George was working in the summer fallow a few days after his return from Grant\'s homestead, when a man rode across the plowing and pulled up his horse beside him. He was on the whole a handsome fellow, well mounted and smartly dressed, but there was a hint of hardness in his expression. George recognized him as the landlord of a hotel at the settlement.

"Your crop\'s not looking too good," the stranger greeted him.

"No," returned George. "It was badly put in, and we\'ve had unusually dry weather."

"I forgot," the other rejoined. "You\'re the fellow Jake Gillet had the trouble with. Beat him down on the price, didn\'t you? He\'s a bad man to bluff."

"The point that concerned me was that he asked a good deal more than his work was worth."

The man looked at George curiously.

"That\'s quite possible, but you might have let him down more gently than you did. As a newcomer, you don\'t want to kick too much or run up against things other folks put up with."

George wondered where the hint he had been given led.

"I rode over to bring this paper for you to sign," the man went on.

Glancing through it, George saw that it was a petition against any curtailment of the licenses at Sage Butte, and a testimonial to the excellent manner in which the Sachem Hotel was conducted by its owner, Oliver Beamish. George had only once entered the place, but it had struck him as being badly kept and frequented by rather undesirable customers.

"Some fool temperance folks are starting a campaign—want to shut the hotels," his visitor explained. "You\'ll put your name to this."

"I\'m afraid you\'ll have to excuse me, Mr. Beamish. I can\'t form an opinion; I haven\'t heard the other side yet."

"Do you want to hear them? Do you like that kind of talk?"

George smiled, though he was not favorably impressed by the man. His tone was too dictatorial; George expected civility when asked a favor.

"After all," he said, "it would only be fair."

"Then you won\'t sign?"

"No."

Beamish sat silent a moment or two, regarding George steadily.

"One name more or less doesn\'t matter much, but I\'ll own that the opinion of you farmers who use my hotel as a stopping-place counts with the authorities," he told him. "I\'ve got quite a few signatures. You want to remember that it won\'t pay you to go against the general wish."

There was a threat in his manner, and George\'s face hardened.

"That consideration hasn\'t much weight with me," he said.

"Well," returned Beamish, "I guess you\'re wrong; but as there\'s nothing doing here, I\'ll get on."

He rode away, and George thought no more of the matter for several days. Then as he was riding home with Edgar from a visit to a neighbor who had a team to sell, they stopped to rest a few minutes in the shade of a poplar bluff. It was fiercely hot on the prairie, but the wood was dim and cool, and George followed Edgar through it in search of saskatoons. The red berries were plentiful, and they had gone farther than they intended when George stopped waist-deep in the grass of a dry sloo, where shallow water had lain in the spring. He nearly fell over something large and hard. Stooping down, he saw with some surprise that it was a wooden case.

"I wonder what\'s in it?" he said.

"Bottles," reported Edgar, pulling up a board of the lid. "One of the cure-everything tonics, according to the labels. It strikes me as a curious place to leave it in."

George carefully looked about. He could distinguish a faint track, where the grasses had been disturbed, running straight across the sloo past the spot he occupied; but he thought that the person who had made the track had endeavored to leave as little mark as possible. Then he glanced out between the poplar trunks across the sunlit prairie. There was not a house on it; scarcely a clump of timber broke its even surface. The bluff was very lonely; and George remembered that a trail which ran near by led to an Indian reservation some distance to the north. While he considered, Edgar broke in:

"As neither of us requires a pick-me-up, it might be better to leave the thing where it is."

"That," replied George, "is my own idea."

Edgar looked thoughtful.

"The case didn\'t come here by accident; and one wouldn\'t imagine that tonics are in great demand in this locality. I have, however, heard the liquor laws denounced; and as a rule it\'s wise to leave matters that don\'t concern you severely alone."

"Just so," said George. "We\'ll get on again, if you have had enough berries."

On reaching the homestead, they found a note from Miss Grant inviting them to come over in the evening; and both were glad to comply with it. When they arrived, the girl led them into a room where a lady of middle-age and a young man in clerical attire were sitting with her father.

"Mrs. Nelson has come over from Sage Butte on a mission," she said, when she presented them. "Mr. Hardie, who is the Methodist minister there, is anxious to meet you."

The lady was short and slight in figure but was marked by a most resolute expression.

"The mission is Mr. Hardie\'s," she said. "I\'m merely his assistant. I suppose you\'re a temperance reformer, Mr. Lansing?"

"No," George answered meekly; "I can\'t say I am."

"Then you\'ll have to become one. How long is it since you indulged in drink?"

George felt a little embarrassed, but Edgar, seeing Flora\'s smile and the twinkle in her father\'s eyes, hastily came to his rescue.

"Nearly a month, to my knowledge. That is, if you don\'t object to strong green tea, consumed in large quantities."

"One should practise moderation in everything. Everything!"

"It has struck me," said Edgar thoughtfully, "that moderation is now and then desirable in temperance reform."

Mrs. Nelson fixed her eyes on him with a severe expression.

"Are you a scoffer?"

"No," said Edgar; "as a matter of fact, I\'m open to conviction, especially if you intend to reform the Butte. In my opinion, it needs it."

"Well," responded the lady, "you\'re a signature, anyway; and we want as many as we can get. But we\'ll proceed to business. Will you state our views, Mr. Hardie?"

The man began quietly, and George was favorably impressed by him. He had a pleasant, sun-burned face, and a well-knit but rather thin figure, which suggested that he was accustomed to physical exertion. As he could not afford a horse, he made long rounds on foot to visit his scattered congregation, under scorching sun and in the stinging frost.

"There are four churches in Sage Butte, but I sometimes fear that most of the good they do is undone in the pool room and the saloons," he said. "Of the latter, one cannot, perhaps, strongly object to the Queen\'s."

"One should always object to a saloon," Mrs. Nelson corrected him.

Hardie smiled good-humoredly.

"After all, the other\'s the more pressing evil. There\'s no doubt about the unfortunate influence of the Sachem."

"That\'s so,"............