspoke with Torrance apart. Then hesmiled reassuringly upon his guests.

“You will be pleased to hear that some ofour comrades have laid hands upon one ofthe leaders in the attack upon the jail,” hesaid. “They want to lodge him here until

they can send for the Sheriff’s posse, andof course I could only agree. Though theState seems bent on treating us somewhatmeanly, we are, I believe, still loyalcitizens, and I feel quite sure you willoverlook any trifling inconvenience thearrival of the prisoner may cause you.”

“Doesn’t he put it just a little curiously?”suggested Flora Schuyler.

“Well,” said Christopher Allonby, “itreally isn’t nice to have one of our fewpleasant evenings spoiled by this kind ofthing.”

“You don’t understand. I am quite pleasedwith your uncle, but there’s something thatamuses me in the idea of jailing one’sadversary from patriotic duty.”

Christopher Allonby smiled. “There’s agood deal of human nature in most of us,and it’s about time we got even with oneor two of them.”

“Find out about it, Chris,” said MissAllonby; “then come straight back and tellus.”

The young man approached a group of hiselders who were talking together, andreturned by and by.

“It was done quite smartly,” he said. “Oneof the homestead boys who had fallen outwith Larry came over to us, and I fancy itwas Clavering fixed the thing up with him.The boys didn’t know he had desertedthem, and the man he took the oats tobelieved in him.”

“I can’t remember you telling a tale so onecould understand it, Chris,” said MissAllonby. “Why did he take the oats tohim?”

The lad laughed. “They have theircommittees and executives, and when aman has to do anything they send a fewgrains of oats to him. One can’t see muchuse in it, and we know ’most everythingabout them; but it makes the thing kind ofimpressive, and the rustler fancied ourboy was square when he got them. He wasto ride over alone and meet somebodyfrom one of the other executives at night ina bluff. He went, and found a band ofcattle-boys waiting for him. I believe hehadn’t a show at all, for the man who wentup to talk to him grabbed his rifle, but it

seems he managed to damage one or twoof them.”

“You don’t know who he is?” asked MissAllonby; and Flora Schuyler noticed asudden intentness in Hetty’s eyes.

“No,” said the lad, “but the boys will behere with him by and by, and I’m glad theymade quite sure of him, any way.”

Hetty’s eyes sparkled. “You can’t beproud of them! It wasn’t very American.”

“Well, we can’t afford to be tooparticular, considering what we have atstake; though it might have sounded nicerif they had managed it differently. Youdon’t sympathize with the homestead boys,Miss Torrance?”

“Of course not!” said Hetty, with a little

impatient gesture. “Still, that kind ofmeanness does not appeal to me. Even themen we don’t like would despise it. Theyrode into the town without a cartridge intheir rifles, and took out their friends inspite of the Sheriff, while the crowdlooked on.”

“It was Larry Grant fixed that, and ’tisn’tevery day you can find a man like him. It’most made me sick when I heard he hadgone over to the rabble.”

“You were a friend of his?” asked FloraSchuyler.

“Oh, yes;” and a little shadow crept intoAllonby’s face. “But, that’s over now.When a man goes back on his own folksthere’s only one way of treating him, andit’s not going to be nice for Larry if we

can catch him. We’re in too tight a placeto show the man who can hurt us mostmuch consideration.”

Hetty turned her head a moment, and thenchanged the subject, but not before FloraSchuyler noticed the little flush in hercheek. The music, laughter, and gay talkbegan again, and if anyone rememberedthat while they chased their cares awaygrim men who desired their downfalltoiled and planned, no sign of the fact wasvisible.

Twenty minutes passed, and then the thudof hoofs once more rose from the prairie.It swelled into a drumming that jarredharsh and portentous through the music,and Hetty’s attention to the observationsof her companions became visibly less

marked. One by one the voices alsoseemed to sink, and it was evidently arelief to the listeners when a girl rose andclosed the piano. Somebody made aneffort to secure attention to a witty story,and there was general laughter, but it alsoceased, and an impressive silencefollowed. Out of it came the jingle ofbridles and trampling of hoofs, as the menoutside pulled up, followed by voices inthe hall, and once more Allonby went out.

“They’re right under this window,” saidhis nephew. “Slip quietly behind thecurtains, and I think you can see them.”

Flora Schuyler drew the tapestry back, therest followed her and Christopher Allonbyflung it behind them, so that it shut out thelight. In a moment or two their eyes had

become accustomed to the change, andthey saw a little group of mounted menclose beneath. Two of them dismounted,and appeared to be speaking to some oneat the door, but the rest sat with their riflesacross their saddles and a prisoner infront of them. His hat was crushed andbattered, his jacket rent, and FloraSchuyler fancied there was a red trickledown his cheek; but his face was turnedpartly away from the window, and he satvery still, apparently with his arms boundloosely at the wrists.

“All these to make sure of one man, andthey have tied his hands!” she said.

Hetty noticed the ring in her companion’svoice, and Allonby made a littledeprecatory gesture.

“It’s quite evident they had too muchtrouble getting him to take any chances oflosing him,” he said. “I wish the fellowwould turn his head. I fancy I should knowhim.”

A tremor ran through Hetty for she alsofelt she recognized that tattered figure.Then one of the horsemen seized thecaptive’s bridle, and the man made aslight indignant gesture as the jerk flungoff his hands. Flora Schuyler closed herfingers tight.

“If I were a man I should go down and talkquite straight to them,” she said.

The prisoner was sitting stiffly now, buthe swayed in the saddle when one of thecattle-men struck his horse and it plunged.He turned his head as he did so, and the

moonlight shone into his face. It was verywhite, and there was a red smear on hisforehead. Hetty gasped, and FloraSchuyler felt her fingers close almostcruelly upon her arm.

“It’s Larry!” she said.

Christopher Allonby nodded. “Yes, wehave him at last,” he said. “Of course, onefeels sorry; but he brought it on himself.They’re going to put him into the stable.”

The men rode forward, and when theypassed out of sight Hetty slipped backfrom behind the curtain, and, sat down,shivering as she looked up at MissSchuyler.

“I can’t help it, Flo. If one could onlymake them let him go!”

“You need not let any of them see it,” saidMiss Schuyler, sharply. “Sit quite stillhere and talk to me. Now, what right hadthose men to arrest him?”

The warning was sufficient. Hetty shookout her dress and laughed, though hervoice was not steady.

“It’s quite simple,” she said. “The Sheriffcan call out any citizen to help him or sendany man off after a criminal in anemergency. Of course, being a responsibleman he stands in with us, and in times likethese the arrangement suits everybody. Wedo what seems the right thing, and theSheriff is quite pleased when we tellhim.”

Flora Schuyler smiled drily. “Yes. It’sdelightfully simple. Still, wouldn’t it make

the thing more square if the other men hada good-natured Sheriff, too?”

“Now you are laughing at me. Thedifference is that we are in the right.”

“And Larry, of course, must be quitewrong!”

“No,” said Hetty, “he is mistaken. Flo,you have got to help me—I’m going to dosomething for him. Try to be nice to ChrisAllonby. They’ll send him to take care ofLarry.”

Miss Schuyler looked steadily at hercompanion. “You tried to make mebelieve you didn’t care for the man.”

A flush stole into Hetty’s cheek, and asparkle to her eyes. “Can’t you do a nicething without asking questions? Larry was

very good to me for years, and—I’m sorryfor him. Any way, it’s so easy. Chris isyoung, and you could fool any man withthose big blue eyes if he let you look athim.”

Flora Schuyler made a half-impatientgesture, and then, sweeping her dressaside, made room for ChristopherAllonby. She also succeeded so well withhim that when the guests had departed andthe girls came out into the corral where hewas pacing up and down, he flung hiscigar away and forsook his duty to jointhem. It was a long ride to Cedar Range,and Torrance had decided to stay withAllonby until morning.

“It was very hot inside—they would putso much wood in the stove,” said Hetty.

“Besides, Flo’s fond of the moonlight.”

“Well,” said Allonby, “it’s quite nice outhere, and I guess Miss Schuyler ought tolike the moonlight. It’s kind to her.”

Flora Schuyler laughed as they walkedpast the end of the great wooden stabletogether. “If you look at it in one sense,that wasn’t pretty. You are guarding theprisoner?”

“Yes,” said the lad, with evidentdiffidence. “The boys who brought himhere had ’bout enough of him, and they’reresting, while ours are out on the range.I’m here for two hours any way. It’s notquite pleasant to remember I’m watchingLarry.”

“Of course!” and Miss Schuyler nodded

sympathetically. “Now, couldn’t you justlet us talk to him? The boys have cut hisforehead, and Hetty wanted to bring himsome balsam. I believe he used to be kindto her.”

Allonby looked doubtful, but MissSchuyler glanced at him appealingly—andshe knew how to use her eyes—whileHetty said:

“Now, don’t be foolish, Chris. Of course,we had just to ask your uncle, but hewould have wanted to come with us andwould have asked so many questions,while we knew you would tell nobodyanything. You know I can’t help beingsorry for Larry, and he has done quite afew nice things for you, too.”

“Miss Schuyler is going with you?”

“Of course,” and Hetty smiledmischievously as she glanced at hercompanion. “Still, you needn’t be jealous,Chris. I’ll take the best care she doesn’tmake love to him.”

Flora Schuyler looked away across theprairie, which was not quite what onewould have expected from a young womanof her capacities; but the laughing answerserved to banish the lad’s suspicions, andhe walked with them towards the door.Then he stopped, and when he drew a keyfrom an inner pocket Hetty saw somethingtwinkle in the moonlight at his belt.

“Chris,” she said, “stand still for a minuteand shut your eyes quite tight.”

The lad did as he was bidden, for a fewyears ago he had been the complaisant

victim of Hetty’s pleasantries, and felt alight touch on his lips. Then, there was apluck at his belt, and Hetty was severalyards away when he made a step forwardwith his eyes wide open. She waslaughing at him, but there was a pistol inher hand.

“It was only my fingers, Chris, and Flowasn’t the least nearer than she is now,”she said. “If you dared to think anythingelse, you would make me too angry. We’llbring this thing back to you in fiveminutes, but you wouldn’t have us go inthere quite defenceless. Now you walkacross the corral, and wait until we tellyou.”

Allonby was very young, and somewhatsusceptible. Hetty was also very pretty,

and, he fancied, Miss Schuyler evenprettier still; but he had a few misgivings,and when they went in closed the lowerhalf of the door and set his back to it.

“No,” he said decisively, “I’m stayingright here.”

The girls made no demur, but when theyhad crossed a portion of the long buildingMiss Schuyler touched her companion.“I’ll wait where I am,” she said drily,“you will not want me.”

Hetty went on until she came to where thelight of a lantern shone faintly in a stall. Aman sat there with his hands still boundand a wide red smear upon his forehead.His face flushed suddenly as he glanced ather, but he said nothing.

“I’m ever so sorry, Larry,” said the girl.

The man smiled, though it was evident toHetty, whose heart beat fast, that it wasonly by an effort he retained his self-control.

“Well,” he said, “it can’t be helped, and itwas my fault. Still, I never suspected thatkind of thing.”

Hetty coloured. “Larry, you mustn’t bebitter—but it was horribly mean. Icouldn’t help coming—I was afraid youwould fancy I was proud of them.”

“No,” he said, sternly. “I couldn’t havefancied that. There was nothing else?”

“Your head. It is horribly cut. We saw youfrom the window, and I fancied I could tieit up for you. You wouldn’t mind if I tried,

Larry? I have some balsam here, and Ionly want a little water.”

For a moment Grant’s face was veryexpressive, but once more he seemed toput a check upon himself, and his voicewas almost too even as he pointed to thepitcher beside him. “There is some ready.Your friends don’t treat their prisonersvery well.”

The girl winced a little, but dipping herhandkerchief in the pitcher she laved hisforehead, and then would have laid thedressing on it; but he caught her hand.

“No,” he said, “take mine instead.”

“You needn’t be quite too horrid, Larry,”and there was a quiver in her voice. “Itwouldn’t hurt you very much to take a

little thing like that from me.”

Grant smiled very gravely. “I think youhad better take mine. If they found a lady’shandkerchief round my head, Allonby’sfolks would wonder how it got there.”

Hetty did as he suggested, and felt acurious chagrin when he failed to look ather. “I used to wonder, Larry, how youwere able to think of everything,” shesaid. “Now I have brought you somethingelse; but you must promise not to hurtanybody belonging to Allonby with it.”

Grant laughed softly, partly to hide hisastonishment, when he saw a pistol laidbeside him.

“I haven’t grown bloodthirsty, Hetty,” hesaid. “Where did you get it?”

“It was Chris Allonby’s. Flo and I fooledhim and took it away. It was sodelightfully easy. But you will keep it?”

He shook his head. “Just try to think,Hetty.”

Hetty’s cheeks flushed. “You are horriblyunkind. Can’t you take anything from me?Still—you—have got to think now. If I letyou go, you will promise not to make anymore trouble for my father and Allonby, oranybody?”

Grant only looked at her with an odd littlesmile, but the crimson grew deeper inHetty’s cheek. “Oh, of course youcouldn’t. I was sorry the last time I askedyou,” she said. “Larry, you make me feelhorribly mean; but you would not doanything that would hurt them, unless it

was quite necessary?”

“No,” said the man drily, “I don’t thinkI’m going to have an opportunity.”

“You are. I came to let you go. It will bequite easy. Chris is quite foolish aboutFlo.”

Grant shook his head. “Doesn’t it strikeyou that it would be very rough on Chris?”

Hetty would not look at him, and her voicewas very low. “If anyone must be hurt, Iwould sooner it was Chris than you.”

He did not answer for a moment, and thegirl, watching him in sidelong fashion,saw the grim restraint in his face, whichgrew almost grey in patches.

“It is no use, Hetty,” he said very quietly.

“Chris would tell them nothing. There isno meanness in his father or him; but thatwouldn’t stop him thinking. Now, you willknow I was right to-morrow. Take himback his pistol.”

“Larry,” said the girl, with a little quiverin her voice, “you are right again—I don’tquite know why you were friends withme.”

Grant smiled at her. “I haven’t yet seen theman who was fit to brush the dust off yourlittle shoes; but you don’t look at thesethings quite as we do. Now Chris will begetting impatient. You must go.”

Hetty turned away from him, and while theman felt his heart throbbing painfully andwondered whether his resolution wouldsupport him much longer, stood very still

with one hand clenched. Then she movedback towards him swiftly, with a littlesmile.

“There is a window above the beams,where they pitch the grain-bags through,”she said. “Chris will go away in an houror so, and the other man will only watchthe door. There are horses in the corralbehind the barn, and I’ve seen you ride thewickedest broncho without a saddle.”

She whisked away before the man, whofelt a little, almost caressing, touch uponhis arm; and heard something drop closebeside him with a rattle, could answer,and in less than a minute later smiling atChris Allonby gave him back his pistol.

“Do you know I was ’most afraid youwere going to make trouble for me?” he

said.

“But if I had you wouldn’t have told.”

The lad coloured. “You have known mequite a long time, Hetty.”

Hetty laughed, but there was a thrill in hervoice as she turned to Miss Schuyler.“Now,” she said, “you know the kind ofmen we raise on the prairie.”

As they moved away together, FloraSchuyler cast a steady, scrutinizing glanceat her companion. “I could have told you,Hetty,” she said.

“Yes,” said Hetty, with a little nod. “Hewouldn’t go, and I feel so mean that I’mnot fit to talk to you or anybody. But wait.You’ll hear something before to-morrow.”

It was not quite daylight when MissSchuyler was awakened by a murmur ofvoices and a tramp of feet on the frozensod. Almost at the same moment the doorof her room opened, and a slim, whitefigure glided towards the window. FloraSchuyler stood beside it in another secondor two, and felt that the girl whose armshe touched was trembling. The voicesbelow grew louder, and they could seetwo men come running from the stable,while one or two others were flingingsaddles upon the horses brought out inhaste.

“He must have got away an hour ago,”said somebody. “The best horse Allonbyhad in the corral isn’t there now.”

Then Hetty sat down laughing excitedly,

and let her head fall back on FloraSchuyler’s shoulder when she felt thewarm girdling of her arm. In anothermoment she was crying and gaspingpainfully.

“He has got away. The best horse in thecorral! Ten times as many of themcouldn’t bring him back,” she said.

“Hetty,” said Miss Schuyler decisively,“you are shivering all through. Go back atonce. He is all right now.”

The girl gasped again, and clung closer toher companion. “Of course,” she said.“You don’t know Larry. If they had all theCedar boys, too, he would ride straightthrough them.”

X

ON THE TRAIL

Grant and Breckenridge sat together overtheir evening meal. Outside the frost wasalmost arctic, but there was wood inplenty round Fremont ranch, and the greatstove diffused a stuffy heat. The two menhad made the round of the smallhomesteads that were springing up, withdifficulty, for the snow was too loose andpowdery to bear a sleigh, and now theywere content to lounge in the tranquilenjoyment of the rest and warmth thatfollowed exposure to the stinging frost.

At last Breckenridge pushed his plateaside, and took out his pipe.

“You must have put a good many dollarsinto your ploughing, Larry, and the few Ihad have gone in the same way,” he said.“You see, it’s a long while until harvestcomes round, and a good many unexpectedthings seem to happen in this country. Tobe quite straight, is there much probabilityof our getting any of those dollars back?”

Grant smiled. “I think there is, though Ican’t be sure. The legislature must dosomething for us sooner or later, while thefact that the cattle-men and the Sheriffhave left us alone of late shows that theydon’t feel too secure. Still, there may betrouble. A good many hard cases havebeen coming in.”

“The cattle-men would get them. It’sdollars they’re wanting, and the other menhave a good many more than we have. Bythe way, shouldn’t the man with the moneyyou are waiting for turn up to-night?”

Grant nodded. A number of almostindigent men—small farmers ruined byfrost in Dakota, and axe-men fromMichigan with growing families—hadsettled on the land in his neighbourhood,and as every hand and voice might bewanted, levies had been made on thericher homesteaders, and subscribed tohere and there in the cities, for the purposeof enabling them to continue the struggle.

“We want the dollars badly,” he said.“The cattle-men have cut off our credit atthe railroad stores, and there are two or

three of the Englishmen who have verylittle left to eat at the hollow. You haveseen what we have sent out from Fremont,and Muller has been feeding quite a fewof the Dutchmen.”

He stopped abruptly, and Breckenridgedrew back his chair. “Hallo!” he said.“You heard it, Larry?”

Grant had heard the windows jar, and asound that resembled a faint tap. “Yes,” hesaid quietly. “I may have been mistaken,but it was quite like a rifle shot.”

They were at the door in another moment,shivering as the bitter cold met them in theface; but there was now no sound from theprairie, which rolled away before themwhite and silent under the moonlight.Then, Breckenridge flung the door to, and

crossed over to the rack where a Marlinrifle and two Winchesters hung. Hepressed back the magazine slide of one ofthem, and smiled somewhat grimly atGrant.

“Well,” he said, “we can only hope you’rewrong. Where did you put the book I wasreading?”

Grant, who told him, took out someaccounts, and they lounged in big hidechairs beside the stove for at least half anhour, though it was significant that everynow and then one of them would turn hishead as though listening, and becomesuddenly intent upon his task again whenhe fancied his companion noticed him. Atlast Breckenridge laughed.

“It’s all right, Larry. There—is—

somebody coming. It will be the man withdollars, and I don’t mind admitting that I’llbe glad to see him.”

Five minutes later the door opened andMuller came in. He looked round himinquiringly.

“Quilter is not come? I his horse in derstable have not seen,” he said.

“No,” said Grant sharply. “He would passyour place.”

Muller nodded. “He come in und dersupper take. Why is he not here? I, whoride by der hollow, one hour after himstart make.”

Breckenridge glanced at Grant, and bothsat silent for a second or two. Then theformer said, “I’m half afraid we’ll have to

do without those dollars, Mr. Muller.Shall I go round and roll the boys up,Larry?”

Grant only nodded, and, whileBreckenridge, dragging on his fur coat,made for the stable, took down two of therifles and handed one to Muller.

“So!” said the Teuton quietly. “We dertrail pick up?”

In less than five minutes the two wereriding across the prairie towards Muller’shomestead at the fastest pace attainable inthe loose, dusty snow, while Breckenridgerode from shanty to shanty to call out themen of the little community which hadgrown up not far away. It was some timelater when he and those who followed himcame up with his comrade and Muller.

The moon still hung in the western sky andshowed the blue-grey smear where horse-hoofs had scattered the snow. It ledstraight towards a birch bluff across thewhitened prairie, and Breckenridgestooped in his saddle and looked at it.

“Larry,” he said sharply, “there were twoof them.”

“Yes,” said Grant. “Only one leftMuller’s.”

Breckenridge asked nothing further, but itwas not the first time that night he felt ashiver run through him. He fell behind, buthe heard one of the rest answer a questionGrant put to him.

“Yes,” he said. “The last man was ridinga good deal harder than the other fellow.”

Then there was silence, save for the softtrampling of hoofs, and Breckenridgefancied the others were gazing expectantlytowards the shadowy blurr of the bluff,which rose a trifle clearer now against theskyline. He felt, with instinctive shrinking,that their search would be rewarded therein the blackness beneath the trees. Thepace grew faster. Men glanced at theirneighbours now and then as well as ahead,and Breckenridge felt the silence growoppressive as the bluff rose higher. Thesnow dulled the beat of hoofs, and theflitting figures that rode with him passedon almost as noiselessly as the long blackshadows that followed them. His heartbeat faster than usual when, as theyreached the birches, Grant raised his hand.

“Ride wide and behind me,” he said.“We’re going to find one of them inside offive minutes.”

There was an occasional crackle as arotten twig or branch snapped beneath thehoofs. Slender trees slid athwart themoonlight, closed on one another, andopened out, and still, though the snow wasscanty and in places swept away, Grantand a big Michigan bushman rode straighton. Breckenridge, who was young, felt thetension grow almost unendurable. At last,when even the horses seemed to feel theirmasters’ uneasiness, the leader pulled up,and with a floundering of hoofs and jingleof bridles the line of shadowy figurescame to a standstill.

“Get down, boys, and light the lantern.

Quilter’s here,” he said.

Breckenridge dismounting, looped hisbridle round a bough, and by and by stoodpeering over the shoulders of theclustering men in front of him. Themoonlight shone in between the birches,and something dusky and rigid lay athwartit in the snow. One man was lighting alantern, and though his hands weremittened he seemed singularly clumsy. Atlast, however, a pale light blinked out, andunder it Breckenridge saw a white faceand shadowy head, from which the fur caphad fallen.

“Yes,” said somebody, with a suspicionof hoarseness, “that’s Quilter. It’s notgoing to be much use; but you had bettergo through his pockets, Larry!”

Grant knelt down, and his face alsoshowed colourless in the lantern light as,with the help of another man, he gentlymoved the rigid form. Then, opening thebig fur-coat he laid his hand on a brownsmear on the deerskin jacket under it.

“One shot,” he said. “Couldn’t have beenmore than two or three yards off.”

“Get through,” said the bushman grimly.“The man who did it can’t have more thanan hour’s start of us, any way, and fromthe trail he left his horse is played out.”

In a minute or two Grant stood up with alittle shiver. “You have got to bring out asledge for him somehow, Muller,” hesaid. “Boys, the man who shot him has leftnothing, and the instructions from ourother executives would be worth more to

the cattle-men than a good many dollars.”

A WHITE FACE AND SHADOWY HEAD, FROMWHICH THE FUR CAP HAD FALLEN.—Page 114.

“Well,” said the big bushman, “we’regoing to get that man if we have to pulldown Cedar Range or Clavering’s placebefore we do it. Here’s his trail. That onewas made by Quilter’s horse.”

It scarcely seemed appropriate, and thewhole scene was singularly undramatic,and in a curious fashion almostunimpressive; but Breckenridge, whocame of a reticent stock, understood.Unlike the Americans of the cities, thesemen were not addicted to improving theoccasion, and only a slight hardening oftheir grim faces suggested what they felt.

They were almost as immobile in the faintmoonlight as that frozen one with thelantern flickering beside it in the snow.Yet Breckenridge long afterwardsremembered them.

Two men went back with Muller and therest swung themselves into the saddle, andreckless of the risk to beast and manbrushed through the bluff. Dry twigscrackled beneath them, rotten bough andwithered bush went down, and a murmurwent up when they rode out into the snowagain. It sounded more ominous toBreckenridge than any clamorous shout.Then, bridles were shaken and heels wenthome as somebody found the trail, and theline tailed out farther and farther as bloodand weight began to tell. The men were

riding so fiercely now, that a squadron ofUnited States cavalry would scarcely haveturned them from the trail. Breckenridgelaughed harshly as he and Grantfloundered down into a hollow, stirrup bystirrup and neck to neck.

“I should be very sorry for any of thecattle-boys we came upon to-night,” hesaid.

Grant only nodded, and just then a shoutwent up from the head of the stragglingline, and a man waved his hand.

“Heading for the river!” he said. “We’llfind him in the timber. He can’t cross theice.”

The line divided, and Grant andBreckenridge rode on with the smaller

portion, while the rest swung wide to theright. In front of them the Cedar flowedthrough its birch-lined gully as yet butlightly bound with ice, and Breckenridgeguessed that the men who had left thempurposed cutting off the fugitive from thebridge. It was long before the first dimbirches rose up against the sky, and thewhite wilderness was very still and thefrost intense when they floundered into thegloom of the bluff at the hour that man’svitality sinks to its lowest. Every crackleof a brittle branch rang with horribledistinctness, and now and then a manturned in his saddle and glanced at hisneighbour when from the shadowy hollowbeneath them rose the sound of rendingice. The stream ran fast just there, andthere had been but a few days’ frost.

They rode at a venture, looking about themwith strained intentness, for they had leftthe guiding trail behind them now.Suddenly a faint cry came out of thesilence followed by a beat of hoofs thatgrew louder every second, until it seemedto swell into a roar. Either there wasclearer ground in the bluff, or the ridertook his chances blindly so long as hemade haste.

The men spread out at a low command,and Breckenridge smiled mirthlessly as heremembered the restrained eagerness withwhich he had waited outside Englishcovers when the quarry was a fox. Hecould feel his heart thumping furiously,and his mittened hands would tremble onthe bridle. It seemed that the fugitive kept

them waiting a horribly long while.

Then, there was a shout close by him,Grant’s horse shot forward and he saw ashadowy object flash by amidst the trees.Hand and heel moved together, and theformer grew steady again as he felt thespring of the beast under him and the bitterdraught upon his cheek. His horse hadrested, and the fugitive’s was spent.Where he was going he scarcely noticed,save that it was down hill, for the birchesseemed flying up to him, and the beaststumbled now and then. He was only surethat he was closing with the flying form infront of him.

The trees grew blurred together; he had tolean forward to evade the thrashingbranches. His horse was blundering

horribly, the slope grew steeper still, theground beneath the dusty snow and fallenleaves was granite hard; but he wasscarcely a length away, a few paces morewould bring him level, and his right handwas stretched out for a grip of thestranger’s bridle.

A hoarse shout came ringing after him, andBreckenridge fancied it was a warning.The river was close in front and onlythinly frozen yet, but he drove his heelshome again. If the fugitive could risk thepassage of the ice, he could risk it, too.There was another sound that jarredacross the hammering of the hoofs, acrash, and Breckenridge was alone,struggling with his horse. They reeled,smashing through withered bushes and

striking slender trees, but at last he gainedthe mastery, and swung himself down fromthe saddle. Already several mounted menwere clustered about something, whilejust before he joined them there wasanother crash, and a little thin smokedrifted among the trees. Then, he saw oneof them snap a cartridge out of his rifle,and that a horse lay quivering at his feet.A man stood beside it, and Grant wasspeaking to him, but Breckenridgescarcely recognized his voice.

“We want everything you took fromQuilter, the papers first,” he said. “Lightthat lantern, Jake, and then the rest standround. I want you to notice what he givesme.”

The man, saying nothing, handed him a

crumpled packet, and Grant, tearing itopen, passed the cover to the rest.

“You know that writing?” he said.

There was a murmur of assent, and Granttook a paper from those in his hand, andgave it to a man who held it up in theblinking light of the lantern. “Now,” hesaid, “we want to make sure the dollars hetook from Quilter agree with it. Hand themover.”

The prisoner took a wallet from his pocketand passed it across. “I guess there’s nouse in me objecting. You’ll find themthere,” he said.

“Count them,” said Grant to the other man.“Two of you look over his shoulder andtell me if he’s right.”

It took some little time, for the man passedthe roll of bills to a comrade, who, afterturning them over, replaced them in thewallet.

“Yes, that’s right, boys; it’s quite plain,even if we hadn’t followed up his trail.Those dollars and documents were handedQuilter.”

Grant touched Breckenridge. “Get up andride,” he said. “They’ll send us six menfrom each of the two committees. We’ll bewaiting for them at Boston’s when they getthere. Now, there’s just another thing.Look at the magazine of that fellow’srifle.”

A man took up the rifle, and snapped outthe cartridges into his hand. “Usual 44Winchester. One of them gone,” he said.

“He wouldn’t have started out afterQuilter without his magazine full.”

The man rubbed the fringe of his deerskinjacket upon the muzzle, and then held it upby the lantern where the rest could see thesmear of the fouling upon it.

“I guess that’s convincing, but we’ll bringthe rifle along,” he said.

Grant nodded and turned to the prisoner asa man led up a horse. “Get up,” he said.“You’ll have a fair trial, but if you haveany defence to make you had better think itover. You’ll walk back to Hanson’s,Jake.”

The prisoner mounted, and they slowlyrode away into the darkness which, nowthe moon had sunk, preceded the coming

day.

It was two days later when Breckenridge,who had ridden a long way in themeanwhile, rejoined them at a lonelyranch within a day’s journey of therailroad. Twelve men, whose bronzedfaces showed very intent and grave underthe light of the big lamp, sat round the longbare room, and the prisoner at the foot of atable. Grant stood at the head of it, with aroll of dollar bills and a rifle in front ofhim.

“Now,” he said, “you have heard thetestimony. Have you anything to tell us?”

“Well,” said the prisoner, “I guess itwouldn’t be much use. Hadn’t you betterget through with it? I don’t like a fuss.”

Grant signed to the men, who silently filedout, and returned within a minute. “Thething’s quite plain,” said one of them. “Hekilled Quilter.”

Grant turned to the prisoner. “There’snothing that would warrant our showingany mercy, but if you have anything to urgewe’ll listen now. It’s your lastopportunity. You were heading for one ofthe cattle-men’s homesteads?”

The man smiled sardonically. “I’m notgoing to talk,” he said. “I guess I can seeyour faces, and that’s enough for me.”

Grant stood up and signed to a man, wholed the prisoner away. Then, he looked atthe others questioningly, and a Michiganaxe-man nodded.

“Only one thing,” he said. “It has to bedone.”

There was an approving murmur, andGrant glanced along the row of sternfaces. “Yes,” he said, “the law will donothing for us—the cattle-men have boughtit up; but this work must be stopped. Well,I guess you like what lies before us aslittle as I do, but if it warns off the others—and there are more of his kind comingin—it’s the most merciful thing.”

Once more the low murmur ran through thesilence of the room; Grant raised his handand a man brought in the prisoner. Helooked at the set faces, and made a littlegesture of comprehension.

“I guess you needn’t tell me,” he said.“When is it to be?”

“To-morrow,” said Grant, and it seemedto Breckenridge that his voice came fromfar away. “At the town—as soon as thereis light enough to see by.”

The prisoner turned without a word, andwhen he had gone the men, as if promptedby one impulse, hastened out of the room,leaving Grant and Breckenridge alone.The former sat very still at the head of thetable, until Breckenridge laid his hand onhis shoulder.

“Shake it off, Larry. You couldn’t havedone anything else,” he said.

“No,” said Grant, with a groan. “Still, Icould have wished this duty had not beenlaid on me.”

When they next stood side by side the

early daylight was creeping across thelittle railroad town, and Breckenridge,whose young face was white, shiveredwith more than the bitter cold. He neverwished to recall it, but the details of thatscene would return to him—the squareframe houses under the driving snow-cloud, the white waste they rose from, thegrim, silent horsemen with the riflesacross their saddles, and the intent facesbeyond them in the close-packed street.He saw the prisoner standing rigidly erectin a wagon drawn up beside a toweringtelegraph-pole, and heard a voice readinghoarsely.

A man raised his hand, somebody lashedthe horses, the wagon lurched away, adusky object cut against the sky, and

Breckenridge turned his eyes away. Asound that might have been a groan ormurmur broke from the crowd and themomentary silence that followed it wasrent by the crackle of riflery. After that,Breckenridge only recollected ridingacross the prairie amidst a group of silentmen, and feeling very cold.

In the meanwhile the citizens were gazingat a board nailed to the telegraph-pole:“For murder and robbery. Take warning!Anyone offending in the same way will betreated similarly!”

XI

LARRY’S ACQUITTAL

A warm wind from the Pacific, which hadswept down through the Rockies’ passes,had mitigated the Arctic cold, and thesnow lay no more than thinly sprinkledupon the prairie. Hetty Torrance and MissSchuyler were riding up through the birchbluff from the bridge of the Cedar. It wasdim among the trees, for dusk was closingin, the trail was rough and steep, and Hettydrew bridle at a turn of it.

“I quite fancied we would have been

home before it was dark, and my fatherwould be just savage if he knew we wereout alone,” she said. “Of course, hewouldn’t have let us go if he had been atCedar.”

Flora Schuyler looked about her with ashiver. The wind that shook the bircheshad grown perceptibly colder: the gloombeneath them deepened rapidly, and therewas a doleful wailing amidst the swingingboughs. Beyond the bluff the whitewilderness, sinking into dimness now, ranback, waste and empty, to the horizon.Miss Schuyler was from the cities, and theloneliness of the prairie is mostimpressive when night is closing down.

“Then one could have wished he had beenat home,” she said.

Perhaps Hetty did not hear her plainly, forthe branches thrashed above them justthen. “Oh, that’s quite right. Folks are notapt to worry much over the things theydon’t know about,” she said.

“It was not your father I was sorry for,”Flora Schuyler said sharply. “The sod istoo hard for fast riding, and it will be’most an hour yet before we get home. Iwish we were not alone, Hetty.”

Hetty sighed. “It was so convenient once!”she said. “Whenever I wanted to ride out Ihad only to send for Larry. It’s quitedifferent now.”

“I have no doubt Mr. Clavering wouldhave come,” said Miss Schuyler.

“Oh, yes,” Hetty agreed. “Still, I’m

beginning to fancy you were right aboutthat man. Like a good many more of them,he’s quite nice at a distance; but there aremen who should never let anyone get tooclose to them.”

“You have had quite a few opportunitiesof observing him at a short distancelately.”

Hetty laughed, but there was a trace ofuneasiness in her voice. “I could wish myfather didn’t seem quite so fond of him.Oh—there’s somebody coming!”

Instinctively she wheeled her horse intothe deeper shadow of the birches andMiss Schuyler followed. There was nohabitation within a league of them, andthough the frost, which put a period to thehomesteaders’ activities, lessened the

necessity for the cattle-barons’watchfulness, unpleasant results had onceor twice attended a chance encounterbetween their partisans. It was alsocertain that somebody was coming, andHetty felt her heart beat as she made outthe tramp of three horses. The vultures thestruggle had attracted had, she knew, muchless consideration for women than thehomesteaders or cattle-boys.

“Hadn’t we better ride on?” asked MissSchuyler.

“No,” said Hetty; “they would mostcertainly see us out on the prairie. Backyour horse quite close to mine. If we keepquiet they might pass us here.”

Her voice betrayed what she was feeling,and Flora Schuyler felt unpleasantly

apprehensive as she urged her horsefarther into the gloom. The trampling camenearer, and by and by a man’s voicereached her.

“Hadn’t you better pull up and get down?”it said. “I’m not much use at tracking, butsomebody has been along here a littlewhile ago. You see, there are only three ofus!”

“They’re homesteaders, and they’ve foundour trail,” exclaimed Hetty, with a littlegasp of dismay.

There was scarcely an opening one couldride through between the birches behindthem, and it was evident that the horsemencould scarcely fail to see them the momentthey left their shelter. One of them hadalready dismounted, and was apparently

stooping beside the prints the horse-hoofshad left where a little snow had sifteddown upon the trail. Hetty heard his laugh,and it brought her a great relief.

“I don’t think you need worry,Breckenridge. There were only two ofthem.”

Hetty wheeled her horse. “It’s Larry,” shesaid.

A minute later he saw them, and, pullingup, took off his hat; but Flora Schuylernoticed that he ventured on no more thanthis.

“It is late for you to be out alone. You areriding home?” he said.

“Of course!” said Hetty with, MissSchuyler fancied, a chilliness which

contrasted curiously with the relief shehad shown a minute or two earlier.

“Well,” said Grant quietly, “I’m afraidyou will have to put up with our company.There are one or two men I have no greatopinion of somewhere about this prairie.This is Mr. Breckenridge, and as the trailis rough and narrow, he will follow withMiss Schuyler. I presume you don’t mindriding with him, although, like the rest ofus, he is under the displeasure of yourfriends the cattle-barons?”

Miss Schuyler looked at him steadily. “Idon’t know enough of this trouble to makesure who is right,” she said. “But I shouldnever be prejudiced against any Americanwho was trying to do what he felt was thework meant for him.”

“Well,” said Grant, with a little laugh,“Breckenridge will feel sorry that he’s anEnglishman.”

Miss Schuyler turned to the young mangraciously, and the dim light showed therewas a twinkle in her eyes.

“That,” she said, “is the next best thing.Since you are with Mr. Grant you no doubtcame out to this country because youthought we needed reforming, Mr.Breckenridge?”

The lad laughed as they rode on up thetrail with Grant and Hetty in front of them,and Muller following.

“No,” he said. “To be frank, I came outbecause my friends in the old one seemedto fancy the same thing of me. When they

have no great use for a young man yonder,they generally send him to America. Infact, they send some of them quite a nicecheque quarterly so long as they staythere. You see, we are like the hedgehogs,or your porcupines, if you grow them here,Miss Schuyler.”

Flora Schuyler smiled. “You are young, oryou wouldn’t empty the magazine all atonce in answer to a single shot.”

“Well,” said Breckenridge, “so are you. Itis getting dark, but I have a notion that youare something else too. The fact Imentioned explains the liberty.”

Flora shook her head. “The dusk is kind.Any way, I know I am years older thanyou. There are no little girls in thiscountry like the ones you have been

accustomed to.”

“Now,” said Breckenridge, “my sistersand cousins are, I firmly believe, a gooddeal nicer than those belonging to mostother men; but, you see, I have quite a lotof them, and any one so favoured loses agood many illusions.”

In the meantime Hetty, who, when shefancied he would not observe it, glancedat him now and then, rode silently besideGrant until he turned to her.

“I have a good deal to thank you for,Hetty, and—for you know I was neverclever at saying the right thing—I don’tquite know how to begin. Still, in the oldtimes we understood just what each othermeant so well that talking wasn’tnecessary. You know I’m grateful for my

liberty and would sooner take it from youthan anybody else, don’t you?”

Hetty laid a restraint upon herself, forthere was a thrill in the man’s voice,which awakened a response within her.“Wouldn’t it be better to forget thosedays?” she said. “It is very differentnow.”

“It isn’t easy,” said Grant, checking a sigh.“I ’most fancied they had come back thenight you told me how to get away.”

Hetty’s horse plunged as she tightened itsbridle in a fashion there was no apparentnecessity for. “That,” she said chillingly,“was quite foolish of you, and it isn’t kindto remind folks of the things they hadbetter not have done. Now, you told us theprairie wasn’t safe because of some of

your friends.”

“No,” said Grant drily, “I don’t think Idid. I told you there were some menaround I would sooner you didn’t fall inwith.”

“Then they must be your partisans. Thereisn’t a cattle-boy in this country whowould be uncivil to a woman.”

“I wish I was quite sure. Still, there aremen coming in who don’t care who isright, and only want to stand in with themen who will give them the most dollarsor let them take what they can. We havenone to give away.”

“Larry,” the girl said hotly, “do you meanthat we would be glad to pay them?”

“No. But they will most of them quite

naturally go over to you, which will makeit harder for us to get rid of them. We haveno use for men of that kind in thiscountry.”

“No?” said the girl scornfully. “Well, Ifancied they would have come in quitehandy—there was a thing you did.”

“You heard of that?”

“Yes,” very coldly. “It was a horriblething.”

Grant’s voice changed to a curious lowtone. “Did you ever see me hurt anythingwhen I could help it in the old days,Hetty?”

“No. One has to be honest; I rememberhow you once hurt your hand taking ajack-rabbit out of a trap.”

“And how you bound it up?”

“Well,” said Hetty, “I don’t know, afterthe work you have done with it, that Ishould care to do that now.”

“There are affairs you should never hearof and I don’t care to talk about with you,”Grant said, very quietly, “but since youhave mentioned this one you must listen tome. Just as it is one’s duty to give noneedless pain to anything, so there is anobligation on him to stop any other manwho would do it. Is it wrong to kill agrizzly or a rattlesnake, or merciful toleave them with their meanness to destroywhatever they want? Now, if you hadknown a quiet American who did atolerably dangerous thing because hefancied it was right, and found him shot in

the back, and the trail of the man whocrept up behind him and killed him for afew dollars, would you have let that mango?”

Hetty ignored the question. “The man wasyour friend.”

“Well,” said Grant slowly, “he had done agood deal for me, but that would not havecounted for very much with any one whenwe made our decision.”

“No?” And Hetty glanced at him with alittle astonishment.

Grant shook his head. “No,” he said. “Wehad to do the square thing—that andnothing more; but if we had let that mango, he would, when the chance was givenhim, have done what he did again. Well, it

was—horrible; but there was no law thatwould do the work for us in this countrythen.”

Hetty shivered, but had there been lightenough Grant would have seen the reliefin her face, and as it was his pulseresponded to the little quiver in her voice.Why it was she did not know, but thebelief in him which she had oncecherished suddenly returned to her. In theold days the man she had never thought ofas a lover could, at least, do no wrong.

“I understand.” Her voice was verygentle. “There must be a good deal ofmeanness in me, or I should have knownyou only did it because you are a whiteman, and felt you had to. Oh, of course, Iknow—only it’s so much easier to go

round another way so you can’t see whatyou don’t want to. Larry, I’m sorry.”

Grant’s voice quivered. “The only thingyou ever do wrong, Hetty, is to forget tothink now and then; and by and by youwill find somebody who is good enough tothink for you.”

The girl smiled. “He would have to bevery patient, and the trouble is that if hewas clever enough to do the thinking hewouldn’t have the least belief in me. Youare the only man, Larry, who could seepeople’s meannesses and still have faithin them.”

“I am a blunderer who has taken up acontract that’s too big for him,” Grant saidgravely. “I have never told anyone else,Hetty, but there are times now and then

when, knowing the kind of man I am, I get’most sick with fear. All the poor men inthis district are looking to me, and, thoughI lie awake at night, I can’t see how I’mgoing to help them when one trace ofpassion would let loose anarchy. It’s onlyright they’re wanting, that is, most of theDutchmen and the Americans—but there’sthe mad red rabble behind them, and thebitter rage of hard men who have beentrampled on, to hold in. It’s a crushingweight we who hold the reins have got tocarry. Still, we were made only plainfarmer men, and I guess we’re not going tobe saddled with more than we can bear.”

He had spoken solemnly from the depthsof his nature, and all that was good in thegirl responded.

“Larry,” she said softly, “while you feeljust that I think you can’t go wrong. It iswhat is right we are both wanting, and—though I don’t know how—I feel we willget it by and by, and then it will be thebest thing for homestead-boys and cattle-barons. When that time comes we will beglad there were white men who took uptheir load and worried through, and whenthis trouble’s worked out and over therewill be nothing to stop us being goodfriends again.”

“Is that quite out of the question now?”

“Yes,” said Hetty simply. “I am sorry, but,Larry, can’t you understand? You areleading the homestead-boys, and my fatherthe cattle-barons. First of all I’ve got to bea dutiful daughter.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “Well, it can’tlast for ever, and we can only do the bestwe can. Other folks had the same troublewhen the boys in Sumter fired the startinggun—North and South at each other’sthroats, and both Americans!”

Hetty decided that she had gonesufficiently far, and turned in her saddle.“What is the Englishman telling you, Flo?”she asked.

Miss Schuyler laughed. “He was almostadmitting that the girls in this country areas pretty as those they raise in the one hecame from.”

“Well,” said Breckenridge, “if it wasdaylight I’d be sure.”

Grant fancied that it was not without a

purpose his companion checked her horseto let the others come up, and, though itcost him an effort, acquiesced. His laughwas almost as ready as that of the rest asthey rode on four abreast, until at last thelights of Cedar Range blinked beside thebluff. Then, they grew suddenly silentagain as Muller, who it seemedremembered that he had been taught by thefranc tireurs, rode past them with his rifleacross his saddle. They pulled up whenhis figure cut blackly against the sky on thecrest of a rise, and Hetty’s laugh wasscarcely light-hearted.

“You have been very good, and I am sorryI can’t ask you to come in,” she said.“Still, I don’t know that it’s all our fault;we are under martial law just now.”

Grant took off his hat and wheeled hishorse, and when the girls rode forward satrigid and motionless, watching them untilhe saw the ray from the open door ofCedar Range. Then, Muller trotted up, andwith a little sigh he turned homewardsacross the prairie.

About the same time Richard Claveringlay smoking, in a big chair in the roomwhere he kept his business books andpapers. He wore, among other somewhatunusual things, a velvet jacket, very finelinen, and on one of his long, slim fingersa ring of curious Eastern workmanship.Clavering was a man of somewhatexpensive tastes, and his occasional visitsto the cities had cost him a good deal,which was partly why an accountant,

famous for his knowledge of ranchingproperty, now sat busy at a table. He wasa shrewd, direct American, and hadalready spent several days endeavouringto ascertain the state of Clavering’sfinances.

