Courthorne rode away next morning, and some weeks had passed when Maud Barrington came upon Winston sitting beside his mower¹ in a sloo. He did not at first see her, for the rattle² of the machines in a neighboring hollow drowned the muffled³ beat of hoofs⁵, and the girl, reining⁶ her horse in, looked down on him. The man was sitting very still, which was unusual for him, hammer in his hand, gazing straight before him, as though he could see something beyond the shimmering⁷ heat that danced along the rim⁸ of the prairie.  
Summer had come, and the grass, which grew scarcely ankle-deep on the great levels, was once more white and dry, but in the hollows that had held the melting snow it stood waist-high, scented⁹ with peppermint¹⁰, harsh and wiry, and Winston had set out with every man he had to harvest it. Already a line of loaded wagons¹¹ crawled slowly across the prairie, and men and horses moved half-seen amid the dust that whirled about another sloo. Out of it came the trampling¹³ of hoofs and the musical tinkle¹⁴ of steel.
 
Suddenly Winston looked up, and the care which was stamped upon it fled from his face when he saw the girl. The dust that lay thick upon his garments had spared her, and as she sat, patting the restless horse, with a little smile on her face which showed beneath the big white hat, something in her dainty freshness reacted upon the tired man's fancy. He had long borne the stress and the burden, and as he watched her a longing¹⁵ came upon him, as it had too often for his tranquillity¹⁶ since he had been at Silverdale, to taste, for a short space of time at least, a life of leisure and refinement¹⁷. This woman who had been born to it could, it seemed to him, lift the man she trusted beyond the sordid¹⁸ cares of the turmoil¹⁹ to her own high level, and as he waited for her to speak, a fit of passion shook him. It betrayed itself only by the sudden hardening of his face.
 
"It is the first time I have surprised you idle. You were dreaming," she said.
 
Winston smiled a trifle mirthlessly. "I was, but I am afraid the fulfillment of the dreams is not for me. One is apt to be pulled up suddenly when he ventures overfar."
 
"We are inquisitive²⁰, you know," said Maud Barrington; "can't you tell me what they were?"
 
Winston did not know what impulse swayed him, and afterwards blamed himself for complying, but the girl's interest compelled him, and he showed her a little of what was in his heart.
 
"I fancied I saw Silverdale gorging²¹ the elevators with the choicest wheat," he said. "A new bridge flung level across the ravine where the wagons go down half-loaded to the creek²³; a dam turning the hollow into a lake, and big turbines driving our own flouring mill. Then there were herds²⁴ of cattle fattening²⁵ on the strippings of the grain that wasteful²⁶ people burn, our products clamored for, east in the old country and west in British Columbia--and for a back-ground, prosperity and power, even if it was paid for with half the traditions of Silverdale. Still, you see it may all be due to the effect of the fierce sunshine on an idle man's fancy."
 
Maud Barrington regarded him steadily²⁷, and the smile died out of her eyes. "But," she said slowly, "is all that quite beyond realization²⁸. Could you not bring it about?"
 
Winston saw her quiet confidence and something of her pride. There was no avarice²⁹ in this woman, but the slight dilation³⁰ of the nostrils³¹ and the glow in her eyes told of ambition, and for a moment his soul was not his own.
 
"I could," he said, and Maud Barrington, who watched the swift straightening of his shoulders and lifting of his head, felt that he spoke³² no more than the truth. Then with a sudden access of bitterness, "But I never will."
 
"Why?" she asked, "Have you grown tired of Silverdale, or has what you pictured no charm for you?"
 
Winston leaned, as it were wearily, against the wheel of the mower. "I wonder if you could understand what my life has been. The crushing poverty that rendered every effort useless from the beginning, the wounds that come from using imperfect tools, and the numb³³ hopelessness that follows repeated failure. They are tolerably hard to bear alone, but it is more difficult to make the best of them when the poorly-fed body is as worn out as the mind. To stay here would be--paradise--but a glimpse of it will probably have to suffice. Its gates are well guarded, and without are the dogs, you know."
 
Something in Maud Barrington thrilled in answer to the faint hoarseness³⁵ in Winston's voice, and she did not resent it. She was a woman with all her sex's instinctive³⁶ response to passion and emotion, though as yet the primitive³⁷ impulses that stir the hearts of men had been covered if not wholly hidden from her by the thin veneer³⁸ of civilization. Now, at least, she felt in touch with them, and for a moment she looked at the man with a daring that matched his own shining in her eyes.
 
"And you fear the angel with the sword?" she said. "There is nothing so terrible at Silverdale."
 
"No," said Winston. "I think it is the load I have to carry I fear the most."
 
For the moment Maud Barrington had flung off the bonds of conventionality. "Lance," she said, "you have proved your right to stay at Silverdale, and would not what you are doing now cover a great deal in the past?"
 
Winston smiled wryly³⁹. "It is the present that is difficult," he said. "Can a man be pardoned and retain the offense⁴⁰?"
 
