Part 47 (1/2)

”I'll get off; but there's a mower yonder I would like. Will you buy it for me, if it goes at a fair price?”

”Certainly,” promised Grant. ”Tell Flora to give you supper; and if you ride back afterward by the trail, you'll meet me and I'll let you know about the mower.”

George rode away shortly afterward, and Grant waited some time before he secured the team, after rather determined opposition. Finding n.o.body willing to lead the horses home, he hitched them to the back of his light wagon and set off at a leisurely pace. When he had gone a little distance, he overtook a man plodding along the trail. The fellow stopped when Grant came up.

”Will you give me a lift?” he asked.

The request is seldom refused on the prairie, and Grant pulled up his team.

”Get in,” he said. ”Where are you going?”

”North,” answered the other, as he clambered up. ”Looking for a job; left the railroad yesterday and spent the night in a patch of scrub.

Heard there was stock in the bluff country; that's my line.”

Grant glanced at the fellow sharply as he got into the wagon and noticed nothing in his disfavor. His laconic account of himself was borne out by his appearance.

”It's quite a way to the first homestead, if you're making for the big bluffs,” he said. ”You had better come along with me and go on in the morning.”

”I'll be glad,” responded the other. ”These nights are pretty cold, and my blanket's thin.”

They drove on, and after a while the stranger glanced at the team hitched behind the vehicle.

”Pretty good beasts,” he remarked. ”That mare's a daisy. Ought to be worth a pile.”

”She cost it,” Grant told him. ”I've just bought her at a sale.”

”I heard the boys talking about it when I was getting dinner at the settlement,” said the stranger carelessly. ”Called the fellow whose place was sold up Langside, I think. There's nothing much wrong with the team you're driving.”

Grant nodded; they were valuable animals, for he was fond of good horses. He was well satisfied with his new purchases and knew that Langside had bought the mare after a profitable haulage contract during the building of a new railroad. His companion's flattering opinion made him feel rather amiable toward him.

It was getting near dusk when they entered a strip of broken country, where the ground was sandy and lolled in low ridges and steep hillocks.

Here and there small pines on the higher summits stood out black against the glaring crimson light; birches and poplars straggled up some of the slopes; and the trail, which wound through the hollows, was loose and heavy. The moist sand clogged the wheels and the team plodded through it laboriously, until they came to a spot where the melted snow running into a depression had formed a shallow lake. This had dried up, but the soil was very soft and marshy. Grant pulled up and glanced dubiously at the deep ruts cut in the road.

”There's a way round through the sand and scrub, but it's mighty rough and I'm not sure we could get through it in the dark,” he said.

”S'pose you double-yoke and drive straight ahead,” suggested the other.

”I see you have some harness in the wagon.”

Grant considered. The harness, which had been thrown in with his purchase, was old and short of one or two pieces; it would take time and some contriving to hitch on the second team, and the light was failing rapidly. When he had crossed the soft place, there would still be some rough ground to traverse before he reached the smoother trail by which George would be riding.

”It might be as quick to go round,” he replied.

”No, sir,” said his companion, firmly. ”There's a blamed steep bit up the big sandhill.”

Suspicion flashed on Grant; the man had led him to believe he was a stranger to the locality, and it was significant that he should insist upon their stopping and harnessing the second team.

”That's so,” he returned. ”Guess you had better get down and see if it's very soft ahead.”

The fellow rose with a promptness which partly disarmed Grant's suspicions, and put his foot on the edge of the vehicle, ready to jump down. Then he turned swiftly and flung himself upon the farmer, crus.h.i.+ng his soft felt hat down to his chin. Grant could see nothing, and while he strove to get a grip on his antagonist he was thrown violently backward off the driving seat. The wagon was of the usual high pattern, and he came down on the ground with a crash that nearly knocked him unconscious. Before he got up, he was seized firmly and held with his shoulders pressed against the soil. He struggled, however, until somebody grasped his legs and his arms were drawn forcibly apart. It was impossible to see, because the thick hat was still over his face and somebody held it fast, but he had an idea that three or four men had fallen upon him. They had, no doubt, been hidden among the brush; the affair had been carefully arranged with his treacherous companion.

”Open his jacket; try the inside pocket,” cried one; and he felt hands fumbling about him. Then there was a disappointed exclamation.