“Nearly through?” the rancher asked, witha languidness which the accountantfancied was assumed.

“I can give you a notion of how you stand,right now,” he answered. “You want me tobe quite candid?”

“Oh, yes,” said Clavering, with a smile ofindifference. “I’m in a tight place,Hopkins?”

“I guess you are—any way, if you go on asyou’re doing. You see what I consider it

prudent to write off the value of yourproperty?”

Clavering examined the paper handed himwith visible astonishment. “Why have youwhittled so much off the face value?”

“Just because you’re going to have thatmuch taken away from you by and by.”

Clavering’s laugh was quietly scornful.“By the homestead-boys?”

“By the legislature of this State. The lawis against you holding what you’re doingnow.”

“We make what law there is out here.”

“Well,” said Hopkins, coolly, “I guessyou’re not going to do it long. You knowthe maxim about fooling the people. It

can’t be done.”

“Aren’t you talking like one of thoseGerman socialists?”

“On the contrary. I quite fancy I’m talkinglike a business man. Now, you want torealize on those cattle before the wintertakes the flesh off them, and extinguish thebank loan with what you get for them.”

Clavering’s face darkened. “That wouldstrip the place, and I’d have to borrow tostock again.”

“You’d have to run a light stock for a yearor two.”

“It wouldn’t suit me to do anything thatwould proclaim my poverty just now,”said Clavering.

“Then you’ll have to do it by and by. Theinterest on the bond is crippling you.”

“Well.” Clavering lighted another cigar.“I told you to be straight. Go right on. Tellme just what you would do if the placewas in your hands.”

“Sell out those cattle and take the big loanup. Clear off the imported horses andpedigree brood mares. You have beenlosing more dollars than many a smallrancher makes over them the last fewyears.”

“I like good horses round the place,”Clavering said languidly.

“The trouble,” said Hopkins, “is that youcan’t afford to have them. Then, I wouldcut down my personal expenses by at least

two-thirds. The ranch can’t stand them. Doyou know what you have been spending inthe cities?”

“No. I gave you a bundle of bills so youcould find it out.”

Hopkins’ smile was almost contemptuous.“I guess you had better burn them when Iam through. I’ll mention one or two items.One hundred dollars for flowers; onethousand in several bills from Chicagojewellers! The articles would count as anasset. Have you got them?”

“I haven’t,” said Clavering. “They werefor a lady.”

“Well,” said Hopkins, “you know best;but one would have fancied there wasmore than one of them from the bills.

Here’s another somewhat curious item:hats—I guess they came from Paris—andmillinery, two hundred dollars’ worth ofthem!”

A little angry light crept into Clavering’seyes. “If I hadn’t been so abominablycareless you wouldn’t have seen thosebills. I meant to put them down asmiscellaneous and destroy the papers.Well, I’ve done with that extravagance,any way, and it’s to hear the truth I’mpaying you quite a big fee. If I go on justas I’m doing, how long would you giveme?”

“Two years. Then the bank will put thescrew on you. The legislature may pullyou up earlier, but I can tell you morewhen I’ve squared up to-morrow.”

There was a curious look in Clavering’sdark eyes, but he laughed again.

“I guess that’s about enough. But I’ll leaveyou to it now,” he said. “It’s quite likelyI’ll have got out of the difficulty beforeone of those years is over.”

He went out, and a few minutes laterstopped as he passed the one big mirror inthe ranch, and surveyed himself criticallyfor a moment with a dispassionate interestthat was removed from vanity. Then henodded as if contented.

“With Torrance to back me it might bedone,” he said. “Liberty is sweet, but Idon’t know that it’s worth at least fiftythousand dollars!”

XII

THE SPROUTING OF THESEED

Late in the afternoon of a bitter day Grantdrove into sight of the last of thehomesteaders’ dwellings that lay withinhis round. It rose, a shapeless mound ofwhite, from the wilderness that rolledaway in billowy rises, shining under thesunlight that had no warmth in it. Thesnow that lay deep about its sod walls andupon the birch-branch roof hid itssqualidness, and covered the pile of

refuse and empty cans, but Grant knewwhat he would find within it, and when hepulled up his team his face grew anxious.It was graver than it had been a year ago,for Larry Grant had lost a good deal of hishopefulness since he heard those footstepsat the depot.

The iron winter, that was but lightly felt inthe homes of the cattle-barons, had bornehardly on the men huddled in sod-hovel,and birch-log shanty, swept by the windsof heaven at fifty degrees below. They hadno thick furs to shelter them, and many hadvery little food, while on those who camefrom the cities the cold of the Northwestset its mark, numbing the half-fed bodyand unhinging the mind. The lean farmersfrom the Dakotas who had fought with

adverse seasons, and the sinewy axe-menfrom Michigan clearings, bore it with grimpatience, but there were here and there afew who failed to stand the strain, and,listening to the outcasts from the East, letpassion drive out fortitude and dreamed ofanarchy. They had come in with a pitifulhandful of dollars to build new homes andfarm, but the rich men, and in some casestheir own supineness, had been too strongfor them; and while they waited theirscanty capital melted away. Now, withmost of them it had almost gone, and theywere left without the means to commencethe fight in spring.

Breckenridge saw the shadow in Grant’sface, and touched his arm. “I’ll go in andgive the man his dollars, Larry,” he said.

“You have had about as much worry as isgood for you to-day.”

Grant shook his head. “I’ve no use forshutting my eyes so I can’t see a thingwhen I know it’s there.”

He stepped out of the sleigh and went intothe shanty. The place had one room, and,though a stove stood in the midst of it andthe snow that kept some of the frost outwas piled to the windows, it was dankand chill. Only a little dim light crept in,and it was a moment or two before Grantsaw the man who sat idle by the stovewith a clotted bandage round his leg. Hewas gaunt, and clad in jean patched withflour-bags, and his face showed haggardunder his bronze. Behind him on a rudebirch-branch couch covered with prairie

hay a woman lay apparently asleepbeneath a tattered fur coat.

“What’s the matter with her?” Grantasked.

“I don’t quite know. She got sick ’mosttwo weeks ago, and talks of a pain thatonly leaves her when she’s sleeping. Oneof the boys drove in to the railroad for thedoctor, but he’s busy down there. Anyway, it would have taken him ’most aweek to get here and back, and I guess heknew I hadn’t the dollars to pay himwith.”

Grant recognized the hopeless evenness ofthe tone, but Breckenridge, who wasyounger, did not.

“But you can’t let her lie here without help

of any kind,” he said.

“Well,” said the man slowly, “what elsecan I do?”

Breckenridge could not tell him, andappealed to his comrade. “We have got totake this up, Larry. She looks ill.”

Grant nodded. “I have friends downyonder who will send that doctor out,” hesaid. “Here are your dollars from the fund.Ten of them this time.”

The man handed him one of the bills back.“If you want me to take more than fiveyou’ll have to show your book,” he said.“I’ve been finding out how you work theseaffairs, Larry.”

Grant only laughed, but Breckenridgeturned to the speaker with an assumption

of severity that was almost ludicrous inhis young face.

“Now, don’t you make yourself aconsumed ass,” he said. “You want thosedollars considerably more than we do,and we’ve got quite a few of them doingnothing in the bank. That is, Larry has.”

Grant’s eyes twinkled. “It’s no use,Breckenridge. I know the kind of man heis. I’m going to send Miss Muller here,and we’ll come round and pound thefoolishness out of you if you try to sendback anything she brings with her. Thisplace is as cold as an ice-store. What’sthe matter with your stove?”

“The stove’s all right,” and the manpointed to his leg. “The trouble is that I’vevery little wood. Axe slipped the last time

I went chopping in the bluff, and the frostgot into the cut. I couldn’t make threemiles on one leg, and pack a load ofbillets on my back.”

“But you’d freeze when those ran out, andthey couldn’t last you two days,” saidBreckenridge, glancing at the little pile offuel.

“Yes,” said the man grimly. “I guess Iwould, unless one of the boys camealong.”

“Anything wrong with your oxen?” askedGrant.

“Well,” said the man drily, “we’ve beenliving for ’most two months on one ofthem. I salted a piece of him; the rest’sfrozen. I had to sell the other to a

Dutchman. Since the cattle-boys stoppedme ploughing I hadn’t much use for them,any way.”

“Then,” said Breckenridge, “why thedevil did you bring a woman out to thisforsaken country?”

Perhaps the man understood whatprompted the question, for he did notresent it. “Where was I to take her to? I’ma farmer without dollars, and I had to gosomewhere when I’d lost three wheatcrops in Dakota. Somebody told me youhad room for small farmers, and when Iheard the land was to be opened forhomesteading, I sold out everything, andcame on here to begin again. Never saw aricher soil, and there’s only one thingwrong with the country.”

“The men in it?” asked Breckenridge.

The farmer nodded, and a little glow creptinto his eyes. “Yes,” he said fiercely.“The cattle-barons—and there’ll be noroom for anyone until we’ve done awaywith them. We’ve no patience for morefooling. It has got to be done.”

“That’s the executive’s business,” saidGrant.

The man rose, with a little quiver of hislean frame and a big hand clenched. “No,”he said, “it’s our business, and thebusiness of every honest citizen. If youdon’t tackle it right off, other men will putthe contract through.”

“You’ll have to talk plainer,” said Grant.

“Well,” said the farmer, “that’s easy. It

was you and some of the others brought usin, and now we’re here we’re starving.There’s land to feed a host of us, andevery citizen is entitled to enough to makea living on. But while the cattle-men keephold, how’s he going to get it? Oh, yes,we’ve cut their fences and broken a fewacres here and there; but how are wegoing to put through our ploughing whenevery man who drives a furrow has towhip up six of his neighbours to keep thecow-boys off him? Well, there’s just oneanswer. We’re going to pull those mendown.”

“You’re going to sit tight until yourleaders tell you to move,” Grant informedhim.

The man laughed harshly. “No,” he said.

“Unless they keep ahead of us we’re goingto trail them along. You’re a straight man,Larry, but you don’t see all you’ve done.You set this thing going, and now youcan’t step out if it goes too far for you. No,sir, you’ve got to keep the pace and comealong, and it’s going to be quite livelynow some of the Chicago anarchy boysare chipping in.”

Grant’s face was very stern. “Whenthey’re wanted, your leaders will bethere,” he said. “They’ve got hold, andthey’ll keep it, if they have to whip thesense into some of you. Now give me thataxe of yours, and we’ll get some wood. Idon’t want to hear any more wild talking.”

He went out, taking Breckenridge withhim, and an hour later returned with a

sleigh-load of birch branches, which heflung down before the shanty. Then, heturned the team towards Fremont ranch,and his face was grave as he stared overthe horses’ heads at the smear of trail thatwound away, a blue-grey riband, beforethe gliding sleigh.

“I wonder if that fellow meant to give us ahint,” said Breckenridge.

Grant nodded. “I think he did—and hewas right about the rest. Two years ago Iwas a prosperous rancher, proud of theprairie I belonged to, and without a care;but I could see what this country wasmeant to be, and when the others startedtalking about the homestead movement Idid my share. Folks seemed keen to listen;we got letters from everywhere, and we

told the men who wrote them just what theland could do. It was sowing blindfold,and now the crop’s above the sod it ’mostfrightens me. No man can tell what it willgrow to be before it’s ready for thebinder, and while we’ve got the wheatwe’ve got the weeds as well.”

“Wasn’t it always like that? At least, itseems so from reading a little history. Idon’t know that I envy you, Larry. In thetongue of this country, it’s a hard row youhave to hoe. Of course, there are folkswho would consider they had done enoughin planting it.”

“Yes,” Grant agreed, “we have quite afew of them over here; but, if more thanwe’ve planted has come up, I’m goingright through.”

Breckenridge said nothing further, andthere was silence until the lights ofFremont rose out of the snowy wilderness.When they reached it they found a wearyman lying in a big chair; he pointed to thelitter of plates on the table as he handedGrant a letter.

“I haven’t eaten since sun up, and drovemost of sixty miles, so I didn’t wait,” hesaid. “Our executive boss, who told me tolose no time, seemed kind of worriedabout something.”

Grant opened the letter, which was terse.“Look out,” he read. “We had to put thescrew on a crazy Pole who has beenmaking wild speeches here, and as he litout I have a notion he means to see whathe can do with the discontented in your

district. We couldn’t have him raisingtrouble round this place, any way. It’staking us both hands to hold the boys inalready.”

“Bad news?” said Breckenridgesympathetically.

“Yes,” Grant said wearily. “Get yoursupper and sleep when you can. You’ll bedriving from sun up until after it’s dark to-morrow.”

They ate almost in silence, but, though themessenger and Breckenridge retiredshortly after the meal, Grant sat writinguntil late in the night. Then, he stretchedhis arms wearily above his head, and hisface showed worn and almost haggard inthe flickering lamplight.

“It has put Hetty further from me than ever,and cost me the goodwill of every friend Ihad; while the five thousand dollars I’velost as well don’t count for very muchafter that,” he said.

Early next morning Breckenridge and themessenger drove away, and rather morethan a week later Fräulein Muller, whomthe former had taken to attend on thehomesteader’s wife, arrived one night atFremont ranch. She came in, red-cheeked,unconcerned, and shapeless, in Muller’sfur coat, and quietly brushed the dustysnow from her dress before she sat downas far as possible from the stove.

“I a message from Mrs. Harper bring,” shesaid. “Last night two men to Harper’shouse have come, and one now and then

will to the other talk in our tongue. He isone, I think, who will destroy everything.Then they talk with Harper long in thestable, and to-day Harper with his riflerides away. Mrs. Harper, who has fearsfor her husband, would have you knowthat to-night, or to-morrow he will go withother men to the Cedar Ranch.”

Grant was on his feet in a moment, andnodded to Breckenridge, who rose almostas quickly and glanced at him as he movedtowards the door.

“Yes,” he said, “there’s some toughhoeing to be done now. You’ll drive MissMuller back to Harper’s, and then turn outthe boys. They’re to come on to Cedar asfast as they can.”

“And you?” said Breckenridge quietly.

“I’m going there now.”

“You know the cattle-men would doalmost anything to get their hands on you.”

“Oh, yes,” Grant said wearily. “Aren’tyou wasting time?”

Breckenridge was outside the nextmoment, but before he had the sleigh readyGrant lead a saddled horse out of thestable, and vanished at a gallop down thebeaten trail. It rang dully beneath thehoofs, but the frost that had turned itssurface dusty lessened the chance ofstumbling, and it was not until the firstleague had been left behind and he turnedat the forking beneath a big birch bluff thathe tightened his grip on the bridle. There itwas different, for the trail no longer ledwide and trampled hard across the level

prairie, but wound, an almost invisibleriband, through tortuous hollow and overswelling rise, so narrow that in places thehoofs broke with a sharp crackling throughthe frozen crust of snow. That, Larryknew, might, by crippling the beast herode, stop him then and there, and hepushed on warily, dazzled at times by thelight of the sinking moon which theglistening white plain flung back into hiseyes.

It was bitter cold, and utterly still for thebirds had gone south long ago, and therewas no beast that ventured from his lair toface the frost that night. Dulled as thetrample of hoofs was, it rang about himstridently, and now and then he could hearit roll repeated along the slope of a rise.

The hand upon the bridle had lost allsense of feeling, his moccasined feettingled painfully, and a white fringecrackled under his hand when, warned bythe nipping of his ears, he drew the big furcap down further over them. It is notdifficult to lose the use of one’s membersfor life by incautiously exposing them tothe cold of the prairie, while a frost thatmay be borne by the man covered to thechin with great sleigh robes, is notinfrequently insupportable to the one onhorseback.

Grant, however, took precautions, as itwere mechanically, for his mind was toobusy to feel in its full keenness the sting ofthe frost, and while his eyes were fixed onthe blur of the trail his thoughts were far

away, and it was by an almostunconscious effort he restrained theimpatient horse. Because speed wasessential, he dare risk no undue haste. Hewas not the only rider out on the wastethat night, and the shiver that went throughhim was not due to the cold as he picturedthe other horsemen pressing on towardsCedar Ranch. Of the native-born he hadlittle fear, and he fancied but few of themwould be there. There was even less todread from any of English birth, but hefeared the insensate alien, and still morethe human vultures that had gathered aboutthe scene of strife. They had neither race,nor creed, nor aspirations, but only anunhallowed lust for the fruits of rapine.

He could also picture Hetty, sitting slight

and dark-eyed at the piano, as he had oftenseen her, and Torrance listening with acurious softening of his lean face to thevoice that had long ago wiled Larry’sheart away from him. That led him back tothe days when, loose-tressed and flushedin face, Hetty had ridden beside him in thetrack of the flying coyote, and he had seenher eyes glisten at his praise. There wereother times when, sitting far apart fromany of their kind, with the horses tetheredbeside them in the shadow of a bluff, shehad told him of her hopes and ambitions,but half-formed then, and to silence hisdoubts sung him some simple song. Larryhad travelled through Europe, to lookabout him, as he naïvely said, but it waswhat reminded him of that voice he hadfound most pleasure in when he listened to

famous sopranos and great cathedralchoirs.

Still, he had expected little, realizing, ashe had early done, that Hetty was not forhim. It was enough to be with her whenshe had any need of him and to dream ofher when absent, while it was only whenhe heard she had found her hopes werevain that he clutched at the very faint butalluring possibility that now her heartmight turn to him. Then, had come thesummons of duty, and when he had tochoose which side he would take, Larry,knowing what it would cost him, had withthe simple loyalty which had bound him asHetty’s servant without hope of reward,decided on what he felt was right. He wasmerely one of the many quiet, steadfast

men whom the ostentatious sometimesmistake for fools, until the nation theyform the backbone of rises to grapple withdisaster or emergency. They are notconfined to any one country; for hiscomrade, Muller, the placid, unemphaticTeuton, had been at Worth and Sedan.

Though none of these memories delayedhim a second, he brushed them from himwhen the moon dipped. Darknessswooped down on the prairie, and it is thedarkness that suits rapine best; now, thathe could see the trail no longer, he shookthe bridle, and the pace grew faster. Thepowdery snow whirled behind him, thelong, dim levels flitted past, until at last,with heart thumping, he rode up a risefrom whose crest he could see Cedar

Range. A great weight lifted from him—the row of windows were blinking besidethe dusky bluff! But even as he checkedthe horse the ringing of a rifle cameportentously out of the stillness. With agasp he drove in his heels and swept at afurious gallop down the slope.

XIII

UNDER FIRE

It was getting late and Torrance evidentlybecoming impatient, when Clavering, whohad ignored the latter fact as long as heconsidered it advisable, glanced at Hettywith a smile. He stood by the piano in thebig hall at Cedar Range, and she sat on themusic-stool turning over one of the newsongs he had brought her from Chicago.

“I am afraid I will have to go,” he said.“Your father is not fond of waiting.”

Though Hetty was not looking at him

directly, she saw his face, whichexpressed reluctance still more plainlythan his voice did; but just then Torranceturned to them.

“Aren’t you through with those songs yet,Clavering?” he said.

“I’m afraid I have made Miss Torrancetired,” said Clavering. “Still, we havemusic enough left us for another hour ortwo.”

“Then why can’t you stay on over to-morrow and get a whole night at it? I wantyou just now.”

Clavering glanced at Hetty, and, thoughshe made no sign, fancied that she was notquite pleased with her father.

“Am I to tell him I will?” he asked.

Hetty understood what prompted him, butshe would not commit herself. “You willdo what suits you,” she said. “When myfather asks any one to Cedar I really don’toften make myself unpleasant to him.”

Clavering’s eyes twinkled as he walkedtowards the older man, while Hettycrossed the room to where Miss Schuylersat. Both apparently became absorbed inthe books Clavering had brought, but theycould hear the conversation of the men,and it became evident later that one ofthem listened. Torrance had questions toask, and Clavering answered them.

“Well,” he said, “I had a talk withPurbeck which cost us fifty dollars. Hisnotion was that the Bureau hadn’t a greatdeal to go upon if they meant to do

anything further about dispossessing us. Infact, he quite seemed to think that as thelegislature had a good many other worriesjust now, it would suit them to let us slide.He couldn’t recommend anything betterthan getting our friends in the lobbies tokeep the screw on them until the election.”

Torrance looked thoughtful. “That meansholding out for another six months, anyway. Did you hear anything at thesettlement?”

“Yes. Fleming wouldn’t sell thehomestead-boys anything after they brokein his store. Steele’s our man, and it wasCarter they got their provisions from.Now, Carter had given Jackson a bond fortwo thousand dollars when he first camein, and as he hadn’t made his payments

lately, and we have our thumb on Jackson,the Sheriff has closed down on his store.He’ll be glad to light out with the clotheshe stands in when we’re through withhim.”

Torrance nodded grim approval. “Larrywouldn’t sit tight.”

“No,” said Clavering. “He wired rightthrough to Chicago for most of a carloadof flour and eatables, but that car gotbilled wrong somehow, and now they’relooking for her up and down the side-tracks of the Pacific slope. Larry’s menwill be getting savage. It is not nice to behungry when there’s forty degrees offrost.”

Torrance laughed softly. “You have fixedthe thing just as I would.”

Then his daughter stood up with a littleflush in her face. “You could not havemeant that, father?” she said.

“Well,” said Torrance, drily, “I quitethink I did, but there’s a good deal youcan’t get the hang of, Hetty—and it’sgetting very late.”

He looked at his daughter steadily, andFlora Schuyler looked at all of them, andremembered the picture—Torrance sittinglean and sardonic with the lamplight onhis face, Clavering watching the girl witha curious little smile, and Hetty standingvery slim and straight, with something inthe poise of her shapely head that had itsmeaning to Miss Schuyler. Then with a“Good-night” to Torrance, and a half-ironical bend of the head to Clavering, she

turned to her companion, and they wentout together before he could open the doorfor them.

Five minutes later Hetty tapped at MissSchuyler’s door. The pink tinge stillshowed in her cheeks, and her eyes had asuspicious brightness in them.

“Flo,” she said, “you’ll go back to NewYork right off. I’m sorry I brought youhere. This place isn’t fit for you.”

“I am quite willing, so long as you arecoming too.”

“I can’t. Isn’t that plain? This thing isgetting horrible—but I have to see itthrough. It was Clavering fixed it, anyway.”

“Put it away until to-morrow,” Flora

Schuyler advised. “It will be easier to seewhether you have any cause to be angrythen.”

Hetty turned towards her with a flash inher eyes. “I know just what you mean, andit would be nicer just to look as if I neverfelt anything, as some of those Englishfolks you were fond of did; but I can’t. Iwasn’t made that way. Still, I’m not goingto apologize for my father. He is Torranceof Cedar, and I’m standing in with him—but if I were a man I’d go down and whipClavering. I could almost have shaken himwhen he wanted to stay here and tried tomake me ask him.”

“Well,” said Flora Schuyler, quietly, “Iam going to stay with you; but I don’t quitesee what Clavering has done.”

“No?” said Hetty. “Aren’t you just a littlestupid, Flo? Now, he has made meashamed—horribly—and I was proud ofthe men we had in this country. He’sstarving the women and the little children;there are quite a few of them lying infreezing shanties and sod-huts out there inthe snow. It’s just awful to be hungry withthe temperature at fifty below.”

Miss Schuyler shivered. It was very warmand cosy sitting there, behind doublecasements, beside a glowing stove; butthere had been times when, wrapped incostly furs and great sleigh-robes andgenerously fed, she had felt her fleshshrink from the cold of the prairie.

“But they have Mr. Grant to help them,”she said.

Even in her agitation Hetty was struck bysomething which suggested unquestioningfaith in her companion’s tone.

“You believe he could do something,” shesaid.

“Of course! You know him better than Ido, Hetty.”

“Well,” said Hetty, “though he has mademe vexed with him, I am proud of Larry;and there’s just one thing he can’t do. Thatis, to see women and children hungrywhile he has a dollar to buy them foodwith. Oh, I know who was going to payfor the provisions that came from Chicagothat Clavering got the railroad men to sendthe wrong way, and if Larry had only beenwith us he would have been splendid. Asit is, if he feeds them in spite of Clavering,

I could ’most forgive him everything.”

“Are you quite sure that you have a greatdeal to forgive?”

Hetty, instead of resenting the question,stretched out her hand appealingly. “Don’tbe clever, Flo. Come here quite close, andbe nice to me. This thing is worrying mehorribly; and I’m ashamed of myself and—of everybody. Oh, I know I’m a failure.I couldn’t sing to please folks and I sentJake Cheyne away, while now, when thetrouble’s come, I’m too mean even tostand behind my father as I meant to do.Flo, you’ll stay with me. I want you.”

Miss Schuyler, who had not seen Hetty inthis mood before, petted her, though shesaid very little, for she felt that thesomewhat unusual abasement might, on the

whole, be beneficial to her companion. Sothere was silence in the room, broken onlyby the snapping of the stove and the faintmoaning of the bitter wind about thelonely building, while Miss Schuyler satsomewhat uncomfortably on the arm ofHetty’s chair with the little dusky headpressed against her shoulder. Hetty couldnot see her face or its gravity might haveastonished her. Miss Schuyler had notspoken quite the truth when, though shehad only met him three times, she admittedthat Hetty knew Larry Grant better thanshe did. In various places and differentguises Flora Schuyler had seen the type ofmanhood he stood for, but had never feltthe same curious stirring of sympathy thisgrave, brown-faced man had aroused inher.

A hound bayed savagely, and Hetty liftedher head. “Strangers!” she said. “Bowieknows all the cattle-boys. Who can becoming at this hour?”

The question was not unwarranted, for itwas close on midnight, but Flora Schuylerdid not answer. She could hear nothing butthe moan of the wind, the ranch was verystill, until once more there came an angrygrowl. Then, out of the icy darknessfollowed the sound of running feet, ahoarse cry, and a loud pounding at theouter door.

Hetty stood up, trembling and white in theface, but very straight. “Don’t befrightened, Flo,” she said. “We’ll whipthem back to the place they came from.”

“Who is it?” asked Miss Schuyler.

Again the building rang to the blows uponthe outer door; but Hetty’s voice waseven, and a little contemptuous.

“The rustlers!” she said.

There was a trampling below, and acorridor beneath the girls vibrated withthe footsteps of hurrying men, whileTorrance’s voice rose faintly through thedin; a very unpleasant silence, untilsomebody rapped upon the door. FloraSchuyler felt her heart throbbing painfully,and gasped when Torrance looked in. Hislean face was very stern.

“Put the lamp out, and sit well away fromthe window,” he said.

“No,” said Hetty in a voice Miss Schuylerhad not heard before; “we are coming

down.”

Torrance considered for a second, andthen smiled significantly as he glanced athis daughter’s face. “Well, you would be’most as safe down there—and I guess itwas born in you,” he said.

The girls followed him down the cedarstairway and into the hall. A lamp burningvery low stood on a table in one corner,but the big room was dim and shadowy,and the girls could scarcely see the five orsix men standing near, not in front of, oneopen window. Framed by its log casingthe white prairie faded into the dimnessunder a smear of indigo sky. Here andthere a star shone in it with intensebrilliancy, and though the great stoveroared in the draught it seemed to Miss

Schuyler that a destroying cold came in.Already she felt her hands grow numb.

“Where are the boys, Hetty?” she asked.

“In at the railroad, most of them. One ortwo at the back. Now, I’ll show you howto load a rifle, Flo.”

Miss Schuyler followed her to the table,where several rifles were lying beside abig box of cartridges, and Hetty took oneof them up.

“You push this slide back, and drop thecartridge in,” she said. “Now it has goneinto this pipe here, and you drop inanother. Get hold, and push them in untilyou can’t get in any more. Why—it can’thurt you—your hands are shaking!”

There was a rattle, and the venomous,

conical-headed cartridge slipped fromMiss Schuyler’s fingers. She had neverhandled one before, and it seemed to herthat a horrible, evil potency was bound upin that insignificant roll of metal. Then,while the rifle click-clacked in Hetty’shands, Torrance stood by the windowholding up a handkerchief. He called outsharply, and there was a murmur ofderision in the darkness outside.

“Come out!” said a hoarse voice. “We’llgive you a minute. Then you can have asleigh to drive to perdition in.”

The laughter that followed frightened MissSchuyler more than any threats wouldhave done. It seemed wholly horrible, andthere was a hint in it of the fierceexultation of men driven to desperation.

“That wouldn’t suit me,” said Torrance.“What do you want here, any way?”

“Food,” somebody answered. “Youwanted to starve us, Torrance, and rode usout when we went chopping stove woodin the bluff. Well, you don’t often missyour supper at the Range, and there’s quiteenough of it to make a decent blaze. Youhaven’t much of that minute left. Are youcoming out?”

“No,” said Torrance briefly, and,dropping the handkerchief, moved fromthe window.

The next moment there was a flash in thedarkness, and something came whirringinto the room. The girls could not see it,but they heard the thud it struck with andsaw a chip start from the cedar panelling.

Then, there was a rush of feet, and twice ared streak blazed from the window. A manjerked a cartridge, which fell with a rattlefrom his rifle, and a little blue smokeblew across the room. Flora Schuylershivered as the acrid fumes of it driftedabout her, but Hetty stood very straight,with one hand on the rim of the table.

“Got nobody, and they’re into the shadownow,” said a man disgustedly, and FloraSchuyler, seeing his face, which showed amoment fierce and brutish as he turned,felt that she could not forget it, and mostillogically hated him.

For almost a minute there was silence.Nobody moved in the big room, where theshadows wavered as the faint flickeringlamplight rose and fell, and there was no

sound but the doleful wail of the nightwind from the prairie. It was broken by adull crash that was repeated a momentlater, and the men looked at one another.

“They’ve brought their axes along,” saidsomebody. “If there’s any of the Michiganboys around they’ll drive that door in.”

“Watch it, two of you,” said Torrance.“Jake, can’t you get a shot at them?”

A man crouched by the open window,which was some little height from theground, his arms upon the sill, and hishead showing against the darkness justabove them. He was, it seemed to MissSchuyler, horribly deliberate, and she heldher breath while she watched, as iffascinated, the long barrel move a little.Then its muzzle tilted suddenly, a train of

red sparks blew out, and something thathummed through the smoke struck thewall. The man dropped below the sill, andcalled hoarsely through the crash of thefalling axes.

“Got the pillar instead of him. There’s astreak of light behind me. Well, I’ll try forhim again.”

Hetty emptied the box of cartridges, and,with hands that did not seem to tremble,stood it up before the lamp. Once more theman crouched by the window, a blurred,huddled object with head down on therifle stock, and there was another streak offlame. Then, the thud of the axes suddenlyceased, and he laughed a little discordantlaugh.

“Got him this time. The other one’s lit

out,” he said.

Miss Schuyler shuddered, and clutched atthe table, while, though Hetty was verystill, she fancied she heard a stifled gasp.The silence was even more disconcertingthan the pounding of the axes or the crashof the firing. Flora Schuyler could see theshadowy figures about the window, andjust distinguish some of them. The onestanding close in front of it, as thoughdisdainful of the risk he ran, wasTorrance; the other, who now and thenmoved lithely, and once rested a rifle onthe sill, was Clavering; another, the manwho had fired the last shot; but the restwere blurred, formless objects, a littledarker than the cedar panelling. Now andthen the streak of radiance widened

behind the box, and the cold grewnumbing as the icy wind flowed in.

Suddenly a voice rose up outside. “Youcan’t keep us out, Torrance. We’re boundto get in; but I’ll try to hold the boys nowif you’ll let us have our wounded man, andlight out quietly.”

Torrance laughed. “You are not makingmuch of a show, and I’m quite ready to dothe best I can,” he said. “If there’s any lifein him we want your man for the Sheriff.”

Then he turned to the others. “I was ’mostforgetting the fellow outside there. We’llhold them off from the window while youbring him in.”

It appeared horribly risky, but Torrancespoke with a curious unconcernedness,

and Clavering laughed as, signing to twomen, he prepared to do his bidding. Therewas a creaking and rattling, and the greatdoor at one end of the hall swung open,and Flora Schuyler, staring at thedarkness, expected to see a rush ofshadowy figures out of it. But she sawonly the blurred outline of two men whostooped and dragged something in, andthen the door swung to again.

They lifted their burden higher. Torrance,approaching the table, took up the lamp,and Miss Schuyler had a passing glimpseof a hanging head and a drawn grey faceas they tramped past her heavily. Sheopened her blue lips and closed themagain, for she was dazed with cold, andthe cry that would have been a relief to

her never came. It was several minuteslater when Torrance’s voice rose from bythe stove.

“We’ll leave him here in the meanwhile,where he can’t freeze,” he said. “Shotright through the shoulder, but there’s nogreat bleeding. The cold would stop it.”

Hetty was at her father’s side the nextmoment. “Flo,” she said, “we have to dosomething now.”

Torrance waved them back. “The longerthat man stops as he is, the better chanceshe’s going to have.” He glanced towardsthe window. “Boys, can you see whatthey’re doing now?”

“Hauling out prairie hay,” said Clavering.“They’ve broken into the store, and from

what one fellow shouted they’ve found thekerosene.”

Torrance said nothing whatever, and hissilence was significant. Listening withstrained attention, Flora Schuyler couldhear a faint hum of voices, and now andthen vague sounds amidst a patter ofhurrying steps. They told her very little,but the tension in the attitude of the half-seen men had its meaning. It was evidentthat their assailants purposed to burn themout.

Ten minutes passed, as it wereinterminably, and still nobody moved. Thevoices had grown a little louder, and therewas a rattle as though men unseen behindthe buildings were dragging up a wagon.Suddenly a rhythmic drumming came

softly through it, and Clavering glanced atTorrance.

“Somebody riding this way at a gallop,”he said.

The beat of hoofs grew louder. The menwithout seemed to be running to and fro,and shouting to one another, while those inthe hall clustered about the window,reckless of the risk they ran. Standing alittle behind them Hetty saw a dimmounted figure sweep out of the waste ofsnow, and a hoarse shout went up. “Holdon! Throw down that rifle! It’s LarryGrant.”

XIV

TORRANCE’S WARNING

In another moment the horseman pulled up,and sat motionless in his saddle with hishead turned towards the house. Hettycould see him silhouetted, shapeless andshadowy in his big fur-coat, against thewhiteness of the snow, and the relief shefelt betrayed itself in her voice as sheturned to Miss Schuyler.

“Yes,” she said, “it’s Larry. There will beno more trouble now.”

Flora Schuyler laughed a little breathless

laugh, for though she also felt theconfidence her companion evinced, thestrain had told on her.

“Of course,” she said, “he knew youwanted him. There are men like that.”

It was a simple tribute, but Hetty thrilledwith pride. Larry was at least consistent,and now, as it had been in the days bothlooked back upon, he had come when sheneeded him. She also recognized eventhen that the fact that he is generally to befound where he is wanted implies a gooddeal in the favour of any man.

And now half-seen objects moved outfrom behind barn and stable, and thehorseman turned towards them. His voicerose sharply and commandingly.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

There was no answer for severalmoments, and then a man stepped forwardgesticulating fiercely as he commenced atirade that was less than half intelligible.Larry checked him with a lifted hand.

“There’s a good deal of that I can’t quiteunderstand, and the rest doesn’t seem to fitthis case,” he said, with a laugh that hadmore effect upon some of those who heardit than a flow of eloquence would havehad. “Boys, we have no use for worryingabout the meanness of European kings andfolks of that kind. If you have brought anyalong I’d sooner listen to sensibleAmericans.”

Another man stepped forward, and therewas no doubt about his accent, though his

tone was deprecatory.

“Well, it just comes to this,” he said.“Torrance and the cattle-men have donetheir best to starve us and freeze us out,and, since he has made it plain that there’sno room for both of us, somebody has gotto go. Now, we have come a long way andwe mean to stay. We’re not looking fortrouble, but we want our rights.”

There was a murmur of encouragementfrom the rest, but again Larry’s laugh hadits effect. “Then you’re taking a kind ofcurious way of getting them,” he said. “Idon’t know that trying to burn folks’houses ever did anybody much good, andit’s quite likely to bring a regiment ofUnited States cavalry down on you. Mr.Torrance, I fancied I heard firing. Have

you anybody hurt inside?”

“One of your men,” said Torrance drily.“We hope to pull him round, and let theSheriff have him.”

It was not a conciliatory answer, andcame near undoing what Grant hadaccomplished; but the grim old cattle-baron was not the man to propitiate anenemy. A murmur followed it, andsomebody said, “Boys, you hear him!Bring along that wagon. We’re going in.”

The form of speech was Western, but thevoice was guttural, and when there was arattle of wheels Grant suddenly changedhis tone.

“Stop right there,” he said. “Throw everytruss of hay down. The man who holds off

when I tell him what to do is going to havetrouble with the executive.”

It was a bold venture, and any sign ofeffort or unevenness of inflection wouldhave rendered it futile, but the voice wassharp and ringing, and the fashion inwhich the horseman flung up his armcommanding. It was, also, tactful, forsome of those who heard it had beendrilled into unreflecting obedience, andthere is in the native American the respectfor a duly accredited leader, whichdiscipline has further impressed upon theTeuton. Still, those who watched from thewindow felt that this was the crisis, andtightened their numbed fingers on therifles, knowing that if the horseman failedthey would shortly need them again. None

of them, however, made any othermovement, and Miss Schuyler, who,grasping Hetty’s hand, saw the dim figuresstanding rigid and intent, could only hearthe snapping of the stove.

“Hetty,” she gasped, “I shall do somethingsilly in another moment.”

The tension only lasted a moment or two.A man sprang up on the pole of the wagon,and a truss of hay went down. Anotherfollowed, and then, men who had also feltthe strain and now felt it a relief to doanything, clustered about the wagon. In afew minutes it was empty, and the menwho had been a mob turned to the one whohad changed them into an organized body.

“What do you want now?” asked one ofthem.

“Run that wagon back where you got itfrom,” said Larry.

It was done, and when the clusteringfigures vanished amidst a rattle of wheelsTorrance laid aside his rifle and sat downon the table.

“I guess there’ll be no more trouble, boys.That’s a thing there’s not many men couldhave done,” he added.

His daughter also sat down in the nearestchair, with Flora Schuyler’s hand stillwithin her own. She had been very stillwhile the suspense lasted, but she wastrembling now, and her voice had a littlequiver in it as she said, “Wasn’t hesplendid, Flo?”

It was some minutes before Grant and the

other men came back again, and fragmentsof what he said were audible. “Then, youcan pick out four men, and we’ll hear themat the committee. I have two or threequestions to ask you by and by. Half adozen of you keep a look-out. The rest canget into the stable out of the frost.”

The men dispersed, and Grant turnedtowards the house. “I don’t think you needhave any further anxiety, and you can shutthat window if you want to, Mr.Torrance.”

Torrance laughed. “I don’t know that I’veshown any yet.”

“I hope you haven’t felt it,” said Grant. “Itis cold out here, and I’m willing to comein and talk to you.”

Somebody had moved the box away fromthe lamp, and Clavering’s face showed upagainst the wavering shadow as he turnedtowards his leader. Flora Schuyler saw alittle unpleasant smile on his lips as hepointed suggestively to the men with rifleshe had sent towards the door.

“That would suit us, sir,” he said.

Torrance understood him, for he shook hishead impatiently. “It wouldn’t pay. Therewould be too many of his friendswondering what had become of him. Getthe door open and tell him to come in.Light the big lamps, somebody.”

The door was opened, and, as if inconfirmation of Torrance’s warning, avoice rose up outside. “We have let himgo, but if you try any meanness, or he isn’t

ready when we want him, we’ll pull theplace down,” it said.

Larry walked out of the darkness into theblaze of light, and only smiled a littlewhen the great door swung to behind himand somebody brought the windowbanging down. Two men with riflesstepped between him and the former; but ifTorrance had intended to impress him, hehad apparently failed, for he movedforward with quiet confidence. The furcap he held in his hand was white, and thegreat fur coat stood out from his body stiffwith frost, while Hetty winced when shesaw the pallor of his face. It was evidentthat it was not without a strenuous efforthe had made the mob subservient to him.

But his eyes were grave and steady, in

spite of the weariness in them, and as hepassed the girls he made a little formalinclination with his head. He stopped infront of Torrance, who rose from his seaton the table, and for a moment the twomen looked at one another. Both stoodvery straight, one lean, and dark, andcommanding, with half-contemptuousanger in his black eyes; the other ofheavier frame and brown of skin and hairsave where what he had done had left itsstamp of pallor. Yet, different as theywere in complexion and feature, it seemedto Miss Schuyler, who watched themintently, that there was a curious,indefinite resemblance between them.They were of the same stock and equallyresolute, each ready, it seemed, to stakeall he had on what he held the right.

Flora Schuyler, who had trained herobservation, also read what they felt intheir faces, and saw in that of Torrancegrudging approval tempered by scorn ofthe man who had trampled on thetraditions of those he sprang from. Shefancied that Larry recognized this and thatit stung him, though he would not showthat it did, and his attitude pleased hermost. It was unyielding, but there was adeference that became him in it.

“I am sorry I did not arrive soon enough tosave you this inconvenience, sir,” he said.

Torrance smiled grimly, and there was ahardness in his voice. “You have beenhere a good many times, Larry, and we didour best for you. None of us fancied thatyou would repay us by coming back with a

mob of rabble to pull the place down.”

Grant winced perceptibly. “Nobody ismore sorry than I am, sir.”

“Aren’t you a trifle late?”

“I came as soon as I got word.”

Torrance made a little gesture ofimpatience. “That’s not what I mean.There is very little use in being sorry now.Before the other fools you joined startedthere talking there was quietness andprosperity in this country. The men whohad made it what it is got all, but nothingmore than they were entitled to, and onecould enjoy what he had worked for andsleep at night. This was not good enoughfor you—and this is what you have madeof it.”

He stretched out his arm with a forcefulgesture, pointing to the men with rifles, thetwo white-faced girls, and the splinters onthe wall, then dropped his hand, andLarry’s eyes rested on the huddled figurelying by the stove. He moved towards it,and bent down without a word, and it wasat least five minutes before he came backagain, his face dark and stern.

“You have done nothing for him?” he said.

“AREN’T YOU A TRIFLE LATE?”—Page 160.

“No,” said Torrance, “we have not. Iguess nature knows what’s best for him,and I didn’t see anything to be gained byrousing him with brandy to start thebleeding.”

“Well, first of all, I want that man.”

“You can have him. We had meant him forthe Sheriff, but what you did just now laysme in your debt, and I would not like tofeel I owed you anything.”

Grant made a little gesture. “I don’t think Ihave quite deserved that, sir. I owe you agood deal, and it makes what I have to doharder still. Can’t you remember that there

was a time when you were kind to me?”

“No,” said Torrance drily. “I don’t wantto be reminded when I have done foolishthings. I tried to warn you, but you wouldnot listen to me, that the trail you havestarted on will take you a good dealfarther than you meant to go. If you haveanything to tell me, I would sooner talkbusiness. Are you going to bring yourfriends round here at night again?”

“They came without me, and, if I can helpit, will not come back. This thing will begone into, and the leaders punished by ourcommittee. Now, are you willing to stopthe intimidation of the storekeepers, whichhas brought about this trouble, and let usget provisions in the town? I can offer yousomething in exchange.”

“No,” said Torrance. “Do what suits youbest. I can make no terms with you. If ithadn’t been for my foolishness in sendingthe boys off with the cattle, very few ofyour friends would have got away fromCedar Range to-night.”

“I’ll take my man away. I can thank youfor that at least,” was Grant’s answer.

He moved to the door and opened it, andthree men came in. They did his bidding,and all made way for them when theytramped out unsteadily with their burden.Then, he turned once more to Torrancewith his fur cap in his hand.

“I am going now, sir, and it is hard to tellwhat may happen before we meet again.We have each got a difficult row to hoe,and I want to leave you on the best terms I

can.”

Torrance looked at him steadily, andGrant returned it with a curious gravity,though there were fearless cattle-men atCedar Range who did not care to meet itsowner’s gaze when he regarded them inthat fashion. With a just perceptiblegesture he directed the younger man’sattention to the red splashes on the floor.

“That alone,” he said quietly, “wouldstand between you and me. We made thisland rich and peaceful, but that did notplease you and the rest, who had not senseto see that while human nature’s what it is,there’s no use worrying about what youcan’t have when you have got enough. Youwent round sowing trouble, and by and byyou’ll have to reap it. You brought in the

rabble, and were going to lead them, andmake them farmers; but now they will leadyou where you don’t want to go, and whenyou have given them all you have, turn andtrample on you. With the help of the menwho are going back on their own kind,they may get us down, but when that timecomes there will not be a head of cattleleft, or a dollar in the treasury.”

“I can only hope you are mistaken, sir,”said Grant.

“I have lived quite a long while, but Ihave never seen the rabble keep faith withanyone longer than it suited them,” theolder man said. “Any way, that is not thequestion. You will be handed to theSheriff if you come here again. I havenothing more to tell you, and this is, I

hope, the last time I shall ever speak toyou.”

Miss Schuyler watched Grant closely, butthough his face was drawn and set, shesaw only a respect, which, if it wasassumed, still became him in his bearingas he turned away. As he passed the girlshe bent his head, and Hetty, whose cheekswere flushed, rose with a formal bow,though her eyes shone suspiciously, butFlora Schuyler stepped forward and heldout her hand.

“Mr. Torrance can’t object to two womenthanking you for what you have done; andif he does, I don’t greatly mind,” she said.

Torrance only smiled, but the warmbronze seemed to have returned to Larry’sface as he passed on. Flora Schuyler had

thanked him, but he had seen what wasworth far more to him in Hetty’s eyes, andknew that it was only loyalty to one whohad the stronger claim that held her still.After the door closed behind him therewas once more a curious stillness in thehall until Torrance went out with hisretainers. A little later Clavering found thegirls in another room.

“You seem quite impressed, MissSchuyler,” he said.

