Part 17 (1/2)

”Yes,” Curtis admitted regretfully; ”that's the trouble. It isn't quite so easy being a policeman as folks seem to think. Now we'll ride along and call on the hardware man.”

They mounted and soon afterward saw a buggy emerge from the short pines on the crest of a distant rise, whereupon Curtis rode hard for a poplar bluff, which he kept between himself and the vehicle.

”Looks like Wandle coming back,” he said to Stanton, who had followed him. ”I can't see any reason he should know we've been prospecting round his place.”

Reaching the settlement they visited the hardware dealer, who remembered having sold Jernyngham a small cheap cash-box about twelve months earlier. On being shown the bent-up iron, he expressed his belief that it was the article in question.

A day or two after the corporal's discovery, the mail-carrier left some letters at the Prescott homestead, and when it was getting dusk Gertrude strolled out on the prairie, thinking of one she had received. After a while Prescott joined her and she greeted him with a smile.

”My team was looking a bit played out and the boys will be able to keep the separator gang going as long as they can see,” he said.

”Do you feel that you have to make excuses for stopping work, after twelve hours of it?” Gertrude asked.

”Yes,” he laughed; ”I do feel something of the kind. There's so much to do and the days are getting shorter fast.”

He glanced at her with appreciation. She wore a thin, black dress made after the latest London mode, which showed to advantage the graceful lines of her tall figure; the Jernynghams, who seldom departed from an established custom, changed their attire every evening. Gertrude had on no hat, and the fading light shone into her face. It was finely cut but cold, the features unusually good. She was a handsome woman, but she lacked warmth and softness.

”I'm in a difficulty,” she told him. ”Perhaps you can help--you're a man of many resources.”

”I'll be glad to do what I can.”

”We are expecting a visit from three old friends of ours who heard in America of the trouble we are in and want to see us. What can we do with them?”

”I haven't room,” Prescott answered. ”But let me think--Leslie has quite a big house, and it's only three miles from here. Now that he will have got rid of the harvesters, he might be willing to take your friends in.

He and his wife are pleasant people; but I think you met her.”

”Yes. I knew you wouldn't fail us,” Gertrude said gratefully. ”But, after all, I feel inclined to wish they were not coming.”

There was an elusive something in her tone which did not escape Prescott's notice.

”Why do you wish that?” he asked.

”Oh,” she said, ”it's difficult to explain, but we have got used to the mode of life here: the few people we meet seem to understand our feelings, and we have learned to trust them. Strangers would rather spoil it all; in a sense, their visit would be an intrusion.”

Prescott realized that this was complimentary to him. She had made it clear that he was not a stranger, but one of the people she trusted. The effect was to render him somewhat embarra.s.sed, but Gertrude resumed:

”I think we owe you a good deal. I don't know what we should have done had we fallen into less considerate hands.”

”I'm yours to command,” he replied; and they walked on in silence for a while, Gertrude glancing at him un.o.btrusively now and then.

She did not believe her brother dead--Prescott had rea.s.sured her; and now she felt strongly attracted by the rancher. She had thrown off the restraints in which she had long acquiesced; she was driven by a pa.s.sion which was rapidly overpowering her.

”You don't suggest that the Leslies should take us all,” she said.

”No,” Prescott answered gravely; ”I'd rather keep you and your father here.”

”Then you're no longer anxious to get rid of us?”