On the evening that George left for Brandon, Edgar drove over to the
Grant homestead.

"It\'s Saturday night, my partner\'s gone, and I felt I deserved a little relaxation," he explained.

"It\'s something to be able to feel that; the men who opened up this wheat-belt never got nor wanted anything of the kind," Grant rejoined. "But as supper\'s nearly ready, you have come at the right time."

Edgar turned to Flora.

"Your father always makes me feel that I belong to a decadent age. One can put up with it from him, because he\'s willing to live up to his ideas, which is not a universal rule, so far as my experience of moralizers goes. Anyhow, I\'ll confess that I\'m glad to arrive in time for a meal. The cooking at our place might be improved; George, I regret to say, never seems to notice what he eats."

"That\'s a pretty good sign," said Grant.

"It strikes me as a failing for which I have to bear part of the consequences."

Flora laughed.

"If you felt that you had to make an excuse for coming, couldn\'t you have made a more flattering one?"

"Ah!" said Edgar, "you have caught me out. But I could give you a number of better reasons. It isn\'t my fault you resent compliments."

Flora rose and they entered the room where the hired men were gathering for the meal. When it was over, they returned to the smaller room and found seats near an open window, Grant smoking, Flora embroidering, while Edgar mused as he watched her. Dressed in some simple, light-colored material, which was nevertheless tastefully cut, she made an attractive picture in the plainly furnished room, the walls of which made an appropriate frame of uncovered native pine, for he always associated her and her father with the land to which they belonged. There was nothing voluptuous in any line of the girl\'s face or figure; the effect was chastely severe, and he knew that it conveyed a reliable hint of her character. This was not marked by coldness, but rather by an absence of superficial warmth. The calmness of her eyes spoke of depth and balance. She was steadfast and consistent; a daughter of the stern, snow-scourged North.

Then he glanced at the prairie, which ran west, streaked with ochre stubble in the foreground, then white and silvery gray, with neutral smears of poplar bluffs, to the blaze of crimson where it cut the sky. It was vast and lonely; at first sight a hard, forbidding land that broke down the slack of purpose and drove out the sybarite. He had sometimes shrunk from it, but it was slowly fastening its hold on him, and he now understood how it molded the nature of its inhabitants. For the most part, they were far from effusive; some of their ways were primitive and perhaps slightly barbarous, but there was vigor and staunchness in them. They stuck to the friends they had tried and were admirable in action; it was when, as they said, they were up against it that one learned most about the strong hearts of these men and women.

"Lansing will be away some days," Grant said presently. "What are you going to do next week?"

"Put up the new fence, most likely. The land\'s a little soft for plowing yet."

"That\'s so. As you\'ll have no use for the teams, it would be a good time to haul in some of the seed wheat. I\'ve a carload coming out."

"A carload!" exclaimed Edgar in surprise, remembering the large carrying capacity of the Canadian freight-cars. "At the price they\'ve been asking, it must have cost you a pile."

"It did," said Grant. "I generally try to get down to bed-rock figure, but I don\'t mind paying it. The fellow who worked up that wheat deserves his money."

"You mean the seed\'s worth its price if the crop escapes the frost?"

"That wasn\'t quite all I meant. I\'m willing to pay the man for the work he has put into it. Try to figure the cross fertilizations he must have made, the varieties he\'s tried and cut out, and remember it takes time to get a permanent strain, and wheat makes only one crop a year. If the stuff\'s as good as it seems, the fellow\'s done something he\'ll never be paid for. Anyway, he\'s welcome to my share."

"There\'s no doubt about your admiration for hard work," declared Edgar. "As it happens, you have found putting it into practise profitable, which may have had some effect."

Grant\'s eyes twinkled.

"Now you have got hold of the wrong idea. You have raised a different point."

"Then, for instance, would you expect a hired man who had no interest in the crop to work as hard as you would?"

"Yes," Grant answered rather grimly; "I\'d see he did. Though I don\'t often pay more than I can help, I wouldn\'t blame him for screwing up his wages to the last cent he could get; but if it was only half the proper rate, he\'d have to do his share. A man\'s responsible to the country he\'s living in, not to his employer; the latter\'s only an agent, and if he gets too big a commission, it doesn\'t affect the case."

"It affects the workman seriously."

"He and his master must settle that point between them," Grant paused and spread out his hands forcibly. "You have heard what the country west of old Fort Garby—it\'s Winnipeg now—was like thirty years ago. Do you suppose all the men who made it what it is got paid for what they did? Canada couldn\'t raise the money, and quite a few of them got frozen to death."

It struck Edgar as a rather stern doctrine, but he admitted the truth of it; what was more, he felt that George and this farmer had many views in common. Grant, however, changed the subject.

"You had better take your two heavy teams in to the Butte on Monday;
I\'ve ordered my freight there until the sandy trails get loose again.
Bring a couple of spare horses along. We\'ll load you up and you can
come in again."

"Two Clover-leaf wagons will haul a large lot of seed in a double journey."

"It\'s quite likely you\'ll have to make a third. Don\'t you think you ought to get this hauling done before Lansing comes home?"

A light broke in on Edgar. Grant was, with some reason, occasionally called hard; but he was always just, and it was evident that he could be generous. He meant to make his gift complete before George could protest.

"Yes," acquiesced Edgar; "it would be better, because George might want the teams, and for other reasons."

The farmer nodded.

"That\'s fixed. The agent has instructions to deliver."

Edgar left the homestead an hour later and spent the Sunday resting, because he knew that he would need all of his energy during the next few days. At dawn on the following morning he and Grierson started for Sage Butte, and on their arrival loaded the wagons and put up their horses for the night. They set out again before sunrise and were glad of the spare team when they came to places where all the horses could scarcely haul one wagon through the soft black soil. There were other spots where the graded road sloped steeply to the hollow out of which it had been dug, and with the lower wheels sinking they had to hold up the side of the vehicle. Great clods clung to the wheels; the men, plodding at the horses\' heads, could scarcely pull their feet out of the mire, and they were thankful when they left the fences behind and could seek a slightly sounder surface on the grass.

Even here, progress was difficult. The stalks were tough and tangled and mixed with stiff, dwarf scrub, which grew in some spots almost to one\'s waist. There were little rises, and hollows into which the wagons jolted violently, and here and there they must skirt a bluff or strike back into the cut-up trail which traversed it. Toward noon they reached a larger wood, where the trees crowded thick upon the track. When Edgar floundered into it, there appeared to be no bottom. Getting back to the grass, he surveyed the scene with strong disgust; he had not quite got over his English fastidiousness.

Leafless branches met above the trail, and little bays strewn with trampled brush which showed where somebody had tried to force a drier route, indented the ranks of slender trunks. Except for these, the strip of sloppy black gumbo led straight through the wood, interspersed with gleaming pools. Having seen enough, Edgar beckoned Grierson and climbed a low hillock. The bluff was narrow where th............