“I am,” said Flora Schuyler. “I have seena man who commands one’s approbation—and an American.”

Clavering laughed. “Then, they’re notalways quite the same thing?”

“No,” Flora Schuyler said coldly. “That

was one of the pleasant fancies I had togive up a long time ago.”

“I would like a definition of the perfectedAmerican,” said Clavering.

Miss Schuyler yawned. “Can’t you tellhim, Hetty? I once heard you talk quiteeloquently on that subject.”

“I’ll try,” said Hetty. “It’s the man whowants to give his country something, andnot get the most he can out of it. The onewho goes round planting seeds that willgrow and bear fruit, even if it is long afterhe is there to eat it. No country has muchuse for the man who only wants to reap.”

Clavering assented, but there was asardonic gleam in his eyes. “Well,” hesaid reflectively, “there was once a man

who planted dragon’s teeth, and you knowwhat kind of crop they yielded him.”

“He knew what he was doing,” said FloraSchuyler. “The trouble is that now fewmen know a dragon’s tooth when they seeit.”

Clavering laughed. “Then the ones whodon’t should be stopped right off whenthey go round planting anything.”

XV

HETTY’S BOUNTY

It was a clear, cold afternoon, and Hetty,driving back from Allonby’s ranch, sentthe team at a gallop down the dip to theCedar Bridge. The beaten trail rangbeneath the steel shoes of the rockingsleigh, the birches streamed up blurredtogether out of the hollow, and FloraSchuyler felt the wind sting her cheekslike the lash of a whip. The coldness of itdimmed her eyes, and she had only a hazyand somewhat disconcerting vision of astreak of snow that rolled back to the

horses’ feet amidst the whirling trees. Itwas wonderfully exhilarating—the rush ofthe lurching sleigh, the hammering of thehoofs, and the scream of the wind—butMiss Schuyler realized that it was alsounpleasantly risky as she remembered thedifficult turn before one came to thebridge.

She decided, however, that there wasnothing to be gained by pointing this out toher companion, for Hetty, who satswaying a little in the driving seat, hadbeen in a somewhat curious mood sincethe attack on Cedar Range, and unusuallyimpatient of advice or remonstrance.Indeed, Flora Schuyler fancied that it wasthe restlessness she had manifested onceor twice of late which impelled her to hurl

the sleigh down into the hollow at thatreckless pace. So she said nothing, untilthe streak of snow broke off close ahead,and there were only trees in front of them.Then, a wild lurch cut short the protest shemade, and she gasped as they swung roundthe bend and flashed across the bridge.The trail, however, led steeply upwardsnow, and Hetty, laughing, dropped thereins upon the plodding horses’ necks.

“Didn’t that remind you of the ChicagoLimited?” she said.

“I was wondering,” said Miss Schuylerbreathlessly, “if you had any reason fortrying to break your neck.”

“Well,” said Hetty, with a twinkle in hereyes, “I felt I had to do something a littleout of the usual, and it was really safe

enough. Everybody feels that way nowand then, and I couldn’t well work it offby quarrelling with you, or going out andtalking to the boys as my father does. Idon’t know a better cure than a gallop or aswitchback in a sleigh.”

“Some folks find it almost as soothing totell their friends what is worrying them,and I scarcely think it’s more risky,” saidMiss Schuyler.

Hetty’s face became grave. “Well,” shesaid, “one can talk to you, and I have beenworried, Flo. I know that it is quitefoolish, but I can’t help it. I came back tosee my father through the trouble, and I’mgoing to; but while I know that he’s everso much wiser than I am, some of thethings he has to do hurt me. It’s our land,

and we’re going to keep it; but it’s notnice to think of the little children starvingin the snow.”

This, Miss Schuyler decided, wasperfectly correct, so far as it went; but shealso felt tolerably certain that, while itwas commendable, Hetty’s loyalty to herfather would be strenuously tested, anddid not alone account for her restlessness.

“And there was nothing else?” she said.

“No,” said Hetty, a little too decisively.“Of course! Any way, now I have told youwe are not going to worry about thesethings to-day, and I drove fast partlybecause the trail is narrow, and onegenerally meets somebody here. Did itever strike you, Flo, that if there’s anyoneyou know in a country that has a bridge in

it, you will, if you cross it often enough,meet him there?”

“No,” and Miss Schuyler smiledsatirically, “it didn’t, though one wouldfancy it was quite likely. I, however,remember that we met Larry here not verylong ago. That Canadian blanket suitshows you off quite nicely, Hetty. It isespecially adapted to your kind of figure.”

Hetty flicked the horses, then pulled themup again, and Miss Schuyler laughed as asleigh with two men in it swung out frombeneath the trees in front of them.

“This is, of course, a coincidence,” shesaid.

Hetty coloured. “Don’t be foolish, Flo,”she said. “How could I know he was

coming?”

Flora Schuyler did not answer, and Hettywas edging her horses to the side of thetrail, in which two sleighs could scarcelypass, when a shout came down.

“Wait. We’ll pull up and lead our teamround.”

In another minute Grant stepped out of hissleigh, and would have passed if Hettyhad not stopped him. She sat higher thanher companion, and probably knew thatthe Canadian blanket costume, with itsscarlet trimmings, became her slenderfigure. The crimson toque also went wellwith the clustering dark hair and darkeyes, and there was a brightness in thelatter which was in keeping with thecolour the cold wind had brought into the

delicate oval face. The man glanced at hera moment, and then apparently found that atrace required his attention.

“I am glad we met you, Larry,” said thegirl. “Flo thanked you the night you cameto Cedar, and I wanted to, but, while youknow why I couldn’t, I would not like youto think it was very unkind of me.Whatever my father does is right, yousee.”

“Of course,” said Grant gravely. “Youhave to believe it, Hetty.”

Hetty’s eyes twinkled. “That was verynice of you. Then you must be wrong.”

“Well,” said Grant, with a merry laugh, “itis quite likely that I am now and then. Onecan only do the best he can, and to be right

all the time is a little too much to expectfrom any man.”

Miss Schuyler, who was talking toBreckenridge, turned and smiled, andHetty said, “Then, that makes it a littleeasier for me to admit that the folks Ibelong to go just a little too faroccasionally. Larry, I hate to think of thelittle children going hungry. Are theremany of them?”

Grant’s face darkened for a moment. “I’mafraid there are quite a few—and sickones, too, lying with about half enough tocover them in sod-hovels.”

Hetty shuddered and her eyes grew pitiful,for since the grim early days hunger andwant had been unknown in the cattlecountry. “If I want to do something for

them it can’t be very wrong,” she said.“Larry, you will take a roll of bills fromme, and buy them whatever will make it alittle less hard for them?”

“No,” said Grant quietly, “I can’t, Hetty.Your father gives you that money, and wehave our own relief machinery.”

The girl laid her hand upon his armappealingly. “I have a little my mother leftme, and it was hers before she married myfather. Can’t you understand? I am withmy father, and would not lift my finger tohelp you and the homestead-boys againsthim, but it couldn’t do anybody any harmif I sent a few things to hungry children.You have just got to take those dollars,Larry.”

“Then I dare not refuse,” said Grant, after

thinking a moment. “They need more thanwe can give them. But you can’t send methe dollars.”

“No,” said Hetty, “and I have none withme now. But if a responsible man came tothe bluff to-morrow night at eight o’clock,my maid could slip down with the wallet—you must not come. It would be toodangerous. My father, and one or two ofthe rest, are very bitter against you.”

“Well,” said Grant, smiling gravely, “aresponsible man will be there. There arefolks who will bless you, Hetty.”

“You must never tell them, or anybody,”the girl insisted.

Grant said nothing further, and led histeam past; but Hetty noticed the shadow in

his bronzed face and the wistfulness in hiseyes. Then, she shook the reins, and as thehorses plodded up the slope MissSchuyler fancied that she sighed.

In the meanwhile Grant got into his sleigh,and Breckenridge, who had beenvanquished by Miss Schuyler in anexchange of badinage, found himsomewhat silent during the journey toFremont ranch. He retired to rest soonafter they reached it, and set out againbefore daylight the next morning, and itwas late at night when he came back veryweary, with his garments stiff with frost.The great bare room where Breckenridgeawaited him was filled with a fusty heat,and as he came in, partly dazed by thechange of temperature, Grant did not see

the other man who sat amidst the tobacco-smoke beside the glowing stove. He sankinto a hide chair limply, and whenBreckenridge glanced at him inquiringly,with numbed fingers dragged a wallet outof his pocket.

“Yes,” he said, “I got the dollars. I don’tknow that it was quite the square thing, butwith Harper’s wife and the Dutchman’schildren ’most starving in the hollow, Ifelt I had to take them.”

Breckenridge made a little warninggesture, and the man behind the stove,reaching forward, picked up a packet thathad dropped unnoticed by the rest whenGrant took out the wallet.

“You seem kind of played out, Larry, and Iguess you didn’t know you dropped the

thing,” he said.

Grant blinked at him; for a man who hasdriven for many hours in the cold of theNorthwest is apt to suffer from unpleasantand somewhat bewildering sensationswhen his numbed brain and body firstthrow off the effect of the frost.

“No,” he said unevenly. “Let me alone aminute. I didn’t see you.”

The man, who was one of thehomesteaders’ leaders in another vicinity,sat still with the packet in his hand until,perhaps without any intention of readingit, his eyes rested on the address. Then hesat upright suddenly and stared at Grant.

“Do you know what you have got here,Larry?” he asked.

Grant stretched out his hand and took thepacket, then laid it upon the table with theaddress downwards.

“It’s something that dropped out of thewallet,” he said.

The other man laughed a little, but his facewas intent. “Oh, yes, that’s quite plain; butif I know the writing it’s a letter withsomething in it from Torrance to theSheriff. There’s no mistaking the way hemakes the ‘g.’ Turn it over and I’ll showyou.”

Grant laid a brown hand on the packet.“No. Do you generally look at letters thatdon’t belong to you, Chilton?”

Breckenridge saw that Grant wasrecovering, and that the contemptuous

manner of his question was intentional,and guessed that his comrade had intendedto sting the other man to resentment, andso lead him from the point at issue.Chilton coloured, but he persisted.

“Well,” he said, “I guess that one belongsto the committee. I didn’t mean to look atthe thing, but, now I’m sure of it, I have todo what I can for the boys who made metheir executive. I don’t ask you how yougot it, Larry.”

“I got it by accident.”

Chilton looked astonished, and almostincredulous. “Well, we needn’t worryover that. The question is, what you’regoing to do with it?”

“I’m going to send it back.”

Chilton made a gesture of impatience.“That’s what you can’t do. As we know,the cattle-men had a committee at Cedar aday or two ago, and now here’s a packetstuffed with something going to theSheriff. Doesn’t it strike you yet that it’squite likely there’s a roll of dollar billsand a letter telling him what he has to doinside it?”

“Well?” said Grant, seeing that he mustface the issue sooner or later.

“We don’t want their dollars, but thatletter’s worth a pile of them to us. Wecould get it printed by a paper farther east,with an article on it that would raise ahowl from everybody. There are one ortwo of them quite ready for a chance ofgetting a slap at the legislature, while

there’s more than one man who would beglad to hawk it round the lobbies. Then hisfriends would have no more use for theSheriff, and we might even get acommission sent down to straighten thingsup for us.”

“The trouble is that we can’t make any useof it,” said Grant.

“No?” said Chilton, and the men looked ateach other steadily.

“No,” repeated Grant. “It wasn’t meantthat I should get it, and I’m going to send itback.”

“Then, while I don’t want to make trouble,I’ll have to mention the thing to mycommittee.”

“You’ll do just what you believe is right.

Any way, we’ll have supper now. It willbe ready.”

Chilton stood still a moment. “You arequite straight with us in this?”

“Yes,” said Grant, “but I’m not going togive you that letter. Are you coming in tosupper? It really wouldn’t commit you toanything.”

“I am,” said Chilton simply. “I haveknown you quite a long while, and yourassurance is good enough for me; but youwould have found it difficult to make otherfolks believe you.”

They sat down at table, and Larry smiledas he said, “It’s the first time I have seenyour scruples spoil your appetite, Chilton,but I had a notion that you were not quite

sure about taking any supper from me.”

“Well,” laughed Chilton, “that just showshow foolish a man can be, because thesupper’s already right here inside me.When I came in Breckenridge got it forme. Still, I have driven a long way, and Ican worry through another.”

He made a very creditable attempt, andwhen he had been shown to his roomGrant glanced at Breckenridge.

“You know how I got the letter?”

“Yes,” said Breckenridge. “MissTorrance must have inadvertently slippedit into the wallet. You couldn’t have doneanything else, Larry; but the affair isdelicate and will want some handling.How are you going to get the packet

back?”

“Take it myself,” Grant said quietly.

It was ten o’clock the next night, and HettyTorrance and Miss Schuyler sat talking intheir little sitting-room. Torrance wasaway, but his married foreman, who hadseen service in New Mexico, and hiswife, slept in the house, and Cedar Rangewas strongly guarded. Now and then, thebitter wind set the door rattling, and therewas a snapping in the stove; but when thegusts passed the ranch seemed very still,and Miss Schuyler could hear the lighttread of the armed cow-boy who, perhapsto keep himself warm, paced up and downthe hall below. There was another at awindow in the corridor, and one or twomore on guard in the stores and stables.

“Wasn’t Chris Allonby to have come overto-day?” asked Miss Schuyler.

“Yes,” said Hetty. “I’m sorry he didn’t. Ihave a letter for the Sheriff to give him,and wanted to get rid of the thing. It isimportant, and I fancy, from what myfather told me, if any of the homestead-boys got it they could make trouble for us.Chris is to ride in with it and hand it to theSheriff.”

“I wouldn’t like a letter of that kind lyinground,” said Miss Schuyler. “Where didyou put it, Hetty?”

Hetty laughed. “Where nobody wouldever find it—under some clothes of mine.Talking about it makes one uneasy. Pullout the second drawer in the bureau, Flo.”

Miss Schuyler did so, and Hetty turnedover a bundle of daintily embroideredlinen. Then, her face grew very grave, shelaid each article back again separately.

“Nothing there!” said Miss Schuyler.

Hetty’s fingers quivered. “Pull the drawerout, Flo. No. Never mind anything. Shakethem out on the floor.”

It was done, and a litter of garments layscattered about them, but no packetappeared, and Hetty sat down limply, verywhite in the face.

“It was there,” she said, “by the walletwith the dollars. It must have got insidesomehow, and I sent the wallet to Larry.This is horrible, Flo.”

“Think!” said Miss Schuyler. “You

couldn’t have put it anywhere else?”

“No,” said Hetty faintly. “If the wrongpeople got it, it would turn out the Sheriffand make an outcry everywhere. That iswhat I was told, though I don’t know whatit was about.”

“Still, you know it would be safe with Mr.Grant.”

“Yes,” said Hetty. “Larry never didanything mean in his life. But you don’tunderstand, Flo. He didn’t know it wasthere, and it might have dropped out on theprairie, while, even if he found it, how ishe going to get it back to me? The boyswould fire on him if he came here.”

Flora Schuyler looked frightened. “Youwill have to tell your father, Hetty.”

Hetty trembled a little. “It is going to bethe hardest thing I ever did. He is justdreadful in his quietness when he is angry—and I would have to tell him I had beenmeeting Larry and sending him dollars.You know what he would fancy.”

It was evident that Hetty was very muchafraid of her father, and as clear to MissSchuyler that the latter would have somecause for unpleasant suspicions. Then, thegirl turned to her companion appealingly.

“Flo,” she said, “tell me what to do. Thething frightens me.”

Miss Schuyler slipped an arm about her.“Wait,” she said. “Your father will not behere until noon to-morrow, and that letteris in the hands of a very honest man. Ithink you can trust him to get it back to

you.”

“But he couldn’t send anybody withoutgiving me away, and he knows it mightcost him his liberty to come here,” saidHetty.

“I scarcely fancy that would stop him.”

Hetty turned, and looked at her friendcuriously. “Flo, I wonder how it wouldhave suited if Larry had been fond ofyou.”

Miss Schuyler did not wince; but the smilethat was on her lips was absent from hereyes. “You once told me I should havehim. Are you quite sure you would like tohand him over now?”

Hetty did not answer the question; instead,she blushed furiously. “We are talking

nonsense—and I don’t know how I canface my father to-morrow,” she said.

It was at least an hour later, and the cow-boy below had ceased his pacing, whenHetty, who felt no inclination for sleep,fancied she heard a tapping at thewindow. She sprang suddenly upright, andsaw apprehension in Miss Schuyler’sface. The cow-boys were some distanceaway, and a little verandah ran round thatside of the house just below the window.Flora Schuyler had sufficient courage; butit was not of the kind which appears toadvantage in the face of bodily peril, andthe colour faded in her cheeks. It wasquite certain now that somebody wastapping at or trying to open the window.

“Shake yourself together, Flo,” said Hetty,

in a hoarse whisper. “When I tell you, turnthe lamp down and open the door. I amgoing to see who is there.”

The next moment she had opened a drawerof the bureau, while as she steppedforward with something glinting in herhand, Flora Schuyler, who heard awhispered word, turned the lamp right outin her confusion, and, because she darednot stand still, crept after her companion.With a swift motion, Hetty drew thewindow-curtains back, and Miss Schuylergasped. The stars were shining outside,and the dark figure of a man wassilhouetted against the blue clearness ofthe night.

“Come back,” she cried. “Oh, he’s comingin. Hetty, I must scream.”

Hetty’s fingers closed upon her arm with acruel grip. “Stop,” she said. “If you do,they’ll shoot him. Don’t be a fool, Flo.”

It was too dark to see clearly, but FloraSchuyler realized with a painful flutteringof her heart and a great relief whose thewhite face outside the window must be.

XVI

LARRY SOLVES THEDIFFICULTY

For the space of several seconds the girlsstood staring at the figure outside thewindow. Then, the man turned sharply,and Hetty gasped as she heard the crunchof footsteps in the snow below. There wasa little of it on the verandah, and the starsshone brilliantly.

“Catch hold of the frame here, Flo,” shesaid breathlessly. “Now, push with allyour might.”

Miss Schuyler did as she was bidden. Thedouble sashes moved with a sharpcreaking, and while she shivered as thearctic cold struck through her, Hettystretched out an arm and drew the man in.Then with a tremendous effort she shut thewindow and pulled the curtains together.There was darkness in the room now, andone of the cow-boys called out below.

“Hear anything, Jake?”

“Somebody shutting a door in the housethere,” said another man, and Hetty,passing between the curtains, could seetwo figures move across the snow, and thelittle scintillation from something that wascarried by one of them, and she realizedthat they had very narrowly averted atragedy.

“Flo,” she said, with a little quiver in hervoice, “light the lamp quick. If they see theroom dark they might come up.”

Miss Schuyler was unusually clumsy, butat last the light sprang up, and showedLarry standing just inside the curtain withthe dust of snow on his fur coat and cap.His face looked a little less bronzed thanusual, but he showed no other sign ofdiscomposure. Hetty was very pale as shestood in front of him with the pistol still inher hand. She dropped it on a chair with ashiver, and broke into a little strainedlaugh.

“You are quite sure they didn’t see you,Larry? You took a terrible risk just now.”

Grant smiled, more with his lips than hiseyes. “Yes,” he said, “I guess I did. I

taught you to shoot as well as most men,Hetty.”

Hetty gasped again and sank limply intothe nearest chair. “What brought youhere?” she said. “Still, you can’t get awaynow. Sit down, Larry.”

Grant sat down with a bow to MissSchuyler, and fumbled in the pocket of hisbig fur coat. “I came to give yousomething you sent me by mistake,” hesaid. “I would not have come this way if Icould have helped it, but I saw there wasa man with a rifle every here and there asI crept up through the bluff, and it wasquite a while before I could swing myselfup by a pillar on to the verandah. Youhave been anxious about this, Hetty?”

He laid a packet on the table, and Hetty’s

eyes shone as she took it up.

“Couldn’t you have given it to somebodyto bring me? It would have been ever somuch safer,” she said.

“No,” said the man simply, “I don’t think Icould.”

Hetty understood him, and so did MissSchuyler, while the meaning of the glanceher companion cast at her was equallyplain. Miss Torrance’s face was stillpallid, but there was pride in her eyes.

“I wonder if you guessed what was in thatletter, Mr. Grant?” Flora Schuyler asked.

Larry smiled. “I think I have a notion.”

“Of course!” said Hetty impulsively. “Weknew you had, and that was why we felt

certain you would try to bring it back tome.”

“If it could have been managed in adifferent fashion it would have pleased mebetter,” Grant said, with a little impatientgesture. “I am sorry I frightened you,Hetty.”

The colour crept back into Hetty’s cheeks.“I was frightened, but only just a little atfirst,” she said. “It was when I saw who itwas and heard the boys below, that I grewreally anxious.”

She did not look at the man as she spoke;but it was evident to Miss Schuyler that heunderstood the significance of the avowal.

“Then,” he said, “I must try to get awayagain more quietly.”

“You can’t,” said Hetty. “Not until theman by the store goes away. You havetaken too many chances already. You havedriven a long way in the cold. Take offthat big coat, and Flo will make you somecoffee.”

Grant, turning, drew the curtains aside amoment, and let them fall back again.Then, he took off the big coat and satdown with a little smile of contentmentbeside the glowing stove on which MissSchuyler was placing a kettle.

“Well,” he said, “I am afraid you willhave to put up with my company until thatfellow goes away; and I need not tell youthat this is very nice for me. One hasn’tmuch time to feel it, but it’s dreadfullylonely at Fremont now and then.”

Hetty nodded sympathetically, for she hadseen the great desolate room at Fremontwhere Grant and Breckenridge passed thebitter nights alone. The man’s half-audiblesigh was also very expressive, for afterhis grim life he found the brightness anddaintiness of the little room very pleasant.It was sparely furnished; but there wastaste in everything, and in contrast withFremont its curtains, rugs, and picturesseemed luxurious. Without were bitterfrost and darkness, peril, and self-denial;within, warmth and refinement, and thecompanionship of two cultured womenwho were very gracious to him. He alsoknew that he had shut himself out from theenjoyment of their society of his own will,that he had but to make terms withTorrance, and all that one side of his

nature longed for might be restored to him.

Larry was as free from sensuality as hewas from asceticism; but there were timeswhen the bleak discomfort at Fremontpalled upon him, as did the loneliness andhalf-cooked food. His overtaxed bodyrevolted now and then from furtherexposure to Arctic cold and thedeprivation of needed sleep, while hisheart grew sick with anxiety and thedistrust of those he was toiling for. Hewas not a fanatic, and had very slightsympathy with the iconoclast, for he hadan innate respect for the law, and vagueaspirations after an ampler life madeharmonious by refinement, as well as ahalf-comprehending reverence for all thatwas best in art and music. There are many

Americans like him, and when such a manturns reformer he has usually a hard row,indeed, to hoe.

“What do you do up there at nights?”asked Hetty.

Larry laughed. “Sometimes Breckenridgeand I sit talking by the stove, and now andthen we quarrel. Breckenridge has taste,and generally smooths one the right way;but there are times when I feel likethrowing things at him. Then we sit quitestill for hours together listening to thewind moaning, until one of the boys comesin to tell me we are wanted, and it is arelief to drive until morning with the frostat fifty below. It is very different from theold days when I was here and atAllonby’s two or three nights every

week.”

“It must have been hard to give up whatyou did,” said Hetty, with a diffidence thatwas unusual in her. “Oh, I know you did itwillingly, but you must have found it wasvery different from what you expected. Imean that the men you wanted to smooththe way for had their notions too, andmeant to do a good deal that could neverplease you. Suppose you found they didn’twant to go along quietly, making thiscountry better, but only to trample downwhatever was there already?”

Flora Schuyler looked up. “I think youwill have to face that question, Mr.Grant,” she said. “A good many men ofyour kind have had to do it before you.Isn’t a faulty ruler better than wild

disorder?”

“Yes,” said Hetty eagerly. “That is justwhat I mean. If you saw they wantedanarchy, Larry, you would come back tous? We should be glad to have you!”

The man turned his eyes away, and FloraSchuyler saw his hands quiver.

“No,” he said. “I and the rest would haveto teach them what was good for them, andif it was needful try to hold them in.Whatever they did, we who brought themhere would have to stand in with them.”

Hetty accepted the decision in his tone,and sighed. “Well,” she said, “we willforget it; and Flo has the coffee ready.That is yours, Larry, and here’s a box ofcrackers. Now, we’ll try to think of

pleasant things. It’s like our old-timepicnics. Doesn’t it remind you of the bigbluff—only we had a black kettle then,and you made the fire of sticks? Therewas the day you shot the willow grouse. Itisn’t really so very long ago!”

“It seems years,” said the man, wistfully.“So much has happened since.”

“Well,” said Hetty, “I can remember all ofit still—the pale blue sky behind the bluff,with the little curl of grey smoke floatingup against it. You sat by the fire, Larry,roasting the grouse, and talking about whatcould be done with the prairie. It was allwhite in the sunshine, and empty as far asone could see, but you told me it would bea great red wheat-field by and by. Ilaughed at you for dreaming things that

couldn’t be, but we were very happy thatday.”

Grant’s face was very sad for a moment,but he turned to Miss Schuyler with a littlesmile. “Hetty is leaving you out,” he said.

“I wasn’t there, you see,” Miss Schuylersaid quickly. “Those days belong to youand Hetty.”

Hetty glanced at her sharply, and fanciedthere was a slightly strained expression inthe smiling face, but the next moment MissSchuyler laughed.

“What are you thinking, Flo?” said Hetty.

“It was scarcely worth mentioning. I waswondering how it was that the only timeswe have crossed the bridge we met Mr.Grant.”

“That’s quite simple,” said Larry. “Eachtime it was on Wednesday, and I generallydrive round to see if I am wantedanywhere that day. They have had to doalmost without provisions at thehomesteads in the hollow lately. Yourdollars will be very welcome, Hetty.”

Hetty blushed for no especial reason,except that when Grant mentionedWednesday she felt that Flora Schuyler’seyes were upon her. Then, a voice rose upbelow.

“Hello! All quiet, Jake?”

There were footsteps in the snow outside,and when the sentry answered, the wordsjust reached those who listened in theroom.

“I had a kind of notion I saw somethingmoving in the bluff, but I couldn’t be quitesure,” he said. “There was a door orwindow banged up there on the verandaha while ago, but that must have been doneby one of the women in the house.”

Grant rose and drew back the curtain,when, after a patter of footsteps, thevoices commenced again.

“Somebody has come in straight from thebluff,” said one of the men. “You can seewhere he has been, but I’m blamed if I canfigure where he went to unless it was upthe post into the verandah, and he couldn’thave done that without Miss Torrancehearing him. I’ll stop right here, any way,and I wish my two hours were up.”

“I’m that stiff I can scarcely move,” said

the man relieved, and there was silence inthe room, until Hetty turned to the others indismay.

“He is going to stay there two hours, andhe would see us the moment we openedthe window,” she said.

Grant quickly put on his big fur coat, andunnoticed, he fancied, slipped one handdown on something that was girded on thebelt beneath it.

“I must get away at once—through thehouse,” he said.

Hetty had, however, seen the swift motionof his hand.

“There’s a man with a rifle in the hall,”she said, shudderingly. “Flo, can’t youthink of something?”

Flora Schuyler looked at them quietly. “Ifancy it would not be very difficult for Mr.Grant to get away, but the trouble is thatnobody must know he has been near theplace. That is the one thing your fathercould not forgive, Hetty.”

Hetty turned her head a little, but Grantnodded. “Had it been otherwise I shouldhave gone an hour ago,” he said.

“Well,” said Flora Schuyler, with acurious look in her face, “while I fancywe can get you away unnoticed, ifanybody did see you, it needn’t appearquite certain that it was any affair withHetty that brought you.”

“No?” said Hetty, very sharply. “What doyou mean, Flo?”

Miss Schuyler smiled a little and lookedGrant in the eyes. “What would appearbase treachery in Hetty’s case would beless astonishing in me. Mr. Grant, youmust not run risks again to talk to me, butsince you have done it I must see youthrough. You are sure there is only onecow-boy in the hall, Hetty?”

Hetty turned and looked at them. FloraSchuyler was smiling bravely, the manstanding still with grave astonishment inhis eyes.

“No,” she said, with quick incisiveness, “Ican’t let you, Flo.”

“I don’t think I asked your permission,”said Miss Schuyler. “Could you explainthis to your father, Hetty? I believe hewould not be angry with me. Adventurous

gallantry is, I understand, quite approvedof on the prairie. Call your maid. Mr.Grant, will you come with me?”

For several seconds Hetty stood silent,recognizing that what Torrance mightsmile at in his guest would appear almosta crime in his daughter, but still horriblyunwilling. Then, as Flora Schuyler, with ahalf-impatient gesture, signed to Grant,she touched a little gong, and a fewmoments later her maid met them in thecorridor. The girl stopped suddenly,gasping a little as she stared at Grant, untilHetty grasped her arm, nipping it cruelly.

“If you scream or do anything silly youwill be ever so sorry,” she said. “Godown into the hall and talk to Jo. Keephim where the stove is, with his back to

the door.”

“But how am I to do it?” the girl asked.

“Take him something to eat,” MissSchuyler said impatiently. “Any way, itshould not be hard to fool him—I haveseen him looking at you. Now, I wonder ifthat grey dress of mine would fit you—Ihave scarcely had it on, but it’s a little tootight for me.”

The girl’s eyes glistened, she movedswiftly down the corridor, Flora Schuylerlaughed, and Grant looked away.

“Larry,” said Hetty, “it isn’t just what onewould like—but I am afraid it isnecessary.”

Five minutes later Hetty moved across thehall, making a little noise, so that the cow-

boy, who stood near the other end of it,with the maid close by him, should noticeher. She softly opened the outer door, andthen came back and signed to Grant andFlora Schuyler, who stood waiting in thecorridor.

“No,” he said, and the lamplight showed adarker hue than the bronze of frost and sunin his face. “Miss Schuyler, I have neverfelt quite so mean before, and you willleave the rest to me.”

“It seems to me,” she said coolly, “thatwhat you feel does not count for much.Just now you have to do what is best foreverybody. Stoop as low as you can.”

She stretched out her hand with a littleimperious gesture, and laid it on his arm,drawing herself up to her full height as she

stood between him and the light. Theymoved forward together, and Hetty closedher hand as she watched them pass into thehall. The end was dim and shadowy, forthe one big lamp that was lighted stoodsome distance away by the stove, wherethe man on watch was talking to the maid.Hetty realized that the girl was playing herpart well as she saw her make a swift stepbackwards, and heard the man’s lowlaugh.

Flora Schuyler and Grant were not farfrom the door now, the girl walking closeto her companion. In another moment theywould have passed out of sight into theshadow, but while Hetty felt her fingerstrembling, the man on watch, perhapshearing their footsteps, turned round.

“Hallo!” he said. “It seems kind of cold.What can Miss Schuyler want withopening the door? Is that Miss Torrancebehind her?”

He moved forward a pace, apparently notlooking where he was going, but towardsthe door, and might have moved further,but that the maid swiftly stretched out onefoot, and a chair with the tray laid on itwent over with a crash.

“Now there’s going to be trouble. Seewhat you’ve done,” she said.

The man stopped, staring at the wreckupon the floor.

“Well,” he said, “I’m blamed if I touchedthe thing. What made it fall over, anyway?”

“Pick them up,” the girl said sharply.“You don’t want to make trouble for me!”

He stooped, and Hetty gasped with reliefas she saw him carefully scraping somedainty from the floor, for just then one ofthe two figures slipped away from theother, and there was a sound that mighthave been made by a softly closing door.The cow-boy looked up quickly, and sawMiss Torrance and Miss Schuylerstanding close together, then stood up asthey came towards him. Hetty paused andsurveyed the overturned crockery, andthen, though her heart was throbbingpainfully, gave the man a glance ofironical inquiry. He looked at the maid asif for inspiration, but she stood meeklystill, the picture of bashful confusion.

“I’m quite sorry, Miss Torrance,” he said.“The concerned thing went over.”

Hetty laughed. “Well,” she said, “it’s avery cold night, and Lou can get you somemore supper. She is, however, not to stayhere a minute after she has given it you.”

She went out with Miss Schuyler, and thetwo stood very silent by a window in thecorridor. One of them fancied she saw ashadowy object slip round the corner of abarn, but could not be sure, and for fivevery long minutes they stared at the faintlyshining snow. Nothing moved upon it, andsave for the maid’s voice in the hall, thegreat building was very still. Hettytouched Miss Schuyler’s arm.

“He has got away,” she said. “Come backwith me. I don’t feel like standing up any

longer.”

They sat down limply when they returnedto the little room, and though MissSchuyler did not meet her companion’sgaze, there was something that did notseem to please the latter in her face.

“Flo,” she said, “one could almost fancyyou felt it as much as I did. It was awfullynice of you.”

Miss Schuyler smiled, though there was atension in her voice. “Of course I felt it,”she said. “Hetty, I’d watch that maid ofyours. She’s too clever.”

Hetty said nothing for a moment, then,suddenly crossing the room, she stoopeddown and kissed Miss Schuyler.

“I have never met any one who would do

as much for me as you would, Flo,” shesaid. “I don’t think there is anything thatcould come between us.”

There was silence for another moment,and during it Miss Schuyler lookedsteadily into Hetty’s eyes. “No,” she said,“although you do not seem quite sure, Idon’t think there is.”

It was early the next morning whenChristopher Allonby arrived at the Range.He smiled as he glanced at the packetHetty handed him.

“I have never seen your father anything butprecise,” he said.

“Has anything led you to fancy that he haschanged?” asked Hetty.

Allonby laughed as he held out the packet.

“The envelope is all creased andcrumpled. It might have been carriedround for ever so long in somebody’spocket. Now, I know you don’t smoke,Hetty.”

“There is no reason why I should not, but,as it happens, I don’t,” said MissTorrance.

“Then, the packet has a most curious,cigar-like smell,” said Allonby, smiling.“Now, I don’t think Mr. Torrance carriesloose cigars and letters about with himtogether. I wonder what deduction onecould make from this.”

Hetty glanced at Miss Schuyler. “Youcould never make the right one, Chris,”she said.

Allonby said nothing further and went outwith the letter; a day or two later hehanded it to the Sheriff.

“I guess you know what’s inside it?” saidthe latter.

“Yes,” said the lad. “I want to see youcount them now.”

The Sheriff glanced at him sharply, tookout a roll of bills and flicked them over.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s quite right; but onepiece of what I have to do is going to bedifficult.”

“Which?” said Allonby.

“Well,” said the Sheriff, “I guess youknow. I mean the getting hold of Larry.”

XVII

LARRY’S PERIL

One afternoon several days later,Christopher Allonby drove over to CedarRange, and, though he endeavoured to hidehis feelings, was evidently disconcertedwhen he discovered that Miss Schuylerand Hetty were alone. Torrance hadaffairs of moment on hand just then, andwas absent from Cedar Range frequently.

“One could almost have fancied you werenot pleased to see us, and would soonerhave talked to Mr. Torrance,” said Miss

Schuyler.

The lad glanced at her reproachfully.

“Hetty knows how diffident I am, but itseems to me a lady with your observationshould have seen the gratification I did notventure to express.”

“It was not remarkably evident,” saidMiss Schuyler. “In fact, when you heardMr. Torrance was not here I fancied I sawsomething else.”

“I was thinking,” said Allonby,“wondering how I could be honest and, atthe same time, complimentary toeverybody. It was quite difficult. Peoplelike me generally think of the right thingafterwards, you see.”

Hetty shook her head. “Sit down, and

don’t talk nonsense, Chris,” she said.“You shouldn’t think too much; whenyou’re not accustomed to it, it isn’t wise.What brought you?”

“I had a message for your father,” said thelad, and Flora Schuyler fancied she sawonce more the signs of embarrassment inhis face.

“Then,” said Hetty, “you can tell it me.”

“There’s a good deal of it, and it’s just alittle confusing,” said Allonby.

Flora Schuyler glanced at Hetty, and thensmiled at the lad. “That is certainly notcomplimentary,” she said. “Don’t youthink Hetty and I could remember anythingthat you can?”

Allonby laughed. “Of course you could.

But, I had my instructions. I was told togive Mr. Torrance the message as soon asI could, without troubling anybody.”

“Then it is of moment?”

“Yes. That is, we want him to know,though there’s really nothing in it that needworry anybody.”

“Then, it is unfortunate that my father isaway,” said Hetty.

Allonby sat silent a moment or two,apparently reflecting, and then looked upsuddenly, as though he had found thesolution of the difficulty.

“I could write him.”

Hetty laughed. “That was an inspiration!You can be positively brilliant, Chris.

You will find paper and specialenvelopes in the office, as well as a bigstick of sealing-wax.”

Allonby, who appeared unable to find aneat rejoinder, went out; and when he leftFlora Schuyler smiled as she saw thecarefully fastened envelope lying onTorrance’s desk, as well as somethingelse. Torrance was fastidiously neat, andthe blotting pad from which the soiledsheets had been removed bore the impressof Christopher Allonby’s big, legiblewriting. It was, however, a little blurred,and Miss Schuyler, who had her scruples,made no attempt to read it then. It was thenext afternoon, and Torrance had not yetreturned, when a mounted man rode up tothe Range, and was shown into the room

where the girls sat together.

“Mr. Clavering will be kind of sorry Mr.Torrance wasn’t here, but he has got itfixed quite straight,” he said.

“What has he fixed?” said Hetty.

“Well,” said the man, “your father knows,and I don’t, though I’ve a kind of notionwe are after one of the homestead-boys.Any way, what I had to tell him was this.He could ride over to the Cedar Bluff atabout six this evening with two or three ofthe boys, if it suited him, but if it didn’t,Mr. Clavering would put the thingthrough.”

Hetty asked one or two leading questions,but the man had evidently nothing more totell, and when he went out, the two girls

looked at one another in silence. Hetty’seyes were anxious and her face morecolourless than usual.

“Flo,” she said sharply, “are we thinkingthe same thing?”

“I don’t know,” said Miss Schuyler. “Youhave not told me your notions yet. Still,this is clear to both of us, Mr. Claveringexpects to meet somebody at the CedarBluff, and your father is to bring two orthree men with him. The question is, whatcould they be wanted for?”

“No,” said Hetty, with a little quiver inher voice, “it is who they expect to meet.You know what day this is?”

“Wednesday.”

Once more there was silence for a few

seconds, but the thoughts of the two girlswere unconcealed now, and when shespoke Hetty closed her hand.

“Think, Flo. There must be nouncertainty.” Miss Schuyler slipped out ofthe room and when she came back shebrought an envelope, splashed with redwax, on a blotting-pad.

“There’s the key. All is fair—in war!” shesaid.

A pink tinge crept into Hetty’s cheeks, anda sparkle into her eyes as she looked ather companion.

“Don’t make me angry with you, Flo,” shesaid. “We can’t read it.”

“No?” said Miss Schuyler quietly, holdingup the pad. “Now I think we can. This is

another manifestation of the superiority ofthe masculine mind. Give me your hand-glass, Hetty.”

“Of course,” said Hetty, with a little gasp.“Still—it’s horribly mean.”

There was a slightly contemptuoushardness in Flora Schuyler’s eyes. “If youlet the man who rides by the bluff onWednesdays fall into Clavering’s hands, itwould be meaner still.”

The next moment Hetty was out of theroom, and Miss Schuyler sat down with aface that had grown suddenly weary. But itbetrayed nothing when Hetty came backwith the glass, and when she held up theblotter in hands that were perfectly steady,they read:

“I have fixed it with the Sheriff.Clavering’s boys had, as you guessed,been watching for Larry on the wrong day;but now we have found out it isWednesday we’ll make sure of him. If youcare to come around to the bluff about sixthat night, you will probably see us seizehim; but if you would sooner stand out inthis case, it wouldn’t count. We don’texpect any difficulty.”

Hetty flushed crimson. “Flo,” she said, “itwas the letter arranging his own arrest hebrought me back.”

“That is not the point,” said Miss Schuylersharply. “What are you going to do?”

Hetty laughed mockingly. “You and I aregoing to drive over to the Newcombes andstay the night. You get nervous when my

father is away. But we are not going therequite straight; and you had better put yourwarmest things on.”

An hour later two of the best horses inTorrance’s stable drew the lightest sleighup to the door, and Miss Schuyler turnedwith a smile to the remonstratinghousekeeper.

“Nothing would induce me to stay hereanother night when Mr. Torrance wasaway,” she said. “You can tell him that, ifhe is vexed with Hetty, and you needn’tworry. We will be safe at Mrs.Newcombe’s before an hour is over.”

The housekeeper shook her head. “I guessnot. It’s a league round by the bridge, andyou couldn’t find the other trail in thedark.”

Miss Schuyler laughed. “Then, look at thetime, and we’ll let you know when we getthere,” she said.

Hetty whipped the team, and with awhirling of dusty snow beneath therunners, they swept away. Both sat silent,until the beat of hoofs rang amidst thetrees as they swept through the gloom ofthe big bluff at a gallop, and Hetty laughedexcitedly.

“Hold fast, Flo. You did that very well;but we have our alibi to prove, and are notgoing near the bridge,” she said.

She flicked the horses, and the trees sweptaway behind them and the long whitelevels rolled back faster yet to thedrumming hoofs. The rush of cold windstung Miss Schuyler’s face like the lash of

a whip, her eyes grew hazy, and she heldthe furs about her as she swayed with thelurching of the sleigh. Darkness wasclosing in when they came to the forkingof the trail, and, with a little cry ofwarning, Hetty lashed the team. Thelurches grew sharper, and Miss Schuylergasped now and then as she felt the sleighswing rocking down a long declivity.Scattered birches raced up out of it, andthe hammering beat of hoofs swelled intoa roar as it rolled along a thicker belt oftrees.

They rose higher and higher, a dusky wallathwart the way, and Miss Schuyler feltfor a better hold for her feet, and graspedthe big strapped robe as she looked invain for any opening. That team had done

nothing for more than a week, and therewas no stinting of oats and maize atCedar. Hetty, however, did not attempt tohold them, but sat swaying to the jolting,leaning forward as the shadowy barrierrushed up towards them, until, before shequite realized how they got there, MissSchuyler found herself hurled forwarddown what appeared to be a steadilysloping tunnel. Dim trees swept by anddrooping boughs lashed at her. Now andthen there was a sharp crackling or asickening lurch, and still they sped onfuriously, until a faint white shiningappeared ahead.

“What is it?” she gasped.

“The river,” said Hetty. “Hold fast!There’s a piece like a toboggan-leap quite

near.”

She flung herself backwards as the lace-like birch twigs smote her furs; and whenone of the horses stumbled Miss Schuylerwith difficulty stifled a cry. The beast,however, picked up its stride again, therewas a lurch, and the rocking sleighappeared to leap clear of the snow. Acrash followed, and they were flying outof the shadow again across a strip offaintly shining plain with another belt ofdusky trees rolling back towards them.Beyond them, low in the soft indigo, apale star was shining. Hetty glanced at itas she shook the reins, and once moresomething in her laugh stirred MissSchuyler.

“I know when that star comes out,” she

said. “If Larry’s only there we can warnhim and make our ride on time.”

In another minute they were in among thetrees, and Hetty, springing down, ploddedthrough the loose snow at the horses’heads, urging them with hand and voice upthe incline which wound tortuously intothe darkness. Now and then, one of themstumbled, and there was a great tramplingof hoofs, but the girl’s mittened handnever loosed its grasp; and it was with alittle breathless run she clutched the sleighand swung herself in when the team sweptout on the level again. Still, at least aminute had passed before she had thehorses in hand. The trail forked againsomewhere in the dimness they wereflashing through, and it was difficult to see

the dusky smear at all.

A lurch that flung Miss Schuyler againsther showed that Hetty had found theturning; and a little later, with a struggle,she checked the team, and they slid behindone of the low, rolling rises that seamedthe prairie here and there. There was nowind in the hollow behind it and a greatstillness under the high vault of bluestudded with twinkling stars. The dimwhiteness of a long ridge cut sharplyagainst it, and the pale colouring andfrosty glitter conveyed the suggestion ofpitiless cold. Flora Schuyler shivered, anddrew the furs closer round her.

“Is this the place?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Hetty, with a little gasp. “Ifwe don’t meet him here he will have

passed or gone by the other trail, and itwill be too late to stop him. Can you hearanything, Flo?”

Miss Schuyler strained her ears, but,though the horses were walking now, shecould hear nothing. The deep silenceround them was emphasized by the softtrample of the hoofs and thin jingle ofsteel that seemed unreal and out of placethere in the wilderness of snow and stars.

“No,” she said, in a strained voice; “I canhear nothing at all. It almost makes oneafraid to listen.”

They drove slowly for a minute or two,and then Hetty pulled up the team. “I can’tgo on, and it is worse to stand still,” shesaid. “Flo, if he didn’t stop—and hewouldn’t—they would shoot him. He must

be coming. Listen. There’s a horriblebuzzing in my ears—I can’t hear at all.”

Miss Schuyler listened for what appearedan interminable time, and wonderedafterwards that she had borne the tensionwithout a sign. The great stillness grewoverwhelming now the team had stopped,and there was that in the utter cold andsense of desolation that weighed hercourage down. She felt her insignificancein the face of that vast emptiness anddestroying frost, and wondered at therashness of herself and Hetty and LarryGrant who had ventured to believe theycould make any change in the greatinexorable scheme of which everythingthat was to be was part. Miss Schuylerwas not fanciful, but during the last hour

she had borne a heavy strain, and thedeathly stillness of the northwestern wasteunder the Arctic frost is apt to leave itsimpress on the most unimaginative.

Suddenly very faint and far off, a rhythmicthrobbing crept out of the darkness, andFlora Schuyler, who, fearing her ears haddeceived her at first, dared not speak, felther chilled blood stir when Hetty flungback her head.

