d, leaving a rim of flaring color on the edge of
the vast plain, when Prescott sat smoking on the stoop of the Leslie
homestead a week after his evening walk with Gertrude. Leslie and his
wife were simple people from Ontario, who had prospered in the last few
years. Their crops had escaped rust and hail and autumn frost, and as a
result of this, the rancher had replaced his rude frame dwelling with a
commodious house, built, with lower walls of brick and wood above, in a
somewhat ornate style copied from the small villas which are springing up
on the outskirts of the western towns.

Leslie, an elderly, brown-faced man, sat near Prescott; the Jernynghams,
who had driven over to welcome his friends, were inside, talking to Mrs.
Leslie.

"Guess you don't know much about the English people we're expecting?"
Leslie asked.

"No," said Prescott; "only that they're friends of the Jernynghams. I
don't think I've even heard their names yet."

"Mrs. Leslie knows," rejoined the farmer; "I forget it. I feel kind of
sorry now that she agreed to take them in, but you made a point of it,
and if the man's not so blamed stand-offish, I'll have somebody to talk
to."

"I wouldn't talk too much about Cyril Jernyngham."

Leslie looked hard at him.

"There's one point, Jack, where I can't agree with you--you're the only
man in this district who doesn't believe Jernyngham's dead. It strikes me
that you know more about the thing than you have told anybody yet."

"Let it go at that," said Prescott awkwardly, "All I could say would only
bring more trouble on his people, and they've had quite enough."

"Sure," agreed Leslie, raising his hand in warning. "Sh-h! They're coming
out."

The next moment Gertrude and her father joined the men, and after a few
words with them stood still, listening. A long bluff, through which the
trail from the settlement led, ran close up to the homestead, cutting
against the pale green glow of the sky. For a few minutes there was a
deep silence, intensified by the musical clash of cowbells in the
distance, and then a measured, drumming sound rose softly from behind the
trees.

"Guess that's your friends," Leslie said to Jernyngham. "Jim's made
pretty good time."

The beat of hoofs grew nearer until the listeners could hear the rattle
of wheels. Then a light, four-wheeled vehicle came lurching out of the
bluff and Jernyngham hurried down the steps. Prescott had entered the
house to tell Mrs. Leslie, and