Part 15 (2/2)

she added hesitatingly, ”your time is valuable and there would be expense. I have some means, Mr. Prescott, and though I dare not speak to my father about it, you must draw on me.”

”We'll talk about it later. I wish I could go now, but that's impossible, and there's no use in suggesting that Mr. Jernyngham should send somebody else. Besides, I believe I'd have the best chance of picking up the right trail. You won't mind my saying that I'm very sorry for you?”

Her eyes grew soft and her whole expression gentle. It was an attractive face Prescott looked into.

”I value your sympathy,” she said softly. ”Indeed, I can't tell you what a comfort you have been. But you will undertake this search as soon as possible, won't you?”

”Yes,” Prescott replied firmly; ”you can count on that. If I've made things easier for you, I'm very glad.”

Then he turned away and hurried back to the binder.

CHAPTER X

A NEW CLUE

It was a clear, cool morning and Prescott was busily engaged throwing sheaves into his wagon. He had finished his harvest and, in accordance with western custom, had immediately begun the thras.h.i.+ng. Part of the great field was already stripped to a belt of tall stubble, though long ranks of stooks still stretched across the rest, and dusty men were hard at work among them. Wagons rolled through the crackling straw--going slowly, piled high with rustling loads; returning light, jolting wildly, as fast as the teams could trot, for the thrashers were paid by the bushel and would brook no delay. In the background stood their big machine, pouring out a cloud of smoke that stretched in a gray trail across the prairie, and filling the air with its harsh clatter.

It was a scene of strenuous activity, filled with hurriedly moving figures, but its coloring had lost something of its former vividness. The blue of the sky was softer, the light less strong; the varying hues of lemon and copper and ocher had become subdued; the shadows were no longer darkly blue but a cool restful gray. The rus.h.i.+ng winds that had swept the wide plain all summer had come to rest; the air was sharp and still.

The last week or two, however, had brought no change to the inmates of the homestead. Jernyngham still brooded over his loss and worried the police, his daughter looked to her host for comfort, and Prescott did what he could to cheer her. Gertrude, indeed, was sensible of a rapidly growing confidence in him and of the abandonment of many long-held ideas.

The man was not of her station: he was a working farmer, his views at first had jarred on her; and yet the attraction he had for her was steadily increasing. She made a feeble fight against it. In England she had stood on safe ground, hedged in by conventions, ruled by the opinions of a narrow circle of friends. Now all was different; she had lost these supports and restraints and she was helpless without them. Pa.s.sion was beginning to touch her and she mistook the rancher's gentleness and sympathy.

When Prescott had loaded his wagon she joined him as he led his team between the ranks of stooks, but while she walked by his side he thought of another Englishwoman whom he had once brought home with the prairie hay. He remembered how Muriel Hurst had nestled among the yielding gra.s.s, with something delightful in every line of her figure. He recalled her bright good-humor, the music of her laugh, the soft tones of her voice, the hint of courage he had seen in her eyes; and there was pain in the recollection. Gertrude Jernyngham was powerless to move him as Muriel had done, but he was sorry for Cyril's sister and very considerate of her.

”We'll have the crop off the ground before long,” he said. ”Then I'll start for Alberta, as I promised.”

”You will be away some time?”

”I'm afraid so. It's a big province, though there are not a great many settlements in it yet; and I may have to cross over into British Columbia.”

Gertrude looked down.

”It is very generous of you to go, but I shall miss you. I shall feel as if I had lost my chief support.”

”So far, I've done nothing but talk; and talk is cheap,” he laughed.

”You have given me courage,” she said with shy hesitation. ”And sympathy is worth a good deal.”

He did not respond as she thought he might have done, and she continued:

”If my father had been less obstinate, you need not have gone; he could have hired a professional inquiry agent. But you had better not say anything about your object to him--it must be a secret between us.”

”Yes,” a.s.sented Prescott thoughtfully, ”I guess that would be wiser. You want to keep his mind at rest as far as you can. Of course, there's a big chance that I may fail.”

Gertrude turned to him with a smile.

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