“Flo—can’t you hear it? Tell me!”

Miss Schuyler nodded, for she could nottrust her voice just then; but the sound hadgrown louder while she listened and nowit seemed flung back by the rise. Then, shelost it altogether as Hetty shook the reinsand the sleigh went on again. In a fewminutes, however, there was an answer to

the thud of hoofs, and another softdrumming that came quivering through itsank and swelled again. By and by a clear,musical jingling broke in, and at last,when a moving object swung round a bendof the rise, a voice that rang harsh andcommanding reached them.

“Pull right up there, and wait until we seewho you are,” it said.

“Larry!” cried Hetty; and the second timeher strained voice broke and died away.“Larry!”

It was less than a minute later when asleigh stopped close in front of them, and,leaving one man in it, Grant sprang stifflydown. It took Hetty a minute or two moreto make her warning plain, and MissSchuyler found it necessary to put in a

word of amplification occasionally. Then,Grant signed to the other man.

“Will you drive Miss Schuyler slowly inthe direction she was going,Breckenridge?” he said. “Hetty, I want totalk to you, and can’t keep you here.”

Hetty was too cold to reflect, and, almostbefore she knew how he hadaccomplished it, found herself in Grant’ssleigh and the man piling the robes abouther. When he wheeled the horses she wasonly conscious that he was very close toher and that Breckenridge and MissSchuyler were driving slowly a littledistance in front of them. Then, glancingup, as though under compulsion, she sawthat Grant was looking down upon her.

“It is not what I meant to tell you, but

doesn’t this remind you of old times,Hetty?” he said.

“I don’t want to remember them—andwhat have they to do with what concernsus now?” said the girl.

There was a new note in the man’s voicethat was almost exultant in its quietness.“A good deal, I think. Hetty, if you hadn’tdriven so often beside me here, would youhave done what you have to-night?”

“No,” said the girl tremulously.

“No,” Grant said. “You have done a rashas well as a very generous thing.”

“It was rash; but what could I do? Wewere, as you remind me, good friendsonce.”

“Yes,” he said. “I can’t thank you, Hetty—thanks of any kind wouldn’t be adequate—and there is nothing else I can offer toshow my gratitude, because all I had wasyours already. You have known that a longwhile, haven’t you?”

The girl looked away from him. “I was notgood enough to understand its value atfirst, and when I did I tried to make youtake it back.”

“I couldn’t,” he said gently. “It wasperhaps worth very little; but it was all Ihad, and—since that day by the river—Inever asked for anything in return. It wasvery hard not to now and then, but I sawthat you had only kindness to spare forme.”

“Then why do you talk of it again?”

“I think,” said Grant very quietly, “it isdifferent now. After to-night nothing canbe quite the same again. Hetty, dear, if youhad missed me and I had ridden on to thebridge——”

“Stop!” said the girl with a shiver. “I darenot think of it. Larry, can’t you see that justnow you must not talk in that strain tome?”

“But there is a difference?” and Grantlooked at her steadily.

For a moment the girl returned his gaze,her face showing very white in the faintlight flung up by the snow; but she sat verystraight and still, and the man’s passionsuddenly fell from him.

“Yes,” she said softly, “there is. I was

only sure of it when I fancied I had missedyou a few minutes ago; but that can’t affectus, Larry. We can neither of us go back onthose we belong to, and I know how meanI was when I tried to tempt you. You werestaunch, and if I were less so, you wouldnot respect me.”

Grant sighed. “You still believe yourfather right?”

“Yes,” said Hetty. “I must hope so; and ifhe is wrong, I still belong to him.”

“But you can believe that I am right, too?”

“Yes,” said Hetty simply. “I am, at least,certain you think you are. Still, it may be along and bitter while before we see thistrouble through. I have done too much to-night—that is, had it been for anyone but

you—and you will not make my duty toohard for me.”

Larry’s pulses were throbbing furiously;but he had many times already checked thepassionate outbreak that he knew wouldhave banished any passing tenderness thegirl had for him.

“No, my dear,” he said. “But the troublecan’t last for ever, and when it is over youwill come to me? I have been waiting—even when I felt it was hopeless—yearafter year for you.”

Hetty smiled gravely. “Whether I shallever be able to do that, Larry, neither younor I can tell; but at least I shall neverlisten to anyone else. That is all I canpromise; and we must go on, each of usdoing what is put before us, and hoping

for the best.”

Larry swept off his fur cap, and, stooping,kissed her on the cheek. “It is the firsttime, Hetty. I will wait patiently for thenext; but I shall see you now and then?”

The girl showed as little sign ofresentment as she did of passion. “If Imeet you; but that must come by chance,”she said. “I want you to think the best ofme, and if the time should come, I know Iwould be proud of you. You have neverdone a mean thing since I knew you, Larry,and that means a good deal now.”

Grant pulled the team up in silence, andcalled to Breckenridge, who checked hishorses and getting down looked straight infront of him as his comrade handed Hettyinto her sleigh. Then they stood still,

saying nothing while the team swept away.

Hetty was also silent, though she drovefuriously, and Flora Schuyler did notconsider it advisable to ask any questions,while the rush of icy wind and rocking ofthe sleigh afforded scanty opportunity forconversation. She was also very cold, andgreatly relieved, when a blink of light roseout of the snow. Five minutes latersomebody handed her out of the sleigh,and she saw a man glance at the team.

“You have been sending them along. Wasit you or Hetty who drove, MissSchuyler?” he said.

Flora Schuyler laughed. “Hetty, of course;but I want you to remember when wecame in,” she said, mentioning when theyleft Cedar. “I told Mrs. Ashley we would

get here inside an hour, and she wouldn’tbelieve me.”

“If anyone wants to know when you camein, send them to me,” said the man. “Thereare not many horses that could have madeit in the time.”

XVIII

A FUTILE PURSUIT

Hetty’s sleigh was sliding, a dim movingshadow, round a bend in the rise whenBreckenridge touched his comrade, whostood gazing silently across the prairie.

“It’s abominably cold, Larry,” he said,with a shiver. “Hadn’t we better get on?”

Grant said nothing as he took his place onthe driving-seat, and the team had ploddedslowly along the trail for at least fiveminutes before he spoke.

“You heard what Miss Torrance toldme?” he said.

“Yes,” Breckenridge said. “I notice,however, we are still heading for thebridge. Can’t you cross the ice, Larry?”

“If I wanted to I fancy I could.”

“Then why don’t you?”

Grant laughed. “Well,” he said, “there’sonly one trail through the bluff, and it’s notthe kind I’m fond of driving over in thedark.”

Breckenridge twisted in his seat, andlooked at him. “Pshaw!” he said. “Itwould be a good deal less risky thanmeeting the Sheriff at the bridge. You arenot going to do anything senseless,Larry?”

“No; only what seems necessary.”

Breckenridge considered. “Now,” he saidslowly, “I can guess what you’re thinking,and, of course, it’s commendable; but onehas to be reasonable. Is there anything thatcould excite the least suspicion that MissTorrance warned you?”

“There are two or three little facts thatonly need putting together.”

“Still, if we called at Muller’s and drovehome by the other trail it wouldn’tastonish anybody.”

“It would appear a little too much of acoincidence in connection with the factthat Miss Torrance and I were known tobe good friends, and the time she leftCedar. As the cattle-men have evidently

found out, I have crossed the bridge atabout the same time every Wednesday;and two of the cow-boys saw us nearHarper’s.”

“Larry,” said Breckenridge, “if you weremerely one of the rest your intentionswould no doubt become you, but the pointis that every homesteader round here isdependent on you. If you went down, theopposition to the cattle-men wouldcollapse, or there would be generalanarchy, and that is precisely whyTorrance and the Sheriff are anxious to gettheir hands on you. Now, doesn’t it strikeyou that it’s your plain duty to keep clearof any unnecessary peril?”

Grant shook his head. “No,” he said. “Itseems to me that argument has quite

frequently accounted for a good deal ofmeanness. It is tolerably presumptuous forany man to consider himselfindispensable.”

“Well,” said Breckenridge, dividedbetween anger and approval, “I havefound out already that it’s seldom any usetrying to convince you, but each time youmade this round I’ve driven with you, andit’s quite obvious that if one of us crossedthe bridge it would suit the purpose. Now,I don’t think the Sheriff could rake up verymuch against me.”

Grant laid his hand on the lad’s shoulder.“I’m going to cross the bridge, but I don’tpurpose that either of us should fall intothe Sheriff’s clutches,” he said. “You sawwhat Jardine’s glass had gone down to?”

Breckenridge nodded. “It dropped likethat before the last blizzard we had.”

Grant turned and looked about him, andBreckenridge shivered as he followed hisgaze. They had driven out from behind therise now and a bitter wind met them in theface. There was not very much of it as yet,but all feeling seemed to die out of thelad’s cheeks under it, and it brought alittle doleful moaning out of the darkness.Behind them stars shone frostily in the softindigo, but elsewhere a deepeningobscurity was creeping up across theprairie, and sky and snow were blurredand merged one into the other.

“There’s one meaning to that,” said Grant.“We’ll have snow in an hour or two, andwhen it comes it’s going to be difficult to

see anything. In the meanwhile, we’lldrive round by Busby’s and get our supperwhile the cow-boys cool. The man whohangs around a couple of hours doingnothing in a frost of this kind is not to berelied upon when he’s wanted in a hurry.”

He flicked the horses, and in half an hourthe pair were sitting in a lonely log-housebeside a glowing stove while its ownerprepared a meal. Two other men withbronzed faces sat close by, andBreckenridge fancied he had never seenhis comrade so cheerful. His caresseemed to have fallen from him, his laughhad a pleasant ring, and there wassomething in his eyes which had not beenthere for many weary months.Breckenridge wondered whether it could

be due to anything Miss Torrance had saidto him, but kept his thoughts to himself, forthat was a subject upon which one couldnot ask questions.

In the meanwhile, Clavering and theSheriff found the time pass much lesspleasantly—on the bluff. The wind thatwhistled through it grew colder as one byone the stars faded out, and there was amournful wailing amidst the trees. Nowand then, a shower of twigs came rattlingdown from branches dried to brittlenessby the frost, and the Sheriff brushed themoff disgustedly, as, huddling lower in thesleigh from which the horses had beentaken out, he packed the robes round him.He had lived softly, and it would havesuited him considerably better to have

spent that bitter evening in the warmth andsecurity of Clavering’s ranch.

“No sign of him yet?” he said, whenChristopher Allonby and Clavering cameup together. “Larry will stay at home to-night. He has considerably more sensethan we seem to have.”

“I have seen nothing,” said Allonby, who,in the hope of restoring his circulation,had walked up the trail. “Still, the night isgetting thicker, and nobody could make asleigh out until it drove right up to him.”

“If Larry did come, you could hear him,”said the Sheriff.

Allonby lifted his hand, and, as if tosupply the answer, with a great thrashingof frost-nipped twigs the birches roared

about them. The blast that lashed themalso hurled the icy dust of snow into theSheriff’s face.

“I don’t know,” said the lad. “Nobodycould hear very much through that.”

“Ugh!” said the Sheriff. “We will have ablizzard on us before long, andGovernment pay doesn’t warrant onetaking chances of that kind. Aren’t weplaying a fool’s game, Clavering?”

Clavering laughed somewhat unpleasantly.“There are other emoluments attached toyour office which should cover a littleinconvenience,” he said. “Now, I fancy Iknow Larry Grant better than the rest ofyou, and it would take quite a large-sizedblizzard to keep him at home when he hadanything to do. Once you put him out of the

way it will make things a good deal morepleasant for everybody. Larry is the oneman with any brains the homesteadershave in this part of the country, and whilethey would make no show without him, wecan expect nothing but trouble while he’sat liberty. It seems to me that warrants ourputting up with a little unpleasantness.”

“Quite improving!” said Allonby, whowas not in the best of temper just then.“One could almost wonder if you had anypersonal grudge against the man,Clavering. You are so astonishinglydisinterested when you talk of him. Now,if I didn’t like a man I’d make anopportunity of telling him.”

Clavering laughed. “You’re young, Chris,or you wouldn’t worry about folks’

motives when their efforts suit you. Whatare the men doing?”

“Freezing, and grumbling!” said Allonby.“They’ve made up their minds to get Larrythis time or we wouldn’t have kept themhere. It’s the horses I’m anxious about.They seem to know what is coming, andthey’re going to give us trouble.”

“A fool’s game!” repeated the Sheriff,with a shiver. “Got any of those cigarswith you, Clavering? If I’m to stay here, Ihave to smoke.”

Clavering threw him the case and turnedaway with Allonby. They went downthrough the bluff together and stood a fewmoments looking up the trail. It leddownwards towards them, a streak offaintly shining whiteness, through the

gloom of the trees, and the wind that setthe branches thrashing whirled powderysnow into their faces, though whether thiscame down from the heavens or wasuplifted from the frozen soil they did notknow. With eyes dimmed and tinglingcheeks, they moved back again amidst thebirches; but even there it was bitterlycold, and Allonby was glad to turn hisface from the wind a moment as theystopped to glance at the tethered horses.They were stamping impatiently, while theman on watch, who would have patted oneof them, sprang backwards when the beastlashed out at him.

“If Larry doesn’t come soon, I guesswe’re going to find it hard to keep themhere,” he said. “They’re ’most pulling the

branches they’re hitched to off the trees.”

Allonby nodded. “Larry would beflattered if he knew the trouble you and Iwere taking over him, Clavering,” he said.“It’s also the first time I’ve seen youworry much about this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Citizen’s duty! I think that’s the way youput it?”

Clavering laughed. “If you want to beunpleasant, Chris, can’t you try a differentline? That one’s played out. It’s too coldto quarrel.”

“I don’t feel pleasant,” said Allonby. “Infact, I don’t like this thing, any way.Before Larry got stuck with his notions hewas a friend of mine.”

“If the boys don’t get too cold to shoot it’squite likely he will be nobody’s friend to-morrow,” said Clavering cruelly. “We’llgo round and look at them.”

They went back into the trail once more,and the icy gusts struck through them asthey plodded up it; but they found no mankeeping watch beside it, as there shouldhave been. The cow-boys had drawn backfor shelter among the trees, and Clavering,who found them stamping and shivering,had some difficulty in getting them to theirposts again. They had been there twohours, and the cold was almostinsupportable.

“I guess it’s no use,” said Allonby. “Assoon as we have gone on every boy willbe back behind his tree, and I don’t know

that anybody could blame them. Any wayI’m ’most too cold for talking.”

They went back together, and, while thecow-boys, who did as Allonby hadpredicted, slowly froze among the trees,rolled themselves in the sleigh-robes andhuddled together. It was blowing stronglynow, and a numbing drowsiness had to begrappled with as the warmth died out ofthem. At last when a few feathery flakescame floating down, the Sheriff shookhimself with a sleepy groan.

“There is not a man living who could keepme here more than another quarter of anhour,” he said. “Are the boys on the look-out by the trail, Allonby?”

“They were,” said the lad drowsily. “Idon’t know if they’re there now, and it

isn’t likely. Clavering can go and makesure if he likes to, but if anyone wants meto get up, he will have to lift me.”

Neither Clavering nor the Sheriffappeared disposed to move, and it wasevident that both had abandoned all hopeof seeing Larry Grant that night. Tenminutes that seemed interminable passed,and the white flakes that whirled aboutthem grew thicker between the gusts andcame down in a bewildering rush. TheSheriff shook the furs off him and stood upwith a groan.

“Tell them to bring the horses. I have hadquite enough,” he said.

Allonby staggered to his feet, and reeledinto the wood. There was a hoarseshouting, and a trampling of hoofs that was

drowned in a roar of wind, and when thatslackened a moment a faint cry went up.

“Hallo!” said the Sheriff; “he’s coming.”

Then, nobody quite remembered what hedid. Here and there a man struggled with aplunging horse in the darkness of thewood, and one or two blundered into eachother and fell against the trunks as they ranon foot. They were dazed with cold, andthe snow, that seemed to cut their cheeks,was in their eyes.

Allonby, however, saw that Claveringwas mounted, and the horse he rodeapparently going round and round withhim, while by and by he found himself inthe saddle. He was leaning low over thehorse’s neck, with one moccasined foot inthe stirrup and the other hanging loose,

while the branches lashed at him, whensomething dark and shapeless came flyingdown the trail.

He heard a hoarse shout and a rifleflashed, but the wind drowned the soundand before he was in the trail the sleigh,which was what he supposed the thing tobe, had flashed by. One cannot handily fitspurs to moccasins, and, as his handswere almost useless, it was some timebefore he induced the horse, whichdesired to go home uphill, to take theopposite direction. Then, he was off at agallop, with a man whom he supposed tobe Clavering in front of him, and theSheriff, who seemed to be shoutinginstructions, at his side. Allonby did notthink that anybody heard them, but that

was of no great moment to him then, forthe trail was narrow and slippery here andthere, and he was chiefly concerned withthe necessity of keeping clear of hiscompanion. He could not see the sleighnow and scarcely fancied that anybodyelse did, but he could hear the beat ofhoofs in front of him when the wind sank atrifle, and rode on furiously down-hill at agallop. The horse had apparently yieldedto its terror of the storm, and Allonby hadmore than a suspicion that, had he wantedto, he could neither have turned it norpulled it up.

Clavering still held in front of him, but theSheriff was dropping back a little, and thelad did not know whether any of the restwere following. He was, however, certain

that, barring a fall, a mounted man couldovertake a sleigh, and that the up gradebeyond the bridge would tell on the beaststhat dragged a weight behind them. Sowhile the snow whirled past him and thedim trees flashed by, he urged on the beastuntil he heard the bridge rattle under himand felt the pace slacken—the trail hadbegun to lead steeply up out of the hollow.

The horse was flagging a little by the timethey reached the crest of the rise, and for afew moments Allonby saw nothing at all.The roar of the trees deafened him, and thewind drove the snow into his eyes. Then,as he gasped and shook it from him whenthe gust had passed, he dimly made outsomething that moved amidst the whitehaze and guessed that it was Clavering. If

that were so, he felt it was more thanlikely that the sleigh was close in front ofhim. A few minutes later he had come upwith the man whose greater weight wastelling, and while they rode stirrup tostirrup and neck by neck, Allonby fanciedthere was something dim and shadowy infront of them.

Clavering shouted as he dropped behind,and Allonby who failed to catch what hesaid was alone, blinking at the filmywhiteness, through which he had blurredglimpses of the object ahead, nowgrowing more distinct. He could also,when the wind allowed it, hear the dullbeat of hoofs. How long it took him toovertake it he could never remember; butat last the sleigh was very close to him,

and he shouted. There was no answer; butAllonby, who could scarcely hear his ownvoice, did not consider this astonishing,and tried again. Still no answer cameback, and, coming up with the sleigh atevery stride, he dragged the butt of hissling rifle round and fumbled at the strapwith a numbed and almost useless hand.

He could see the back of the sleigh, butnothing else, and lurching perilously in thesaddle he got the rifle in his hand; but,cold and stiffened as he was, he dared notloose his grasp on the bridle, and so, withthe butt at his hip, he raced up level withthe sleigh. Then, the horse, perhaps edgedoff the beaten trail into the snow outsideit, blundered in its stride, and the rifle,that fell as the lad swayed, was left

behind. He had both hands on the bridlethe next moment, and leaning downsideways fancied there was nobody in thesleigh. It took him a second or two tomake quite sure of it, and at least a minutemore before he brought the horse to astandstill in the trail. By that time thesleigh had swept on into the slidingwhiteness. Wheeling his horse, Claveringrode out of the snow and pulled up inevident astonishment.

“Have you let him get away?” he gasped.

“He wasn’t there,” said Allonby.

“Not there! I saw him and another manwhen they drove past us in the bluff.”

“Well,” said Allonby, “I’m quite certainthere’s nobody in that sleigh now.”

The wind that roared about them cut shortthe colloquy, and a minute or two laterAllonby became sensible that Claveringwas speaking again.

“Larry and the other man must havedropped into the soft snow when the teamslowed up on the up grade, knowing thehorses would go on until they reachedtheir stable,” he said. “Well, they’ll beaway through the bluff now, and a brigadeof cavalry would scarcely find them onsuch a night. In fact, we will have to trustthe beasts to take us home.”

Just then the Sheriff, with one or two cow-boys, rode up, and Allonby, who did notlike the man, laughed as he signed him tostop.

“You can go back and get your driving

horses in. We have been chasing a sleighwith no one in it,” he said. “Larry hasbeaten us again!”

XIX

TORRANCE ASKS AQUESTION

There was but one lamp lighted in the hallat Cedar Range, and that was turned low,but there was light enough to satisfyClavering, who stood beneath it withHetty’s maid close beside him and a littlered leather case in his hand. The girl’seyes were eager, but they were fixed uponthe case and not the man, who had seen thekeenness in them and was not displeased.Clavering had met other women in whom

cupidity was at least as strong as vanity.

“Now I wonder if you can guess what isinside there, and who it is for,” he said.

The maid drew a trifle nearer, stoopingslightly over the man’s hand, and sheprobably knew that the trace of shyness,which was not all assumed, became her.She was also distinctly conscious that thepose she fell into displayed effectively aprettily rounded figure.

“Something for Miss Torrance?” she said.

Clavering’s laugh was, as his companionnoticed, not quite spontaneous. “No,” hesaid. “I guess you know as well as I dothat Miss Torrance would not takeanything of this kind from me. She hasplenty of them already.”

The maid knew this was a fact, for she hadoccasionally spent a delightful half-houradorning herself with Hetty’s jewellery.

“Well,” she said, with a little tremor ofanticipation in her voice, “what is insideit?”

Clavering laid the case in her hand. “It isyours,” he said. “Just press that spring.”

It was done, and she gasped as a gleam ofgold and a coloured gleam met her eyes.“My!” she said. “They’re real—and it’sfor me?”

Clavering smiled a little, and taking herfingers lightly closed them on the case.

“Of course,” he said. “Well, you’repleased with it?”

The sparkle in the girl’s eyes and the littleflush in her face was plain enough, but theman’s soft laugh was perfectly genuine. Itwas scarcely a gift he had made her; butwhile he expected that the outlay upon thetrinket would be repaid him, he could begenerous when it suited him, and wasquite aware that a less costly lure wouldhave served his purpose equally. He alsoknew when it was advisable to offersomething more tasteful than the obtrusivedollar.

“Oh,” said the girl, “it’s just lovely!”

Clavering, who had discretion, did notlook round, but, though he kept his darkeyes on his companion’s face, he listenedcarefully. He could hear the wind outside,and the crackle of the stove, but nothing

else, and knew that the footsteps of anyoneapproaching would ring tolerablydistinctly down the corridor behind thehall. He also remembered that the bigdoor nearest them was shut.

“Well,” he said, “it wouldn’t do to putanything that wasn’t pretty on a neck likethat, and I wonder if you would let me fixit.”

The girl made no protest; but though shesaw the admiration in the man’s dark eyesas she covertly looked up, it would havepleased her better had he been a triflemore clumsy. His words and glances wereusually bold enough, but, as he clasped thelittle brooch on, his fingers were almostirritatingly deft and steady. Men, sheknew, did not make fools of themselves

from a purely artistic appreciation offeminine comeliness.

“Now,” she said, slipping away from himwith a blush, “I wonder what you expectfor this.”

Clavering’s eyebrows went up and therewas a faint assumption of haughtiness inhis face, which became it.

“Only the pleasure of seeing it where it is.It’s a gift,” he said.

“Well,” said the girl, “that was very kindof you; but you’re quite sure you nevergave Miss Torrance anything of thiskind?”

“No. I think I told you so.”

The maid was not convinced. “But,” she

said, looking at him sideways, “I thoughtyou did. She has a little gold chain, verythin, and not like the things they make now—and just lately she is always wearingit.”

“I never saw it.”

The girl smiled significantly. “I guessthat’s not astonishing. She wears it lowdown on her neck—and the curious thingis that it lay by and she never looked at itfor ever so long.”

Clavering felt that the dollars the trinkethad cost him had not been wasted; butthough he concealed his disgust tolerablywell, the maid noticed it. She had,however, vague ambitions, and a scarcelywarranted conviction that, given a fairfield, she could prove herself a match for

her mistress.

“Then, if it wasn’t you, it must have beenthe other man,” she said.

“The other man?”

“Yes,” with a laugh. “The one I took thewallet with the dollars to.”

Clavering hoped he had not betrayed hisastonishment; but she had seen themomentary flash in his eyes and theinvoluntary closing of his hand.

“Now,” he said firmly, “that can’t be quitestraight, and one should be very carefulabout saying that kind of thing.”

The girl looked at him steadily. “Still, Itook a wallet with dollar bills in it to Mr.Grant—at night. I met him on the bluff, and

Miss Torrance sent them him.”

It was possible that Clavering would haveheard more had he followed the line ofconduct he had adopted at first; but hestood thoughtfully silent instead, whichdid not by any means please hiscompanion as well. He had a vague notionthat this was a mistake; but the anger hedid not show was too strong for him.Then, he fancied he heard a footstep on thestairway, and laughed in a somewhatstrained fashion.

“Well, we needn’t worry about that; and Iguess if I stay here any longer, Mr.Torrance will be wondering where I havegone,” he said.

He went out by one door, and a fewmoments later Miss Schuyler came in by

another. She swept a hasty glance roundthe hall, most of which was in the shadow,and her eyes caught the faint sparkle at themaid’s neck. The next moment the girlmoved back out of the light; but MissSchuyler saw her hand go up, and fanciedthere was something in it when it camedown again. She had also heard a man’sfootstep, and could put two and twotogether.

“Miss Torrance wants the silk. It washere, but I don’t see it,” she said. “Whowent out a moment or two ago?”

The girl opened a bureau. “Mr. Clavering.He left his cigar-case when he first camein.”

She took out a piece of folded silk, andMiss Schuyler noticed the fashion in

which she held it.

“It is the lighter shade we want; but theother piece is very like it. Unroll it so Ican see it,” she said.

The maid seemed to find this somewhatdifficult; but Miss Schuyler had seen astrip of red leather between the fingers ofone hand, and understanding why it wasso, went out thoughtfully. She knew theappearance of a jewel-case tolerablywell, and had more than a suspicion as towhom the girl had obtained it from. MissSchuyler, who would not have believedClavering’s assertion about the trinket hadshe heard it, wondered what he expectedin exchange for it, which perhapsaccounted for the fact that she contrived toovertake him in the corridor at the head of

the stairs.

“When you left Hetty and me alone weunderstood it was because Mr. Torrancewas waiting for you,” she said.

“Yes,” said Clavering, smiling. “It isscarcely necessary to explain that if hehadn’t been I would not have gone. Ifancied he was in the hall.”

Flora Schuyler nodded as though shebelieved him, but she determined to leaveno room for doubt. “He is in his office,”she said. “Have you the deerskin cigar-case you showed us with you? You willremember I was interested in the Indianembroidery.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t,” said Clavering.“Torrance’s cigars are better than mine,

so I usually leave mine at home. But I’llbring the case next time, and if you wouldlike to copy it, I could get you a piece ofthe dressed hide from one of theBlackfeet.”

He turned away, and Flora Schuylerdecided not to tell Hetty what she hadheard—Hetty was a little impulsiveoccasionally—but it seemed to MissSchuyler that it would be wise to watchher maid and Clavering closely.

In the meantime, the man walked awaytowards Torrance’s office, consideringwhat the maid had told him. He had foundit difficult to credit, but her manner hadconvinced him, and he realized that hecould not afford the delay he had hithertoconsidered advisable. A young woman, he

reflected, would scarcely send a wallet ofdollars at night to a man whose planswere opposed to her father’s without astrong motive, and the fact that Hetty worea chain hidden about her neck had itsmeaning. He had, like most of hisneighbours, laughed at Larry’s hopelessdevotion, but he had seen similar cases inwhich the lady at last relented, and whilehe knew Hetty’s loyalty to her ownpeople, and scarcely thought that she hadmore than a faint, tolerant tenderness forLarry, it appeared eminently desirable toprevent anything of that kind happening.Torrance, who was sitting smoking,glanced at him impatiently when he wentin.

“You have been a long while,” he said.

“I have a sufficient excuse, sir,” saidClavering.

“Well,” said Torrance drily, “they arequite clever girls, but I have found myselfwishing lately they were a long way fromhere. That, however, is not what I want totalk about. Apparently none of us can gethold of Larry.”

“It is not for the want of effort. There arefew things that would please me better.”

Torrance glanced at Clavering sharply.“No. I fancied once or twice you had ascore of your own against him. In fact, Iheard Allonby say something of the samekind, too.”

“Chris is a trifle officious,” saidClavering. “Any way, it’s quite evident

that we shall scarcely hold the homestead-boys back until we get our thumb onLarry.”

“How are we going to do it? He has comeout ahead of us so far.”

“We took the wrong way,” said Clavering.“Now, Larry, as you know, puts all hisdealings through the Tillotson Company.Tillotson, as I found out in Chicago, has afree hand to buy stocks or produce withhis balances, and Larry, who does notseem to bank his dollars, draws on him.It’s not an unusual thing. Well, I’ve beenwriting to folks in Chicago, and they tellme Tillotson is in quite a tight place sincethe upward move in lard. It appears he hasbeen selling right along for a fall.”

Torrance looked thoughtful. “Tillotson is

a straight man, but I’ve had a notion he hasbeen financing some of the homestead-boys. He handles all Larry’s dollars?”

Clavering nodded. “He put them into lard.Now, the Brand Company hold Tillotson’sbiggest contract, and if it suited them theycould break him. I don’t think they wantto. Tillotson is a kind of useful man tothem.”

Torrance brought his fist down on thetable. “Well,” he said grimly, “we have astronger pull than Tillotson. Most of thebusiness in this country goes to them, andif he thought it worth while, Brand wouldsell all his relations up to-morrow. I’ll goright through to Chicago and fix the thing.”

Clavering smiled. “If you can manage it,you will cut off Larry’s supplies.”

“Then,” said Torrance, “I’ll start to-morrow. Still, I don’t want to leave thegirls here, and it would suit me if youcould drive them over to Allonby’s. Idon’t mind admitting that they have givenme a good deal of anxiety, though they’vemade things pleasant, too, and I’ve ’mostgot afraid of wondering what Cedar willfeel like when they go away.”

“Will Miss Torrance go away?”

“She will,” said Torrance, with a littlesigh, though there was pride in his eyes,“when the trouble’s over—but not before.She came home to see the old manthrough.”

Clavering seized the opportunity. “Didyou ever contemplate the possibility ofMiss Torrance marrying anybody here?”

“I have a notion that there’s nobody goodenough,” Torrance said quickly.

Clavering nodded, though he felt the oldman’s eyes upon him, and did not relishthe implication. “Still, I fancy the samedifficulty would be met with anywhereelse, and that encourages me to ask if youwould have any insuperable objections tomyself?”

Torrance looked at him steadily. “I havebeen expecting this. Once I thought it wasMiss Schuyler; but she does not like you.”

“I am sorry,” and Clavering wonderedwhether his host was right, “though, thelatter fact is not of any great moment. Ihave long had a sincere respect for MissTorrance, but I am afraid it would bedifficult to tell you all I think of her.”

“The point,” said Torrance, somewhatgrimly, “is what she thinks of you.”

“I don’t know. It did not seem quite fittingto ask her until I had spoken to you.”

Torrance said nothing for almost a minute,and to Clavering the silence becamealmost intolerable. The old man’sforehead was wrinkled and he stared atthe wall in front of him with vacant eyes.Then, he spoke very slowly.

“That was the square thing, and I have tothank you. For twenty years now I haveworked and saved for Hetty—that shemight have the things her mother longedfor and never got. And I’ve never beensorry—the girl is good all through. It isnatural that she should marry; and even sofar as the dollars go, she will bring as

much to her husband as he can give her,and if it’s needful more; but there are oneor two points about you I don’t quite like.”

The old man’s voice vibrated and his facegrew softer and the respect that Claveringshowed when he answered was not allassumed.

“I know my own unworthiness, sir, but Ithink any passing follies I may haveindulged in are well behind me now.”

“Well,” said Torrance drily, “it’s quitehard to shake some tastes and habits off,and one or two of them have a trick ofhanging on to the man who thinks he hasdone with them. Now, I want a straightanswer. Do you know any special reasonwhy it would not be the square thing foryou to marry my daughter?”

A faint colour crept into Clavering’s face.“I know a good many which would makethe bargain unfair to her,” he said, “butthere are very few men in this country whowould be good enough for her.”

Torrance checked him with a lifted hand.“That is not what I mean. It is fortunate formost of us that women of her kind believethe best of us and can forgive a good deal.I am not speaking generally: do you knowany special reason—one that may maketrouble for both of you? It’s a plainquestion, and you understand it. If you do,we’ll go into the thing right now, and then,if it can be got over, never mention itagain.”

Clavering sat silent, knowing well thatdelay might be fatal, and yet held still by

something he had heard in the old man’svoice and seen in his eyes. However, hehad succeeded in signally defeating oneblackmailer.

“Sir,” he said, very slowly, “I know of noreason now.”

Torrance had not moved his eyes fromhim. “Then,” he said, “I can only take yourword. You are one of us and understandthe little things that please girls like Hetty.If she will take you, you can count on mygood will.”

Clavering made a little gesture of thanks.“I ask nothing more, and may wait before Iurge my suit; but it seems only fair to tellyou that my ranching has not been veryprofitable lately and my affairs——”

Torrance cut him short. “In these things itis the man that counts the most, and not thedollars. You will not have to worry overthat point, now you have told me I cantrust Hetty to you.”

He said a little more on the same subject,and then Clavering went out withunpleasantly confused sensations throughwhich a feeling of degradation cameuppermost. He had not led an exemplarylife, but pride had kept him clear ofcertain offences, and he had as yet held hisword sacred when put upon his honour. Itwas some minutes before he ventured tojoin Hetty and Miss Schuyler, who heknew by the sound of the piano were in thehall.

Hetty sat with her fingers on the keyboard,

the soft light of the lamps in the sconcesshining upon her—very pretty, verydainty, an unusual softness in the eyes. Sheturned towards Clavering.

“You went in to get it”—touching themusic—“just because you heard me say Iwould like those songs. A four days’ ride,and a blizzard raging on one of them!” shesaid.

Clavering looked at her gravely withsomething in his eyes that puzzled MissSchuyler, who had expected a wittilygraceful speech.

“You are pleased with them?” he said.

“Yes,” said the girl impulsively. “But Ifeel horribly mean because I sent you,although, of course, I didn’t mean to. It

was very kind of you, but you must not doanything of that kind again.”

Clavering, who did not appear quitehimself, watched her turn over the musicin silence, for though the last words werespoken quietly, there was, he and MissSchuyler fancied, a definite purposebehind them.

“Then, you will sing one of them?” hesaid.

Hetty touched the keys—there was adifference in her when she sang, for musicwas her passion, and as the clear voicethrilled the two who listened, a flush ofexaltation, that was almost spiritual, creptinto her face. Clavering set his lips, andwhen the last notes sank into the stillnessMiss Schuyler wondered what had

brought the faint dampness to his forehead.She did not know that all that was good inhim had revolted against what he haddone, and meant to do, just then, and hadalmost gained the mastery. Unfortunately,instead of letting Hetty sing again and fixClavering’s half-formed resolution, sheallowed her distrust of him to findexpression; for capable young womanthough she was, Flora Schuyler sometimesblundered.

“The song was worth the effort,” she said.“Mr. Clavering is, however, evidentlywilling to do a good deal to give folkspleasure.”

Clavering glanced at her with a littlesmile. “Folks? That means more thanone.”

“Yes; it generally means at least two.”

Hetty laughed as she looked round. “Isthere anybody else he has been givingmusic to?”

“I fancy the question is unnecessary,”Flora said. “He told us he came straighthere, and there is nobody but you and I atCedar he would be likely to bring anythingto.”

“Of course not! Well, I never worry overyour oracular observations. Theygenerally mean nothing when youunderstand them,” said Hetty.

Flora Schuyler smiled maliciously atClavering. She did not know that when agood deed hung in the balance she had, byrousing his intolerance of opposition, just

tipped the beam.

XX

HETTY’S OBSTINACY

It was very cold, the red sun hung lowabove the prairie’s western rim, andClavering, who sat behind Hetty and MissSchuyler in the lurching sleigh, glancedover his shoulder anxiously.

“Hadn’t you better pull up and let me havethe reins, Miss Torrance?” he said.

Hetty laughed. “Why?” she asked, “Ihaven’t seen the horse I could not drive.”

“Well,” said Clavering drily, “this is the

first time you have either seen or tried todrive Badger, and I not infrequently getout and lead the team down the slope infront of you when I cross the creek. It hasa very awkward bend in it.”

Hetty looked about her, and, as ithappened, the glare of sunlight flung backfrom the snow was in her eyes. Still, shecould dimly see the trail dip over whatseemed to be the edge of a gully closeahead, and she knew the descent to thecreek in its bottom was a trifle perilous.She was, however, fearless and a trifleobstinate, and Clavering had,unfortunately, already ventured to give herwhat she considered quite unnecessaryinstructions as to the handling of the team.There had also been an indefinite change

in his attitude towards her during the lastweek or two, which the girl, withoutexactly knowing why, resented and thisappeared a fitting opportunity for checkingany further presumption.

“You can get down now if you wish,” shesaid. “We will stop and pick you up whenwe reach the level again.”

Clavering said nothing further, for heknew that Miss Torrance was very likeher father in some respects, and Hettyshook the reins. The next minute they hadswept over the brink, and Flora Schuylersaw the trail dip steeply but slantwise tolessen the gradient to the frozen creek. Thesinking sun was hidden by the high banknow and the snow had faded to a coldblue-whiteness, through which the trail

ran, a faint line of dusky grey. It wasdifficult to distinguish at the pace the teamwere making, and the ground droppedsharply on one side of it.

“Let him have the reins, Hetty,” she said.

Unfortunately Clavering, who was a triflenettled and knew that team, especially thetemper of Badger the near horse betterthan Hetty did, laughed just then.

“Hold fast, Miss Schuyler, and rememberthat if anything does happen, the right-handside is the one to get out from,” he said.

“Now,” said Hetty, “I’m not going toforgive you that. You sit quite still, andwe’ll show him something, Flo.”

She touched the horses with the lash, andBadger flung up his head; another moment

and he and the other beast had broken intoa gallop. Hetty threw herself backwardswith both hands on the reins, but no cryescaped her, and Clavering, who had asuspicion that he could do no more thanshe was doing now, even if he could getover the back of the seat in time, whichwas out of the question, set his lips as hewatched the bank of snow the trail twistedround rush towards them. The sleighbounced beneath him in another second ortwo, there was a stifled scream from FloraSchuyler, and leaning over he tore therobe about the girls from its fastenings.Then, there was a bewildering jolting anda crash, and he was flung out headforemost into dusty snow.

When he scrambled to his feet again Hetty

was sitting in the snow close by him, andFlora Schuyler creeping out of a wreath ofit on her hands and knees. The sleigh layon one side, not far away, with the Badgerrolling and kicking amidst a tangle ofharness, though the other horse was stillupon its feet.

Clavering was pleased to find all hislimbs intact, and almost as gratified to seeonly indignant astonishment in Hetty’sface. She rose before he could help herand in another moment or two FloraSchuyler also stood upright, clinging to hisarm.

“No,” she said, with a little gasp, “I don’tthink I’m killed, though I felt quite sure ofit at first. Now I only feel as though I’dbeen through an earthquake.”

Hetty turned and looked at Clavering, witha little red spot in either cheek. “Whydon’t you say something?” she asked.“Are you waiting for me?”

“I don’t know that anything veryappropriate occurs to me. You know I’mdevoutly thankful you have both escapedinjury,” said the man, who was moreshaken than he cared to admit.

“Then I’ll have to begin,” and Hetty’seyes sparkled. “It was my fault, Mr.Clavering, and, if it is any relief to you, Ifeel most horribly ashamed of myobstinacy. Will that satisfy you?”

Clavering turned his head away, for he feltgreatly inclined to laugh, but he knew theTorrance temper. Hetty had been veryhaughty during that drive, but she had not

appeared especially dignified when shesat blinking about her in the snow, nor hadMiss Schuyler, and he felt that theyrealized it; and in feminine fashion blamedhim for being there. It was Miss Schuylerwho relieved the situation.

“Hadn’t you better do something for thehorse? It is apparently trying to hang itself—and I almost wish it would. It deservesto succeed.”

Clavering could have done very little byhimself, but in another minute Hetty waskneeling on the horse’s head, while, atmore than a little risk from the batteringhoofs, he loosed some of the harness.Then, the Badger was allowed to flounderto his feet, and Clavering proceeded toreadjust his trappings. A buckle had

drawn, however, and a strap had burst.

“No,” said Hetty sharply. “Not that way.Don’t you see you’ve got to lead the tracethrough. It is most unfortunate Larry isn’there.”

Clavering glanced at Miss Schuyler, andboth of them laughed, while Hettyfrowned.

“Well,” she said, “he would have fixedthe thing in half the time, and we can’t stayhere for ever.”

Clavering did what he could; but repairingharness in the open under twenty or thirtydegrees of frost is a difficult task for anyman, especially when he has no tools towork with and cannot remove his mittens,and it was at least twenty minutes before

he somewhat doubtfully announced that allwas ready. He handed Miss Schuyler intothe sleigh, and then passed the reins toHetty, who stood with one foot on thestep, apparently waiting for something.

“I don’t think he will run away again,” hesaid.

The girl glanced at him sharply. “I amvexed with myself. Don’t make me vexedwith you,” she said.

Clavering said nothing, but took the reinsand they slid slowly down into thehollow, and, more slowly still, across thefrozen creek and up the opposite ascent.After awhile Hetty touched his shoulder.

“I really don’t want to meddle; but, whilecaution is commendable, it will be dark

very soon,” she said.

“Something has gone wrong,” Claveringsaid gravely. “I’m afraid I’ll have to getdown.”

He stood for several minutes looking atthe frame of the sleigh and an indentedline ploughed behind it in the snow, andthen quietly commenced to loose thehorses.

“Well,” said Hetty sharply, “what are yougoing to do?”

“Take them out,” said Clavering.

“Why?”

Clavering laughed. “They are notelephants and have been doing rather morethan one could expect any horse to do. It is

really not my fault, you know, but one ofthe runners has broken, and the piecesticks into the snow.”

“Then, whatever are we to do?”

“I am afraid you and Miss Schuyler willhave to ride on to Allonby’s. I can fix thefurs so they’ll make some kind of saddle,and it can’t be more than eight miles orso.”

Miss Schuyler almost screamed. “I can’t,”she said.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Flo,” said Hetty.“You’ll just have to.”

Clavering’s fingers were very cold, andthe girls’ still colder, before he hadsomehow girthed a rug about each of thehorses and ruthlessly cut and knotted the

reins. The extemporized saddles did notlook very secure, but Hetty lightly swungherself into one, though Miss Schuylerfound it difficult to repress a cry, and wasnot sure that she quite succeeded, whenClavering lifted her to the other.

“I’m quite sure I shall fall off,” she said.

Hetty was evidently very much displeasedat something, for she seemed to forgetClavering was there. “If you do I’ll neverspeak to you again,” she said. “You mighthave been fond of him, Flo. There wasn’tthe least necessity to put your arm rightaround his neck.”

Clavering wisely stooped to do somethingto one of his moccasins, for he saw anominous sparkle in Miss Schuyler’s eyes,but he looked up prematurely and the

smile was still upon his lips when he metHetty’s gaze.

“How are you going to get anywhere?”she asked.

“Well,” said Clavering, “it is quite a longwhile now since I was able to walkalone.”

Hetty shook her bridle, and the Badgerstarted at a trot; but when Miss Schuylerfollowed, Clavering, who fancied that herprediction would be fulfilled, also set offat a run. He was, however, not quite fastenough, for when he reached her MissSchuyler was sitting in the snow. Sheappeared to be unpleasantly shaken andher lips were quivering. Clavering helpedher to her feet, and then caught the horse.

“The wretched thing turned round and slidme off,” she said, when he came back withit, pointing to the rug.

Clavering tugged at the extemporizedgirth. “I am afraid you can only try again. Idon’t think it will slip now,” he said.

Miss Schuyler, who had evidently lost hernerve, mounted with difficulty and aftertrotting for some minutes pulled up oncemore, and was sitting still looking abouther hopelessly when Clavering rejoinedher.

“I am very sorry, but I really can’t holdon,” she said.

Clavering glanced at the prairie, and Hettylooked at him. Nothing moved upon all theempty plain which was fading to a curious

dusky blue. Darkness crept up across itfrom the east, and a last faint patch oforange was dying out on its western rim,while with the approaching night therecame a stinging cold.

“It might be best if you rode on, MissTorrance, and sent a sleigh back for us,”he said. “Walk your horse, Miss Schuyler,and I’ll keep close beside you. If you fell Icould catch you.”

Hetty’s face was anxious, but she shookher head. “No, it was my fault, and I meanto see it through,” she said. “You couldn’tkeep catching her all the time, you know.I’m not made of eider-down, and she’s agood deal heavier than me. It really is apity you can’t ride, Flo.”

“Nevertheless,” said Miss Schuyler tartly,

“I can’t—without a saddle—and I’m quitethankful I can’t drive.”

Hetty said nothing, and they went on insilence, until when a dusky bluff appearedon the skyline, Clavering, taking thebridle, led Miss Schuyler’s horse into aforking trail.

“This is not the way to Allonby’s,” saidHetty.

“No,” said Clavering quietly. “I’m afraidyou would be frozen before you got there.The homestead-boys who chop their fuelin the bluff have, however, some kind ofshelter, and I’ll make you a big fire.”

“But——” said Hetty.

Clavering checked her with a gesture.“Please let me fix this thing for you,” he

said. “It is getting horribly cold already.”

