Ranching for Sylvia Part 39

He walked wearily from the room, crumpling up the letters he had risked his life to secure.

CHAPTER XXI

GRANT COMES TO THE RESCUE

The storm had raged for twenty-four hours, but it had now pa.s.sed, and it was a calm night when a little party sat in George's living-room.

Outside, the white prairie lay still and silent under the Arctic frost, but there was no breath of wind stirring and the room was comfortably warm. A big stove glowed in the middle of it, and the atmosphere was permeated with the smell of hot iron, stale tobacco, and the exudations from resinous boards.

Grant and his daughter had called when driving back from a distant farm, and Trooper Flett had returned to the homestead after a futile search for the liquor smugglers. He was not characterized by mental brilliancy, but his persevering patience atoned for that, and his superior officers considered him a sound and useful man. Sitting lazily in an easy chair after a long day's ride in the nipping frost, he discoursed upon the situation.

"Things aren't looking good," he said. "We've had two cases of cattle-killing in the last month, besides some horses missing, and a railroad contractor knocked senseless with an empty bottle; and n.o.body's locked up yet."

"I don't think you have any reason to be proud of it," Edgar broke in.

Flett spread out his hands in expostulation.

"It's not our fault. I could put my hands on half a dozen men who're at the bottom of the trouble; but what would be the use of that, when the blamed jury would certainly let them off? In a case of this kind, our system of justice is mighty apt to break down. It's a pet idea of mine."

"How would you propose to alter it?" Edgar asked, to lead him on.

"If we must have a jury, I'd like to pick them, and they'd be men who'd lost some stock. You could depend on them."

"There's something to be said for that," Grant admitted with a dry smile.

"This is how we're fixed," Flett went on. "We're up against a small, but mighty smart, hard crowd; we know them all right, but we can't get after them. You must make good all you say in court, and we can't get folks to help us. They'd rather mind the store, have a game of pool, or chop their cordwood."

"I can think of a few exceptions," Edgar said. "Mrs. Nelson, for example. One could hardly consider her apathetic."

"That woman's dangerous! When we were working up things against Beamish, she must make him look like a persecuted victim. She goes too far; the others won't go far enough. Guess they're afraid of getting hurt."

"You couldn't say that of Mr. Hardie," Flora objected.

"No. But some of his people would like to fire him, and he's going to have trouble about his pay. Anyhow, this state of things is pretty hard on us. There's no use in bringing a man up when you've only got unwilling witnesses."

"What you want is a dramatic conviction," said Edgar sympathetically.

"Sure. It's what we're working for, and we'd get it if everybody backed us up as your partner and Mr. Grant are doing." He turned to George. "My coming back here is a little rough on you."

George smiled.

"I dare say it will be understood by the opposition, but I don't mind.

It looks as if I were a marked man already."

A few minutes later Flett went out to attend to his horse; George took Grant into a smaller room which he used for an office; and Edgar and Flora were left alone. The girl sat beside the stove, with a thoughtful air, and Edgar waited for her to speak. Flora inspired him with an admiration which was largely tinged with respect, though, being critical, he sometimes speculated about the cause for this. She was pretty, but her style of beauty was rather severe. She had fine eyes and clearly-cut features, but her face was a little too reposeful and her expression usually somewhat grave; he preferred animation and a dash of coquetry. Her conversation was to the point--she had a way of getting at the truth of a matter--but there was nevertheless a certain reserve in it and he thought it might have been more sparkling. He had discovered some time ago that adroit flattery and hints that his devotion was hers to command only afforded her calm amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Mr. Lansing looks a little worried," she said at length.

"It strikes me as only natural," Edgar replied, "He has had a steer killed since the rustlers shot the bull; we have foiled one or two more attempts only by keeping a good lookout, and he knows that he lies open to any new attack that may be made on him. His position isn't what you could call comfortable."

"I hardly think that would disturb your comrade very much."

Edgar saw that she would not be put off with an inadequate explanation, and he was a little surprised that she did not seem to mind displaying her interest in George.

"Then," he said, "for another thing, he's disappointed about having to give up an English visit he had looked forward to."

He saw a gleam that suggested comprehension in her eyes.

"You mean that he is badly disappointed?"

"Yes," said Edgar; "I really think he is."

He left her to make what she liked of this, and he imagined that there was something to be inferred from it. He thought it might be wise to give her a hint that George's affections were already engaged.

"Besides," he resumed, "it's no secret that the loss of his harvest hit him pretty hard. We'll have to curtail our spring operation in several ways and study economy."

Flora glanced toward the door of the room her father had entered with George. Edgar thought she had done so unconsciously; but it was somewhat suggestive, though he could not see what it implied.

"Well," she said, "I'm inclined to believe that he'll get over his difficulties."

"So am I," Edgar agreed. "George isn't easy to defeat."

In the meanwhile Grant sat in the next room, smoking thoughtfully and asking George rather direct questions about his farming.

"I've made some inquiries about that new wheat your English botanist friend reported on," he said at length. "Our experimental farm people strongly recommend it, and there's a man I wrote to who can't say enough in its favor. You'll sow it this spring?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to stick to the common kinds," George said gloomily. "I've a pretty big acreage to crop and that special seed is remarkably dear."

"That's so," Grant agreed. "As a matter of fact, they haven't quite made their arrangements for putting it on the market yet, and the surest way to get some is to bid for a round lot. After what I'd heard, I wired a Winnipeg agent and he has promised to send me on what looks like more than I can use. Now I'll be glad to let you have as much as you want for your lightest land."

George felt grateful. He did not think that this methodical man had made any careless mistake over his order; but he hesitated.

"Thanks," he said. "Still, it doesn't get over the main difficulty."

"I guess it does. You would have had to pay money down for the seed, and I'll be glad to let the thing stand over until you have thrashed out. The price doesn't count; you can give me back as many bushels as you get."

"Then," said George with a slight flush, "you're more generous than wise. They haven't produced a wheat yet that will stand drought and hail. Suppose I have another year like last? I'm sorry I can't let you run this risk."

"We'll quit pretending. I owe a little to the country that has made me what I am, and these new hardy wheats are going to play a big part in its development. I want to see them tried on the poorest land."

"That's a good reason. I believe it goes some way, but I hardly think it accounts for everything."

His companion looked at him with fixed directness.

"Then, if you must be satisfied, you're my neighbor; you have had blamed hard luck and I like the way you're standing up to it. If anybody's on meaner soil than yours I want to see it. Anyway, here's the seed; take what you need, pay me back when you're able. Guess you're not too proud to take a favor that's gladly offered."

"I'd be a most ungrateful brute if I refused," George replied with feeling.