Three or four weeks passed quietly without any news from Flett until one evening when Edgar sat talking to Miss Taunton in the office of her father\'s store at Sage Butte. The little, dusty room was unpleasantly hot and filled with the smell of resinous pine boards; there was a drawl of voices and an occasional patter of footsteps outside the door; and a big book, which seemed to have no claim on her attention, lay open on the table in front of the girl.
She was listening to Edgar with a smile in her eyes, and looking, so he thought, remarkably attractive in her light summer dress which left her pretty, round arms uncovered to the elbow and displayed the polished whiteness of her neck. He was expressing his approval of the current fashions, which he said were rational and particularly becoming to people with skins like ivory. Indeed, he was so engrossed in his subject that he did not hear footsteps approaching until his companion flashed a warning glance at him; and he swung round with some annoyance as the door opened.
"I guessed I would find you here," said the station-agent, looking in with an indulgent smile.
"You\'re a thoughtful man," retorted Edgar. "You may as well tell me what you want."
"I\'ve a wire from Flett, sent at Hatfield, down the line."
"What can he be doing there?" Edgar exclaimed; and Miss Taunton showed her interest.
"He was coming through on the train. Wanted Mr. Lansing to meet him at the station, if he was in town. Hadn\'t you better go along?"
"I suppose so," said Edgar resignedly, glancing at his watch. "It looks as if your men had taken their time. Flett should be here in about a quarter of an hour now."
"Operator had train orders to get through; we have two freights side-tracked," the agent explained. "Don\'t be late; she\'s coming along on time."
He hurried out, and a few minutes later Edgar crossed the street and strolled along the low wooden platform, upon which a smart constable was waiting. A long trail of smoke, drawing rapidly nearer, streaked the gray and ochre of the level plain, and presently the big engine and dusty cars rolled into the station amid the hoarse tolling of the bell. As they ran slowly past him, Edgar saw a police trooper leaning out from a vestibule, and when the train stopped the constable on the platform hurried toward the car. A hum of excited voices broke out and Edgar had some difficulty in pushing through the growing crowd to reach the steps. A constable, who had hard work to keep the others back, let him pass, and he found Flett standing on the platform above, looking rather jaded, with a pistol loose in his holster.
"Isn\'t Mr. Lansing here?" Flett asked eagerly, and then turned to the trooper. "Keep those fellows off!"
"No," answered Edgar; "he hasn\'t come into town. But what\'s the cause of this commotion? Have you got your men?"
"Three of them," said Flett, with a look of pride. "I expect we\'ll get the fourth. But come in a minute, out of the noise."
The car was besieged. Curious men were clambering up the side of it, trying to peer in through the windows; others disputed angrily with the trooper who drove them off the steps. Eager questions were shouted and scraps of random information given, and groups of people were excitedly running across the street to the station. It was, however, a little quieter in the vestibule when Flett had banged the door. He next opened the inner door that led to the smoking compartment of the Colonist car. In spite of its roominess, it was almost insufferably hot and very dirty; the sunlight struck in through the windows; sand and fine cinders lay thick upon the floor. A pile of old blue blankets lay, neatly folded, on one of the wooden seats, and on those adjoining sat three men. Two wore brown duck overalls, gray shirts, and big soft hats; one was dressed in threadbare cloth; but there was nothing that particularly suggested the criminal in any of their sunburned faces. They looked hot and weary with the journey, and though their expression was perhaps a little hard, they looked like harvest hands traveling in search of work. One, who was quietly smoking, took his pipe from his mouth and spoke to Flett.
"Can\'t you get us some ice?" he asked. "The water in the tank isn\'t fit to drink."
"They haven\'t any here. You\'ll have to wait until we get to the junction," Flett told him, and drew Edgar back into the vestibule.
"We\'re taking them right along to Regina," he explained. "I\'m sorry I couldn\'t see Mr. Lansing, but I\'ll ride over as soon as I\'m sent back. If he\'s likely to be away, he\'d better send word to the station."
"I don\'t expect he\'ll leave the farm during the next few weeks," said
Edgar.
Then one of the constables looked in.
"Conductor says he can\'t hold up the train."
"I\'ll be off," said Edgar, with a smile at Flett. "This should mean promotion; it\'s a fine piece of work."
He jumped down as the train pulled out and hurried back to the store where Miss Taunton was eagerly awaiting news. Soon afterward he left; and as he rode up to the homestead day was breaking, but he found George already at work in the stable.
"It\'s lucky we don\'t need your horse. If you\'re going to keep up this kind of thing, you had better buy an automobile," he remarked.
Edgar laughed.
"I don\'t feel remarkably fresh, but I\'ll hold out until to-night. There\'s the fallowing to be got on with; I suppose nothing must interfere with that. But aren\'t you up a little earlier than usual?"
"I want to haul in the posts for the new fence. Grierson has his hands full, and now that there are four of us, Jake spends so much time in cooking."
"A reckless waste of precious minutes!" Edgar exclaimed ironically. "If one could only get over these troublesome bodily needs, you could add hours of work to every week and make Sylvia Marston rich. By the way, Jake\'s cooking is getting awful."
He put up his horse and busied himself with several tasks before he went in to breakfast. When it was finished, and the others went out, he detained George.
"What did you think of that meal?" he asked.
"Well," said George, "it might have been better."
Edgar laughed scornfully.
"It would take some time to tell you my opinion, but I may as well point out that you\'re paying a big bill for stores to Taunton, though we never get anything fit to eat. Helen and I were talking over your account, and she wondered what we did with the things, besides giving me an idea. It\'s this—why don\'t you tell Grierson to bring out his wife?"
"I never thought of it. She might not come; and she may not cook much better than Jake."
"She certainly couldn\'t cook worse! I expect she would save her wages, and she would set a hired man free. Jake can drive a team."
"It\'s a good idea," George agreed. "Send Grierson in."
The man came a few minutes later.
"We get on pretty well; I suppose you are willing to stay with me?"
George said to him.
Grierson hesitated and looked disturbed.
"The fact is, I\'d be very sorry to leave; but I\'m afraid I\'ll have to by and by. You see, I\'ve got to find a place I can take my wife to."
"Can she cook?"
"Yes," said Grierson, indicating the remnants on the table with contempt. "She would do better than this with her eyes shut! Then," he continued eagerly, "she can wash and mend clothes. I\'ve noticed that you and Mr. West throw half your things away long before you need to."
"That\'s true," Edgar admitted. "It\'s the custom of the country; time\'s too valuable to spend in mending anything, though I\'ve noticed that one or two of the people who tell you about the value of time get through a good deal of it lounging round the Sachem. Anyway, amateur laundering\'s an abomination, and I\'m most successful in washing the buttons and wrist-bands off." He turned to his companion. "George, you\'ll have to send for Mrs. Grierson."
The matter was promptly arranged, and when Grierson went out with a look of keen satisfaction, Edgar laughed.
"I feel like pointing out how far an idea can go. Helen only thought of making me a little more comfortable, and you see the result of it—Grierson and his wife united, things put into shape here, four people content! Of course, one could cite a more striking example; I mean when Sylvia Marston thought you had bette............