They went on a trifle faster withoutanother word, and presently, with crackleof dry twigs beneath them, plodded intothe bush. Dim trees flitted by them,branches brushed them as they passed, andthe stillness and shadowiness affectedMiss Schuyler uncomfortably. She startedwith a cry when there was a sharp patteramidst the dusty snow; but Clavering’shand was on the bridle as the horse,snorting, flung up its head.

“I think it was only a jack-rabbit; and Ican see the shelter now,” he said.

A few moments later he helped MissSchuyler down, and held out his hand toHetty, who sprang stiffly to the ground.Then, with numbed fingers, he broke off

and struck a sulphur match, and the feebleflame showed the refuge to which he hadbrought them. It was just high enough tostand in, and had three sides and a roof ofbirch logs, but the front was open and thesoil inside it frozen hard as adamant. Anaxe and a saw stood in a corner, and therewas a hearth heaped ready with kindlingchips.

“If you will wait here I’ll try to get somewood,” he said.

He went out and tethered the horses, andwhen his footsteps died away, MissSchuyler shivering crept closer to Hetty,who flung an arm about her.

“It’s awful, Flo—and it’s my fault,” shesaid. Then she sighed. “It would all be sodifferent if Larry was only here.”

“Still,” said Flora Schuyler, “Mr.Clavering has really behaved very well;most men would have shown just a littletemper.”

“I almost wish he had—it would havebeen so much easier for me to have keptmine and overlooked it graciously. Flo, Ididn’t mean to be disagreeable, but it’squite hard to be pleasant when one is inthe wrong.”

It was some time before Clavering cameback with an armful of birch branches, anda suspiciously reddened gash in one of hismoccasins—for an axe ground as theMichigan man grinds it is a dangerous toolfor anyone not trained to it to handle in thedark. In ten minutes he had a great fireblazing, and the shivering girls felt their

spirits revive a little under the cheerfullight and warmth. Then, he made a seat ofthe branches close in to the hearth andglanced at them anxiously.

“If you keep throwing wood on, and sitthere with the furs wrapped round you,you will be able to keep the cold out untilI come back,” he said.

“Until you come back!” said Hetty,checking a little cry of dismay. “Whereare you going?”

“To bring a sleigh.”

“But Allonby’s is nearly eight miles away.You could not leave us here three hours.”

“No,” said Clavering gravely. “Youwould be very cold by then. Still, youneed not be anxious. Nothing can hurt you

here; and I will come, or send somebodyfor you, before long.”

Hetty sat very still while he drew on thefur mittens he had removed to make thefire. Then, she rose suddenly.

“No,” she said. “It was my fault—and wecannot let you go.”

Clavering smiled. “I am afraid yourwishes wouldn’t go quite as far in thiscase as they generally do with me. Youand Miss Schuyler can’t stay here until Icould get a sleigh from Allonby’s.”

He turned as he spoke, and was almost outof the shanty before Hetty, steppingforward, laid her hand upon his arm.

“Now I know,” she said. “It is less thanthree miles to Muller’s, but the

homestead-boys would make you aprisoner if you went there. Can’t you seethat would be horrible for Flo and me? Itwas my wilfulness that made the trouble.”

Clavering very gently shook off her grasp,and Miss Schuyler almost admired him ashe stood looking down upon hercompanion with the flickering firelight onhis face. It was a striking face, and thesmile in the dark eyes became it.Clavering had shaken off his furs, and theclose-fitting jacket of dressed deerskindisplayed his lean symmetry, for he hadswung round in the entrance to the shantyand the shadows were black behind him.

“I think the fault was mine. I should nothave been afraid of displeasing you,which is what encourages me to be

obstinate now,” he said. “One shouldnever make wild guesses, should they,Miss Schuyler?”

He had gone before Hetty could speakagain, and a few moments later the girlsheard a thud of hoofs as a horse passed ata gallop through the wood. They stoodlooking at each other until the sound diedaway, and only a little doleful wind thatsighed amidst the birches and the snappingof the fire disturbed the silence. Then,Hetty sat down and drew Miss Schuylerdown beside her.

“Flo,” she said, with a little quiver in hervoice, “what is the use of a girl like me? Iseem bound to make trouble foreverybody.”

“It is not an unusual complaint, especially

when one is as pretty as you are,” saidMiss Schuyler. “Though I must confess Idon’t quite understand what you are afraidof, Hetty.”

“No?” said Hetty. “You never do seem tounderstand anything, Flo. If he goes toMuller’s the homestead-boys, who are asfond of him as they are of poison, mightshoot him, and he almost deserves it. No,of course, after what he is doing for us, Idon’t mean that. It is the meanness that isin me makes me look for faults ineverybody. He was almost splendid—andhe has left his furs for us—but he mayn’tcome back at all. Oh, it’s horrible!”

Hetty’s voice grew indistinct, and FloraSchuyler drew the furs closer about them,and slipped an arm round her waist. She

began to feel the cold again, and theloneliness more, while, even when sheclosed her eyes, she could not shut out themenacing darkness in front of her. MissSchuyler was from the cities, and it wasnot her fault that, while she possessedsufficient courage of a kind, she shrankfrom the perils of the wilderness. Shewould have found silence trying, but thevague sounds outside, to which she couldattach no meaning, were more difficult tobear. So she started when a puff of windset the birch twigs rattling or somethingstirred the withered leaves, and once ortwice a creaking branch sent a thrill ofapprehension through her and she almostfancied that evil faces peered at her fromthe square gap of blackness. Now andthen, a wisp of pungent smoke curled up

and filled her eyes, and little by little shedrew nearer to the fire with a physicalcraving for the warmth of it and aninstinctive desire to be surrounded by itsbrightness, until Hetty shook her roughlyby the arm.

“Flo,” she said, “you are making mealmost as silly as you are, and that capote—it’s the prettiest I have seen you put on—is burning. Sit still, or I’ll pinch you—hard.”

Hetty’s grip had a salutary effect, andMiss Schuyler, shaking off her vagueterrors, smiled a trifle tremulously.

“I wish you would,” she said. “Yourfingers are real, any way. I can’t helpbeing foolish, Hetty—and is the thingactually burning?”

Hetty laughed. “I guessed that would rouseyou—but it is,” she said. “I have made mymind up, Flo. If he doesn’t come in anhour or so, we’ll go to Muller’s, too.”

Miss Schuyler was by no means sure thatthis would please her, but she said nothingand once more there was a silence shefound it difficult to bear.

In the meanwhile, Clavering, whose footpained him, was urging the Badger to hisutmost pace. He rode without saddle orstirrups, which, however, was no greathandicap to anyone who had spent the timehe had in the cattle country, and, though itwas numbingly cold and he had left hisfurs behind him, scarcely felt the frost, forhis brain was busy. He knew HettyTorrance, and that what he had done

would count for much with her; but thatwas not what had prompted him to makethe somewhat perilous venture. Free as hewas in his gallantries, he was not withoutthe chivalrous daring of the South hisfathers came from, and Hetty was of hisown caste. She, at least, would have beensure of deference from him, and, perhaps,have had little cause for complaint had hemarried her. Of late the admiration he feltfor her was becoming tinged with agenuine respect.

He knew that the homesteaders, who hadvery little cause to love him, were in asomewhat dangerous mood just then, butthat was of no great moment to him. Hehad a cynical contempt for them, and apride which would have made him feel

degraded had he allowed any fear of whatthey might do to influence him. He hadalso, with less creditable motives, foundhimself in difficult positions once or twicealready, and his quickly arrogantfearlessness had enabled him to retirefrom them without bodily hurt or loss ofdignity.

The lights of Muller’s homestead rose outof the prairie almost before he expected tosee them, and a few minutes later he rodeat a gallop up to the door. It opened beforehe swung himself down, for the beat ofhoofs had carried far, and when he stoodin the entrance, slightly dazed by thewarmth and light, there was a murmur ofwonder.

“Clavering!” said somebody, and a man

he could not clearly see laid a hand on hisshoulder.

He shook the grasp off contemptuously,moved forward a pace or two, and thensat down blinking about him. Muller satby the stove, a big pipe in hand, looking athim over his spectacles. His daughterstood behind him knitting tranquilly,though there was a shade more colour thanusual in her cheeks, and a big, grim-facedman stood at the end of the room with onehand on a rifle that hung on the wall.Clavering instinctively glanced over hisshoulder, and saw that another man nowstood with his back to the door.

“You have come alone?” asked the latter.

“Oh, yes,” said Clavering unconcernedly.“You might put my horse in, one of you. If

I could have helped it, I would not haveworried you, but my sleigh got damagedand Miss Torrance and another lady arefreezing in the Bitter Creek bluff, and Iknow you don’t hurt women.”

“No,” said the man dropping his handfrom the rifle, with a little unpleasantlaugh. “We haven’t got that far yet, thoughyour folks are starving them.”

“Well,” said Clavering, “I’m going to askyou to send a sledge and drive them backto Cedar or on to Allonby’s.”

The men exchanged glances. “It’s a trick,”said one.

“So!” said Muller. “Der ambuscade.Lotta, you ride to Fremont, und Larrybring. I show you how when we have

drubbles mit der franc tireurs we fix derthing.”

Clavering exclaimed impatiently. “Youhave no time for fooling when there aretwo women freezing in the bluff. Would Ihave come here, knowing you could dowhat you liked with me, if I had meant anyharm to you?”

“That’s sense, any way,” said one of themen. “I guess if he was playing any trick,one of us would be quite enough to geteven with him. You’ll take Truscott withyou, Muller, and get out the bob-sled.”

Muller nodded gravely. “I go,” he said.“Lotta, you der big kettle fill before youride for Larry. We der bob-sled getready.”

“You are not going to be sorry,” saidClavering. “This thing will pay you betterthan farming.”

The man by the door turned with a hardlaugh. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’d feelmean for ever if we took a dollar fromyou!”

Clavering ignored the speech. “Do youwant me?” he said, glancing at Muller.

“No,” said the man, who now took downthe rifle from the wall. “Not just yet.You’re going to stop right where you are.The boys can do without me, and I’ll keepyou company.”

Ten minutes later the others drove away,and, with a significant gesture,Clavering’s companion laid the rifle

across his knees.

XXI

CLAVERING APPEARSRIDICULOUS

There was silence in the log-house whenthe men drove away, and Clavering, whosat in a corner, found the time passheavily. A clock ticked noisily upon thewall, and the stove crackled when thedraughts flowed in; but this, he felt, onlymade the stillness more exasperating. Thebig, hard-faced bushman sat as motionlessas a statue and almost as expressionless,with a brown hand resting on the rifle

across his knees, in front of a row ofshelves which held Miss Muller’scrockery. Clavering felt his fingers quiverin a fit of anger as he watched the man, buthe shook it from him, knowing that hewould gain nothing by yielding to futilepassion.

“I guess I can smoke,” he said flinging hiscigar-case on the table. “Take one if youfeel like it.”

The swiftness with which the man’s eyesfollowed the first move of his prisoner’shand was significant, but he shook hishead deliberately.

“I don’t know any reason why youshouldn’t, but you can keep your cigars foryour friends,” he said.

He drawled the words out, but thevindictive dislike in his eyes made themvery expressive, and Clavering, who sawit, felt that any attempt to gain his jailer’sgoodwill would be a failure. As though togive point to the speech, the man took outa pipe and slowly filled it with tobaccofrom a little deerskin bag.

“What are you going to do with me?”asked Clavering, partly to hide his anger,and partly because he was more than alittle curious on the subject.

“Well,” said the man reflectively. “I don’tquite know. Keep you here until Larrycomes, any way. It wouldn’t take long tofix it so you’d be sorry you had worriedpoor folks if the boys would listen to me.”

This was even less encouraging; but there

were still points on which Claveringdesired enlightenment.

“Will Muller bring Miss Torrance and hercompanion here?” he asked.

The bushman nodded. “I guess he will. It’squite a long way to Allonby’s, and they’llbe ’most frozen after waiting in the bluff.Now, I’m not anxious for any more talkwith you.”

A little flush crept into Clavering’sforehead; but it was not the man’scontemptuous brusqueness which broughtit there, though that was not without itseffect. It was evident that the most hecould hope for was Larry’s clemency, andthat would be difficult to tolerate. Butthere was another ordeal before him.Hetty was also coming back, and would

see him a prisoner in the hands of the menhe had looked down upon with ironicalcontempt. Had the contempt beenassumed, his position would have beenless intolerable; but it was not, and thelittle delicately venomous jibes he seldomlost an opportunity of flinging at thehomesteaders expressed no more than hefelt, and were now and then warranted.

Clavering, of course, knew that to pose asa prisoner as the result of his efforts onher behalf would stir Hetty’s sympathy,and his endurance of persecution at thehands of the rabble for his adherence tothe principles he fancied she held wouldfurther raise him in her estimation; but hehad no desire to acquire her regard in thatfashion. He would have preferred to take

the chances of a rifle-shot, for while hehad few scruples he had been born with apride which, occasionally at least,prevented his indulgence in petty knavery;and, crushing down his anger, he sethimself to consider by what means hecould extricate himself.

None, however, were very apparent. Thehomesteader showed no sign ofdrowsiness or relaxed vigilance, but sattranquilly alert, watching him through thecurling smoke. It was also some distanceto the door, which, from where Claveringsat, appeared to be fastened and he knewthe quick precision with which thebushman can swing up a rifle, or if it suitshim fire from the hip. A dash for libertycould, he fancied, have only one result; it

was evident that he must wait.

Now waiting is difficult to most men, andespecially to those in whose veins thereflows the hot Southern blood, andClavering felt the taste of the secondexcellent cigar grow bitter in his mouth.He sat very still, with half-closed eyes,and a little ironical smile upon his lipswhen his grim companion glanced at him.In the meantime the stove crackled lessnoisily and the room grew steadily colder.But Clavering scarcely felt the chill, evenwhen the icy draughts whirled the cigar-smoke about him, for he began to see thatan opportunity would be made for him,and waited, strung up and intent. When hethought he could do so unobserved, heglanced at the clock whose fingers now

moved with a distressful rapidity,knowing that his chance would be gone ifthe bob-sled arrived before the cold grewtoo great for his jailer.

Ten minutes dragged by, then another five,and still the man sat smoking tranquilly,while Clavering realized that, allowingfor all probable delays, Muller and MissTorrance should arrive before the half-hour was up. Ten more minutes fled by,and Clavering, quivering in an agony ofimpatience, found it almost impossible tosit still; but at last the bushman stood upand laid his rifle on the table.

“You will stop right where you are,” hesaid. “I’m going to put a few billets in thestove.”

Clavering nodded, for he dared not trust

himself to speak, and the man, who tookup an armful of the billets, dropped a fewof them through the open top of the stove.One, as it happened, jammed inside it, sothat he could get no more in, and he laidhold of an iron scraper to free it with. Henow stood with his back to Clavering, butthe rifle still lay within his reach upon thetable.

Clavering rose up, and, though his injuredfoot was painful, moved forward a paceor two noiselessly in his soft moccasins.A billet had rolled in his direction, andswaying lithely from the waist, with hiseyes fixed upon the man, he seized it. Thehomesteader was stooping still, and hemade another pace, crouching a trifle,with every muscle hardening.

Then, the man turned sharply, and hurledthe scraper straight at Clavering. It struckhim on the face, but he launched himselfforward, and, while the homesteadergrabbed at his rifle, fell upon him. He feltthe thud of the billet upon something soft,but the next moment it was torn from him,the rifle fell with a clatter, and he and thebushman reeled against the stove together.Then, they fell against the shelves andwith a crash they and the crockery wentdown upon the floor.

Clavering was supple and wiry and justthen consumed with an almost insensatefury. He came down uppermost but hisadversary’s leg was hooked round hisknee, and the grip of several very hardfingers unpleasantly impeded his

respiration. Twice he struck savagely at ahalf-seen brown face, but the grip did notrelax, and the knee he strove to extricatebegan to pain him horribly. The rancherpossessed no mean courage and atraditional belief in the prowess of hiscaste, was famed for proficiency in mostmanly sports; but that did not alter the factthat the other man’s muscle, hardened bylong use of the axe, was greater than hisown, and the stubborn courage which hadupheld the homesteader in his strugglewith adverse seasons and the encroachingforest was at least the equal of that born inClavering.

So the positions were slowly reversed,until at last Clavering lay with his headamidst a litter of broken cups and plates,

and the homesteader bent over him with aknee upon his chest.

“I guess you’ve had ’bout enough,” hesaid. “Will you let up, or do you want meto pound the life out of you?”

Clavering could not speak, but hemanaged to make a movement with hishead, and the next moment the man haddragged him to his feet and flung himagainst the table. He caught at it, gasping,while his adversary picked up the rifle.

“You will be sorry for this night’s workyet,” he said.

The homesteader laughed derisively.“Well,” he said, “I guess you’re sorrynow. Anyone who saw you would thinkyou were. Get right back to the chair

yonder and stay there.”

It was at least five minutes beforeClavering recovered sufficiently to surveyhimself, and then he groaned. His deerskinjacket was badly rent, there was a greatburn on one side of it, and several redscratches defaced his hands. From thesplotches on them after he brushed backhis ruffled hair he also had a suspicionthat his head was cut, and the tinglingwhere the scraper had struck himsuggested a very visible weal. He feltdizzy and shaken, but his physical wasless than his mental distress. Claveringwas distinguished for his artistic taste indress and indolent grace; but no manappears dignified or courtly withdiscoloured face, tattered garments, and

dishevelled hair. He thought he heard thebob-sled coming and in desperationglanced at his jailer.

“If you would like ten dollars you haveonly got to let me slip into that otherroom,” he said.

The bushman grinned sardonically, andClavering’s fears were confirmed.“You’re that pretty I wouldn’t lose sight ofyou for a hundred,” he said. “No, sir;you’re going to stop where you are.”

Clavering anathematized him inwardly,knowing that the beat of hoofs wasunmistakable—he must face what hedreaded most. A sword-cut, or even arifle-shot, would, he fancied, have entitledhim to sympathy, not untinged withadmiration, but he was unpleasantly aware

that a man damaged in an encounter withnature’s weapons is apt to appear eitherbrutal or ludicrous, and he had noticedMiss Torrance’s sensibility. He set hislips, and braced himself for the meeting.

A few minutes later the door opened, and,followed by the fräulein Muller, Hetty andMiss Schuyler came in. They did not seemto have suffered greatly in the interval,which Clavering knew was not the casewith him, and he glanced at thehomesteader with a little venomous glowin his eyes when Hetty turned to him.

“Oh!” she said with a gasp, and her facegrew pale and stern as closing one handshe, too, looked at the bushman.

Clavering took heart at this; but hisenemy’s vindictiveness was evidently not

exhausted, for he noddedcomprehendingly.

“Yes,” he said, “he’s damaged. He gotkind of savage a little while ago, andbefore I could quiet him he broke up quitea lot of crockery.”

The imperious anger faded out of Hetty’sface, and Flora Schuyler understood whyit did so as she glanced at Clavering.There was nothing that could appeal to afastidious young woman’s fancy about himjust then; he reminded Miss Schuyler of aman she had once seen escortedhomewards by his drunken friends after afracas in the Bowery. At the same time itwas evident that Hetty recognized herduty, and was sensible, if not ofadmiration, at least of somewhat tempered

sympathy.

“I am dreadfully sorry, Mr. Clavering—and it was all my fault,” she said. “I hopethey didn’t hurt you very much.”

Clavering, who had risen, made her alittle inclination; but he also set his lips,for Hetty had not expressed herself verytactfully, and just then Muller and anotherman came in and stood staring at them.The rancher endeavoured to smile, withvery small success for he was consumedwith an unsatisfied longing to destroy thebushman.

“I don’t think you need be, MissTorrance,” he said. “I am only sorry Icould not come back for you; butunfortunately—circumstances—preventedme.”

“You have done enough,” said Hettyimpulsively, apparently forgetting thepresence of the rest. “It was splendid ofyou.”

Then the bushman looked up again with analmost silent chuckle. “I guess if it hadbeen your plates he sat on, you wouldn’tbe quite so sure of it—and thecircumstance was me,” he said.

Hetty turned from the speaker, and glancedat the rest. Muller was standing near thedoor, with his spectacles down on hisnose and mild inquiry in his pale blueeyes, and a big bronzed Dakota manbeside him was grinning visibly. Thefräulein was kneeling despairingly amidsther shattered china, while Flora Schuylerleaned against the table with her lips

quivering and a most suspicious twinkle inher eyes.

“Flo,” said Hetty half-aloud. “How canyou?”

“I don’t know,” said Miss Schuyler, witha little gasp. “Don’t look at me, Hetty. Ireally can’t help it.”

Hetty said no more, but she glanced at thered-cheeked fräulein, who was gazing at abroken piece of crockery with tearfuleyes, and turned her head away. Claveringsaw the effort it cost her to keep fromlaughing, and writhed.

“Well,” said the man who had come withMuller, pointing to the wreck, “whatstarted you smashing up the house?”

“It’s quite simple,” said the bushman.

“Mr. Clavering and I didn’t quite agree.He had a billet in his hand when he creptup behind me, and somehow we fell intothe crockery. I didn’t mean to damage him,but he wanted to get away, you see.”

Hetty swung round towards Muller. “Youhaven’t dared to make Mr. Clavering aprisoner?”

Muller was never very quick at speech,and the American by his side answeredfor him. “Well, we have got to keep himuntil Larry comes. He’ll be here ’mostdirectly.”

“Flo,” said Hetty, with relief in her face,“Larry is coming. We need not worryabout anything now.”

The fräulein had risen in the meanwhile,

and was busy with the kettle and a frying-pan. By and by, she set a steaming jug ofcoffee and a hot cornmeal cake before herguests for whom Muller had drawn outchairs. They were glad of the refreshment,and still more pleased when Grant andBreckenridge came in. When Larry shookhands with them, Hetty contrived towhisper in his ear:

“If you want to please me, get Claveringaway.”

Grant glanced at her somewhat curiously,but both were sensible that other eyeswere upon them, and with a justperceptible nod he passed on with Mullerinto the adjoining room. Clavering and thetwo Americans followed him withBreckenridge, and Grant who had heard

something of what had happened from thefräulein, asked a few questions.

“You can go when it pleases you,Clavering,” he said. “I am sorry you havereceived some trifling injury, but I have anidea that you brought it upon yourself. Inthe face of your conduct to them it seemsto me that my friends were warranted indetaining you until they made sure of thecorrectness of your story.”

Clavering flushed, for there was acontemptuous incisiveness in Grant’svoice which stung his pride.

“I don’t know that I am very grateful,” hesaid angrily, “and you are probably doingthis because it suits you. In any case, yourfriends dare not have offered violence tome.”

Grant smiled grimly. “I wouldn’t try themtoo far. But I don’t quite catch yourmeaning. I can gain nothing by letting yougo.”

“It should be tolerably plain. I fancied youdesired to please some friends at Cedarwho send money to you.”

There was a murmur of astonishment fromthe rest and Clavering saw that the shothad told.

“I guess he’s lying, Larry,” said one ofthem.

Grant stood still a moment with his eyesfixed on Clavering. “I wonder,” he said,“if you are hazarding a guess.”

“No,” said Clavering, “I don’t think I am.I know you got a wallet of dollars—

though I don’t know who sent them. Areyou prepared to deny it?”

“I’m not prepared to exchange any wordswith you,” said Grant. “Go while the dooris open, and it would not be advisable foryou to fall into our hands again. Wehanged a friend of yours who, I fancy,lived up to, at least, as high a standard asyou seem to do.”

When Clavering had left the room, theothers turned to Grant. “You havesomething to tell us?”

“No,” said Grant quietly. “I don’t think Ihave.”

The men looked at each other, and one ofthem said, “That fellow’s story soundedkind of ugly. What were you taking dollars

from the cattle-men for, Larry?”

Grant saw the growing distrust in theireyes, but his own were resolute.

“I can’t help that,” he said. “I am withyou, as I have always been, but there areaffairs of mine I can’t have anybodyinquiring into. That is all I can tell you.You will have to take me on trust.”

“You’re making it hard,” said the manwho had spoken first.

Before Grant could answer, Claveringreturned ready for his ride, but Grant gavehim no opportunity to address Hetty andMiss Schuyler. “It is too far to drive toAllonby’s in the sled,” he said to them.“My sleigh is at your service. Shall Idrive you?”

Hetty, for a moment, looked irresolute, butshe saw Clavering’s face, andremembered what was due to him andwhat he had apparently suffered for hersake.

“It wouldn’t be quite fair to dismiss Mr.Clavering in that fashion,” she said.

Grant glanced at her, and the girl longedfor an opportunity of making himunderstand what influenced her. But thiswas out of the question.

“Then, if he will be surety for their safety,the team is at Mr. Clavering’s disposal,”he said.

Clavering said nothing to Grant, but hethrust his hand into his pocket and laid afive-dollar bill on the table.

“I am very sorry I helped to destroy someof your crockery, fräulein, and this is theonly amend I can make,” he said. “If Iknew how to replace the broken things Iwouldn’t have ventured to offer it to you.”

The little deprecatory gesture wasgraceful, and Hetty flashed an approvingglance at him; but she also looked atGrant, as if to beseech his comprehension,when she went out. Larry, however, didnot understand her, and stood gravelyaside as she passed him. He said nothing,but when he was fastening the fur roberound her in the sleigh Hetty spoke.

“Larry,” she said softly, “can’t youunderstand that one has to do the squarething to everybody?”

Then, Clavering, who could not hear what

she was saying, flicked the horses and thesleigh slid away into the darkness.

A moment or two later, while the men stilllingered talking without and Larry stoodputting on his furs in the room,Breckenridge saw Miss Muller, who hadbeen gazing at the money rise, and asthough afraid her resolution might fail her,hastily thrust it into the stove.

“You are right,” he said. “That was anabominably unfair shot of Clavering’s,Larry. Of course, you couldn’t answer himor tell anybody, but it’s horriblyunfortunate. The thing made theimpression he meant it to.”

“Well,” said Larry bitterly, “I have got tobear it with the rest. I can’t see any reasonfor being pleased with anything to-night.”

Breckenridge nodded, but once more alittle twinkle crept into his eyes. “Iscarcely think you need worry about onetrifle, any way,” he said. “If you thinkMiss Torrance or Miss Schuyler wantedClavering to drive them, you must beunusually dense. They only asked him tobecause they have a sense of fairness, andI’d stake a good many dollars on the factthat when Miss Schuyler first saw him shewas convulsed with laughter.”

“Did Miss Torrance seem amused?” Grantasked eagerly.

“Yes,” said Breckenridge decisively.“She did though she tried to hide it. MissTorrance has, of course, a niceappreciation of what is becoming. In fact,her taste is only slightly excelled by Miss

Schuyler’s.”

Grant stared at him for a moment, and thenfor the first time, during several anxiousmonths, broke into a great peal of laughter.

XXII

THE CAVALRY OFFICER

The winter was relaxing its iron grip atlast and there were alternations of snowand thaw and frost when one evening afew of his scattered neighbours assembledat Allonby’s ranch. Clavering was there,with Torrance, Hetty, and Miss Schuyler,among the rest; but though the guests madea spirited attempt to appear unconcerned,the signs of care were plainer in theirfaces than when they last met, and therewere times when the witty sally fellcuriously flat. The strain was beginning to

tell, and even the most optimistic realizedthat the legislature of the State was moreinclined to resent than yield to any furtherpressure that could be exerted by thecattle-barons. The latter were, however,proud and stubborn men, who hadunostentatiously directed affairs so longthat they found it difficult to grasp the factthat their ascendancy was vanishing.Showing a bold front still, they stubbornlydisputed possession of every acre of landthe homesteaders laid claim upon. Thelatters’ patience was almost gone, and themore fiery spirits were commencing toobstruct their leader’s schemes byindividual retaliation and occasionallypurposeless aggression.

Torrance seemed older and grimmer, his

daughter paler, and there were momentswhen anxiety was apparent even inClavering’s usually careless face. He atleast, was already feeling the pinch ofstraitened finances, and his onlyconsolations were the increasingconfidence that Torrance reposed in him,and Hetty’s graciousness since his captureby the homesteaders. It was, perhaps, notastonishing that he should mistake itsmeaning, for he had no means of knowing,as Miss Schuyler did, that the cattle-baron’s daughter met Larry Grant now andthen.

Hetty was sitting in a corner of the bigroom, with Flo Schuyler and ChristopherAllonby close at hand, and during a lull inthe conversation she turned to him with a

smile.

“You find us a little dull to-night, Chris?”she said.

Allonby laughed. “There was a time whenyou delighted in trapping me intoadmissions of that kind, but I’m growingwise,” he said. “In fact, another year likethis one would make an old man of me. Idon’t mind admitting that there issomething wrong with the rest. I have toldthem the stories they have laughed overthe last three years, and could not raise asmile from one of them; and when I got myuncle started playing cards I actuallybelieve your father forgot what trumpswere, for the first time in his life!”

“That is significant,” said Hetty, whoseface had grown serious. “Nothing has

gone well for us lately, Chris.”

Allonby sighed. “We don’t like toacknowledge it, but it’s a fact,” he said.“Still, there’s hope yet, if we can just stirup the homestead-boys into wrecking arailroad bridge or burning somebody’sranch.”

“It is a little difficult to understand howthat would improve affairs, especially forthe man whose place was burned,” saidMiss Schuyler drily.

“One can’t afford to be too particular,”said Allonby, with a deprecating gesture.“You see, once they started in to do thatkind of thing the State would have to crushthem, which, of course, would suit usquite nicely. As it is, after the last affair atHamlin’s, they have sent in a draft of

cavalry.”

“And you are naturally taking steps tobring about the things that would suityou?” asked Flora Schuyler.

Allonby did not see the snare. “Well,” hesaid, “I am not an admirer of Clavering,but I’m willing to admit that he has doneeverything he could; in fact, I’m ’mostastonished they have stood him so long,and I don’t think they would have done so,but for Larry. Anyway, it’s comforting toknow Larry is rapidly making himselfunpopular among them.”

A spot of colour showed in Hetty’s cheek,and there was a little gleam in FloraSchuyler’s eyes as she fixed them on thelad.

“You evidently consider Mr. Grant istaking an unwarranted liberty inpersuading his friends to behavethemselves as lawful citizens should?” shesaid.

“I don’t quite think you understand me, ofcourse, one could scarcely expect it froma lady; but if you look at the thing from ourpoint of view, it’s quite easy.”

Flora Schuyler smiled satirically. “I fancyI do, though I may be mistaken. Subtletiesof this kind are, as you suggest, beyond theaverage woman.”

“You are laughing at me, and it’s quitelikely I deserve it. We will talk ofsomething else. I was telling you about thecavalry officer.”

“No,” said Hetty, “I don’t think youwere.”

“Then I meant to. He has just come upfrom the Apache country—a kind of quietman, with a good deal in him and a way ofmaking you listen when you once start himtalking. We half expect him here thisevening, and if he comes, I want you to benice to him. You could make him believewe are in the right quite easily.”

“From the Apache country?” and FloraSchuyler glanced at Hetty.

Allonby nodded. “New Mexico, Arizona,or somewhere there. Now, just when youwere beginning to listen, there’s Mr.Torrance wanting me.”

He rose with evident reluctance, and Miss

Schuyler sat reflectively silent when hemoved away.

“What are you thinking of?” asked Hettysharply.

“That the United States is not after all sucha very big country. One is apt to runacross a friend everywhere.”

Hetty did not answer, but Miss Schuylerknew that she was also wondering aboutthe cavalry officer, when half an hour laterit became evident, from the soundsoutside, that a sleigh had reached the door,and when a little further time had passedAllonby ushered a man in blue uniforminto the room. Hetty set her lips when shesaw him.

“Oh!” said Miss Schuyler. “I felt quite

sure of it. This is the kind of thing that notinfrequently happens, and it is only thenatural sequence that he should turn up onthe opposite side to Larry.”

“Flo,” said Hetty sharply, “what do youmean?”

“Well,” she said lazily, “I fancy that youshould know better than I do. I have onlymy suspicions and some little knowledgeof human nature to guide me. Now, ofcourse, you convinced us that you didn’tcare for Cheyne, but we have only yourword to go upon in regard to Larry.”

Hetty turned upon her with a flash in hereyes. “Don’t try to make me angry, Flo.It’s going to be difficult to meet him as itis.”

“I don’t think you need worry,” and FloraSchuyler laughed. “He is probably curedby this time, and has found somebody else.They usually do. That ought to pleaseyou.”

In the meantime, Allonby and the man hewas presenting to his friends weredrawing nearer. Hetty rose when the pairstopped in front of them.

“Captain Jackson Cheyne, who is comingto help us. Miss Torrance and MissSchuyler, the daughter and guest of ourleader,” said Allonby, and the soldierlyman with the quiet, brown face, smiling,held out his hand.

“We are friends already,” he said, andpassed on with Allonby.

“Was it very dreadful, Hetty?” said FloraSchuyler. “I could see he means to comeback and talk to you.”

Hetty also fancied Cheyne wished to doso, and spent the next hour or two inavoiding the encounter. With this purposeshe contrived to draw Chris Allonby intoone of the smaller rooms where the card-tables were then untenanted, and listenedwith becoming patience to stories she hadoften heard before. She, however, found ita little difficult to laugh at the right places,and at last the lad glanced reproachfully ather.

“It spoils everything when one has toshow you where the point is,” he said; andHetty, looking up, saw Cheyne and FloraSchuyler in the doorway.

“Miss Newcombe is looking for you, Mr.Allonby,” said the latter.

There was very little approval in theglance Hetty bestowed upon MissSchuyler and Allonby seemed tounderstand it.

“She generally is, and that is why I’mhere,” he said. “I don’t feel like hearingabout any more lepidoptera to-night, andyou can take her Captain Cheyne instead.He must have found out quite a lot aboutbeetles and other things that bite you downin Arizona.”

Miss Schuyler, disregarding Hetty,laughed. “You had better go,” she said. “Isee her coming in this direction now, andshe has something which apparentlycontains specimens in her hand.”

Allonby fled, but he turned a moment inthe doorway. “Do you think you could getme a real lively tarantula, CaptainCheyne?” he said. “If a young lady with apreoccupied manner asks you anythingabout insects, tell her you have one in yourpocket. It’s the only thing that will saveyou.”

He vanished with Miss Schuyler, andHetty, somewhat against her wishes, foundherself alone with Cheyne. He was deeplysunburned, and his face thinner than it hadbeen, but the quiet smile she had oncefound pleasure in was still in his eyes.

“Your young friend did his best, and I amhalf afraid he had a hint,” he said.

Hetty blushed. “I am very pleased to seeyou,” she said hastily. “How did you like

New Mexico?”

“As well as I expected,” Cheyneanswered with a dry smile. “It is notexactly an enchanting place—deformedmountains, sun glare, adobe houses,loneliness, and dust. My chief trouble,however, was that I had too much time tothink.”

“But you must have seen somebody andhad something to do.”

“Yes,” Cheyne admitted. “There was amining fellow who used to come over andclean out my whiskey, and sing gruesomesongs for hours together to a banjo thathad, I think, two strings. I stayed out allnight quite frequently when I had reason tobelieve that he was coming. Then, wekilled a good many tarantulas—and a few

equally venomous pests—but when allwas done it left one hours to sit staring atthe sage-brush and wonder whether onewould ever shake off the dreariness of itagain.”

“It must have been horribly lonely,” Hettysaid.

“Well,” said Cheyne, very slowly, “therewas just one faint hope that now and thenbrightened everything for me. I thought youmight change. Perhaps I was foolish—butthat hope would have meant so much tome. I could not let it go.”

Hetty turned and looked at him with asoftness in her eyes, for the little tremor inhis voice had touched her.

“And I was hoping you had forgotten,” she

said.

“No,” said Cheyne quietly. “I don’t think Iever shall. You haven’t a grain of comfortto offer me?”

Hetty shook her head, and involuntarilyone hand went up and rested a moment onsomething that lay beneath the laces at herneck. “No,” she said. “I am ever so sorry,Jake, but I have nothing whatever to offeryou—now.”

“Then,” said Cheyne, with a little gestureof resignation, “I suppose it can be bornebecause it must be—and I think Iunderstand. I know he must be a good man—or you would never have cared forhim.”

Hetty looked at him steadily, but the

colour that had crept into her cheek spreadto her forehead. “Jake,” she said, “nodoubt there are more, but I have met twoAmericans who are, I think, withoutreproach. I shall always be glad I knewthem—and it is not your fault that you arenot the right one.”

Cheyne made her a little grave inclination.“Then, I hope we shall be good friendswhen I meet the other one. I am going tostay some little time in the cattle country.”

“I almost hope you will not meet just yet,”Hetty said anxiously, “and you must nevermention what I have told you to anybody.”

“You have only told me that I was one oftwo good Americans,” said Cheyne, witha quiet smile which the girl foundreassuring. “Now, you don’t want to send

me away?”

“No,” said Hetty. “It is so long since Ihave seen you. You have come to help usagainst our enemies?”

Cheyne saw the girl’s intention, and wasglad to fall in with it, but he betrayed alittle embarrassment. “Not exactly, thoughI should be content if my duty amounts tothe same thing,” he said. “We have beensent in to help to restore order, and it ismy business just now to inquire into thedoings of a certain Larry Grant. I wonderif you could tell me anything about him?”

He noticed the sudden intentness ofHetty’s face, though it was gone in aninstant.

“What have you found out?” she asked.

“Very little that one could rely upon.Everybody I ask tells me somethingdifferent, he seems a compound of thequalities of Coleman the Vigilante, ourfirst President, and the notorious Jamesboys. As they were gentlemen of quitedifferent character, it seems to me thatsome of my informants are eitherprejudiced or mistaken.”

“Yes,” said Hetty. “He is like none ofthem. Larry is just a plain American whois fearlessly trying to do what he feels isright, though it is costing him a good deal.You see, I met him quite often before thetrouble began.”

Cheyne glanced at her sharply, but Hettymet his gaze. “I don’t know,” heanswered, “that one could say much more

of any man.”

Just then Flora Schuyler and Miss Allonbycame in. “Hetty,” said the latter,“everybody is waiting for you to sing.”

In the meanwhile, Allonby and his nephewsat with Torrance and Clavering, and oneor two of the older men, in his officeroom. Clavering had just finishedspeaking when Allonby answeredTorrance’s questioning glance.

“I have no use for beating round the bush,”he said. “Dollars are getting scarce withme, and, like some of my neighbours, I hadto sell out a draft of stock. The fact thatI’m throwing them on the market now issignificant.”

One of the men nodded. “Allonby has put

it straight,” he said. “I was over fixingthings with the station agent, and he isgoing to send the first drafts through toOmaha in one lot if two of his biggestlocomotives can haul the cars. Still, ifClavering has got hold of the right story,how the devil did the homestead-boyshear of it?”

Clavering glanced at Torrance with a littlesardonic smile on his lips. “I don’t quiteknow, but a good many of our secrets havebeen leaking out.”

“You’re quite sure you are right,Clavering?” somebody asked.

“Yes. The information is worth the fiftydollars I paid for it. The homestead-boysmean to run that stock train through theBitter Creek bridge. As you know, it’s a

good big trestle, and it is scarcely likelywe would get a head of stock out of thewreck alive.”

There were angry ejaculations and thefaces round the table grew set and stern.Some of the men had seen what happenswhen a heavy train goes through a railroadtrestle.

“It’s devilish!” said Allonby. “Larry is inthe thing?”

“Well,” said Clavering drily, “it appearsthe boys can’t do anything unless theyhave an order from their executive, andthe man who told me declared he had seenone signed by him. Still, one has to be fairto Larry, and it is quite likely some of theforeign Reds drove him into it. Any way,if we could get that paper—and I think I

can—it would fix the affair on him.”

Torrance nodded. “Now we have thecavalry here, it would be enough to havehim shot,” he said. “Well, this is going tosuit us. But there must be no fooling. Wewant to lay hands upon them when they areat work on the trestle.”

The other men seemed doubtful, andAllonby made a protest. “It is by no meansplain how it’s going to suit me to have mysteers run through the bridge,” he said. “Ican’t afford it.”

Clavering laughed. “You will not lose oneof them,” he said. “Now, don’t ask anyquestions, but listen to me.”

There were objections to the scheme hesuggested, but he won over the men who

raised them, and when all had beenarranged and Allonby had gone back to hisother guests, Clavering appeared satisfiedand Torrance very grim. Unfortunately,however, they had not bound ChristopherAllonby to silence, and when he contrivedto find a place near Miss Schuyler andHetty he could not refrain from mentioningwhat he had heard. This was, however,the less astonishing since the cattle-barons’ wives and daughters shared theiranxieties and were conversant with mostof what happened.

“You have a kind of belief in thehomestead-boys, Hetty?” he said.

“Yes, but everybody knows who I belongto.”

“Of course! Well, I guess you are not

going to have any kind of belief in themnow. They’re planning to run our big stocktrain through the Bitter Creek bridge.”

Hetty turned white. “They would never dothat. Their leaders would not let them.”

“No?” said Allonby. “I’m sorry tomention it, but it seems they have Larry’sorder.”

A little flush crept into Flora Schuyler’sface, but Hetty’s grew still morecolourless and her dark eyes glowed.Then she shook her shoulders, and saidwith a scornful quietness, “Larry wouldnot have a hand in it to save his life. Thereis not a semblance of truth in that story,Chris.”

Allonby glanced up in astonishment, but

he was youthful, and that Hetty could havemore than a casual interest in her oldcompanion appeared improbable to him.

“It is quite a long time since you and Larrywere on good terms, and no doubt he haschanged,” he said. “Any way, his friendsare going to try giant powder on thebridge, and if we are fortunate Cheynewill get the whole of them, and Larry, too.Now, we’ll change the topic, since it doesnot seem to please you.”

He changed it several times, but hiscompanions, though they sat and evensmiled now and then, heard very few ofhis remarks.

“I’m going,” he said at last, reproachfully.“I am sorry if I have bored you, but it isreally quite difficult to talk to people who

are thinking about another thing. It seemsto me you are both in love with somebody,and it very clearly isn’t me.”

He moved away, and for a moment Hettyand Miss Schuyler did not look at oneanother. Then Hetty stood up.

“I should have screamed if he had stayedany longer,” she said. “The thing is justtoo horrible—but it is quite certain Larrydoes not know. I have got to tell himsomehow. Think, Flo.”

XXIII

HETTY’S AVOWAL

The dusk Hetty had anxiously waited forwas creeping across the prairie when sheand Miss Schuyler pulled up their horsesin the gloom of the birches where the trailwound down through the Cedar bluff. Theweather had grown milder and greatclouds rolled across the strip of skybetween the branches overhead, while thenarrow track amidst the whitened trunkswas covered with loose snow. There wasno frost, and Miss Schuyler feltunpleasantly clammy as she patted her

horse, which moved restively now andthen, and shook off the melting snow thatdripped upon her; but Hetty seemed tonotice nothing. She sat motionless in hersaddle with the moisture glistening on herfurs, and the thin white steam from thespume-flecked beast floating about her,staring up the trail, and when she turnedand glanced over her shoulder her faceshowed white and drawn.

“He must be coming soon,” she said, andMiss Schuyler noticed the strainedevenness of her voice. “Yes, of coursehe’s coming. It would be too horrible ifwe could not find him.”

“Jake Cheyne and his cavalry boys wouldsave the bridge,” said Flora Schuyler,with a hopefulness she did not feel.

Hetty leaned forward and held up herhand, as though to demand silence that shemight listen, before she answered her.

“There are some desperate men among thehomestead-boys, and if they found out theyhad been given away they would cut thetrack in another place,” she said. “If theydidn’t and Cheyne surprised them, theywould fire on his troopers and Larrywould be blamed for it. He would bechased everywhere with a price on hishead, and anyone he wouldn’t surrender tocould shoot him. Flo, it is too hard tobear, and I’m afraid.”

Her voice failed her, and Miss Schuyler,who could find no words to reassure her,was thankful that her attention wasdemanded by her restive horse. The strain

was telling on her, too, and, with less atstake than her companion, she wasconsumed by a longing to defeat theschemes of the cattle-men, who had, itseemed to her with detestable cunning,decided not to warn the station agent, andlet the great train go, that they might heapthe more obloquy upon their enemies. Therisk the engineer and brakesmen ran wasapparently nothing to them, and she felt, asHetty did, that Larry was the one man whocould be depended on to avert bloodshed.Yet there was still no sign of him.

“If he would only come!” she said.

There was no answer. Loose snow fellwith a soft thud from the birch branches,and there was a little sighing amidst thetrees. It was rapidly growing darker, but

Hetty sat rigidly still in her saddle, withher hand clenched on the bridle. Five longminutes passed. Then, she turnedsuddenly, exultation in her voice.

“Flo,” she said, “he’s coming!”

Miss Schuyler could hear nothing foranother minute or two, and then, when afaint sound became audible through thewhispering of the trees, she wonderedhow her companion could be sure it wasthe fall of hoofs, or that the horse was notridden by a stranger. But there was nodoubt in Hetty’s face, and Flora Schuylersighed as she saw it relax and a softnesscreep into the dark eyes. She had seen thatlook in the faces of other women andknew its meaning.

The beat of hoofs became unmistakable,

and she could doubt no longer that a manwas riding down the trail. He came intosight in another minute, a shadowy figureswinging to the stride of a big horse, withthe line of a rifle-barrel across his saddle,and then, as he saw them, rode up at agallop, scattering the snow.

“Hetty!” he said, a swift flush of pleasuresweeping his face, and Miss Schuyler sether lips as she noticed that he did not evensee her.

Hetty gathered up her bridle, and wheeledher horse. “Ride into the bluff—quick,”she said. “Somebody might see us in thetrail.”

Larry did as he was bidden, and when thegloom of the trees closed about them,sprang down and looped his bridle round

a branch. Then, he stood by Hetty’sstirrup, and the girl could see his face,white in the faint light the snow flung up.She turned her own away when she hadlooked down on it.

