Ranching for Sylvia Part 50

"Take another look through this; it came along with the photograph.

Now, would you be willing to swear to him?"

"I'll be glad to do so, if I have the chance. Shall I put a mark against the fellow?"

"Not on that!" The trooper handed George the card, which proved to be a carefully drawn key-plan of the photograph, with the figures outlined. "You can mark this one."

George did as he was told, and then handed the photograph to Flora.

"How did your people get it?" he asked the trooper.

"I can't say; they don't go into explanations."

"But what do you think? Did Flett take the photograph?"

"No, sir; I heard him tell the sergeant he knew nothing about a camera.

He may have got somebody to take it or may have bought the thing."

"Do you know where he is?"

"I only know he got special orders after Mr. Grant was robbed. It's my idea he was somewhere around when the photograph was taken."

"I wonder where it was taken? In Alberta, perhaps, though I'm inclined to think it was on the other side of the frontier."

"That is my opinion," said Flora. "There's not a great difference between us and our neighbors, but the dress of the mounted men and the style of the stores are somehow American. I'd say Montana, or perhaps Dakota."

"Montana," said the trooper. "The big bunch of cattle seems to fix it."

"Then you think Flett is over there?" asked George. "I'm interested, so is Miss Grant, and you needn't be afraid of either of us spreading what you say."

"It's my notion that Flett has spotted his men, but I guess he's now watching out near the boundary in Canada. These rustler fellows can't do all their business on one side; they'll have to cross now and then.

Flett's in touch with some of the American sheriffs, who'll give him the tip, and the first time the fellows slip over the frontier he'll get them. That would suit everybody better and save a blamed lot of formalities."

Flora nodded.

"It strikes me as very likely; and Flett's perhaps the best man you could have sent. But have you shown the photograph to my father?"

"I did that before I left the homestead. There's n.o.body in the picture like the fellow who drove with Mr. Grant, and he tells me he saw n.o.body else. Now I must be getting on."

He rode away, and Flora reverted to the topic she and George had been discussing.

"So you believe Mr. West is thinking of living here altogether! I suppose he would be able to take a farm of moderate size?"

"It wouldn't be very large; he can't have much money, but his people would help him to make a start if they were satisfied. That means they would consult me."

Flora smiled.

"And you feel you would be in a difficult position, if you were asked whether it would be wise to let him marry a prairie girl? Have you formed any decision about the matter?"

She spoke in an indifferent tone, but George imagined that she was interested.

"I can't see why he shouldn't do so."

"Think a little. West has been what you call well brought up, he's fastidious, and I haven't found English people free from social prejudices. Could you, as his friend, contemplate his marrying the daughter of a storekeeper in a rather primitive western town? Taunton, of course, is not a polished man."

"I don't think that counts; he's a very good type in spite of it. The girl's pretty, she has excellent manners, and she strikes me as having sense--and in some respects Edgar has very little. I'll admit that at one time I might not have approved of the idea, but I believe I've got rid of one or two foolish opinions that I brought out with me. If Miss Taunton is what she appears to be, he's lucky in getting her. Don't you think so?"

He had spoken with a little warmth, though, as Flora knew, he was seldom emphatic; and a rather curious expression crept into her face.

He did not quite understand it, but he thought she was pleased for some reason or other!

"Oh," she said lightly, "I have told you my opinion."

Nothing further was said about the subject, but George walked beside his team in a state of calm content. His companion was unusually gracious; she made a picture that was pleasant to watch as she sat, finely poised, on the big horse, with the strong sunlight on her face.

Her voice was attractive, too; it reached him, clear and musical, through the thud of hoofs and the creak of slowly-turning wheels, for he made no attempt to hurry his team.

When they reached the homestead, the conversation centered on the constable's visit; and when the Grants left, Edgar stood outside with George, watching the slender mounted figure grow smaller beside the jolting buggy.

"George," he said, "I've met very few girls who could compare with Flora Grant, taking her all round."

"That's correct," George told him. "As a matter of fact, I'm doubtful whether you have met any who would bear the comparison. It was the sillier ones who made a fuss over you."

"I know of one," Edgar resumed. "As it happens, she's in Canada."

"I'd a suspicion of something of the kind," George said dryly.

Edgar made no answer, but presently he changed the subject.

"What's the least one could take up a farm here with, and have a fair chance of success?"

"One understands it has been done with practically nothing on preempted land, though I'm rather dubious. In your case, I'd fix five thousand dollars as the minimum; more would be decidedly better."

"Yes," said Edgar thoughtfully; "that's about my idea; and I suppose it could be raised, though my share of what was left us has nearly all been spent in cramming me with knowledge I've no great use for.

Stephen, however, has done pretty well, and I think he always realized that it would be his privilege to give me a lift; I've no doubt he'll write to you as soon as I mention the matter, and your answer will have its effect." He looked at George with anxious eyes. "I venture to think you'll strain a point to say what you can in my favor?"

"In the first place, I'll ride over to the b.u.t.te and have supper with Taunton, as soon as I can find the time."

"Thanks," responded Edgar gratefully; "you won't have any doubts after that." Then he broke into laughter. "You'll excuse me, but it's really funny, George."

"I don't see the joke," George said shortly.

Edgar tried to look serious, and failed.

"I can imagine your trying to weigh up Helen; starting a subtle conversation to elucidate her character, and showing what you were after and your profound ignorance with every word; though you mustn't suppose I'd be afraid of submitting her to the severest test. Why, you wouldn't even know when a girl was in love with you, unless she told you so. Perhaps it's some excuse that your mind's fixed on one woman to the exclusion of all the rest, though one could imagine that, as you think of her, she's as unreal and as far removed from anything made of flesh and blood as a saint in a picture. After all, I dare say it's a very proper feeling."

George left him, half amused and half disturbed. He did not resent Edgar's freedom of speech, but the latter had a way of mixing hints that were not altogether foolish with his badinage, and his comrade was inclined to wonder what he had meant by one suggestive remark. It troubled him as he strolled along the edge of the tall green wheat, but he comforted himself with the thought that, after all, Edgar's conversation was often unworthy of serious consideration.

A week later George rode over to the store at the settlement, feeling a little diffident, because he had undertaken the visit only from a sense of duty. He was cordially received, and was presently taken in to supper, which was served in a pretty room and presided over by a very attractive girl. She had a pleasant voice and a quiet face; though he thought she must have guessed his errand, she treated him with a composure that set him at his ease. Indeed, she was by no means the kind of girl he had expected Edgar to choose; but this was in her favor. George could find no fault in her.

Shortly after the meal was finished his host was called away, and the girl looked up at George with a flush of color creeping, most becomingly, into her face.