He saw the faint bewilderment in the girl's face give place to the resentment⁴¹ of frankness unreturned and with a little shake of his shoulders shrank into himself. Maud Barrington, who understood it, once more put on the becoming reticence⁴² of Silverdale.
 
"We are getting beyond our depth, and it is very hot," she said. "You have all this hay to cut!"
 
Winston laughed as he bent⁴³ over the mower's knife. "Yes," he said, "It is really more in my line, and I have kept you in the sun too long."
 
In another few moments Maud Barrington was riding across the prairie, but when the rattle of the machine rose from the sloo behind her, she laughed curiously⁴⁴.
 
"The man knew his place, but you came perilously⁴⁶ near making a fool of yourself this morning, my dear," she said.
 
It was a week or two later, and very hot, when, with others of his neighbors, Winston sat in the big hall at Silverdale Grange. The windows were open wide and the smell of hot dust came in from the white waste which rolled away beneath the stars. There was also another odor in the little puffs⁴⁷ of wind that flickered⁴⁸ in, and far off where the arch of indigo⁴⁹ dropped to the dusky earth, wavy⁵⁰ lines of crimson⁵¹ moved along the horizon. It was then the season when fires that are lighted by means which no man knows creep up and down the waste of grass, until they put on speed and roll in a surf of flame before a sudden breeze. Still, nobody was anxious about them, for the guarding furrows⁵² that would oppose a space of dusty soil to the march of the flame had been plowed⁵⁵ round every homestead at Silverdale.
 
Maud Barrington was at the piano and her voice was good, while Winston, who had known what it is to toil⁵⁶ from red dawn to sunset without hope of more than daily food, found the simple song she had chosen chime with his mood. "All day long the reapers⁵⁷."
 
A faint staccato drumming that rose from the silent prairie throbbed⁵⁸ through the final chords of it, and when the music ceased, swelled⁵⁹ into the gallop⁶⁰ of a horse. It seemed in some curious fashion portentous⁶¹, and when there was a rattle and jingle⁶² outside other eyes than Winston's were turned towards the door. It swung open presently and Dane came in. There was quiet elation⁶³ and some diffidence in his bronzed face as he turned to Colonel Barrington.
 
"I could not get away earlier from the settlement, sir, but I have great news," he said. "They have awoke to the fact that stocks are getting low in the old country. Wheat moved up at Winnipeg, and there was almost a rush to buy yesterday."
 
There was a sudden silence, for among those present were men who remembered the acres of good soil they had not plowed, but a little grim smile crept into their leader's face.
 
"It is," he said quietly, "too late for most of us. Still, we will not grudge⁶⁴ you your good fortune, Dane. You and a few of the others owe it to Courthorne."
 
Every eye was on the speaker, for it had become known among his neighbors that he had sold for a fall; but Barrington could lose gracefully⁶⁵. Then both his niece and Dane looked at Winston with a question in their eyes.
 
"Yes," he said very quietly, "it is the turning of the tide."
 
He crossed over to Barrington, who smiled at him dryly as he said, "It is a trifle soon to admit that I was wrong."
 
Winston made a gesture of almost impatient deprecation. "I was wondering how far I might presume, sir. You have forward wheat to deliver?"
 
"I have," said Barrington, "unfortunately a good deal. You believe the advance will continue?"
 
"Yes," said Winston simply. "It is but the beginning, and there will be a reflux before the stream sets in. Wait a little, sir, and then telegraph your broker⁶⁶ to cover all your contracts when the price drops again."
 
"I fancy it would be wiser to cut my losses now," said Barrington dryly.
 
Then Winston did a somewhat daring thing, for he raised his voice a trifle, in a fashion that seemed to invite the attention of the rest of the company.
 
"The more certain the advance seems to be, the fiercer will be the bears' last attack," he said. "They have to get from under, and will take heavy chances to force prices back. As yet they may contrive⁶⁷ to check or turn the stream, and then every wise man who has sold down will try to cover, but no one can tell how far it may carry us, once it sets strongly in!"
 
The men understood, as did Colonel Barrington, that they were being warned, as it were, above their leader's head, and his niece, while resenting the slight, admitted the courage of the man. Barrington's face was sardonic⁶⁸, and a less resolute⁶⁹ man would have winced⁷⁰ under the implication as he said:
 
"This is, no doubt, intuition. I fancy you told us you had no dealings on the markets at Winnipeg."
 
Winston looked steadily at the speaker, and the girl noticed with a curious approval that he smiled.
 
"Perhaps it is, but I believe events will prove me right. In any case, what I had the honor of telling you and Miss Barrington was the fact," he said.
 
Nobody spoke, and the girl was wondering by what means the strain could be relieved, which, though few heard what Barrington said, all seemed to feel, when out of the darkness came a second beat of hoofs, and by and by a man swaying on the driving-seat of a jolting⁷¹ wagon¹² swept into the light from the windows. Then, there were voices outside, and a breathless lad came in.
 
"A big grass fire coming right down on Courthorne's farm!" he said. "It was tolerably close when I got away."
 
In an instant there was commotion<............