“I have had an anxious day, but this makesup for everything,” he said. “Now—and itis so long since I have seen you—can’twe, for just a few minutes, forget ourtroubles?”

He held out his hand, as though to lift herdown, but the girl turned her eyes on himand what he saw in them checked himsuddenly.

“No,” she said, with a tremor in her voice,“we can’t get away from them. You mustnot ask any question until you have heardeverything!”

She spoke with a swift conciseness thatomitted no point and made the story plain,for there was a high spirit in the girl, and atangible peril that could be grappled withhad a bracing effect on her. Grant’s facegrew intent as he listened, and Hetty,looking down, could see the firmer set ofhis lips, and the glint in his eyes. Theweariness faded out of it, and once moreshe recognized the alert, resourceful, andquietly resolute Larry she had knownbefore the troubles came. He turnedswiftly and clasped her hand.

“I wonder if you know how much youhave done for me?”

Hetty smiled and allowed her fingers toremain in his grasp. “Then, you haveheard nothing of this?” she said.

“No,” said the man. “But Hetty——”

Again the girl checked him with a gesture.“And I need not ask you whether youwould have had a hand in it?”

Grant laughed a little scornful laugh thatwas more eloquent than manyprotestations. “No,” he said, “you needn’t.I think you know me better than that,Hetty?”

“Yes,” said the girl softly. “You couldn’thave had anything to do with that kind ofmeanness. Larry, how was it they did nottell you?”

She felt the grasp of the man’s fingersslacken and saw his arm fall to his side.His face changed suddenly, growing sternand set, until he turned his head away.

When he looked round again theweariness was once more plain in it, andshe almost fancied he had checked agroan.

“You have brought me back to myself,” hesaid. “Only a few seconds ago I couldthink of nothing but what you had done forme. I think I was almost as happy as a mancould be, and now——”

Hetty laid her hand on his shoulder. “Andnow? Tell me, Larry.”

“No,” said the man. “You have plenty oftroubles of your own.”

The grasp of the little hand grew tighter,and when Grant looked up he saw the girlsmiling down on him half-shyly, and yet,as it were, imperiously.

“Tell me, dear,” she said.

Larry felt his heart throb, and hisresolution failed him. He could see thegirl’s eyes, and their compellingtenderness.

“Well,” he said, huskily, “what I havedreaded has come. The men I have givenup everything for have turned against me.No, you must not think I am sorry for whatI have done, and it was right then; but theyhave listened to some of the crazy foolsfrom Europe and are letting loose anarchy.I and the others—the sensible Americans—have lost our hold on them, and yet itwas we who brought them in. We took ontoo big a contract—and I’m most horriblyafraid, Hetty.”

The light had almost gone, but his face

still showed drawn and white and Hettybent down nearer him.

“Put your hand in mine, Larry,” she saidsoftly. “I have something to tell you.”

The man obeyed her, wondering, while athrill ran through him as the mittenedfingers closed upon his own.

“Hetty,” he said, “I have only broughttrouble on everyone. I’m not fit to speak toyou.”

“No,” said the girl, with a throb in hervoice. “You have only done what veryfew other men would have dared to do,and many a better girl than I am would beproud to be fond of you. Now listen,Larry. For years you were ever so good tome, and I was too mean and shallow and

selfish even to understand what you weregiving me. I fancied I had a right toeverything you could do. But come nearer,Larry.”

She drew him closer to her, until hisgarments pressed the horse’s flank and theblanket skirt she wore, and leaned downstill further with her hand upon hisshoulder.

“I found out, dear, and now I want you toforgive me and always love me.”

The grasp on her hand becamecompelling, and she moved her foot fromthe stirrup as the man’s arm reachedupwards towards her waist. Had shewished she could not have helped herself;as she slipped from the saddle the armclosed round her and it was several

seconds before she and Grant stood a paceapart, with tingling blood, looking at oneanother. There was no sign of FloraSchuyler, they were alone, enfolded in thesilence of the bluff.

“It is wonderful,” he said. “I can’t eventalk, Hetty. I want to realize it.”

Hetty laughed but there was a note in hervoice that set the man’s heart beatingfuriously. “Yes, it is wonderful it shouldcome to me,” she said. “No, you needn’tlook round, Larry. There is nothing andnobody that counts now except you andme. I am just beginning to understand yourpatience, and how hard I must have beento you.”

“I waited a long time,” he said. “It wasworth while. Even the troubles I felt

crushing me seem very little now. If theywere only over, and there was nothing tocome between you and me!”

“Larry,” the girl said very softly, “are yousure they need do that? It has been sohorrible lately, and I can’t even sleep atnight for thinking of the risks that you aretaking.”

Grant closed one hand, but it was too darknow for Hetty to see his face, and she wasglad of it.

“You mean—” he said hoarsely, andstopped.

“Just this,” her voice almost a whisper. “Iam frightened of it all, and when you wantme I will come to you. No, wait just alittle. I could never marry the man who

was fighting against my father and thepeople I belong to, while, now I knowwhat you are, I could never ask him to goback on what he felt was right; but, Larry,the men you did so much for have turnedagainst you, and the things they are doingare not right, and would never please you.Can’t we go away and leave the troublebehind us? Nobody seems to want usnow.”

There was a cold dew on the man’sforehead the girl could not see. “And yourfather?” he said.

“I would never help anyone against him,as I told you,” said the girl. “Still, thereare times when his bitterness almostfrightens me. It is hard to admit it, even toyou, but I can’t convince myself that he

and the others are not mistaken, too. Ican’t believe any longer that you arewrong, dear. Besides, though he says verylittle, I feel he wants me to marryClavering.”

“Clavering?” said Larry.

“Yes,” said Hetty, with a shiver. “I dislikehim bitterly—and I should be safe withyou.”

Grant held out his hands. “Then, you mustcome, my dear. One way or other thestruggle will soon be over now, and if Ihave to go out an outcast I can still shelteryou.”

THERE WAS A NOTE IN HER VOICE THAT SETTHE MAN’S HEART BEATING FURIOUSLY.

—Page 267.

The girl drew back a pace. “I can’t turnagainst my own people—but yours haveturned on you. That makes it easier. If youwill take me, dear, we will go away.”

Grant turned from her, and ground his heelinto the snow. He had already given upalmost everything that made life bright tohim, but he had never felt the bitterness hedid at that moment, when he realized thatanother and heavier sacrifice wasdemanded of him.

“Hetty,” he said slowly, “can’t youunderstand? I and the others brought the

homesteaders in; this land has fed me andgiven me all I have, and now I can’t goback on it and them. I would not be fit tomarry you if I went away.”

The words were very simple, but theman’s voice betrayed what he felt. Hettyunderstood, and the pride she had no lackof came to the rescue.

“Yes,” she said with a little sob, “Larryyou are right. You will forgive me, dear,for once more tempting you. Perhaps itwill all come right by and by. And now Imust go.”

There was a crackle of brittle twigs, andGrant dimly saw Miss Schuyler ridingtowards them. Reaching out, he tookHetty’s hands and drew her closer.

“There is just one thing you must promiseme, my dear,” he said. “If your fatherinsists on your listening to Clavering, youwill let me know. Then I will come toCedar for you, and there are still a fewAmericans who have not lost confidencein their leader and will come with me.Nothing must make you say yes to him.”

“No,” said Hetty simply. “If I cannotavoid it any other way, I will send foryou. I can’t wait any longer—and here isFlo.”

Larry stooped; but before she laid her footin the hand he held out for her to mount by,Hetty bent her head swiftly, and kissedhim.

“Now,” she said softly, “do you think Icould listen to Clavering? You will do

what you have to, and I will wait for you.It is hard on us both, dear; but I can’t helprecognizing my duty, too.”

Larry lifted her to the saddle, and shevanished into the gloom of the birchesbefore he could speak to Miss Schuyler,who wheeled her horse and followed her.A few minutes more and he was ridingtowards Fremont as fast as his horse couldflounder through the slushy snow, his facegrown set and resolute again, for he knewhe had difficult work to do.

“I don’t quite know what has come overyou, Larry,” Breckenridge said an hour ortwo later with a puzzled look at Grant ashe lifted his eyes from the writing pad onhis knee. “I haven’t seen you so obviouslycontented for months, and yet the work

before us may be grim enough. The mostunpleasant point about it is that Claveringmust have got hold of one of your warrantforms. It was a mistake to trust anybodywith one not filled in.”

“Well, I feel that way too,” Grantconfessed, “and at the same time I’mdesperately anxious. We are going to havetrouble with the boys right along the line,and there is no man living can tell whatwill happen if any of them go down in anaffair with the cavalry.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to guess what theconsequences would be if they cut thetrack just before the stock train camethrough. You are quite sure they have notchanged their minds again?”

“Yes,” said Larry quietly. “I bluffed it out

of Harper. He would have taken a hand in,and only kicked when it came to takinglives. More of the others cleared out overthat point, too, and as the rest were half-afraid of some of those who objectedgiving them away, they changed theirplans; but it seems quite certain they meanto pull the rails up at the bend on the downgrade by the bunch grass hollow. It isfortunate, any way. Cheyne and hiscavalry will be watching the bridge, yousee; but you had better get ready. I’ll havethe last instructions done directly, and itwill be morning before you are through.”

Breckenridge poured himself out a big cupof coffee from the jug on the stove, put ona black leather jacket, and went out to thestable. When he came back, Grant handed

him a bundle of notes.

“You will see every man gets one and tellhim all he wants to know. I dare not putdown too much in black and white. Theyare to be round at the rise behind the depotat six Thursday night.”

“You believe they will come?”

“Yes,” Grant said firmly. “They are goodmen, and I’m thankful there are still somany of them, because just now they areall that is standing between this countryand anarchy.”

Breckenridge smiled a little, but his voicewas sympathetic. “Well,” he said, “I amglad, on my own account, too. It’s nicer tohave the chances with you when you haveto reckon with men of the kind we are

going to meet, but I shall not be sorrywhen this trouble’s through. It is my firstattempt at reforming and a little of it goesa long way with me. I don’t know thatthere is a more thankless task than tryingto make folks better off than they want, ordeserve, to be.”

He went out with a packet of messages,and Grant sat still, with care in his face,staring straight in front of him.

XXIV

THE STOCK TRAIN

It was almost unpleasantly hot in the littleiron-roofed room at the railroad depot,and the agent, who flung the door open,stood still a minute or two blinking intothe darkness. A big lamp that flickered inthe wind cast an uncertain gleam upon theslushy whiteness under foot, and theblurred outline of a towering water-tankshowed dimly through the sliding snow.He could also just discern the greatlocomotive waiting on the side-track, andthe sibilant hiss of steam that mingled with

the moaning of the wind whirling a whitehaze out of the obscurity. Beyond thetrack, and showing only now and then, thelights of the wooden town blinked fitfully;on the other hand and behind the depotwas an empty waste of snow-sheetedprairie. The temperature had gone upsuddenly, but the agent shivered as he feltthe raw dampness strike through him, and,closing the door, took off and shook hisjacket and sat down by the stove again.

He wore a white shirt of unusually choicelinen, with other garments of fashionablecity cut, for a station agent is a person ofimportance in the West, and this one wasat least as consequential as most of therest. He had finished his six o’clocksupper at the wooden hotel a little earlier;

and as the next train going west would notarrive for two or three hours, he took out arank cigar, and, placing his feet upon achair, prepared to doze the time away,though he laid a bundle of accounts uponhis knee, in case anyone should come inunexpectedly. This, however, wasdistinctly improbable on such a night.

The stove flung out a drowsy heat, and itwas not long before his eyes grew heavy.He could still hear the wailing of the windand the swish of the snow that whirledabout the lonely building, and listened fora while with tranquil contentment; for thewild weather he was not exposed toenhanced the comfort of the warmth andbrightness he enjoyed. Then, the soundsgrew less distinct and he heard nothing at

all until he straightened himself suddenlyin his chair as a cold draught struck him.A few flakes of snow also swept into theroom and he saw that the door was open.

“Hallo!” he called. “Wait there a moment.I guess this place doesn’t belong to you.”

A man who looked big and shapeless inhis whitened furs signed to somebodyoutside without answering, and four orfive other men in fur caps and snow-sprinkled coats came in. They did notseem to consider it necessary to wait forpermission, and it dawned upon the agentthat something unusual was about tohappen.

“We have a little business to put through,”said one.

“Well,” said the agent brusquely, “I can’tattend to you now. You can come backlater—when the train comes in.”

One of the newcomers smiledsardonically, and the agent recognized twoof his companions. They were men ofsome importance in that country, who had,however joined the homestead movementand were under the ban of the company’schief supporters, the cattle-barons. Therewas accordingly no inducement to wastecivility on them; but he had an unpleasantfeeling that unnecessary impertinencewould not be advisable.

“It has got to be put through now,” said thefirst of them, with a little ring in his voice.“We want a locomotive and a calabooseto take us to Boynton, and we are quite

willing to pay anything reasonable.”

“It can’t be done. We have only the oneloco here, and she is wanted to shove thewest-bound train up the long grade to thehills.”

“I guess that train will have to get throughalone to-night,” said another man.

The agent got up with an impatient gesture.“Now,” he said, “I don’t feel like arguingwith you. You can’t have the loco.”

“No?” said the homesteader, with a littlelaugh. “Well, I figure you’re mistaken. Wehave taken charge of her already and onlywant the bill. If you don’t believe me, callyour engineer.”

The agent strode to the door, and therewas a momentary silence after he called,

“Pete!”

Then, a shout came out of the slidingsnow: “I can’t come.”

It broke off with significant suddenness,and the agent turned to the man who hadfirst spoken. “You are going to be sorryfor this, Mr. Grant,” he said and then triedto slip away, but one of the others pulledthe door to and stood with his back to itwhile Grant, smiling, said, “I’m quitewilling to take my chances. Have thestock-cars passed Perry’s siding?”

“I don’t know,” said the agent.

“Then, hadn’t you better call them up andsee? We are giving you the first chance ofdoing it out of courtesy, but one of us is agood operator.”

“I was on the Baltimore and Ohio road,”said one man. “You needn’t play anytricks with me.”

The agent sat down at the telegraphinstrument, and looked up when it rappedout an answer to his message.

“Stock train left Birch Hollow. No signof her yet.”

“That’s all right,” said the man who hadserved the B. and O. “Tell them to side-track her for half an hour, anyway, afteryour loco comes through. It’s necessary.Don’t worry ’bout any questions, but tellthem to keep us a clear road, now.”

The agent, who saw that the other manwas prepared to do the work himself,complied, and the latter once more nodded

when the instrument clicked out theanswer.

“Make out your bill,” said Grant, taking awallet from his pocket.

“No,” said the agent; “we’re going to havethe law of you.”

Grant laughed. “It strikes me there is verylittle law in this country now, and yourcompany would a good deal sooner havethe dollars than a letter telling them youhad let us take one of their locomotivesaway from you.”

“That,” said the agent reflectively,“sounds quite sensible. Well, I’ll take thedollars. It doesn’t commit us to anything.”

The bills were counted over, and as themen went out Grant turned in the doorway.

“It would not be advisable for you to wireany of the folks along the line to stop us,”he said. “We are going through to Boyntonas fast as your engineer can shove his locoalong, and if anybody switched us into aside-track it would only mean thesmashing up of a good deal of thecompany’s property.”

He had gone out in another moment, and,in a few more, climbed into thelocomotive cab, while somebody coupledon a calaboose in the rear. Then, heshowed the engineer several bills and theagent’s receipt together.

“If you can hold your tongue and get usthrough to Boynton five minutes under themail schedule time, the dollars are yours,”he said.

The engineer looked doubtful for amoment, then, his eyes twinkling, he tookthe bills.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve got the agent’sreceipt, and the rest is not my business. Sittight, and we’ll show you something verylike flying to-night.”

Another man flung open the furnace door,a sudden stream of brightness flashed outas he hurled in coal, the door shut with aclang, and there was a whirr of slippingwheels as the engineer laid his hand on thelever. The great locomotive panted, andGrant, staring out through the glasses, sawa blinking light slide back to them. Then,the plates beneath him trembled, thehammering wheels got hold, and themuffled clanging and thudding swelled

into a rhythmic din. The light darted pastthem, the filmy whiteness which hadstreamed down through the bigheadlamp’s glare now beat in abewildering rush against the quiveringglass, and the fan-shaped blaze ofradiance drove on faster through the snow.

Five minutes passed, and Grant, who helda watch in his hand, glanced at theengineer as the blaze whirled like a cometalong the clean-cut edge of a dusky bluff.

“You’ll have to do better,” he said.

“Wait till we have got her warmed up,”said the man, who stood quietly intent, hislean hand on the throttle. “Then you’ll seesomething.”

Grant sat down on a tool-locker, took out

his cigar-case, and passed it toBreckenridge who sat opposite him.Breckenridge’s face was eager and therewas an unusual brightness in his eyes, forhe was young and something thrilledwithin him in unison with the vibration ofthe great machine. There was, however,very little to see just then beyond thetense, motionless figure of the man at thethrottle and the damp-beaded face ofanother forced up in the lurid glare fromthe furnace door. A dim whiteness lashedthe glasses, and when Breckenridgepressed his face to one of them the blazeof radiance against which the smoke-stackwas projected blackly only intensified theobscurity they were speeding through.

Still, there was much to feel and hear—the

shrill wail of the wind that buffeted theirshelter, the bewildering throb and quiverof the locomotive which, with itssuggestion of Titanic effort, seemed tofind a response in human fibre, poundingand clashing with their burden of strain,and the roar of the great drivers that roseand fell like a diapason. PerhapsBreckenridge, who was also under astrain that night, was fanciful, but itseemed to him there was hidden in themedley of sound a theme or motive thatvoiced man’s domination over theprimeval forces of the universe, and urgedhim to the endurance of stress, and greatendeavour. It was, for the most part, vagueand elusive; but there were times when itrang exultingly through the subtlyharmonious din, reminding him of

Wagnerian music.

Leaning forward, he touched Grant’s knee.“Larry, it’s bracing. The last few monthswere making me a little sick of everything—but this gets hold of one.” Grant smiled,but Breckenridge saw how weary hisbronzed face showed in the dim lanternlight. “There was a time, two or threeyears ago, when I might have felt it as youseem to do,” he said. “I don’t seem tohave any feeling but tiredness left menow.”

“You can’t let go,” said Breckenridge.

“No,” and Grant sighed, “not until theState takes hold instead of me, or thetrouble’s through.”

Breckenridge said nothing further, and

Grant sat huddled in a corner with the thinblue cigar-smoke curling about him. Heknew it was possible he was taking a veryheavy risk just then, since thehomesteaders might have changed theirplans again; and his task was a doubleone, for he had not only to save the stocktrain, but prevent an encounter betweenhis misguided followers and the cavalry.So there was silence between them while,lurching, rocking, roaring, the greatlocomotive sped on through the night, untilthe engineer, turning half-round, glanced atGrant.

“Is she making good enough time to suityou? Perry’s siding is just ahead, andwe’ll be on the Bitter Creek trestle fiveminutes after that,” he said.

Grant rose and leaned forward close tothe glasses. He could see nothing but theradiance from the headlamp whirling likea meteor through the filmy haze; but thefierce vibration of everything, and thefashion in which the snow smote theglasses, as in a solid stream, showed thepace at which they were travelling. Helooked round and saw that Breckenridge’seyes were fixed upon him. His comrade’svoice reached him faint and strainedthrough the hammering of the wheels.

“You feel tolerably sure Harper was rightabout the bridge?”

Grant nodded. “I do.”

“What if he was mistaken, and they meantto try there after all? There are eight ofus.”

“We have got to take the risk,” said Grantvery quietly, “and it is a bigresponsibility; but if the boys got theirwork in and fell foul of Cheyne, we wouldhave half the State ablaze.”

He signed for silence, and Breckenridgestared out through the glasses, for hefeared his face would betray him, andfancied he understood the burden that wasupon the man who, because it seemed thelesser evil, was risking eight men’s lives.

As he watched, a blink of light crept out ofthe snow, grew brighter, and swept backto them. Others appeared in a clusterbehind it, a big water-tank flashed by, andthe roar of wheels and scream of whistlewas flung back by a snow-coveredbuilding. Then, as Breckenridge glanced

to the opposite side, the blaze of anotherheadlamp dazzled his eyes and he had ablurred vision of a waiting locomotiveand a long row of snow-smeared cars. Inanother second cars and station hadvanished as suddenly as they had sprungup out of the night, and they were oncemore alone in the sliding snow.Breckenridge drew a breath of relief.

“There’s the stock train, any way. Andnow for the bridge!” he said.

“That was the easiest half of it. Mullerwas there—I saw him—and he could havewarned the agent at the last minute,” Grantanswered.

Neither of them said anything further, butBreckenridge felt his heart beat faster asthe snow whirled by. The miles were

slipping behind them, and he was by nomeans so sure as Larry was that no attemptwould be made upon the bridge. His fancywould persist in picturing the awful leapinto the outer darkness through the gap inthe trestle, and he felt his lips andforehead grow a trifle colder and his fleshshrink in anticipation of the tremendousshock. He looked at Grant; the latter’sface was very quiet, and had lost itsgrimness and weariness—there wasalmost a suggestion of exaltation in it.

“We are almost on the bridge now,” hesaid.

The engineer nodded, and the next momentBreckenridge, who had been watching thelight of the headlamp flash along the snowbeside the track, saw it sweep on, as it

were, through emptiness. Then, he heard aroar of timber beneath him, and fancied hecould look down into a black gulf throughthe filmy snow. He knew it was a singletrack they were speeding over, and that theplatform of the calaboose behind themoverhung the frozen river far below.

He set his lips and held his breath forwhat seemed a very long time, and then,with a sigh of relief, sank back into hisseat as he felt by the lessening vibration,that there was frozen soil under them. Butin spite of himself the hands he wouldhave lighted a cigar with shook, and theengineer who looked round glanced at himcuriously.

“Feeling kind of sick?” he said. “Well,it’s against the regulations, but there’s

something that might fix you as well as teain that can.”

Breckenridge smiled feebly. “The fact is, Ihave never travelled on a locomotivebefore, and when I took on the contract Ididn’t quite know all I was letting myselfin for,” he said.

“How far are we off the long down gradewith the curve in it?” asked Grant.

“We might get there in ’bout ten minutes,”said the engineer.

“Slacken up before you reach the gradeand put your headlamp out,” said Grant. “Iwant you to stop just this side of the curve,and wait for me five minutes.”

The engineer looked at him steadily.“Now, there’s a good deal I don’t

understand about all this. What do youwant me to stop there for?”

“I don’t see why you should worry. It doesnot concern you. Any way, I have hiredthis special, and I give you my word thatnothing I am going to do will cause theleast damage to any of the company’sproperty. I want you to stop, lend me alantern, and sit tight in the cab until I tellyou to go on. We will make it two dollarsa minute.”

The engineer nodded. “I don’t know whatyou are after, but I guess I can take yourword,” he said. “You seem that kind of aman.”

Ten minutes later the fireman vanishedinto the darkness, and the blaze of theheadlamp went out before he returned and

the roar of the drivers sank. The rhythmicdin grew slack, and became a jarring ofdetached sounds again, the snow no longerbeat on the glasses as it had done, and,rocking less, the great locomotive rolledslowly down the incline until it stopped,and Grant, taking the lantern handed him,sprang down from the cab. Four other menwere waiting on the calaboose platform,and when Grant hid the lantern under hisfur coat they floundered down the side ofthe graded track which there crossed ahollow. A raw wind whirled the whiteflakes about them and Breckenridge couldscarcely see the men behind him. He wasthankful when, slipping, sliding,stumbling, they gained the level.

From there he could just distinguish the

road bed as something solid through thewhirling haze, and he felt they werefollowing a bend of it when Grant stoppedand a clinking sound came out of theobscurity above them. It might have beenmade by somebody knocking out keywedges or spikes with a big hammer andin his haste striking the rail or chair.

Then Grant said something Breckenridgecould not catch, and they were crawlingup the slope, with the clinking and ringinggrowing a trifle louder. Breckenridge’sheart beat faster than usual, but he wastolerably collected now. He had a weaponhe was not unskilled with in his pocket,and the chance of a fight with evendesperate men was much lessdisconcerting than that of plunging down

into a frozen river with a locomotive. Hehad also a reassuring conviction that ifLarry could contrive it there would be nofight at all.

He crawled on, with the man behindclutching at him, now and then, and theone in front sliding back on him, until hisarms were wet to the elbows and his legsto the knees; but the top of the gradeseemed strangely difficult to reach, and hecould see nothing with the snow that blewover it in his eyes. Suddenly Larry roseup, there was a shout and a flounder, and,though he did not quite know how he gotthere, Breckenridge found himselfstanding close behind his comrade, and inthe light of the lantern held up saw a mandrop his hammer. There were other men

close by, but they were apparently tooastonished to think of flight.

“It’s Larry!” somebody exclaimed.

“Stop where you are,” said Grant sharplyas one man made a move. “I don’t want toshoot any of you, but I most certainly willif you make me. Are there any more ofyou?”

“No,” said one of the men disgustedly.

Grant walked forward swinging hislantern until his eyes rested on one partlyloosened rail. “And that is as far as youhave got?” he said. “Take up your hammerand drive the wood key in. Get hold oftheir rifles, Charley. I guess they are underthat coat.”

There was an angry murmur, and a man

started to speak; but Grant stopped him.

“Hammer the wedges in,” he said. “It waspure foolishness made me come here tosave you from the cavalry who had heardof what you meant to do, because we haveno use for men of your kind in this country.You haven’t even sense enough to keepyour rifles handy, and there will be two orthree less of you to worry decent folks ifyou keep us waiting.”

A man took up the hammer, and thenwaited a moment, looking at those whostood about Larry. He could see the facesof one or two in the lantern light, andrecognized that he need expect no supportfrom them. The men were resoluteAmericans, who had no desire foranything approaching anarchy.

“We are with Larry, and don’t feel likefooling. Hadn’t you better start in?” one ofthem said.

The rail was promptly fastened, andGrant, after examining it, came back.

“Go on in front of us, and take your toolsalong! It will not be nice for the man whotries to get away,” he said.

The prisoners plodded dejectedly up thetrack until they reached the calaboose, intowhich the others drove them. Then Grantand Breckenridge went back to thelocomotive, and the former nodded to theengineer:

“Take us through to Boynton as fast as youcan.”

“That is a big load off your mind,”

Breckenridge said as the panting enginegot under way.

But Grant, huddled in a corner, neithermoved nor spoke until, half an hour later,they rolled into a little wooden town andthe men in the calaboose got down. Therewas nobody about the depot to ask themany questions, and they crossed the trackto the straggling street apparently on goodterms with each other, though four of themknew that unpleasant results would followany attempt at a dash for liberty. In answerto Grant’s knock, a man let them into oneof the stores.

“I guess we’ll lock them in the back storeuntil morning,” he said, after a shortconference apart with Grant. “A littlecooling down is not going to do them

much harm, and I don’t think anyone couldget out without an axe.”

The building looked secure and, whenfood and hot coffee had been served them,Grant retired to rest. He slept soundly, andit was close on daylight when a poundingon the door awakened him.

“I guess you had better get up at once,”their host called.

A few minutes later Grant andBreckenridge went downstairs with him,and the storekeeper, opening a door, liftedthe lamp he held and pointed to an openwindow in the roof. A barrel, with a boxor two laid upon it, stood suggestivelybeneath it.

Breckenridge glanced at Larry, and saw a

curious little smile on his face. “Yes,” hesaid, “it’s quite simple. Now, I never sawthat window. Where would they be likelyto head for?”

“Pacific Slope,” said the storekeeper.“Wages are high just now, and theyseemed quite afraid of you. The west-bound fast freight stopped here for waterabout two hours ago, and it was snowingthat thick nobody would see them gettinginto a box car. They heave a few drygoods out here occasionally.”

Breckenridge turned to Grant. “You seemrelieved.”

“Yes,” said Grant, with a little shake ofhis shoulders. “If they have lit out of thecountry it will content me. I have had quiteenough hard things to do lately.”

A sudden thought struck Breckenridge.“You didn’t mean—” he said with ashudder.

“I didn’t mean to let them go, but I’m gladthey’ve gone,” Grant answered. “Wemade a warning of one of the cattle-barons’ men, and the man who takes thelaw into his own hands is doubly bound todo the square thing all round. If he doesless, he is piling up a bigger reckoningthan I would care to face.”

XXV

CHEYNE RELIEVES HISFEELINGS

A blustering wind moaned outside thelonely building, and the stove snapped andcrackled as the chilly draughts swept intothe hall at Cedar Range. Jackson Cheynehad arrived on horseback in the creepingdusk an hour or two earlier, after spendingmost of four nights and days in the slushysnow, and was now resting contentedly ina big hide chair. Indeed, notwithstandingthe fact that Hetty sat close by, he was

feeling pleasantly drowsy when she turnedto him.

“You have only told us that you didn’t findthe train-wreckers, and you know we arejust dying with curiosity,” she said.

Cheyne looked up languidly, wonderingwhether the half-indifferentinquisitiveness was assumed, as heremembered the anxiety he had seen inHetty’s face when he first came in. Insteadof answering directly, he glanced roundthe little group sitting about the stove—forMiss Schuyler, and Christopher Allonbyand his cousin were there, as well asHetty.

“One would scarcely fancy you weredying of anything,” he said. “In fact, itwould be difficult to imagine any of you

looking better. I wonder if you know thatwith the way that the light falls that duskypanelling forms a most effectivebackground, Miss Schuyler?”

Flora Schuyler laughed. “We are not to beput off. Tell us what you found—and youneedn’t have any diffidence: we are quiteaccustomed to hearing the mostastonishing things at Cedar.”

“The trouble is that I didn’t find anything.I spent several most unpleasant hourswatching a railroad-trestle in blindingsnow, until the cattle-train went by insafety. Nobody seemed to have theslightest wish to meddle with it.”

Without exactly intending it he allowedhis eyes to rest on Hetty a moment, andfancied he saw relief in her face. But it

was Flora Schuyler who turned to him.

“What did you do then?”

“I and the boys then decided it would beadvisable to look for a ranch where wecould get food and shelter, and had somedifficulty in finding one. In the morning,we made our way back to the depot, anddiscovered that a gentleman you know hadhired a locomotive a little while after thecattle-train started.”

“Larry, of course!” ejaculated ChrisAllonby. “I wanted to stake five dollarswith Clavering that he would be too smartfor him again.”

Cheyne looked at him inquiringly. “I don’tquite understand.”

“No?” and Allonby’s embarrassment was

unmistakable. “Well, there is no greatreason why you should. I have a habit oftalking at random occasionally. There arequite enough sensible people in thiscountry without me just now.”

“Then,” said Cheyne, “I went on to anespecially forlorn place called Boynton,and discovered with some difficulty thatMr. Grant, who hired the locomotive, hadstopped it at a dangerous curve and pickedseveral men up. He took them on toBoynton, and there they seem to havedisappeared, though it was suggested thatthey had departed for a place unknown,either on the top of, or underneath a fastfreight train.”

Chris Allonby chuckled. “Well,” he said,“we haven’t the least use for Larry here,

but I am almost proud he was a friend ofmine.”

Cheyne glancing round at the othersfancied there was a little glow in Hetty’seyes and a trace of warmer colour inFlora Schuyler’s face. It was only justperceptible to him, but he had less doubtwhen he saw that Miss Allonby waswatching her companion covertly, for hewas quite aware that the perceptions ofthe average young woman were likely tobe much keener than his own in suchaffairs.

“I can’t help fancying you have a clue towhat really happened, Miss Torrance,” hesaid.

“Yes,” said Hetty quietly. “It is quite plainto me that Larry saved the train.”

Cheyne glanced at her sharply, and thenturned to Allonby. “It strikes you that way,too?”

“Of course,” said Allonby unguardedly.“It is too bad of Larry. He has beaten usagain, though Clavering fixed the thingquite nicely.”

Cheyne’s face grew stern. “I am tounderstand that you did not warn theengineer or any of the railroad men?”

“No,” said Allonby, with evidentembarrassment. “We didn’t. It wasnecessary to make the thing as ugly forLarry’s friends as we could, and we knewyou would be at the bridge. If you hadcaught them in the act, with the train notfar away, it would have looked ever somuch better for us—and you.”

He stopped, with an unpleasant feelingthat he had blundered. Cheyne’s face hadbecome grimmer. Miss Schuyler’s lipswere curled in a little scornful smile, andthere was a curious sparkle in Hetty’seyes.

“I wonder if you quite recognize the depthof Mr. Grant’s iniquity yet?” FloraSchuyler asked.

Cheyne smiled. “I confess I should verymuch like to meet the man. You see, myprofession prevents my being a partisan,and the cleverness and daring of what hehas evidently done appeals to me. He tookthe chances of his own men turning on himto save them from an affray with us,brought them off, and sent your cattle-trainthrough; and what, it seems to me, was

more than all, disregarded the probabilityof his enemies associating him with thecontriving of the outrage.”

“Wouldn’t you have done that?” askedMiss Allonby.

“No,” said the soldier quietly. “I don’tthink I should. A man who would do whatthis one has done would be very likely totake a hand in that kind of thing.”

Again there was an almost embarrassingsilence broken by Miss Allonby. “Iwonder who could have told him.”

Nobody spoke until Cheyne felt itadvisable to break the silence.

“You have no sympathy with Grant, MissAllonby?”

“No,” said the girl plaintively. “I don’t goquite as far as Mr. Clavering and mycousin do—though Chris generally talkstoo much—but Larry is a nuisance, andreally ought to be crushed. You see, wehad everything we wanted before he andthe others made the trouble here.”

“That is quite convincing,” Cheyne said,with somewhat suspicious gravity. Helooked at the others, and fancied that Hettywould have answered but that FloraSchuyler flashed a warning glance at her.

“One could almost fancy that most of ushave too much now,” she said. “Are webetter, braver, stronger, or of choicer stuffthan those others who have nothing, andonly want the little the law would givethem? Oh, yes, we are accomplished—

very indifferently, some of us—and havebeen better taught, though one sometimeswonders at the use we make of it; but wasthat education given us for our virtues, orthrust upon us by the accident that ourfathers happened to be rich?”

“You will scarcely approve, MissAllonby?” said Cheyne.

The girl’s lips curled scornfully. “I neverargue with people who talk like that. Itwould not be any use—and they wouldnever understand me; but everybodyknows we were born different from therabble. It is unfortunate you and Larrycouldn’t go up and down the countrytogether, convincing people, Flo.”

Cheyne, seeing the gleam in MissSchuyler’s eyes, wondered whether there

had been malice in the speech, and wasnot sorry that Torrance and Claveringcame in just then.

“I have just come from Newcombe’s andheard that you had failed,” said Torrance.“If you will come along to my room, Ishould like to hear about it.”

Cheyne smiled as he rose. “I don’t knowthat failed was quite the correct word. Myobject was to protect the track, and so faras I could discover, no attempt was madeto damage it.”

Torrance glanced at him sharply as theymoved away. “Now, we were under theimpression that it was the capture of theman responsible for the affair.”

“Then,” said the soldier drily, “I am

afraid you were under amisapprehension.”

He passed the next half-hour withTorrance amicably, and it was not until hewas returning to the hall with Claveringthat he found an opportunity of expressinghimself freely. Torrance, he realized, wasan old man, and quite incapable ofregarding the question except from hisown point of view.

“I am just a little astonished you did notconsider it advisable to follow the thingup further, when you must have seen whatit pointed to,” said Clavering.

“That,” said Cheyne, smiling, “is foolishof you. I would like to explain that I amnot a detective or a police officer.”

“You were, at least, sent here to restoretranquillity.”

“Precisely!” said Cheyne. “By the State.To maintain peace, and not further thecattle-men’s schemes. I am, for thepresent, your leader’s guest; but I have noreason for thinking he believes that in anyway constitutes me his ally. In his case Icould not use the word accomplice.”

Clavering flashed an observant glance athim. “It should be evident which party isdoing the most to bring about tranquillity.”

“It is not,” said Cheyne. “I don’t know thatit is my business to go into that question;but one or two of the efforts you havemade lately would scarcely impress thefact on me.”

“You are frank, any way,” with adisagreeable laugh.

“No,” said Cheyne, with a twinkle in hiseyes, “I’m not sure that I am. Weoccasionally talk a good deal more plainlyin the United States cavalry.”

He passed on to the hall and Claveringwent back to Torrance’s room. “We havegot to get rid of that man, sir,” he said. “Ifwe don’t, Larry will have him. Allonbyhad better go and worry the Bureau intosending for another two or threesquadrons under a superior officer.”

Torrance sighed heavily. “I’m ’mostafraid they are not going to take kindly toany more worrying,” he said. “In fact, nowit’s evident how the feeling of the State isgoing, I have an idea they’d sooner stand

in with the homestead boys. Still, we cantry it, any way.”

It was about the same time that Grant flunghimself wearily into a chair in the greatbare room at Fremont ranch. His face washaggard, his eyes heavy, for he had spentthe greater part of several anxious daysand nights endeavouring to curb theheadstrong passions of his followers, andriding through leagues of slushy snow.

“Will you hurry Tom up with the supper,while I look through my letters?” he said.

Breckenridge went out, and, when hecame back a little while later, found Grantwith a strip of paper on his knee.

“More bad news?” he asked.

Grant made no answer, but passed the

strip of paper across to him, andBreckenridge’s pulses throbbed fast withanger as he read: “It is quite difficult to siton both sides of the fence, and the boyshave no more use for you. Still, there wasa time when you did what you could forus, and that is why I am giving you goodadvice. Sit tight at Fremont, and don’t goout at nights.”

“The consumed asses!” he said. “You seewhat he means? They have gone after theherring Clavering drew across the trail.”

The bronze grew darker in Larry’s face,and his voice was hoarse. “Yes—theyfigure the cattle-men have bought me over.Well, there were points that would havedrawn any man’s suspicions—the packet Iwould not give up to Chilton—and, as you

mention, Miss Torrance’s wallet. Still, ithurts.”

Breckenridge saw the veins swell up onhis comrade’s forehead and the tremblingof his hands. “Don’t worry about them.They are beasts, old man,” he said.

Grant said nothing for at least a minute,and then clenched one lean brown hand. “Ifelt it would come, and yet it has shakenmost of the grit out of me. I did what Icould for them—it was not easy—and theyhave thrown me over. That is hard to bear,but there’s more. No man can tell, nowthere is no one to hold them in, how farthey will go.”

Breckenridge’s answer was to fling acloth upon the table and lay out the plates.Grant sat very still; his voice had been

curiously even, but his set face betrayedwhat he was feeling, and there wassomething in his eyes that Breckenridgedid not care to see. He also felt that therewere troubles too deep for any blunderingattempt at sympathy, but the silence grewoppressive, and by and by he turned to hiscompanion again.

“We’ll presume the fellow who wrote thatmeans well,” he said. “What does hiswarning point to?”

Grant smiled bitterly. “An attempt uponmy homestead or my life, and I have giventhem already rather more than either isworth to me,” he said.

Breckenridge was perfectly sensible thathe was not shining in the rôle ofcomforter; but he felt it would be

something accomplished if he could keephis comrade talking. He had discoveredthat verbal expression is occasionallyalmost a necessity to the burdened mind,though Larry was not greatly addicted torelief of that description.

“Of course, this campaign has cost you agood deal,” he said.

“Probably five thousand dollars—all thatseemed good in life—and every friend Ihad.”

“After all, Larry, the thing may be no morethan a joke or an attempt at bluff. Evenadmitting that it is not, it probably onlyexpresses the views of a few of the boys.”

Grant shook his head. “No. I believe it isquite genuine. I saw how affairs were

going even before I wouldn’t give Chiltonthe packet; most of the boys were ready tobreak away then. Well, one could scarcelyblame them for not trusting me, and I felt Iwas laying down my authority when I sentthe stock train through.”

“Not blame them!” said Breckenridge,clenching his fist, his eyes blazing.“Where in the wide world would thecrazy fools get another man like you? Butif you can take it quietly, I ought to, andthe question is, what are you going to do?”

“What I can,” said Grant. “Hold the boysclear of trouble where it is possible.There are still one or two who will standbehind me, and what we can’t do may bedone for us. When a man is badly wantedin this country he usually comes to the

front, and I will be glad to drop out when Isee him.”

“Larry,” Breckenridge said slowly, “I amyounger than you are, and I haven’t seen asmuch, but it would be better for me if Ihad half your optimism. Still, that was notquite what I was asking. If the beastsactually mean to burn your place orattempt your life you are surely not goingto give them the opportunity. Can’t we fixup a guard among the few sensible men orsend for the cavalry?”

Grant smiled wearily as he shook hishead. “No,” he said. “The one thing I can’tdo is to lift my hand against the men Ibrought here in a private quarrel.”

Just then the cook came in with the supper,and, though the pair had eaten nothing

since sunrise and ridden through soft snowmost of that day, it cost Breckenridge aneffort to clear the plate set before him.Grant scarcely touched the food, and itwas a relief to both when the meal wasover, and Grant’s plate, still half-filled,was taken away. After he had severaltimes lighted a cigar and let it go outagain, Breckenridge glanced at himdeprecatingly.

“I can’t keep it up any longer, and I knowhow it is with you, because I feel the thingmyself,” he said. “Now, if you want mehere, I’ll stay, but I have a notion the poorattempts at talk I’m making are onlyworrying you.”

Grant smiled, but Breckenridge saw theanswer in his face, and went out hastily,

which was, under the circumstances, thewisest thing he could do. Then, Grantstretched his arms wearily above his head,and a faint groan escaped him.

“It had to come—but it hurts,” he said.

XXVI

LARRY’S REWARD

Late one night Larry came home toFremont, wet with rain and splashed withmire, for it was thawing fast and he hadridden far. He sloughed off his outergarments, and turned to Breckenridge,who had been waiting him, with a little,weary smile.

“The dollars are safe, any way, and that isa big load off my mind,” he said. “Gillothas them in his safe, and nobody can touchthem without a countersigned order from

the executive.”

Breckenridge heaved a sigh of relief, forhe knew that Gillot, who had a store in therailroad town, was a determined man, andquite capable of taking care of what hadbeen entrusted him. The dollars inquestion, which had been raised by levyand sent by sympathizers, had been placedin Larry’s hands to further thehomesteaders’ objects in that district as hedeemed advisable. He had, however, forreasons Breckenridge was acquaintedwith, just relinquished the responsibility.

“I think you were wise,” said the lad. “Itroused a good deal of feeling when youwouldn’t let Harper and his friends havewhat they asked for, and the boys werevery bitter at the meeting while you were

away!”

“Well,” said Grant drily, “I knew whatthey wanted those dollars for, and if I’dhad twice as many I would not have giventhem one.”

“They could not have done much harmwith the few they wanted, and it wouldhave saved you a good deal ofunpleasantness. I didn’t like the way theboys were talking, and it was quite plainthe men who kept their heads wereanxious. In fact, two or three of themoffered to come over and sleep here untilthe dissatisfaction had simmered down.”

“You did not accept their offer?”

“No, but I wish you would.”

Grant shook his head. “It wouldn’t suit me

to own up that I was afraid of my friends—and I don’t want to believe there areany of them who would injure me. If therewere, I could not draw trigger on them indefence of my own property.”

“Then we will hope for the best,” saidBreckenridge, somewhat doubtfully.

Grant, who had had supper somewhereelse, presently retired, and Breckenridge,who found the big room dreary withouthim, followed a little later. It was longbefore he slept, for he had seen the temperof the more reckless spirits at the meetinghe had attended, and he could not shakeoff the memory of his comrade’s face.Larry had made no protest, butBreckenridge could understand what hewas feeling. The ranch was very quiet, but

he did not think his comrade slept; in this,however, he was wrong, for, worn out byphysical effort and mental strain, Larryhad sunk into heavy slumber.

Two or three hours later Breckenridgeawakened suddenly. He sat up listening,still a little dazed with sleep, but nothingdisturbed the silence of the woodenbuilding, and it was a moment or twobefore the moan of the wind forced itselfon his perceptions. Then, he thought heheard the trampling of a horse and stealthyfootsteps in the mire below, and, springingfrom his bed, ran to the window. The nightwas dark, but he could dimly see a fewshadowy figures moving towards thehouse. In another minute he slipped intopart of his clothing and hastening into

Grant’s room shook him roughly.

“Get up! There are men outside.”

Larry was on his feet in a few seconds andstruggling into his garments. “Light thelamps downstairs,” he ordered.

Breckenridge stood still, astonished.“That would give them an advantage. Theymight be the Sheriff’s boys.”

“No,” said Larry, with a laugh thatsounded very bitter, “I don’t think theyare! Go down, and do what I tell you.”

Breckenridge went, but his fingers shookso that he broke several sulphur matchesin his haste before he had lighted one biglamp in the log-built hall. Then, as heturned towards the living room, there wasa pounding on the door, and while he

stood irresolute Grant, partly dressed,came running down the stairway. Twoother men showed dimly behind him, butBreckenridge scarcely saw them, for hesprang through the doorway into theunlighted room, and the next moment fellover a table. Picking himself up with anobjurgation, he groped along the wall forthe rack where the rifles stood, and wasmaking his way back towards the blink oflight with two of them in his hands, whena hoarse voice demanded admission andthe door rattled under the blows showeredupon it. Then, as he came out into the hall,Grant turned to him.

“Put those rifles down,” he said quietly.

Breckenridge stared at him. “But——”

“Put them down!” said Grant, with a little

impatient gesture; Breckenridge let theweapons fall but he was pleased to see thecook, who now stood at the foot of thestairway, slip softly forward and pick upone of them. Grant was looking at the doorand did not see the man move back half-way up the stairs as silently as he came.

Once more a hoarse shout rose fromoutside: “Open that door before we breakit in!”

For a moment or two, as if to give point tothe warning, the door creaked and rattledas the axe-heads beat upon it, and then thedin ceased suddenly, for Grant, whorecognized the voice, raised his hand.

