Part 11 (2/2)

For a moment or two the strangers studied him carefully from the wagon.

The one nearest him was a woman of thirty, he thought, of tall and chastely lined figure, with a colorless and rather expressionless face, though her features were excellent. She wore a tight-fitting dark dress which seemed to have been made all in one piece, and gave an impression of prim coldness and careful restraint. The man in the soft hat was obviously her father. He had gray hair; his face, which was finely chiseled, suggested a formal, decided, and perhaps domineering, character; his gray tweed traveling suit was immaculately neat. There was no doubt that they were English, and Prescott wondered whom they reminded him of, until the truth flashed upon him with a disconcerting shock--they were Jernyngham's father and sister!

”Mr. Prescott?” inquired the man.

Prescott bowed, and the teamster, jumping down, handed him two cards.

”I understand that you knew my unfortunate son,” the newcomer continued.

”I did,” Prescott replied guardedly.

”Then can I have a word or two with you in private?”

Getting down from the binder, Prescott helped the other to alight from the high wagon; the man was not agile, though he carried himself well.

They walked back some distance along the edge of the wheat. Then the rancher stopped and from force of habit felt for his pipe.

”I must be to some extent confidential,” began Jernyngham. ”You must guess why I came.”

The strong light fell searchingly on his face, revealing lines on it which Prescott thought had lately been deepened by pain, but his eyes were very keen and hard.

”I suppose the recent calamity brought you,” the rancher ventured.

”Yes; I have come to see justice done. But we will not discuss that yet.

We arrived yesterday evening and found it was impossible that my daughter should be comfortable at the hotel; besides which, it is rather too far away. I accordingly determined to look for quarters at one of the ranches, but succeeded in getting shelter for only the one night.”

Prescott felt amused. Jernyngham and his daughter were not the kind of people the somewhat primitive prairie ranchers would welcome; their request for accommodation was more likely to cause astonishment and alarm.

”People are very busy, now that harvest's coming on, and they've extra hands to cook for,” he explained.

”I understand,” continued Jernyngham, ”that my son's homestead is in this neighborhood, and domestics might be hired; but after what has happened, I fear my daughter would find living there a painful strain. That was why I thought of applying to you.”

The announcement filled Prescott with dismay. The presence of the Jernynghams might involve him in further complications.

”I'm sorry, but we live very simply,” he said hastily. ”My place is only half furnished; we have no time to make it comfortable--and I'm sure you'd find our cooking barbarous. I'm afraid Miss Jernyngham couldn't put up with the accommodation we could offer her.”

”We only want quietness, fresh air, and a little privacy, none of which seems to be obtainable at Sebastian. While the question of terms is no consideration, I recognize that I must make my appeal to your generosity.”

Prescott did not answer, and Jernyngham resumed in a more urgent tone:

”I must beg you not to make difficulties; I'm told there is n.o.body else in the neighborhood who could take us in. We will require very little attention and will promise to give you no trouble.”

Prescott wavered. The man was keenly anxious; it was hard to resist his appeal, and there was, after all, only a small risk that he might hear of Colston's visit. Svendsen and his wife, who attended to the housekeeping, were Scandinavians, and could scarcely converse in English. When they addressed him by any distinguis.h.i.+ng epithet it was always as ”Boss.”

”Well,” he said doubtfully, ”I can't refuse you shelter. You can stay for a while, anyway, until we see how we get on. I'll go up to the homestead with you.”

He had an interview with his housekeeper, who protested in broken English that harvest was a singularly inconvenient time to entertain strangers, but eventually gave away. The extra hands lately hired could be put up in the barn, and there were two rooms that could be spared. Prescott showed his visitors in and afterward watched with some amus.e.m.e.nt their surprise when they sat down to the midday meal with the lightly clad toilers from the field. During the afternoon and until late in the evening, he worked hard among the grain, but when the light was failing and he leaned on a wire fence, hot and tired after the long day of effort, Jernyngham came toward him.

”We have had very little talk so far,” he said. ”My daughter, however, desires me to convey her thanks to you. She believes she will be perfectly comfortable.”

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