Flett left the team at George\'s homestead. Bidding him take good care of it, and borrowing a fresh team, he drove away with the wagon. When he reached Sage Butte it was getting dusk. He hitched the horses outside of the better of the two hotels and entered in search of food, as he had still a long ride before him. Supper had long been finished, and Flett was kept waiting for some time, but he now and then glanced at the wagon. It was dark when he drove away, after seeing that the case lay where he had left it, and he had reached his post before he made a startling discovery. When he carried the case into the lamplight, it looked smaller, and on hastily opening it he found it was filled with soil!

He sat down and thought; though on the surface the matter was clear—he had been cleverly outwitted by somebody who had exchanged the case while he got his meal. This, as he reflected, was not the kind of thing for which a constable got promoted; but there were other points that required attention. The substitution had not been effected by anybody connected with the Queen\'s; it was, he suspected, the work of some of the frequenters of the Sachem; and he and his superiors had to contend with a well-organized gang. News of what had happened in the bluff had obviously been transmitted to the settlement while he had rested at Lansing\'s homestead. He had, however, made a long journey, and as he would have to ride on and report the matter to his sergeant in the morning, he went to sleep.

The next day George was setting out on a visit to Grant when a man rode up and asked for the team.

"Flett can\'t get over, but he wants the horses at the post, so as to have them handy if he finds anybody who can recognize them," he explained.

That sounded plausible, but George hesitated. The animals would be of service as a clue to their owner and a proof of his complicity in the affair. As they had not been identified, it would embarrass the police if they were missing.

"I can only hand them over to a constable, unless you have brought a note from Flett," he replied.

"Then, as I haven\'t one, you\'ll beat me out of a day\'s pay, and make Flett mighty mad. Do you think he\'d get anybody who might know the team to waste a day riding out to your place? Guess the folks round here are too busy, and they\'d be glad of the excuse that it was so far. They won\'t want to mix themselves up in this thing."

George could find no fault with this reasoning, but he thought the fellow was a little too eager to secure the horses.

"Well," he said, "as I\'m going to call on Mr. Grant, I\'ll see what he has to say. If I\'m not back in time, Mr. West will give you supper."

"Then Grant\'s standing in with you and the temperance folks?"

It struck George that he had been incautious, but he could not determine whether the man had blundered or not. His question suggested some knowledge of the situation, but an accomplice of the offenders would, no doubt, have heard of the part Grant\'s hired man had played.

"I don\'t see how that concerns you," he replied. "You\'ll have to wait until I return if you want the team."

He rode on, but he had not gone far when he met Beamish, of the Sachem.

"I was coming over to see you," the man told him. "You bought that young Hereford bull of Broughton\'s, didn\'t you?"

George was surprised at the question, but he answered that he had done so.

"Then would you sell him?"

"I hadn\'t thought of it."

"Guess that means I\'ll have to tempt you," Beamish said. "I want the beast."

He named a price that struck George as being in excess of the animal\'s value; and then explained:

"I\'ve seen him once or twice before he fell into Broughton\'s hands; the imported Red Rover strain is marked in him, and a friend of mine, who\'s going in for Herefords, told me not to stick at a few dollars if I could pick up such a bull."

This was plausible, but not altogether satisfactory, and George, reflecting that a buyer does not really praise what he means to purchase, imagined that there was something behind it.

"I\'m not likely to get a better bid," he admitted. "But I must ask if the transaction would be complete? Would you expect anything further from me in return?"

Beamish regarded him keenly, with a faint smile.

"Well," he said, "I certainly want the bull, but you seem to understand. Leave it at that; I\'m offering to treat you pretty liberally."

"So as to prevent my assisting Flett in any way or taking a part in
Hardie\'s campaign?"

"I wouldn\'t consider it the square thing for you to do," Beamish returned quietly.

George thought of the man who was waiting at the homestead for the team. It was obvious that an attempt was being made to buy him, and he strongly resented it.

"Then I can only tell you that I won\'t make this deal. That\'s the end of the matter."

Beamish nodded and started his horse, but he looked back as he rode off.

"Well," he called, in a meaning tone, "you may be sorry."

George rode on to Grant\'s homestead, and finding him at work in the fallow, told him what had passed.

"I fail to see why they\'re so eager to get hold of me," he concluded.