“Open it for them,” he said, so loudly thathe could be heard outside.

Breckenridge was almost glad to obey. Itwould have pleased him better to havetaken his place, rifle in hand, with thecook on the stairway, but since Grant hadevidently determined not to oppose theassailants’ entrance by violence, it was arelief to do anything that would terminatethe suspense. Still, his heart throbbedpainfully as he seized the bolt, and heglanced round once more in what he feltwas futile protest. Grant, who evidentlysaw what he was thinking in his face, onlysmiled a little and signed with his hand.

Breckenridge drew the bolt, and sprangbackwards as the door swung open. Menwith axes and rifles showed up in thelight; but while here and there an axeflashed back a twinkling gleam, or a face

shone white, the rest was blurred andshadowy, and he could only see hazyfigures moving against the blackness of thenight. His companion was standing alonein the middle of the hall, motionless andimpassive, with nothing in his hands.

“Now,” he said, in a voice that jarred onBreckenridge’s ears, “the door is open.What do you want?”

“We want you,” said one of the menoutside.

“Then, I’ll come out and talk to you,” saidGrant.

Breckenridge laid a restraining hand uponhis arm, but he shook it off, and movingforward stopped just outside thethreshold. The lad could not see his face,

but he noticed that he stood very straight,with his head thrown back a trifle, and thatone or two of those without edged fartherinto the shadowy crowd. Glancing behindhim, he also saw the cook leaning forwardon the stairway with the rifle glinting inhis hands.

“Well?” said Grant, and his voice rangcommandingly.

“We have come for the dollars,” said aman. “We want them, and they’re ours.”

“Then, you must ask your committee forthem. They are not in my house.”

“Bluff!” said somebody; and an angryclamour broke out.

“Hand them out,” cried one voice, “beforewe burn the place for you.”

Larry swung up one hand commandingly,and Breckenridge felt a thrill of pridewhen, as if in tribute to his comrade’sfearlessness, a sudden silence followed.Larry stood alone, statuesque in poise,with arm stretched out in the face of thehostile crowd, and once more the respectthe men had borne him asserted itself.

“You will listen to me, boys, and it maybe the last time I shall speak to you,” hesaid. “You know that right back from thebeginning I have done the best I could foryou, and now I feel it in me that if you willwait just a little longer the State will domore than I could ever do. Can’t youunderstand that if you go round destroyingrailroad-trestles, shooting cattle, andburning ranches, you are only playing into

the hand of your enemies, and the verymen in the legislature who would, if youkept your patience, make your rights sureto you, will be forced to turn the cavalryloose on you? Can’t you sit tight anothermonth or two, instead of throwing all wehave fought for away?”

The silence that followed the speechlasted for a space of seconds, and then,when Breckenridge hoped Grant mightstill impose prudence upon the crowd,there were murmurs of doubt andsuspicion. They grew rapidly louder, anda man stepped out from the rest.

“The trouble is that we don’t believe inyou, Larry,” he said. “You were with ussolid one time, but that was before thecattle-barons bought you.”

A derisive laugh followed, and whenGrant turned a little Breckenridge saw hisface. The bronze in it had faded, and leftpaler patches, that seemed almost grey,while the lad, who knew his comrade’spride and uprightness, fancied he couldguess how that taunt, made openly, hadwounded him.

“Well,” he said, very slowly, “I can onlyhope you will have more confidence inyour next leader; but I am on the list of theexecutive still, and if the house was full ofdollars I wouldn’t give you one of themwith which to make trouble that you’llmost surely be sorry for. Any way, those Ihad are safe in a place where, while yourcommittee keep their heads, you will notlay hands on them.”

A shout of disbelief was followed byuproar, through which there brokedetached cries: “Pull him down! He hasthem all the time! Pound them out of him!Burn the place down for a warning to thecattle-men!”

They died away when one of the men,with emphatic gestures, demandedattention. Moving out from the rest, heturned to Grant. “You have rifles andcartridges here, and after all, those arewhat we want the most. Now—and it’syour last chance—hand them out.”

“No,” said Grant.

The man made a little gesture ofresignation. “Boys,” he said, “you willhave to go in and take them.”

Grant still stood motionless andunyielding on his threshold, but he hadonly a moment’s grace, for the menoutside surged on again, and one swung arifle-butt over him. Breckenridge saw hiscomrade seize it, and had sprung to hisside when a rifle flashed on the stairwaybehind him and a man cried out and fell.The next instant another rifle-butt whirled,and Grant, reeling sideways, went downand was trampled on.

Breckenridge ran towards the rifle stilllying in the hall, but before he could reachit there was a roar of voices and a rush offeet, and the men who poured in headlongwere upon him. Something hard and heavysmote him in the face, and as he reeledback gasping there was another flash on

the stairway. His head struck something,and he was never sure of what happenedduring the next half-hour.

When, feeling very dizzy, Breckenridgeraised himself in the corner where he hadbeen lying, the hall was empty save fortwo huddled figures in the doorway, andwhile he blinked at them in a half-dazedfashion, it seemed to him that a red glare,which rose and fell, shone in. He couldalso smell burning wood, and saw dimwreaths of smoke drive by outside. Hishearing was not especially acute just then,but he fancied that men were trampling,and apparently dragging furniture about,all over the building. Then, as hisscattered senses came back to him, he rosefeebly to his feet, and finding to his

astonishment that he still possessed thepower of locomotion, walked unevenlytowards the motionless objects in thedoorway. One of them, as he expected,was Grant, who was lying very white andstill, just as he had fallen.

“Larry,” Breckenridge said, and shiveredat the sound of his own voice. “Larry!”

But there was no answer, andBreckenridge sat down by Grant’s sidewith a little groan, for his head swam oncemore and he felt a horrible coldnesscreeping over him. How long he sat there,while the smoke that rolled in fromoutside grew denser, he did not know; butby and by he was dimly conscious that themen were coming down the stairway.They clustered about him, and one of

them, stooping over the injuredhomesteader, signed to his comrades.

“Put him into the wagon, and start off atonce,” he said.

Three or four men came out from the rest,and when they shuffled away with theirburden, the one who seemed to be leaderpointed to Grant as he turned toBreckenridge.

“He would have it, and the thump on thehead he got would have put an end to mostmen,” he said. “Still, I don’t figure youneed worry about burying him just yet, andI want a straight answer. Are those dollarsin the house?”

Breckenridge sat blinking at him amoment, and then very shakily dragged

himself to his feet, and stood before theman, with one hand clenched. His facewas white and drawn and there was a redsmear on his forehead.

“If you would not believe the man wholies there, will you take my word?” hesaid unevenly. “He told you they werenot.”

“I guess he spoke the truth,” saidsomebody. “Any way, we can’t find them.Well, what is to be done with him?”

Breckenridge, who was not quite himself,laughed bitterly. “Leave him where he is,and go away. You have done enough,” hesaid. “He gave you all he had—and Iknow, as no other man ever will, what itcost him—and this is how you have repaidhim.”

Some of the men looked confused, and theleader made a deprecatory gesture. “Anyway, we’ll give you a hand to put himwhere you want.”

Breckenridge waved him back fiercely. “Iam alone; but none of you shall lay a handon him while I can keep you off. If youhave left any life in him, the touch of yourfingers would hurt him more thananything.”

The other man seemed to have a difficultyin finding an answer, and while he staredat Breckenridge there was a trample ofhoofs in the mire outside, and a shout.Breckenridge could not catch its meaning,but the men about him streamed out of thehall and he could hear them mounting inhaste. As the rapid beat of hoofs gradually

died away, looking up at a sound, he sawthe cook bending over his comrade. Theman, seeing in his eyes the question hedared not ask, shook his head.

“No, I guess they haven’t killed him,” hesaid. “Kind of knocked all the senses outof him; and now I’ve let the rest out, we’llget him to bed.”

“The rest?” Breckenridge askedbewildered.

The man nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I guessI got one or two of the homestead-boys,and then Charley and I lit out through aback window, and slipped round to seewhy the stockboys weren’t coming. It wasquite simple. The blame firebugs had put aman with a rifle at the door of theirsleeping shed.”

Three or four other men trooped insomewhat sheepishly, though, as the cookhad explained, it was not their fault theyhad arrived after the fight was over; andwhile they carried their master upstairsBreckenridge thought he heard anotherbeat of hoofs. He paid no great attention toit, but when Larry had been laid on thebed glanced towards the window at thestreaks of flame breaking through thesmoke that rolled about a birch-logbuilding.

“What can be done?” he said.

“I don’t know that we can do anything,”answered the cook. “The fire has got toogood a holt, but it’s not likely to lightanything else the way the wind is. It wasone of them blame Chicago rustlers put the

firestick in.”

“Pshaw!” said Breckenridge. “Let it burn.I mean, what can be done for Larry?”

“We might give him some whiskey—onlywe haven’t any. Still, I’ve seen this kindof thing happen in the Michigan lumber-camps, and I guess he’s most as wellwithout it. You want to give a man’sbrains time to settle down after they’vehad a big shake-up.”

Breckenridge sat down limply on the footof the bed, faint and dizzy, and wonderingif he really heard a regular, rhythmicdrumming through the snapping of theflame. It grew louder while he listened,and a faint musical jingling becameaudible with it.

“That sounds like cavalry,” the cook said.“They have been riding round and seen theblaze.”

And a few minutes later a voice rosesharply outside, and some, at least, of theriders pulled up. The cook, at a sign fromBreckenridge, went down, and came backby and by with a man in bespattered blueuniform.

“Captain Cheyne, United States cavalry—at your service,” he said. “I am afraid Ihave come a trifle late to be of much use;but a few of my men are trying to pick upthe rustlers’ trail. Now, how did that manget hurt, and what is the trouble about?”

Breckenridge told him as concisely as hecould, and Cheynes bent over the silentfigure on the bed.

“Quietness is often good in these cases;but there is such a thing as collapsefollowing the shock, and I guess by yourfriend’s face it might be well to try torouse him,” he said. “Have you anybrandy?”

“No,” said Breckenridge. “It has beenquite a time since we had that or any otherluxuries in this house. Its owner strippedhimself for the benefit of the men who didtheir best to kill him.”

Cheyne brought out a flask. “This shoulddo as well,” he said. “You can tell thatman to boil some water, and in themeanwhile help me to get the flask topinto your partner’s mouth.”

It was done with some difficulty, andBreckenridge waited anxiously until a

quiver ran through the motionless body.Then Cheyne repeated the dose, and Larrygasped and slowly opened his eyes. Hesaid something the others could not catch,and closed them again; but Breckenridgefancied a little warmth crept into hispallid skin.

“I guess that will do,” said Cheyne. “Inone or two of my stations we had to be ourown field hospital; but I don’t knowenough of surgery to take theresponsibility of stirring up his circulationany further. Still, when you can get themready, we will have hot bottles at hisfeet.”

“My boys have got the fire under,” Cheynesaid, coming in an hour later. “Now, Ihave been in the saddle most of the day,

and while your cook has promised tobillet the boys, I’ll have to ask you forshelter. If you told me a little about whatled up to this trouble, it might pass thetime.”

“I don’t see why I should,” Breckenridgeinformed him.

“It could not hurt you, any way,” suggestedCheyne, “and it might do you good.”

Breckenridge looked at him steadily, andfelt a curious confidence in the discretionof the quiet, bronze-faced man. As theresult of it, he told him a good deal morethan he had meant to do when hecommenced the story.

“I think you have done right,” Cheynesaid. “A little rough on him! I had already

figured he was that kind of a man. Well, Ihear the rest of the boys coming back, andI’ll send up a sergeant who knows a gooddeal about these accidents to look afterhim.”

The sergeant came up by and by and keptwatch with Breckenridge for a while; but,after an hour or so Breckenridge’s headgrew very heavy, and the sergeant, takinghis arm, silenced his protests by nipping itand quietly put him out of the room. Whenhe awoke next morning he found that Grantwas capable at least of speech, for Cheynewas asking him questions, and receivingvery unsatisfactory answers.

“In fact,” said the cavalry officer, “youdon’t feel disposed to tell me who the menthat tried to burn your place were, or

anything about them?”

“No,” Larry said feebly. “It would bepleasanter if you concluded I was notquite fit to talk just now.”

Cheyne glanced at Breckenridge, who waswatching him anxiously. “In that case Icould not think of worrying you, and haveno doubt I can find out. In the meanwhile Iguess the best thing you can do is to go tosleep again.”

He drew Breckenridge out of the room,and shook hands with him. “If you arewanted I’ll send for you,” he said. “Keepyour comrade quiet, and I should beastonished if he is not about again in a dayor two.”

Then, he went down the stairway and

swung himself into the saddle, and with arattle and jingle he and the men behindhim rode away.

XXVII

CLAVERING’S LAST CARD

There was an impressive silence inHetty’s little drawing-room at CedarRange when Cheyne, who had ridden therethe day after he left Fremont, told hisstory. He had expected attention, but theeffect his narrative produced astonishedhim. Hetty had softly pushed her chairback into the shadow where the light ofthe shaded lamp did not fall upon her, buther stillness was significant. He could,however, see Miss Schuyler, andwondered what accounted for the

impassiveness of her face, now the colourthat had flushed her cheek had faded. Thesilence was becoming embarrassing whenMiss Schuyler broke it.

“Mr. Grant is recovering?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Cheyne. “He was cominground when I left him. The blow mighthave been a dangerous one; but I had asuspicion he had more than that to contendwith.”

“Yes?” said Hetty, a little breathlessly.

“Of course, his affairs were not mybusiness,” Cheyne went on, “but it seemedto me the man had been living under aheavy strain; and though we werestrangers, I could not help feeling asympathy that almost amounted to a liking

for him. He must have found it trying whenthe men he had done his best for cameround to burn his place; but I understandhe went out to speak to them with emptyhands when they struck him down.”

“What made them attack him?” asked MissSchuyler.

“I’m not quite sure, but I have an idea theywere displeased because he did notcountenance their attempt to wreck thecattle-train. Then, I believe he held somedollars in trust for them, and, as theypresumably wanted them for some freshoutrage, would not give them up. Mr.Grant is evidently a man with a sense ofresponsibility.”

Hetty looked up suddenly. “Yes,” shesaid. “He would have let them tear him to

pieces before he gave them one.”

Cheyne noticed the faint ring in her voice,and fancied it would have been plainerhad she not laid a restraint upon herself. Avague suspicion he had brushed awayonce more crept into his mind.

“Well,” he said, slowly, watching Hettythe while, “I fancy the efforts he made tosave your friends’ stock will cost him agood deal. The point is that a man of hisabilities must have recognized it at thetime.”

Hetty met his glance, and Cheyne saw thelittle glow in her eyes. “Do you think thatwould have counted for anything with sucha man?”

Cheyne made a little gesture of negation

that in a curious fashion became him. “No.That is, I do not believe he would have letit influence him.”

“That,” said Miss Schuyler, “is a verycomprehensive admission.”

Cheyne smiled. “I don’t know that I coulddesire a higher tribute paid to me. Mightone compliment you both on your evidentdesire to be fair to your enemies?”

He saw the faint flush in Hetty’s face, andwas waiting with a curious expectancy forher answer, when Torrance came in. Heappeared grimly pleased at something ashe signed to Cheyne.

“His friends have burned the rascal out,”he said. “Well, I don’t know that we couldhave hoped for anything better; but I want

to hear what you can tell me about it. Youwill have to spare me Captain Cheyne fora little, Hetty.”

Cheyne rose and went away with him,while, when the door closed behind them,Hetty—who had seen the vindictivesatisfaction in her father’s face—turned toher companion with a flash of imperiousanger in her eyes.

“Flo,” she said, “how can he? It’s wickedof him.”

Miss Schuyler checked her with a gesture.“Any way, he is your father.”

Hetty flushed, but the colour faded and lefther face white again. “Well,” she said,“Clavering isn’t, and it is he who hasmade him so bitter against Larry. Flo, it’s

horrible. They would have been glad if theboys had killed him, and when he’s ill andwounded they will not let me go to him.”

Her voice broke and trembled, and FloraSchuyler laid a hand restrainingly uponher arm. “Of course. But why should you,Hetty?”

Hetty, who shook off her grasp, rose andstood quivering a little, but very straight,looking down on her with pride, and acurious hardness in her eyes.

“You don’t know?” she said. “Then I’lltell you. Because there is nobody likeLarry, and never will be. Because I lovehim better than I ever fancied I could loveanybody, and—though it’s ’mostwonderful—he has loved me and waitedever so patiently. Now they are all against

him, I’m going to him. Flo, they have’most made me hate them, the people Ibelong to, and I think if I was a man Icould kill Clavering.”

Flora Schuyler sat very still a moment, butit was fortunate she retained hercomposure whatever she may have felt,for Hetty was in a mood for any rashness.Stretching out her hand, she drew the girldown beside her with a forcefulgentleness.

“Hetty,” she said, “I think I know howsuch a man as Larry is would feel, and youwant him to be proud of you. Well, thereare things that neither he nor you could do,and you must listen to me quietly.”

She reasoned with the girl for a whileuntil Hetty shook the passion from her.

“Of course you are right, Flo,” she said,and her voice was even. “If he could bearall that, I can be patient too. Larry has hadever so many hard things to do, but it isonly because it would not be fair to himI’m not going to him now. Flo, you willnot leave me until the trouble’s through?”

Miss Schuyler turned and kissed her, andthen, rising quietly, went out of the room.She had shown Hetty her duty to Larry,which she felt would be more convincingjust then than an exposition of what sheowed her father, and had reasons fordesiring solitude to grapple with affairs ofher own. What she had done had cost heran effort, but Flora Schuyler was fond ofHetty and recognized the obligation of thebond she was contracting when she made

a friend.

Some minutes had passed when Hetty roseand took down her writing-case from ashelf. She could at least communicate withLarry, for the maid, who had more thanone admirer among the cow-boys, hadfound a means by which letters could beconveyed; but the girl could not commandher thoughts, and written sympathy seemedso poor and cold a thing. Two letters werewritten and flung into the stove, for FloraSchuyler’s counsel was bearing fruit; andshe had commenced two more when therewas a tapping at the door. Hetty looked upwith a little flash in her eyes, and sweptthe papers into the writing-case asClavering came in. Then she rose, andstood looking at him very coldly.

It was an especially unfortunate momentfor the man to approach her in, and, thoughhe did not know why it should be so, herecognized it; but there were reasons thatmade any further procrastination distinctlyunadvisable.

“There is something I have been wantingto tell you for a long time, Hetty,” he said.

“It would be better for you to wait a littlelonger,” the girl said chillingly. “I don’tfeel inclined to listen to anything to-night.”

“The trouble,” said Clavering, who spokethe truth, “is that I can’t. It has hurt me tokeep silent as long as I have donealready.”

He saw the hardening of Hetty’s lips, andknew that he had blundered; but he was

committed now, and could only obeywhen she said, with a gesture ofweariness “Then go on.”

The abrupt command would probablyhave disconcerted most men andeffectually spoiled the appeal they meantto make, and Clavering’s face flushed ashe recognized its ludicrous aspect. Still,he could not withdraw then, and he madethe best of a difficult position with acertain gracefulness which might, underdifferent circumstances, have secured hima modicum of consideration. As it was,however, Hetty’s anger left her almostwhite, and there was a light he did notcare to see in her eyes when she turnedtowards him.

“I am glad you have told me this,” she

said. “Since nothing else would convinceyou, it will enable me to talk plainly; Idon’t consider it an honour—not in theleast. Can’t you see that it is wholly andaltogether out of the question that I shouldever think in that way of you?”

Clavering gasped, and the darker colourthat was in his cheek showed in hisforehead too. Hetty reminded him verymuch of her father, then—and he hadwitnessed one or two displays of thecattle-baron’s temper.

“I admit that I have a good manyshortcomings, but, since you ask, I mustconfess that I don’t quite understand whymy respectful offer should rouse yourindignation.”

“No?” said Hetty coldly, with the

vindictive sparkle still in her eyes. “Thenaren’t you very foolish?”

Clavering smiled, though it was not easy.“Well,” he said, “I was evidently tooaudacious; but you have not told me yetwhy the proposal I ventured to makeshould appear quite preposterous.”

“I think,” said Hetty, “it would beconsiderably nicer for you if I didn’t. Ican, however, tell you this—I wouldnever, under any circumstances, marryyou.”

Clavering bent his head, and took himselfaway with the best grace he could, whileHetty, who, perhaps because she had beenunder a heavy strain, became suddenlysensible of a most illogical desire tolaugh, afterwards admitted that he really

accomplished it becomingly. But thelaughter that would have been a relief toher did not come, and after toying in apurposeless fashion with her writing-case,she rose and slipped out of the room,unfortunately leaving it open.

A few minutes later Clavering met themaid in the corridor that led to Torrance’sroom, and the girl, who saw his face, andmay have guessed what had brought theanger into his eyes, stopped a moment. Itis also probable that, being a youngwoman with quick perceptions, she hadguessed with some correctness how farhis regard for Hetty went.

“You don’t seem pleased to-night,” shesaid.

“No?” said Clavering, with a little laugh

which rang hollow. “Well, I should be. Itis quite a while since I had a talk withyou.”

“Pshaw!” said the girl, who failed toblush, though she wished to, watching himcovertly. “Now, I wonder if what I’mgoing to tell you will make you moreangry still. Suppose you heard MissTorrance had been sending letters to LarryGrant?”

“I don’t know that I should believe it,”said Clavering, as unconcernedly as hecould.

“Well, she has,” the girl said. “What ismore, she has been going out to meet himin the Cedar Bluff.”

Clavering’s face betrayed him, and for a

moment the girl, who saw his lips set, wasalmost afraid. He contrived, however, tomake a light answer, and was about to aska question when a door creaked. The nextmoment Torrance came out into thecorridor, and Clavering’s opportunityvanished with the maid. Torrance, whohad evidently not seen her, kept himtalking for a while.

In the meanwhile, the girl contrived anexcuse for entering the room where shewas quite aware Hetty and Clavering hadmet. She did not find her mistress, but, asit happened, noticed the writing-case, and,having a stake in affairs, opened it. Insideshe found two sheets of paper, and afterconsidering the probabilities of detectionappropriated one of them on which was

written, “Larry dear.”

She had, however, no intention of showingit to Clavering just then, but, deciding thatsuch a paper might be worth a good manydollars to the person who knew how tomake use of it, she slipped it into herpocket, and went out into the hall, whereshe saw him talking to Torrance. As shewatched they shook hands, and Claveringswung himself on to the back of a horsesomebody led up to the door. It was twoor three weeks before he came back again,and was led straight to the room whereTorrance and some of his neighbours weresitting. Clavering took his place among therest, and watched the faces that showedamidst the blue cigar-smoke. Some wereintent and eager, a few very grim, but the

stamp of care was on all of them save thatof Torrance, who sat immobile andexpressionless at the head of the table.Allonby was speaking somewhatdejectedly.

“It seems to me that we have only goneround,” he said. “It has cost us moredollars than any of us care to reckon, and Ifor one am tolerably near the end of mytether.”

“So are the homestead-boys. We can lastthem out, and we have got to,” saidsomebody.

Allonby raised his hand with a littlehopeless gesture. “I’m not quite sure; butwhat I want to show you is that we havecome back to the place we started from.When we first met here we decided that it

was advisable to put down Larry Grant,and though we have not accomplished ityet, it seems to me more necessary thanever just now.”

“I don’t understand you,” said one of theyounger men. “Larry’s boys have brokenloose from him, and he can’t worryanybody much alone.”

Torrance glanced at Allonby with asardonic twinkle in his eyes. “That soundsvery like sense,” he said.

“Well,” said Allonby drily, “it isn’t, and Ithink you know it at least as well as I do.It is because the boys have broken out wewant to get our thumb on Larry.”

There was a little murmur ofbewilderment, for men were present that

night who had not attended many meetingsof the district committee.

“You will have to make it plainer,”somebody said.

Allonby glanced at Torrance, whonodded, and then went on. “Now, I knowthat what I am going to tell you does notsound nice, and a year ago I would havehad unpleasant thoughts of the man whosuggested any course of that kind to me;but we have got to go under or pull downthe enemy. The legislature are beginningto look at things with the homesteaders’eyes, and what we want is popularsympathy. We lost a good chance ofgetting it over the stock-train. Larry wastoo clever for us again, and that brings meto the point which should be quite plain.

The homestead-boys have lost their headsand will cut their own throats if they arelet alone. They are ripe for ranch-burningand firing on the cavalry, and once theystart the State will have to step in andwhip them out for us.”

“But where does Larry come in?” askedsomebody.

“That,” said Clavering, “is quite easy. Solong as Larry is loose he will have afollowing, and somehow he will hear ofand stop their wildest moves. As most ofyou know, I don’t like him; but Larry isnot a fool.”

“To be quite plain, we are to cut out therestraining influence, and give the rabble afree hand to let loose anarchy,” said oneman. “Then, you can strike me off the roll.

That is a kind of meanness that wouldn’tsuit me!”

There were murmurs of approval from oneor two of the company, but Torrancechecked them. “Gentlemen,” he said, “wemust win or be beaten and get no mercy.You can’t draw back, and the first step isto put Larry down. If the State had backedus we would have made an end of thetrouble, and it is most square and fittingthey should have the whipping of therabble forced upon them now. Are wecavalry troopers or a Sheriff’s posse, todo their work for them, and be kicked byway of thanks? They would not nip thetrouble when they could, and we’ll sittight and watch them try to crush it whenit’s ’most too big for them.”

Again there was a murmur, of grimapproval this time; but one of theobjectors rose with an ironical smile.

“You have made a very poor show atcatching Larry so far,” he said. “Are youquite sure the thing is within your ability?”

“I guess it is,” said Torrance sharply. “Heis living at his homestead, and we neednot be afraid of a hundred men with riflescoming to take him from us now.”

“He has a few neighbours who believe inhim,” one of the men said. “They are notrabble, but level-headed Americans, withthe hardest kind of grit in them. It wouldn’tsuit us to be whipped again.”

Clavering stood up, with his eyes fixed onTorrance. “I agree with our leader—it can

be done. In fact, I quite believe we can layour hands on Larry alone,” he said. “Can Ihave a word with you, Mr. Torrance?”

Torrance nodded, and, leaving Allonbyspeaking, led Clavering into an adjoiningroom. “Sit down, and get through as quickas you can,” he said.

For five minutes Clavering spoke rapidly,in a slightly strained voice, and a darkflush spread across the old man’s face andgrew deeper on his forehead, from whichthe veins swelled. It had faded before hefinished, and there were paler patches inthe cattle-baron’s cheeks when he struckthe table with his fist.

“Clavering,” he said hoarsely, “if you aredeceiving me you are not going to find ahole in this country that would hide you.”

Clavering contrived to meet his gaze,though it was difficult. “I was veryunwilling to mention it,” he said. “Still, ifyou will call Miss Torrance’s maid, andthe man who grooms her horses, you canconvince yourself. It would be better if Iwas not present when you talk to them.”

Torrance said nothing, but pointed to thedoor, and when the maid and man he sentfor had gone, sat for five long minutesrigidly still with a set white face and hishands clenched on the table.

“My daughter—playing the traitress—andworse! It is too hard to bear,” he said.

Then he stood up, shaking the passionfrom him, when Clavering came in, and,holding himself very stiff and square,turned to him.

“I don’t know why you have told me—now—and do not want to hear,” he said.“Still, by the Lord who made us both, ifyou try to make use of this knowledge forany purpose, or let a whisper get about,I’ll crush you utterly.”

“Have I deserved these threats, sir?”

Torrance looked at him steadily. “Did youexpect thanks? The man who grooms herhorses would tell me nothing—he lied likea gentleman. But they are not threats. Youfound buying up mortgages—with ourdollars—an easy game.”

“But—” said Clavering.

Torrance stopped him with a littlescornful gesture. “I knew when I took thisthing up I would have to let my scruples

go, and now—while I wonder whether myhands will ever feel clean again—I’mgoing through. You are useful to thecommittee, and I’ll have to tolerate you.”

Clavering turned away, with pulsesthrobbing furiously and rage in his heart,though he had known what the cost wouldbe when he staked everything he hoped foron Larry’s destruction; while hisneighbours noticed a change in Torrancewhen he once more sat down at the headof the table. He seemed several yearsolder, and his face was very grim.

“I believe I can promise you that Larrywill make us no more trouble,” he said.“Mr. Clavering has a workable scheme,and it will only need the Sheriff and a fewmen whom I will choose when I am

ready.”

Nobody seemed to consider it advisableto ask questions, and the men dispersed;but as they went down the stairway,Allonby turned to Torrance.

“This thing is getting too big for you andme,” he said. “You have not complained,but to-night one could fancy that it’sbreaking you. Now, I’m not made like you,and when I think of what it has cost me Ihave got to talk.”

Torrance turned, and Allonby shivered ashe met his eyes.

“It has cost me what every dollar I evermade could not buy me back,” he said, andthe damp showed on his forehead as hechecked a groan.

XXVIII

LARRY RIDES TO CEDAR

A soft wind swept the prairie, which wasnow bare of snow. Larry rode down thetrail that led through the Cedar Bluff. Hewas freely sprinkled with mire, for springhad come suddenly, and the frost-bleachedsod was soft with the thaw; and when hepulled up on the wooden bridge to waituntil Breckenridge, who appeared amongthe trees, should join him, the riverswirled and frothed beneath. It had latelyburst its icy chains, and came roaringdown, seamed by lines of foam and strewn

with great fragments of half-melted snow-cake that burst against the quivering piles.

“Running strong!” said Breckenridge.“Still, the water has not risen much yet,and as I crossed the big rise I saw two ofTorrance’s cow-boys apparently screwingup their courage to try the ford.”

“It might be done,” said Larry. “We haveone horse at Fremont that would take meacross. The snow on the ranges is notmelting yet, and the ice will be tolerablyfirm on the deep reaches; but it’s scarcelylikely that we will want to swim theCedar now.”

“No,” said Breckenridge, with a laugh,“the bridge is good enough for me. By theway, I have a note for you.”

“A note!” said Larry, with a slighthardening of his face, for of late eachcommunication that reached him hadbrought him fresh anxieties.

“Well,” said Breckenridge drily, “Iscarcely think this one should worry you.From the fashion in which it reached me Ihave a notion it’s from a lady.”

There was a little gleam in Larry’s eyeswhen he took the note, and Breckenridgenoticed that he was very silent as theyrode on. When they reached Fremont heremained a while in the stable, and whenat last he entered the house Breckenridgeglanced at him questioningly.

“You have something on your mind,” hesaid. “What have you been doing, Larry?”

Grant smiled curiously. “Giving the bigbay a rub down. I’m riding to CedarRange to-night.”

“Have you lost your head?” Breckenridgestared at him. “Muller saw the Sheriffriding in this morning, and it’s more thanlikely he is at the Range. You are wantedrather more badly than ever just now,Larry.”

Grant’s face was quietly resolute as hetook out the note and passed it to hiscompanion. “I have tried to do my duty bythe boys; but I am going to Cedar to-night.”

Breckenridge opened the note, which hadbeen written the previous day, and read,“In haste. Come to the bluff beneath theRange—alone—nine to-morrow night.”

Then, he stared at the paper in silenceuntil Grant, who watched him almostjealously, took it from him. “Yes,” hesaid, though his face was thoughtful, “ofcourse, you must go. You are quite sure ofthe writing?”

Grant smiled, as it were, compassionately.“I would recognize it anywhere!”

“Well,” said Breckenridge significantly,“that is perhaps not very astonishing,though I fancy some folks would find itdifficult. The ‘In haste’ no doubt explainsthe thing, but it seems to me the last of itdoes not quite match the heading.”

“It is smeared—thrust into the envelopewet,” Larry said.

Breckenridge rose, and walked, with no

apparent purpose, across the room.“Larry,” he said, “Tom and I will comewith you. No—you wait a minute. Ofcourse, I know there are occasions onwhich one’s friends’ company issuperfluous—distinctly so; but we couldpull up and wait behind the bluff—quite along way off, you know.”

“I was told to come alone.” Larry turnedupon him sharply.

Breckenridge made a gesture ofresignation. “Then I’m not going to stayhere most of the night by myself. It’sdoleful. I’ll ride over to Muller’s now.”

“Will it be any livelier there?”

Breckenridge wondered whether Larryhad noticed anything unusual in his voice,

and managed to laugh. “A little,” he said.“The fräulein is pretty enough in thelamplight to warrant one listening to agood deal about Menotti and the franctireurs. She makes really excellent coffee,too,” and he slipped out before Grantcould ask any more questions.

Darkness was just closing down when thelatter rode away. There was very little ofthe prairie broncho in the big horsebeneath him, whose sire had brought thebest blood that could be imported into thatcountry, and he had examined everybuckle of girth and headstall as hefastened them. He also rode, for lightness,in a thin deerskin jacket which fitted himclosely, with a rifle across his saddle,gazing with keen eyes across the shadowy

waste when now and then a half-mooncame out. Once he also drew bridle andsat still a minute listening, for he fanciedhe heard the distant beat of hoofs, and thenwent on with a little laugh at his credulity.The Cedar was roaring in its hollow andthe birches moaning in a bluff, but as thedamp wind that brought the blood to hischeeks sank, there was stillness save forthe sound of the river, and Grant decidedthat his ears had deceived him.

It behooved him to be cautious, for heknew the bitterness of the cattle-menagainst him, and the Sheriff’s writ stillheld good; but Hetty had sent for him, andif his enemies had lain in wait in everybluff and hollow he would have gone.

While he rode, troubled by vague

apprehensions, which now and then gaveplace to exultation that set his heartthrobbing, Hetty sat with Miss Schuyler inher room at Cedar Range. An occasionalmurmur of voices reached them faintlyfrom the big hall below where Torranceand some of his neighbours sat with theSheriff over their cigars and wine, and thegirls knew that a few of the most daringhorsemen among the cow-boys had theirhorses saddled ready. Hetty lay in a lowchair with a book she was not reading onher knee, and Miss Schuyler, glancing ather now and then over the embroidery shepaid almost as little attention to, noticedthe weariness in her face and the anxietyin her eyes. She laid down her needlewhen Torrance’s voice came up frombelow.

“What can they be plotting, Hetty?” shesaid. “Horses ready, that most unpleasantSheriff smiling cunningly as he did when Ipassed him talking to Clavering, and thesense of expectancy. It’s there. One couldhear it in their voices, even if one had notseen their faces, and when I met yourfather at the head of the stairs he almostfrightened me. Of course, he was nottheatrical—he never is—but I know thatset of his lips and look in his eyes, andhave more than a fancy it means troublefor somebody. I suppose he has not toldyou anything—in fact, he seems to havekept curiously aloof from both of uslately.”

Hetty turned towards her with a little spotof colour in her cheek and apprehension in

her eyes.

“So you have noticed it, too!” she saidvery slowly. “Of course, he has been busyand often away, while I know howanxious he must be; but when he is athome he scarcely speaks to me—and then,there is something in his voice that hurtsme. I’m ’most afraid he has found out thatI have been talking to Larry.”

Miss Schuyler smiled. “Well,” she said,“that—alone—would not be such a veryserious offence.”

The crimson showed plainer in Hetty’scheek and there was a faint ring in hervoice. “Flo,” she said, “don’t make meangry—I can’t bear it to-night. Somethingis going to happen—I can feel it is—andyou don’t know my father even yet. He is

so horribly quiet, and I’m afraid of aswell as sorry for him. It is a long whileago, but he looked just as he does now—only not quite so grim—during mymother’s last illness. Oh, I know there issomething worrying him, and he will nottell me—though he was always kindbefore, even when he was angry. Flo, thishorrible trouble can’t go on for ever!”

Hetty had commenced bravely, but shefaltered as she proceeded, and MissSchuyler, who saw her distress, had risenand was standing with one hand on hershoulder when the maid came in. She casta hasty glance at her mistress, andappeared, Flora Schuyler fancied,embarrassed, and desirous of concealingit.

“Mr. Torrance will excuse you comingdown again,” she said. “He may havesome of the Sheriff’s men and one or twoof the cow-boys in, and would sooner youkept your room. Are you likely to want mein the next half-hour?”

“No,” said Hetty. “No doubt you areanxious to find out what is going on.”

The maid went out, and Miss Schuylerfixed anxious eyes on her companion.“What is the matter with the girl, Hetty?”she asked.

“I don’t know. Did you notice anything?”

“Yes. I think she had something on hermind. Any way, she was unexplainablyanxious to get away from you.”

Hetty smiled somewhat bitterly. “Then she

is only like the rest. Everybody at Cedaris anxious about something now.”

Flora Schuyler rose, and, flinging thecurtains behind her, looked out at thenight. The moon was just showing througha rift in the driving cloud, and she couldsee the bluff roll blackly down to thewhite frothing of the river. She also saw ashadowy object slipping through thegloom of the trees, and fancied it was awoman; but when another figure appearedfor a moment in the moonlight the first onecame flitting back again.

“I believe the girl has gone out to meetsomebody in the bluff,” she said.

Hetty made a little impatient gesture. “Itdoesn’t concern us, any way.”

Miss Schuyler sat down again and madeno answer, though she had misgivings, andfive or ten minutes passed silently, untilthere was a tapping at the door, and themaid came in, very white in the face. Sheclutched at the nearest chair-back, andstood still, apparently incapable ofspeech, until, with a visible effort, shesaid: “Somebody must go and send himaway. He is waiting in the bluff.”

Hetty rose with a little scream, but FloraSchuyler was before her, and laid herhand upon the maid’s arm.

“Now, try to be sensible,” she saidsternly. “Who is in the bluff?”

The girl shivered. “It is not my fault—Ididn’t know what they wanted until theSheriff came. I tried to tell him, but Joe

saw me. Go right now, and send himaway.”

Hetty was very white and trembling, butFlora Schuyler nipped the maid’s arm.

“Keep quiet, and answer just what we askyou!” she said. “Who is in the bluff?”

“Mr. Grant,” said the girl, with a gasp.“But don’t ask me anything. Send himaway. They’ll kill him. Oh, you are hurtingme!”

Flora Schuyler shook her. “How did hecome there?”

“I took Miss Torrance’s letter, and wrotethe rest of it. I didn’t know they meant todo him any harm, but they made me write.I had to—he said he would marry me.”

The maid writhed in an agony of fear, butshe stood still shivering when Hetty turnedtowards her with a blanched face thatemphasized the ominous glow in her darkeyes.

“You wicked woman!” she said. “Howdare you tell me that?”

“I mean Mr. Clavering. Oh——!”

The maid stopped abruptly, for FloraSchuyler drove her towards the door. “Goand undo your work,” she said. “Slipdown at the back of the bluff.”

“I daren’t—I tried,” and the girl quiveredin Miss Schuyler’s grasp. “If I could havewarned him I would not have told you; butJoe saw me, and I was afraid. I told him tocome at nine.”

It was evident that she was capable ofdoing very little just then, and FloraSchuyler drew her out into the corridor.

“Go straight to your room and stay there,”she said, and closing the door, glanced atHetty. “It is quite simple. This woman hastaken your note-paper and written Larry.He is in the bluff now, and I think she isright. Your friends mean to make himprisoner or shoot him.”

“Stop, and go away,” said Hetty hoarsely.“I am going to him.”

Flora Schuyler placed her back to thedoor, and raised her hand. “No,” she said,very quietly. “It would be better if I wentin place of you. Sit down, and don’t loseyour head, Hetty!”

Hetty seized her arm. “You can’t—howcould I let you? Larry belongs to me. Letme go. Every minute is worth ever somuch.”

“There are twenty of them yet. He hascome too early,” said Flora Schuyler, witha glance at the clock. “Any way, you mustunderstand what you are going to do. Itwas Clavering arranged this, but yourfather knew what he was doing and I thinkhe knows everything. If you leave thishouse to-night, Hetty, everybody willknow you warned Larry, and it will makea great difference to you. It will gain youthe dislike of all your friends and place abarrier between you and your fatherwhich, I think, will never be taken awayagain!”

Hetty laughed a very bitter laugh, and thengrew suddenly quiet.

“Stand aside, Flo,” she said. “Nobody butLarry wants me now.”

Miss Schuyler saw that she wasdetermined, and drew aside. “Then,” shesaid, with a little quiver in her voice,“because I think he is in peril you must go,my dear. But we must be very careful, andI am coming with you as far as I dare.”

She closed the door, and then hercomposure seemed to fail her as they wentout into the corridor; and it was Hettywho, treading very softly, took the lead.Flitting like shadows, they reached thehead of the stairway, and stopped amoment there, Hetty’s heart beatingfuriously. The passage beneath them was

shadowy, but a blaze of light and a jingleof glasses came out of the half-openeddoor of the hall, where Torrance sat withhis guests; and while they waited, theyheard his voice and recognized thevindictive ring in it. Hetty trembled as shegrasped the bannister.

“Flo,” she said, “they may come out in aminute. We have got to slip by somehow.”

They went down the stairway with skirtsdrawn close about them, in swift silence,and Hetty held her breath as she flittedpast the door. There was a faint swish ofdraperies as Flora Schuyler followed her,but the murmur of voices drowned it; andin another minute Hetty had opened a doorat the back of the building. Then, shegasped with relief as she felt the cold

wind on her face, and, with Miss Schuylerclose behind her, crept through theshadow of the house towards the bluff.When the gloom of the trees closed aboutthem, she clutched her companion’sshoulder.

“No,” she said hoarsely, “not that way.Joe is watching there. We must go rightthrough the bluff and down the oppositeside of it.”

They floundered forward, sinking ankle-deep in withered leaves and clammymould, tripping over rotting branches thatripped their dresses, and stumbling intodripping undergrowth. There was no moonnow, and it was very dark, and more thanonce Flora Schuyler valiantly suppressedthe scream that would have been a vast

relief to her, and struggled on as silentlyas she could behind her companion; but itseemed to her that anybody a mile awaycould have heard them. Then, a little trailled them out of the bluff on the oppositeside to the house, and the roar of the rivergrew louder as they hastened on, still inthe gloom of the trees, until something alittle blacker than the shadows behind itgrew into visibility; and when it moved alittle, Flora Schuyler touched Hetty’s arm.

“Yes,” she said. “It is Larry. If I didn’tknow the kind of man he is, I would not letyou go. Kiss me, Hetty.”

Hetty stood still a second, for sheunderstood, and then very quietly put bothhands on Flora Schuyler’s shoulders andkissed her.

“It can’t be very wrong; and you havebeen a good friend, Flo,” she said.

She turned, and Flora Schuyler, standingstill, saw her slim figure flit across a stripof frost-bleached sod as the moon shonethrough.

XXIX

HETTY DECIDES

It was in a pale flash of silvery light thatLarry saw the girl against the gloom of thetrees. The moaning of the birches and roarof the river drowned the faint sound herfootsteps made, and she came upon him sosuddenly, statuesque and slender in hertrailing evening dress and etherealized bythe moonlight, that as he looked down onthe blanched whiteness of her upturnedface, emphasized by the dusky hair, healmost fancied she had materialized out ofthe harmonies of the night. For a moment

he sat motionless, with the rifle glintingacross his saddle, and a tightening grip ofthe bridle as the big horse flung up itshead, and then, with a sudden stirring ofhis blood, moved his foot in the stirrupand would have swung himself down ifHetty had not checked him.

“No!” she said. “Back into the shadow ofthe trees!”

Larry, seeing the fear in her face, touchedthe horse with his heel, and wheeled itwith its head towards the house. He couldsee the warm gleam from the windowsbetween the birches. Then, he turned to thegirl, who stood gasping at his stirrup.

“You sent for me, dear, and I have come.Can’t you give me just a minute now?” hesaid.

“No,” said Hetty breathlessly, “you mustgo. The Sheriff is here waiting for you!”

Larry laughed a little scornful laugh, andslackening the bridle, sat still, lookingdown on her very quietly.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “You sentfor me!”

“No,” the girl again gasped. “Oh, Larry,go away! Clavering and the others whoare most bitter against you are in thehouse.”

Instinctively Larry moved his hand on therifle and glanced towards the building. Hecould see it dimly, but no sound from itreached him, and Hetty, looking up, sawhis face grow stern.

“Still,” he persisted, with a curious

quietness, “somebody sent a note to me!”

“Yes,” said Hetty, turning away from him,“it was my wicked maid. Clavering laidthe trap for you.”

The man sat very still a moment, and thenbent with a swift resoluteness towards hiscompanion.

“And you came to warn me?” he said.“Hetty, dear, look up.”

Hetty glanced at him and saw the glow inhis eyes, but she clenched her hand, andwould have struck the horse in an agony offear if Larry had not touched him with hisheel and swung a pace away from her.

“Oh,” she gasped, “why will you wastetime! Larry, they will kill you if they findyou.”

Once more the little scornful smileshowed upon Grant’s lips, but it vanishedand Hetty saw only the light in his eyes.

“Listen a moment, dear,” he said. “I havetried to do the square thing, but I think to-night’s work relieves me of the obligation.Hetty, can’t you see that your father wouldnever give you to me, and you must choosebetween us sooner or later? I have waiteda long while, and would try to wait longerif it would relieve you of the difficulty,but you will have to make the decision,and it can’t be harder now than it wouldbe in the future. Promise me you will goback to New York with Miss Schuyler,and stay with her until I come for you.”

Hetty trembled visibly, and the moonlightshowed the crimson in her cheeks; but she

looked up at him bravely. “Larry,” shesaid, “you are sure—quite sure—you wantme, and will be kind to me?”

The man bent his head solemnly. “Mydear, I have longed for you for eightweary years—and I think you could trustme.”

“Then,” and Hetty’s voice was veryuneven, though she still met his eyes.“Larry, you can take me now.”

Larry set his lips for a moment and hisface showed curiously white. “Think, mydear!” he said hoarsely. “It would not befair to you. Miss Schuyler will take youaway in a week or two, and I will comefor you. I dare not do anything you may besorry for; and they may find you are not inthe house. You must go home before my

strength gives way.”

