Ranching for Sylvia. Harold Bindloss

      "A sure thing," Grant agreed. "I'm sticking right to wheat, but that's because I'm too old to change my system, and I'm on black soil, which holds out longer."

      "But you're taking the nature out of it."

      "It will see me through if I fallow," said Grant. "When I've done with it and sell out, somebody else can experiment with mixed crops and stock-raising. That's going to become the general plan, but it's costly at the beginning." Then he rose. "I'll walk round the place with you."

      They went out, and the girl fell behind with Edgar. He had learned that her name was Flora.

      "Mr. Lansing seems to understand farming," she remarked. "He didn't tell us he had been on the prairie before."

      "He hasn't told you now," Edgar pointed out.

      "George never does tell things about himself unless there's a reason."

      "He soon got rid of the fellow who sowed the crop."

      Edgar laughed.

      "I knew the man would meet with a surprise. George's abilities are not, as a rule, obvious at first sight. People find them out by accident, and then they're somewhat startled."

      "You're evidently an admirer of his. Do you mean to go in for farming?"

      "I am, though I wouldn't have him suspect it," said Edgar. "In answer to the other question, I haven't made up my mind. Farming as it's carried on in this country seems to be a rather arduous occupation. In the meanwhile, I'm undergoing what English people seem to think of as the Canadian cure; that is, I've been given a chance for readjusting my ideas and developing my character."

      "Under Mr. Lansing's guidance?"

      Edgar realized that the girl was less interested in him than in George, but he did not resent this.

      "You're smart. I believe my people entertained some idea of that nature; George is considered safe. Still, to prevent any misapprehension, I'd better point out that my chief failings are a fondness for looking at the amusing side of things and a slackness in availing myself of my opportunities. As an instance of the latter defect, I'm boring you by talking about Lansing."

      Flora regarded him with a quiet smile.

      "It struck me that you were saying something about yourself."

      "I suppose that's true," Edgar admitted. "It clears the ground."

      "For what?"

      "For an extension of our acquaintance, among other things."

      "Do you want it extended?"

      They had stopped at the edge of a hollow filled with tall, harsh grass, and Edgar studied her while he considered his answer. There was nothing that suggested coquetry in the faint amusement she displayed; this was a girl with some depth of character, though he realized that she was pretty. She carried herself well; she was finely and strongly made; her gray eyes were searching; and she had a rather commanding manner. Her hair was a warm brown, clustering low on a smooth forehead; nose and lips and chin were firmly molded.

      "Yes," he answered candidly; "I'm feeling the strangeness of the country, and I've an idea that both George and I may need friends in it. It strikes me that you and your father would prove useful ones."

      "Well," she said, "he's sometimes called hard, and he's a little prejudiced on certain points, but he can be very staunch to those he takes a liking to."

      "I believe," Edgar rejoined, "that also applies to you; I don't mean the first of it."

      Flora changed the subject.

      "I gather that you're not favorably impressed with the place."

      "I'm not. If I had to farm it, I'd feel scared; and I don't think George is happy. It's hard to understand how Marston let it get into such a state."

      "He was unfitted for the work, and he was further handicapped."

      "How?" Edgar asked.

      "You may have noticed that while economy ruled outside, the house is remarkably well furnished. The money Marston spent in Winnipeg stores should have gone into the land."

      Edgar nodded; he did not agree with George's opinion of Sylvia.

      "You don't seem to approve of the way Mrs. Marston managed things. It's rather curious. I always thought her pretty capable in some respects."

      "That's very possible," said Flora with a hint of dryness.

      "After all, it may not have been her fault," Edgar suggested. "Marston was a generous fellow; he may have insisted on thinking first of her comfort."

      "Then she ought to have stopped him," said Flora firmly. "Do you think a woman should let a man spoil his one chance of success in order to surround her with luxury?"

      "The answer's obvious."

      A dazzling flash of lightning leaped from the mass of somber cloud overhead, and they turned back toward the house, which George and Grant reached soon afterward. Grant said that he must get home before the storm broke, and Grierson brought out his spirited team. It had grown nearly dark; a curious leaden haze obscured the prairie; and when the man was getting into his light, spring-seated wagon, a jagged streak of lightning suddenly reft the gloom and there was a deafening roll of thunder. The horses started. Grant fell backward from the step, dropping the reins; and while the others stood dazzled by the flash, the terrified animals backed the vehicle with a crash against the stable. Then they plunged madly forward toward the fence, with the reins trailing along the ground. Flora had got in before her father, and she was now helpless.

      It was too late when Grant got up; Grierson and Edgar were too far away, and the latter stood still, wondering with a thrill of horror what the end would be; he did not think the horses saw the thin wire fence, and the gap in it was narrow. If they struck a post in going through, the vehicle would overturn. Then George, running furiously, sprang at the horses' heads, and went down, still holding on. He was dragged along a few yards, but the pace slackened, and Edgar ran forward with Grierson behind him. For a few moments there was a savage struggle, but they stopped and held the team, until Grant coolly cleared the reins and flung them to his daughter.

      "Stick tight while I get up, and then watch out," he said to the others.

      He was seated in another moment, the girl quietly making room for him; then, to Edgar's astonishment, he lashed the frantic horses with the whip, and, plunging forward, they swept madly through the opening in the fence, with the wagon jolting from rut to rut. A minute or two afterward they had vanished into the thick obscurity that veiled the waste of grass, and there was a dazzling flash and a stunning roll of thunder. George, flushed and breathless, looked around with a soft laugh.

      "Grant has pretty good nerve," he said.

      "That's so, sir," Grierson agreed. "Strikes me he'll take some of the wickedness out of his team before he gets them home. I noticed that Miss Grant didn't look the least bit afraid."

      Then a deluge of rain drove them into the house, where Edgar sat smoking thoughtfully; for what Flora Grant had said about Sylvia had a disturbing effect on him. It looked as if her selfish regard for her comfort had hampered Marston in his struggle; and though Edgar had never had much faith in Sylvia, this was painful to contemplate. Moreover, George cherished a steadfast regard for her, which complicated things; but Edgar prudently decided that the matter was a delicate one and must be left to the people most concerned. After all, Miss Grant might be mistaken.

CHAPTER VII

       Table of Contents

      A CATTLE DRIVE

      George was summer fallowing, sitting in the iron saddle of a plow which a heavy Clydesdale team hauled through the stubble. The work should have been done earlier,