Grant, sitting in the saddle of the big plow, thoughtfully filled his pipe.

"Of course," he said, "it wasn\'t a coincidence that Beamish came over soon after the fellow turned up for the horses. It would have been worth while buying the bull if you had let them go—especially as I believe it\'s right about a friend of his wanting one—and nobody could have blamed you for selling. The fact is, your position counts. The bluff would make a handy place for a depot, and, while there\'s nobody else near, you command the trails to it and the reservation. Nobody could get by from the settlement without being seen, unless they made a big round, if you watched out."

"I\'m beginning to understand. What you say implies that they\'re doing a good trade."

"That\'s so," Grant assented. "I wouldn\'t have believed it was so big before Hardie put me on the track and I began to look around. But you want to remember that what you\'re doing may cost you something. I\'m your nearest neighbor, you\'re running stock that are often out of sight, and you\'re up against a determined crowd."

"It\'s true," George admitted. "Still, I can\'t back out."

Grant cast a keen, approving glance at him. George sat quietly in his saddle with a smile on his brown face; his pose was easy but virile: there was a stamp of refinement and old country breeding upon him. His eyes were suggestively steady; his skin was clear; he looked forceful in an unemphatic manner. The farmer was to some extent prejudiced against the type, but he could make exceptions. He had liked Lansing from the beginning, and he knew that he could work.

"No," he said; "I guess you\'re not that kind of man. But won\'t you get down and go along to the house? Flora will be glad to talk with you, and I\'ll be in for supper soon."

George thanked him, and did as he suggested. He was beginning to find pleasure in the conversation of Flora Grant.

It was two hours later when he took his leave and the farmer went out with him.

"I don\'t know what Hardie\'s doing, but I\'ve an idea that Mrs. Nelson means to make some move at the Farmers\' Club fair," he said. "She\'s a mighty determined and enterprising woman. If you can spare the time, you\'d better ride in and see what\'s going on."

On reaching home, George was not surprised to find that the man who had come for the horses had departed without waiting for his answer. The next day he received an intimation that the annual exhibition of the Sage Butte Farmers\' Club would shortly be held; and one morning a fortnight later he and Edgar rode off to the settlement.

They found the little town rudely decorated with flags and arches of poplar boughs, and a good-humored crowd assembled. The one-sided street that faced the track was lined with buggies, wagons, and a few automobiles; horses and two or three yoke of oxen were tethered outside the overfull livery stables.

A strong breeze drove blinding dust-clouds through the place, but even in the wind the sunshine was scorching.

As he strolled toward the fair-ground, George became interested in the crowd. It was largely composed of small farmers, and almost without exception they and their wives were smartly attired; they looked contented and prosperous. Mingling with them were teamsters, many as neatly dressed as their masters, though some wore blue-jean and saffron-colored shirts; and there were railroad-hands, mechanics, and store-keepers. All of them were cheerful; a few good years, free from harvest frost and blight, had made a marked improvement in everybody\'s lot.

Yet, there was another side to the picture. Odd groups of loungers indulged in scurrilous jests; hoarse laughter and an occasional angry uproar issued from the hotels, and shabby men with hard faces slouched about the veranda of one. George noticed this, but he presently reached the fair-ground, where he inspected the animals and implements; and then, toward supper-time, he strolled back with Grant. They were walking up one of the side-streets when shouts broke out behind them.

George looked around but for a moment he could see very little through the cloud of dust that swept the street. When it blew away it revealed a row of women advancing two by two along the plank sidewalk. They were of different ages and stations in life, but they all came on as if with a fixed purpose, and they had resolute faces. Mrs. Nelson led them, carrying a riding quirt, and though George was not astonished to see her, he started when he noticed Flora Grant near the end of the procession. She was paler than usual, and she walked quietly with a rather strained expression.

Grant touched George\'s shoulder.

"This is certainly more than I figured on," he said; "but I guess there\'s no use in my objecting. Now she\'s started, she\'ll go through with it. They\'re making for the Sachem; we had better go along."

Shortly afterward, a gathering crowd blocked the street.

"Speech!" somebody cried; and there was ironical applause.

Mrs. Nelson raised her hand, and when the procession stopped, she looked sternly at the men before her.

"No," she answered; "speeches are wasted on such folks; we\'re here to act!"

She waved the quirt commandingly.

............