The emotion she had struggled with sweptHetty away. “Go home!” she saidpassionately. “They wanted to kill you—and I can never go back now. If I did, theywould know I had warned you—andbelieve—Can’t you understand, Larry?”

Then, the situation flashed upon Grant, andhe recognized, as Hetty had done, that shehad cast herself adrift when she left thehouse to warn him. He knew the cattle-baron’s vindictiveness, and that hisdaughter had committed an offence hecould not forgive. That left but one escapefrom the difficulty, and it was the one hisown passions, which he had striven tocrush down, urged him to.

“Then,” he said in a strained voice, “you

must come with me. We can be marriedto-morrow.”

Hetty held up her hands to him. “I amready. Oh, be quick. They may come anyminute!”

Larry swept his glance towards the house,and saw a shaft of radiance stream out asthe great door opened. Then, he heardFlora Schuyler’s voice, and, leaningdownwards from the saddle, grasped boththe girl’s hands.

“Yes,” he said, very quietly, “they arecoming now. Spring when I lift you. Yourfoot on my foot—I have you!”

It was done. Hetty was active and slender,the man muscular, and both had beentaught, not only to ride, but master the

half-wild broncho by a superior daringand an equal agility, in a land where thehorse is not infrequently roped and thrownbefore it is mounted. But Larry breathedhard as, with his arm about her waist, heheld the girl in front of him, and felt hercheek hot against his lips. The nextmoment he pressed his heels home and thebig horse swung forward under its doubleburden.

A shout rang out behind them, and therewas a crackling in the bluff. Then, a rifleflashed, and just as a cloud drove acrossthe moon, another cry rose up:

“Quit firing. He has the girl with him!”

Larry fancied he could hear menfloundering behind him amidst the trees,and a trampling of hoofs about the house,

but as he listened another rifle flashedaway to the right of them on the prairie,and a beat of hoofs followed it that for amoment puzzled him. He laughed huskily.

“Breckenridge! He’ll draw them off,” hesaid. “Hold fast! We have got to face theriver.”

It was very evident that he had not asecond to lose. Mounted men werecrashing recklessly through the bluff andmore of them riding at a gallop across thegrassy slope; but the darkness hid them asit hid the fugitives, and the big horse heldon, until there was a plunge and asplashing, and they were in the river.Larry slipped from the saddle, and Hettysaw him floundering by the horse’s headas she thrust her foot into the stirrup.

“Slack your bridle,” he said sharply. “Thebeast will bring us through.”

The command came when it was needed,for Hetty was almost dismayed, and itscurtness was bracing. There was no moonnow, but she could dimly see the whiteswirling of the flood, and the gurgling roarof it throbbed about her hoarse andthreatening, suggesting the perils thedarkness hid. Her light skirt trailed in thewater, and a shock of icy cold ran throughher as one shoe dipped under. Larry wason his feet yet, but there was a fiercewhite frothing about him, and when inanother pace or two he slipped down shebroke into a stifled scream. The nextmoment she saw his face again faintlywhite beneath her amidst the sliding foam,

and fancied that he was swimming orbeing dragged along. The horse, she felt,had lost its footing, and had its head upstream. How long this lasted she did notknow, but it seemed an interminable time,and the dull roar of the water grew louderand deafened her, while the blackness thatclosed in became insupportable.

“Larry!” she gasped. “Larry, are youthere!”

A faintly heard voice made answer, andGrant appeared again, shoulder-deep inthe flood, while the dipping andfloundering of the beast beneath hershowed that the hoofs had found uncertainhold; but that relief only lasted a moment,and they were once more sliding down-stream, until, when they swung round in an

eddy, the head that showed now and thendimly beside her stirrup was lostaltogether, and in an agony of terror thegirl cried aloud.

There was no answer, but after a horriblemoment or two had passed a half-seen armand shoulder rose out of the flood, and thesudden drag on the bridle that slippedfrom her fingers was very reassuring. Thehorse plunged and floundered, and oncemore Hetty felt her dragging skirt wasclear of the water.

“Through the worst!” a voice that reachedher faintly said, and they were splashingon again, the water growing shallower allthe time until they scrambled out upon theopposite bank. Then, the man checking thehorse, stood by her stirrup, pressing the

water from the hem of her skirt, rubbingthe little open shoe with his handkerchief,which was saturated. Even in that hour ofhorror Hetty laughed.

“Larry,” she said, “don’t be ridiculous.You couldn’t dry it that way in a week.Lift me down instead.”

Larry held up his hands to her, for on thatside of the river the slope to the level wassteep, and when he swung her down thegirl kissed him lightly on either cheek.

“That was because of what we have beenthrough, dear,” she said. “There was ahorrible moment, when I could not see youanywhere.”

She stopped and held up her hand asthough listening, and Larry laughed softly

as a faint drumming of hoofs came back tothem through the roar of the flood.

“Breckenridge! He must have Muller orsomebody with him, and they are chasinghim,” he said. “I didn’t know he wasfollowing me, but he is gaining usvaluable time, and we will push on again.Your friends will find out they arefollowing the wrong man very soon, butwe should get another horse at Muller’sbefore they can ride round by the bridge.”

They scrambled up the slope, and afterHetty mounted Larry ran with his hand onthe stirrup for a while, until once more hemade the staunch beast carry a doubleload. He was running again when theycame clattering up to Muller’s homesteadand the fräulein, who was apparently

alone, stared at them in astonishment whenshe opened the door. The water stilldripped from Larry, and Hetty’s light,bedraggled dress clung about her, whilethe moisture trickled from her little open-fronted shoes. She was hatless, andloosened wisps of dusky hair hung lowabout her face, which turned faintlycrimson under the fräulein’s gaze.

“Miss Torrance!” exclaimed the girl.

“Well,” said Larry quietly, “she will beMrs. Grant to-morrow if you will lend mea horse and not mention the fact that youhave seen us when Torrance’s boys comeround. Where is your father?”

Miss Muller nodded with comprehendingsympathy. “He two hours since with Mr.Breckenridge go,” she said. “There is new

horse in the stable, and you on the rack asaddle for lady find.”

Larry was outside in a moment, and asmile crept into the fräulein’s blue eyes.“He is of the one thing at the time aloneenabled to think,” she said. “It is so withthe man, but a dress with the water soakedis not convenient to ride at night in.”

She led Hetty into her own room, andwhen Larry, who had spent some timechanging one of the saddles, came back,he stared in astonishment at Hetty, who satat the table. She now wore, among othergarments that were too big for her, a furcap and coarse, serge skirt. There was asteaming cup of coffee in front of her.

“Now, that shows how foolish one canbe,” he said. “I was clean forgetting about

the clothes; but we must start again.”

Hetty rose up, and with a little blush heldout the cup. “You are wet to the neck,Larry, and it will do you good,” she said.“If you don’t mind—we needn’t wait untilMiss Muller gets another cup.”

Larry’s eyes gleamed. “I have run overmost of Europe, but they grow no winethere that was half as nice as the tea wemade in the black can back there in thebluff. Quite often in those days we hadn’ta cup at all.”

He drank, and forthwith turned his headaway, while a quiver seemed to runthrough him; but when Hetty movedtowards him the fräulein laughed.

“It nothing is,” she said. “It is, perhaps,

the effect tobacco have, but the mouth issoft in a man.”

Then, as Larry turned towards them shelaid her hands on Hetty’s shoulders, andkissed her gravely. “You have trust inhim,” she said. “It is of no use afraid tobe. I quick take a man like Mr. Grant whenhe ask me.”

The next moment they were outside, andwhen he helped her to the saddle, Hettyglanced shyly at her companion. “Thefräulein is right,” she said. “But, Larry,will you tell me—where we are going?”

“To Windsor. I have still good friendsthere. That is the prosaic fact, but there isever so much behind it. We can’t see thetrail just now, dear, but we are riding outinto the future that has all kinds of

brightness in store.”

A silvery gleam fell on the girl as abillow of cloud rolled slowly from a riftof blue, and she laughed almost exultantly.

“Larry,” she said, “it is coming true. Ofcourse, it’s a portent. There’s the darknessgoing and the moon shining through. Oh, Ihave done with misgiving now!”

She shook the bridle, and swept from himat a gallop, and the thaw-softened sod waswhirling in clods behind them when Larrydrew level with her. He knew it was notprudent, but the fever in his bloodmastered his reason, and he sent thestockrider’s cry ringing across the levelsas they sped on through the night. Thedamp wind screamed by them, lashingtheir hot cheeks, the beat of hoofs swelled

into a roar as they swept through ashadowy bluff, and driving cloud and riftof indigo flitted past above. Beneath, thelong, frost-bleached levels, gleamingsilvery grey now under the moon, flittedback to the drumming hoofs, while willowclump and straggling birches rose up, andrushed by, blurred and shadowy.

They were young, and the cares that mustbe faced again on the morrow had, for abrief space, fallen from them. They hadbent to the strain to the breaking point, andnow it had gone, everything was forgottenbut the love each bore the other. Allsenses were merged in it, and while theexaltation lasted there was no room forthought or fear. It was, however, the manwho remembered first, for a few dark

patches caught his eye when they went at aheadlong gallop down the slope.

“Pull him!” he cried hoarsely. “’Warebadger holes! Swing to the right-wide!”

The girl swerved, but she still held onwith loose bridle, until Larry, swaying inhis saddle, clutched at it. Then, as heswung upright, half a length ahead, withempty hands, she flung herself a triflebackwards and there was a brief struggle;but it was at a trot they climbed theopposite slope.

“Now,” she said, with a happy little laugh,“we are sensible once more; but, while Iknew it couldn’t last, I wanted to gallopon for ever. Larry, I wonder if we willever feel just the same again? There areenjoyments that can’t come to anyone

more than once.”

“There are others one can have all thetime, and we’ll think of them to-night,”said the man. “There are bright daysbefore us, and we can wait until theycome.”

Hetty smiled, almost sadly. “Of course!”she said, “but no bright day can be quitethe same as this moonlight to me. It shonedown on us when I rode out into the nightand darkness without knowing where Iwas going, and only that you were besideme. You will stay there always now.”

They held on across the empty wastewhile the hours of darkness slipped by,and the sun was rising red above the greatlevels’ rim when the roofs of a woodentown rose in front of them. As the frame

houses slowly grew into form, Hettypainfully straightened herself. Her facewas white and weary and it was by astrenuous effort she held herself upright,the big horse limped a little, and the mirewas spattered thick upon her; but she metthe man’s eyes, and, though her lipstrembled, smiled bravely.

Larry saw and understood, and his facegrew grave. “I have a good deal to makeup to you, Hetty, and I will try to do itfaithfully,” he said. “Still, we will lookforward with hope and courage now—it isour wedding day.”

Hetty glanced away from him across theprairie, and the man fancied he saw herfingers tremble on the bridle.

“It is hard to ask you, Larry—though I

know it shouldn’t be—but have you a fewdollars that you could give me?”

The man smiled happily. “All that is mineis yours, and, as it happens, I have two orthree bills in my wallet. Is there anythingyou wish to buy?”

Hetty glanced down, flushing, at thebedraggled dress. “Larry,” she said softly.“I couldn’t marry you like this. I haven’tone dollar in my pocket—and I am comingto you with nothing, dear.”

The smile faded out of Larry’s eyes. “Iscarcely dare remember all that you havegiven up for me! And if you had takenClavering or one of the others you wouldhave ridden to your wedding with ahundred men behind you, as rich as aprincess.”

Hetty, sitting, jaded and bespattered, onthe limping horse, flashed a swift glanceat him, and smiled out of slightly mistyeyes.

“It happened,” she said, “that I wasparticular, or fanciful, and there was onlyone man—the one that would take mewithout a dollar, in borrowed clothes—who seemed good enough for me.”

They rode on past a stockyard, and into arutted street of bare frame houses, andHetty was glad they scarcely met anybody.Then, Larry helped her down, and,thrusting a wallet into her hands, knockedat the door of a house beside a store. Theman who opened it stared at them, andwhen Larry had drawn him aside calledhis wife. She took Hetty’s chilled hand in

both her own, and the storekeeper smiledat Larry.

“You come right along and put some of mythings on,” he said. “Then, you are goingwith me to have breakfast at the hotel, andtalk to the judge. I guess the women aren’tgoing to have any use for us.”

It was some time later when they cameback to the store, and for just a minuteGrant saw Hetty alone. She was dressedvery plainly in new garments, and blushedwhen he looked gravely down on her.

“That dress is not good enough for you,”he said. “It is very different from what youhave been accustomed to.”

Hetty glanced at him shyly. “You willhave very few dollars to spare, Larry,

until the trouble’s through,” she said, “andyou will be my husband in an hour ortwo.”

XXX

LARRY’S WEDDING DAY

Hetty was married in haste, withoutbenefit of clergy, while several men, withresolute faces, kept watch outside thejudge’s door, and two who were mountedsat gazing across the prairie on a riseoutside the town. After the declarationswere made and signed, the judge turned toHetty, who stood smiling bravely, thoughher eyes were a trifle misty, by Larry’sside.

“Now I have something to tell your

husband, Mrs. Grant,” he said. “You willhave to spare him for about five minutes.”

Hetty’s lips quivered, for she recognizedthe gravity of his tone, and it was notastonishing that for a moment or two sheturned her face aside. She hadendeavoured to look forward hopefullyand banish regrets; but the prosaicsordidness of the little dusty office, andthe absence of anything that might haveimparted significance or dignity to thehurried ceremony, had not been withouttheir effect. She had seen other weddingsin New York as well as in the cattlecountry, and knew what pomp andfestivities would have attended hers hadshe married with her father’s goodwill.After all, it was the greatest day in most

women’s lives, and she felt theunseemliness of the rite that had made herand Larry man and wife. Still, the factremained, and, brushing her misgivingsaway, she glanced up at her husband.

“It must concern us both now,” she said.“May I hear?”

“Well,” said the judge, who looked atrifle embarrassed, “I guess you are right,and Larry would have to tell you; but it’snot a pleasant task to me. It is just this—we can’t keep you and your husband anylonger in this town.”

“Are you against us, too?” Hetty asked,with a flash in her eyes. “I am not afraid.”

The judge made her a little respectfulinclination. “You are Torrance of Cedar’s

daughter, and everyone knows the kind ofgrit there is in that family. While I knewthe cattle-men would raise a good deal ofunpleasantness when I married you, I didit out of friendliness for Larry; but it is myduty to uphold the law, and I can’t haveyour husband’s friends and your father’scow-boys making trouble here.”

“Larry,” said the girl tremulously, “wemust go on again.”

Grant’s face grew stern. “No,” he said.“You shall stay here in spite of them untilyou feel fit to ride for the railroad.”

Just then a man came in. “Battersly sawTorrance with the Sheriff and Claveringand quite a band of cow-boys ride by thetrail forks an hour ago,” he said. “Theywere heading for Hamlin’s, but they’d

make this place in two hours when theydidn’t find Larry there.”

There was an impressive silence. Hettyshuddered, and the fear in her eyes wasunmistakable when she laid her hand onher husband’s arm.

“We must go,” she said. “It would be toohorrible if you should meet him.”

“Mrs. Grant is right,” said thestorekeeper. “We know Torrance ofCedar, and if you stayed here, Larry, youand she might be sorry all your lives.Now, you could, by riding hard, makeCanada to-morrow.”

Grant stifled a groan, and though his facewas grim his voice was compassionate ashe turned to Hetty.

“Are you very tired?” he said gently. “Itmust be the saddle again.”

Hetty said nothing, but she pressed hisarm, and her eyes shone mistily when theywent out together. Half an hour later theyrode out of the town, and Grant turned toher when the clustering houses dippedbehind a billowy rise, and they were oncemore alone in the empty prairie, with theirfaces towards Canada.

“I am ’most ashamed to look at you, butyou will forgive me, little girl,” he said.“There are brighter days before us thanyour wedding one, and by and by I hopeyou will not be sorry you have borne somuch for me.”

Hetty’s lips quivered a little, but the prideof the cattle-barons shone in her eyes. “I

have nothing to forgive and am only verytired,” she said. “I shall never be sorrywhile you are kind to me, and I wouldhave ridden to Canada if I had known thatit would have killed me. The one thing Iam afraid of is that you and he shouldmeet.”

They rode on, speaking but seldom as theleagues went by, for Grant had much tothink of and Hetty was very weary.Indeed, she swayed unevenly in hersaddle, while the long, billowy levelsshining in the sunlight rolled back, as itwere, interminably to them, and now andthen only saved herself from a fall by aclutch at the bridle. There were timeswhen a drowsiness that would scarcely beshaken off crept upon her, and she roused

herself with a strenuous effort and ahorrible fear at her heart, knowing that ifher strength failed her the blood ofhusband or father might be upon her head.

The sky was blue above them, the whitesod warm below, and already chequeredhere and there with green; and, advancingin long battalion, crane and goose andmallard came up from the south to followthe sun towards the Pole. The iron winterhad fled before it, and all nature smiled;but Hetty, who had often swept the prairieat a wild gallop, with her bloodresponding to the thrill of reawakeninglife that was in everything, rode with a setwhite face and drooping head, and Larrygroaned as he glanced at her.

Late in the afternoon they dismounted, and

Hetty lay with her head upon his shoulderwhile they rested amidst the grass. Theprovisions the storekeeper had given themwere scattered about, but Hetty had tastednothing, and Grant had only forced himselfto swallow a few mouthfuls withdifficulty. He had thrown an arm abouther, and she lay with eyes closed,motionless.

Suddenly he raised his head and lookedabout him. Save for the sighing of thewarm wind, the prairie was very still, anda low, white rise cut off from sight theleagues they had left behind, but, though aman from the cities would have heardnothing at all, Larry, straining his ears tolisten, heard a sound just audible creepout of the silence. For a moment he sat

rigid and intent, wondering if it was madeby a flight of cranes; but he could see nodusky stain on the blue beyond the rise,and his fingers closed upon the rifle as thesound grew plainer. It rose and fell with astaccato rhythm in it, and he recognizedthe beat of hoofs. Turning, he gentlytouched the girl.

“Hetty, you must rouse yourself,” he said,with a pitiful quiver in his voice.

The girl slowly lifted her head, andglanced about her in a half-dazed fashion.Then, with an effort, she drew one footunder her, and again the fear shadowedher face.

“Oh,” she said, “they’re coming! Lift me,dear.”

Larry gently raised her to her feet, but itwas a minute or two before she couldstand upright, and the man’s face washaggard when he lifted her to the saddle.

“I think the end has come,” he said. “Youcan ride no farther.”

Hetty swayed a little; but she clutched thebridle, and a faint sparkle showed in herhalf-closed eyes.

“They want to take you from me. We willgo on until we drop,” she said.

Larry got into the saddle, though he did notknow how he accomplished it, and lookedahead anxiously as he shook the bridle.Away on the rim of the prairie there was adusky smear, and he knew it was a birch-bluff, which would, if they could reach it,

afford them shelter. In the open he wouldbe at the cow-boys’ mercy; but adesperate man might at least check someof the pursuers among the trees, and hewas not sure that Torrance, whose yearsmust tell, would be among them. Therewas a very faint hope yet.

They went on at a gallop, though thehorses obtained at Windsor were alreadyjaded, and very slowly the bluff grewhigher. Glancing over his shoulder, Grantsaw a few moving objects straggle acrossthe crest of the rise. They seemed to growplainer while he watched them, and moreappeared behind.

“We will make the bluff before them,” hesaid hoarsely. “Ride!”

He drove his heels home; but the beast he

rode was flagging fast when, knowinghow Torrance’s cow-boys were mounted,he glanced behind again. He could seethem distinctly now, straggling, with widehats bent by the wind and jacketsfluttering, across the prairie. Here andthere a rifle-barrel glinted, and the beat oftheir horses’ hoofs reached him plainly.One, riding furiously a few lengths aheadof the foremost, he guessed wasClavering, and he fancied he recognizedthe Sheriff in another; but he could notdiscern Torrance anywhere. He turned hiseyes ahead and watched the bluff risehigher, though the white levels seemed toflit back to him with an exasperatingslowness. Beyond it a faint grey smearrose towards the blue; but the jaded horsedemanded most of his attention, for the

sod was slippery here and there where thesnow had lain in a hollow, and the beaststumbled now and then.

Still, the birches were drawing nearer,and Hetty holding ahead of him, though theroar of hoofs behind him told that thepursuers were coming up fast. He was notcertain yet that he could reach the treesbefore they came upon him, and wasclawing with one hand at his rifle whenHetty cried out faintly:

“There are more of them in front.”

Grant set his lips as a band of horsemenswung out of the shadows of the bluff. Hiseyes caught and recognized the glint ofsunlight on metal; but in another momenthis heart leaped, for through the drummingof their hoofs there came the musical

jingle of steel, and he saw the men weredressed in blue uniform. He swung up hishat exultantly, and his voice reached thegirl, hoarse and strained with relief.

“We are through. They are United Statescavalry!”

The horsemen came on at a trot, untilGrant and the girl rode up to them. Then,they pulled up, and when Grant had helpedHetty down their officer, who wheeled hishorse, sat gazing at them curiously. Grantdid not at once recognize him, but Hettygasped.

“Larry,” she said faintly, “it’s JackCheyne.”

Grant drew her hand within his arm, andwalked slowly forward past the

wondering troopers. Then he raised hisbroad hat.

“I claim your protection for my wife,Captain Cheyne,” he said.

Cheyne sat very still a moment, lookingdown on him with a strained expression inhis face; and Grant, who saw it, glanced atHetty. She was leaning heavily upon him,her garments spattered with mire, but hecould not see her eyes. Then Cheynenodded gravely.

“Mrs. Grant can count upon it,” he said.“Those men were chasing you?”

“Yes,” said Grant. “One of them is theSheriff. I believe he intends to arrest me.”

“Sheriff Slocane?”

“Yes. I shall resist capture by him; but Iheard that the civil law would besuspended in this district, and if that hasbeen done, I will give myself up to you.”

Cheyne nodded again. “Give one of theboys your rifle, and step back with Mrs.Grant in the meanwhile. You are onparole.”

He said something sharply, and there wasa trample of hoofs and jingle of steel asthe troopers swung into changedformation. They sat still as the cattle-menrode up, and when Clavering reined hishorse in a few lengths away from themCheyne acknowledged his salute.

“We have come after a notorious disturberof this district who has, I notice, takenrefuge with you,” he said. “I must ask you

to give him up.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cheyne firmly. “It can’tbe done just yet.”

Clavering glanced at the men behind him—and there were a good many of them, allwithout fear, and irresponsible; then helooked at the little handful of troopers, andCheyne’s face hardened as he saw theinsolent significance of his glance.

“Hadn’t you better think it over? The boysare a little difficult to hold in hand, andwe can’t go back without our man,” hesaid.

Cheyne eyed him steadily. “Mr. Grant hasgiven himself up to me. If there is anycharge against him it shall be gone into. Inthe meanwhile, draw your men off and

dismount if you wish to talk to me.”

Clavering sat perfectly still, with anironical smile on his lips. “Be wise, anddon’t thrust yourself into this affair, whichdoes not concern you, or you may regretit,” he said. “Here is a gentleman whowill convince you.”

He backed his horse as another man rodeforward and with an assumption ofimportance addressed Cheyne. “Now,” hesaid, “we don’t want any unpleasantness,but I have come for the person of LarryGrant, and I mean to take him.”

“Will you tell me who I have the honourof addressing?” said Cheyne.

“Sheriff Slocane. I have a warrant forLarry Grant, and you will put me to any

inconvenience in carrying it out at yourperil.”

Cheyne smiled drily. “Then, as it isevidently some days since you left home, Iam afraid I have bad news for you. Youare superseded, Mr. Slocane.”

The Sheriff’s face flushed darkly,Clavering’s grew set, and there was anangry murmur from the men behind them.

“Boys,” said Clavering, “are you going tobe beaten by Larry again?”

There was a trampling of hoofs as some ofthe cow-boys edged their horses closer,and the murmurs grew louder; but Cheyneflung up one hand.

“Another word, and I’ll arrest you, Mr.Clavering,” he said. “Sling those rifles,

all of you! I have another troop withhorses picketed behind the bluff.”

There was sudden silence until the Sheriffspoke. “Boys,” he said, “don’t be blamedfools when it isn’t any use. Larry hascome out on top again. But I don’t knowthat I am sorry I have done with him andthe cattle-men.”

The men made no further sign of hostility,and Cheyne turned to the Sheriff. “Thankyou,” he said. “Now, I have to inform youthat this district is under martial law, and Ihave been entrusted, within limits, withjurisdiction. If you and Mr. Claveringhave any offences to urge against Grant, Ishall be pleased to hear you. In that caseyou can tell your men to picket theirhorses, and follow me to our bivouac.”

The two men dismounted, and while Hettysat trembling amidst the birches talked forhalf an hour in Cheyne’s tent. Then,Clavering, who saw that they were gaininglittle, lost his head, and stood up whitewith anger.

“We are wasting time,” he said. “Still, Iwarn you that the State will hold youresponsible if you turn that man looseagain. Our wishes can still command acertain attention in high places.”

Cheyne smiled coldly. “I shall be quiteprepared to account for whatever I do.The State, I fancy, is not to be dictated toby the cattle-men’s committees. It is, ofcourse, no affair of mine, but I can’t helpthinking that it will prove a trifleunfortunate for one or two of you that,

when you asked for more cavalry, youwere listened to.”

“Well,” said the Sheriff dejectedly, “Iquite fancy it will be; but I’m not going toworry. The cattle-men made it blamedunpleasant for me. What was I supersededfor, any way?”

“Incapacity and corruption, I believe,”Cheyne said drily.

Clavering stood still a moment, with anunpleasant look in his eyes, but theSheriff, who seemed the leastdisconcerted, touched his arm.

“You come along before you do somethingyou will be sorry for,” he said. “I’m notanxious for any unnecessary trouble, and itwould have been considerably more

sensible if I had stood in with thehomestead-boys.”

They went away, and Cheyne led Larry,who had been confronted with them, backto where Hetty was sitting.

“I understand the men left your fatherbehind, some distance back,” he said. “Hewas more fatigued than the rest and hishorse went lame. Your husband’s casewill have consideration, but I scarcelyfancy he need have any greatapprehension, and I must try to make youcomfortable in the meanwhile.”

Hetty glanced up at him with her eyesshining and quivering lips. “Thank you,”she said quietly. “Larry, I am so tired.”

Cheyne called an orderly, and ten minutes

later led her to a tent. “Your husbandplaced you in my charge, and I must askfor obedience,” he said. “You will eat anddrink what you see there, and then go tosleep. I will take good care of Mr. Grant.”

He drew Larry away and sat talking withhim for a while, then bade an orderly findhim a waterproof sheet and rug. Larry wasasleep within ten minutes, and the moonwas shining above the bluff when heawakened and moved to the tent whereHetty lay. Drawing back the canvas, hecrept in softly and dropped almostreverently on one knee beside her. Hecould hear her faint, restful breathing, andthe little hand he felt for was pleasantlycool. As he stooped and touched herforehead with his lips, the fingers closed a

trifle on his own, and the girl moved inher sleep. “Larry,” she said drowsily,“Larry, dear!”

Grant drew his hand away very softly, andwent out with his heart throbbingfuriously, to find Cheyne waiting in thevicinity. His face showed plain in themoonlight, and it was quietly grave; butGrant once more saw the expression in itthat had astonished him. Now, however,he understood it, and Cheyne knew that hedid so. They stood quite still a moment,looking into each other’s eyes.

“Mrs. Grant is resting well?” Cheyneasked.

“Yes,” said Larry. “I owe a good deal toyou.”

It did not express what they felt, but theyunderstood each other, and Cheyne smileda little. “You need not thank me yet. Yourcase will require consideration, and if thenew Sheriff urges his predecessor’scharge, I shall pass it on. In the meantime Ihave sent to Windsor for a buggy, inwhich you can take Mrs. Grant away to-morrow.”

It was early next morning when the buggyarrived, and Cheyne, who ordered twotroopers to lead the hired horses, had ahasty breakfast served. When the plateshad been removed he turned to Hetty witha smile.

“I have decided to release your husband—on condition that he drives straight back tohis homestead and stays there with you,”

he said. “The State has undertaken to keeporder and give every man what he isentitled to now; and if we find Mr. Granthas a finger in any further trouble, I shallblame you.”

He handed Hetty into the buggy, passedthe reins to Larry, and stood alone lookingafter them as they drove away. Hettyturned to her husband, with a blush in hercheek.

“Larry,” she said softly, “I have somethingto tell you.”

Grant checked her with a smile. “I haveguessed it already; and it means a newresponsibility.”

“I don’t understand,” said Hetty.

Again the little twinkle showed in Larry’s

eyes. “Well,” he said quietly, “that youshould have taken me when you had menof his kind to choose from means a gooddeal. I wouldn’t like you to find out thatyou had been mistaken, Hetty.”

XXXI

TORRANCE RIDES AWAY

It was late at night, and Miss Schuyler,sitting alone in Hetty’s room, found thetime pass very heavily. She had raised hervoice in warning when the cow-boysmounted the night Grant had ridden awaywith Hetty, and had seen the fugitivesvanish into the darkness, but since then shehad had no news of them, for whileBreckenridge had arrived at Cedar thenext day, in custody of two mounted men,nobody would tell him what had reallyhappened. Her first impulse had been to

ask for an escort to the depot and take thecars for New York, but she was intenselyanxious to discover whether Hetty hadevaded pursuit, and her pride forbade herslipping away without announcing herintention to Torrance, who had not yetcome back to the Range. She felt thatsomething was due to him, especially asshe had not regained the house unnoticedwhen the pursuit commenced.

Rising, she moved restlessly up and downthe room; but that in no way lessened thesuspense, and sitting down again sheresolutely took up a book, but she listenedinstead of reading it. There was, however,no sound from the prairie, and the houseseemed exasperatingly still.

“You will have to shake this nervousness

off or you will make a fool of yourselfbefore that man,” she muttered.

She felt that she had sat there a very longwhile, though the clock showed thatscarcely an hour had passed, when at lastthere was a rattle of wheels and atrampling of hoofs outside. The great dooropened, and after that there was anapparently interminable silence, untilHetty’s maid came in.

“If it is convenient, Mr. Torrance wouldlike to speak to you,” she said.

Flora Schuyler rose and followed the girldown the corridor; but her heart beatfaster than usual when the door ofTorrance’s room closed behind her. Thestove was no longer lighted, and Torrancestood beside the hearth, which was

littered with half-consumed papers, andMiss Schuyler, who knew his precision indress, noticed that he still wore thebespattered garments he had ridden in. Butit was the grimness of his face, and theweariness in his pose, which seized herattention and aroused a curious sympathyfor him. He glanced at her sharply, withstern, dark eyes.

“I have to thank you for coming, but I amgoing to talk plainly,” he said. “Youconnived at the meetings between mydaughter and the rascally adventurer whohas married her?”

“They are married?” exclaimed MissSchuyler in her eagerness, and the nextmoment felt the blood rise to her face asshe realized that she had blundered in

admitting any doubt upon the subject. “Imean, of course, that I wondered whetherMr. Grant could have arranged it sosoon.”

“You seem to attach a good deal ofimportance to the ceremony,” Torrancesaid, with a bitter smile. “Marriage isquite easy in this country.”

Miss Schuyler was not deficient incourage of one kind, and she looked at himsteadily. “I came down to speak to youbecause it seemed your due,” she said,“but I have no intention of listening to anyjibes at my friends.”

Torrance made her a little half-respectfuland half-ironical inclination. “Then willyou be good enough to answer myquestion?”

“Though most of the few meetings wereaccidental, I went with Hetty intentionallyon two occasions because it seemedfitting.”

“It seemed fitting that a girl should betrayher father to the man who wanted to ruinhim, supply him with the dollars thathelped him in his scheme, and, more thanall, warn him of each move we made!Well, my standard is not very high, but themost cruel blow I have had to bear wasthe discovery that my daughter had fallenso far.”

The hoarseness of his voice, and the sightof the damp upon his forehead, had acalming effect upon Miss Schuyler. Heranger against the old man had given placeto pity, for she decided that what had

passed would have excited most men’ssuspicions, and it was not in Hetty’sdefence alone she made an effort toundeceive him.

“I am going to answer you plainly, and Ithink an examination of Hetty’s cheque-book and the money she left behind willbear me out,” she said. “Once only didHetty give Mr. Grant any dollars—fifty ofthem, I think, to feed some hungrychildren. He would not take them until sheassured him that they were a part of asmall annuity left her by her mother, andthat not one of them came from you. I alsoknow that Mr. Grant allowed his friendsto suspect him of being bribed by yousooner than tell them where he obtainedthe dollars in question. The adventurer

dealt most honourably with you. Yourdaughter twice disclosed your plans, oncewhen Clavering had plotted Grant’sarrest, and again when had she not done soit would most assuredly have led to thedestruction of the cattle-train. Mr.Clavering came near making a horribleblunder on that occasion, and but forHetty’s warning not a head of your stockwould have reached Omaha.”

Her tone carried conviction with it, as didthe flash in her eyes, but Torrance’s smilewas sardonic. “You would try to persuademe Larry saved the train out of goodwillto us?”

“He did it, knowing what it was going tocost him, to prevent the men he led startingon a course of outrage and lawlessness.”

“And they have paid him for it!”

“I fancy that is outside the question,” saidMiss Schuyler. “Twice, when every goodimpulse that is in our kind laid her undercompulsion, Hetty warned the man sheloved, but at no other time did a word toyour prejudice pass her lips; and if shehad spoken it Grant would not havelistened. Hetty was loyal, and he treatedyou with a fairness that none of youmerited. You sent the Sheriff a bribe andan order for his arrest, and byinadvertence it fell into his hands. Hebrought it back here unopened at hisperil.”

Torrance looked at her in astonishment.“He brought back my letter to theSheriff?”

“Yes. There was nothing else a man ofthat kind could have done.”

Torrance stood silent for a space, andthen, stooping, picked up a half-burntpaper from the hearth, glanced at it with acurious expression, and flung it into theembers. When it had charred away heturned to Miss Schuyler.

“You have shown yourself a good friend,”he said gravely. “Still, you mayunderstand the other side of the question ifyou listen to me.”

He turned and pointed to an empty tincase, and the charred papers in the hearth.“That is the end of the plans of half alifetime—and they were all for Hetty. Ihad no one else after her mother was takenfrom me, and I scraped the dollars

together for her, that she should have whather heart could wish for, and theenjoyments her parents had never known;and while I did so I and the others built upthe prosperity of the cattle country. We fedthe railroads and built the towns, andwhen we would have rested, Larry and hisfriends took hold. You see what they havemade of it—a great industry ruined, thecountry under martial law, its commercecrippled, and the proclamation that canonly mean disaster to us hung outeverywhere. My daughter turned againstme—and nothing left me but to go out, awanderer! Larry has done his workthoroughly, and you would have me makefriends with him?”

Miss Schuyler made a little sympathetic

gesture, for he seemed very jaded andweary. “No,” she said. “One could notexpect too much, but Hetty is yourdaughter, the only one you have, and forher mother’s sake you will at least donothing that would embitter her life.”

Torrance looked at her with a curioussmile. “There is nothing I could do. Larryand the rabble are our masters now; but Iwill see her once before I go away. Isthere any other thing—that would be alittle easier—I could do to please you?”

“Yes. You could release Mr.Breckenridge.”

Torrance turned and struck a bell. “I hadalmost forgotten him. Will you wait andsee me do what you have asked me?”

In a few minutes more Breckenridge wasushered in. He smiled at Miss Schuyler,and made Torrance a slight, dignifiedsalutation. Torrance acknowledged itcourteously.

“You have yourself to blame for anyinconvenience you have been put to, Mr.Breckenridge,” he said. “You conspired toassist your partner in an undertaking youcould not expect me to forgive.”

“No,” said Breckenridge. “I offered toride with Larry, and he would not haveme. I went without him knowing it andmade my plans myself?”

“This is the truth?”

Breckenridge straightened himself andlooked at Torrance with a little flash in

his eye. “You must take my word—I shallnot substantiate it. If you had had an armycorps of cut-throats ready to do what youtold them that night, Larry would havegone alone.”

Torrance nodded gravely. “It is taken. Atleast, you bluffed us into following you.”

“Yes,” and Breckenridge smiled, “I did. Ialso prevented my companion shootingone of your friends, as he seemed quiteanxious to do. I don’t wish to hurt yourfeelings, sir, but I have not the least regretfor anything I did that night.”

“Then, you are still very bitter againstme?”

Breckenridge considered. “No, sir. Theone man I am bitter against is Clavering.

Now, it may sound presumptuous, and notcome very well from me, but I believe thatClavering, for his own purposes, forcedyour hand, and I had a certain respect foryou, if only because of your thoroughness.You see, one can’t help realizing that youcan look at every question quitedifferently.”

Torrance smiled drily. “Then if you arenot too proud to be my guest to-night, Ishould be glad of your company and willfind you a horse to take you back toFremont when it suits you.”

Breckenridge, for some reason that wasnot very apparent, seemed pleased toagree, but a faint smile just showed inTorrance’s eyes when he went out again.Then, he turned to Miss Schuyler.

“I wonder what Mr. Clavering has done towin everybody’s dislike,” he said. “Youdo not seem anxious to plead for him.”

Flora Schuyler’s face grew almostvindictive. “No,” she said, “I don’t. I can,however, mention one thing I find itdifficult to forgive him. When youpromised him Hetty he had found favourwith her maid, and made the most of thefact. It was not flattering to your daughteror my friend. He may not have told youthat he promised to marry her.”

Torrance stared at her a moment, a darkflush rising to his forehead. “You are quitesure?”

“Ask the girl,” said Flora Schuyler.

Torrance struck the bell again, and waited

until the maid came in. “I understand Mr.Clavering promised to marry you,” he saidvery quietly. “You would be willing totake him?”

The girl’s face grew a trifle pale, and sheglanced at Miss Schuyler who noddedencouragingly.

“Yes,” she said.

Torrance smiled, but Miss Schuyler didnot like the glint in his eyes. “Then,” hesaid with incisive distinctness, “if you arein the same mind in another week, heshall.”

The girl went out, and Torrance, who hadwatched her face, turned to Miss Schuyler.“I guess that young woman will be quiteequal to him,” he said. “Well, I am putting

my house in order, and I will ride overonce and see Hetty before I leave Cedar.You will stay here until she comes back toFremont, any way.”

Miss Schuyler promised to do so, andstayed two days, as did Breckenridge,who eventually rode to Fremont with her.He was very quiet during the journey, andsomewhat astonished his companion bygravely swinging off his broad hat whenthey pulled upon the crest of a rise.

“I wonder if you would listen tosomething I wish to tell you,” he said.“The trouble is that it requires anexplanation.”

Flora Schuyler glanced at himthoughtfully, for she recognized thesymptoms now. Breckenridge appeared

unusually grave, and there was a littleflush on his forehead, and a diffidence shehad not hitherto seen there, in his eyes.

“I can decide about the rest when I haveheard the explanation,” she answered.

“Well,” said Breckenridge slowly, “Icame out West, so to speak, because I wasunder a cloud. Now, I had never doneanything distinctly bad, but my one abilityseemed to consist in spending money, andwhen I had got through a good deal of itmy friends sent me here, which wasperhaps a little rough on your country.Well, as it happened, I fell in with menand women of the right kind—Larry, andsomebody else who did more for me. Thatmade a difference; and while I wasrealizing how very little I had got for the

time and dollars I had wasted, affairsbegan to happen in the old country, and Ishould have the responsibility of handlinga good many of them if I went back therenow. It sounds abominably egotistical, butyou see what it is leading to?”

Miss Schuyler, who had no difficulty onthat point, regarded him thoughtfully.Breckenridge was a handsome youngEnglishman and she had liked him fromthe first. Larry had fallen to another, andthat perhaps counted for more than a littleto Breckenridge; but she had seen morethan one friend of hers contented with thesecond best. Still, she sighed before shemet his gaze.

“I think you must make it a little plainer,”she said.

“Well,” said Breckenridge quietly, “it isjust this. You have done a good deal forme already, and I almost dare to fancy Icould be a credit to you if you would do alittle more, while it would carryconviction to my most doubting relativesif you went back to the old country withme. They would only have to see you.”

Flora Schuyler smiled. “This is serious,Mr. Breckenridge?”

Breckenridge made her a little inclination,and while in a curious fashion it increasedFlora Schuyler’s liking for him sherecognized that he was no longer the light-hearted and irresponsible youngEnglishman she had met a few months ago.He, too, had borne the burden, and therewas a gravity in his eyes and a slight

hardening of his lips that had its meaning.

“I never was more serious in my life,madam,” he said. “I know that I mighthave spoken—not more respectfully, butdifferently—but when I am too solemneverybody laughs at me.”

“Does it not strike you that you have onlyregarded the affair from one point of viewso far?”

Breckenridge nodded. “I understand. Butone feels very diffident when he knowsthe slight value of what he has to offer. Ishould always love you, whether you sayyes or no. For the rest, there is a little landin the old country, and an income which Ibelieve should be enough for two. Itseems more becoming to throw myself onyour charity.”

“And what would Larry do without you?”asked Miss Schuyler.

The quick enthusiasm in Breckenridge’sface pleased her. “Larry’s work issplendidly done already,” he said. “Heasked nothing for himself—and got nomore; but now the State is offering everyman the rights he fought for. Theproclamations are out, and any citizenwho wants it can take up his homesteadgrant. It will be something to rememberthat I carried his shield; but Larry has nomore need of an armour-bearer.”

“I am older than you are.”

“Ten years in wisdom, and fifty ingoodness, but I scarcely fancy that morethan six months separate our birthdays.Now, I know I am not expressing myself

very nicely, but, you see, we can’t all beeloquent, and perhaps it should count for alittle when I tell you that I never made anattempt of the kind before. I am, however,most painfully anxious to convince you.”

Miss Schuyler recognized it, and likedhim the more for the diffidence which hewrapped in hasty speech. “Then,” she saidsoftly, “if in six months from now——”

Breckenridge swayed in his saddle; butthe girl’s heel was quicker, and as herhorse plunged the hand he would have laidon her bridle fell to his side.

“No!” she said. “If in six months you arestill in the same mind, you can come toHastings-on-the-Hudson, and speak to meagain. Then, you may find me disposed tolisten; but we will go on to Fremont in the

meanwhile.”

Breckenridge’s response wasunpremeditated, but the half-broken horse,provoked by his sudden movement, rosewith fore hoofs in the air, and thenwhirled round in a circle. Its rider laughedexultantly, swaying lithely, with the bighat still in one hand that disdained thebridle; but his face grew grave when therewas quietness again, and he turnedtowards the girl.

“I shall be in the same mind,” he said, “forever and ever.”

They rode on to Fremont, and the next dayBreckenridge drove Miss Schuyler, whowas going back to New York, the firststage of her journey to the depot. A monthhad passed when one evening Torrance

rode that way. The prairie, lying still andsilent with a flush of saffron upon itswestern rim, was tinged with softestgreen, but broad across the foregroundstretched the broken, chocolate-tintedclods of the ploughing, and the man’s facegrew grimmer as he glanced at them. Heturned and watched the long lines ofcrawling cattle that stretched half-wayacross the vast sweep of green; and Larryand his wife, who stood waiting himoutside the homestead, understood hisfeelings. Raw soil, rent by the harrowsand seamed by the seeder, and creepingbands of stock, were tokens of thedownfall of the old régime. ThenTorrance, drawing bridle, sat still in hissaddle while Hetty and her husband stoodby his stirrup.

“I promised your friend, Hetty, that Iwould see you before I went away,” hesaid. “I left Cedar for the last time a fewhours ago, and I am riding in to therailroad now. The stock you see there aremine and Allonby’s, and the cars arewaiting to take them to Omaha. I shallspend the years that may be left me on thePacific slope.”

Hetty’s lips quivered, and it was Larrywho spoke.

“Was it necessary, sir?”

Torrance smiled grimly. “Yes. The Stateoffered me a few paltry concessions, anda little of what was all mine by right. Itdidn’t seem a fit thing to accept theircharity. Well, you have beaten us, Larry.”

Grant’s face flushed a little. “Only that therest will gain more than the few will loseI could almost be sorry, sir.”

Torrance swung himself down from thesaddle and laid his hand on Hetty’sshoulder.

“You have chosen your husband among themen who pulled us down, and nothing canbe quite the same between you and me,”he said. “But I am getting an old man, andmay never see you again.”

Hetty looked up at him with a faint traceof pride in her misty eyes. “There wasnobody among our friends fit to standbeside him,” she said. “If you kiss me youwill shake hands with Larry.”

“I can do both,” and Torrance held out his

hand when he turned to Grant. “Larry, Ibelieve now you tried to do the squarething, and there might have been lesstrouble between us but for Clavering. Ihope you will bear me no ill will, andwhile we can’t quite wipe out thebitterness yet, by and by we may befriends again.”

“I hope so, sir,” said Larry.

Torrance said nothing further, but, movingstiffly, swung himself into the saddle andslowly rode away. Hetty watched himwith a curious wistfulness in her eyes untilhe wheeled his horse on the crest of therise, and sat still a moment looking backon them, a lonely, dusky object silhouettedagainst the paling sky. Then he turnedagain, and sank into the shadowy prairie.

Hetty clung a little more tightly to herhusband’s arm, and for a time they stoodwatching the crawling cattle and dimshapes of the stockriders slowly fade,until the last pale flicker of saffron diedout and man and beast sank into the night.A little cold wind came sighing out of theemptiness and emphasized its silence.

Hetty shivered. “Larry,” she said, “theywill never come back.”

Grant drew her closer to him. “It had tobe, my dear,” he said. “They blocked theway, and nothing can stop the people youand I—and they—belong to, moving on.Well, we will look forward and do whatwe can, for we must be ready to step outwhen our turn comes and watch the rest goby.”

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