ines casually. Then, as he went on, a curious
look crept into his dark eyes, his clean-shaven face took on an expression
of strained interest, and his lips closed until they were lost in a
straight line which drew down at the corners of his mouth. He read on to
the end, and then quietly folded up the paper, and stuffed it into the
bosom of his shirt. Once he turned and looked away in the direction in
which Nevil Steyne's hut lay tucked away on the river bank. Then he
shouldered his hoe and strolled leisurely homeward.

CHAPTER VII

AN INDIAN POW-WOW

Nevil Steyne was indifferent to such blessings as a refreshing
thunder-shower at sundown on a hot summer's day. It is doubtful if he
would have admitted the beneficence of Providence in thus alleviating the
parching heat of the day. He had no crops to think of, which made all the
difference. Now, as he walked along through the brush on the north bank of
the White River, in the direction of the log bridge, with the dripping
trees splashing all round him, and his boots clogging with the heavy, wet
loam, he openly cursed the half-hour's drenching. His vindictiveness was
in no way half-measured. He cursed those who were glad of it, and who,
when in direst necessity, occasionally remembered to offer up prayers for
it.

This man had no love for the woods; no love even for the prairie, or his
life on it. He lived a grudging existence. From his manner nothing in life
seemed to give him real joy. But there is no doubt but that he had purpose
of a sort which had much to do with his associations with his Indian
neighbors. With him purpose served for everything else, and made existence
tolerable.

There was purpose in his movements now. He could just as easily have made
his way to the bridge through the open, but he chose the woods, and put up
with the wet while he railed at it. And there was some haste in his
slouching, loose-jointed gait which gave to his journey a suggestion of
furtiveness.

At the bridge he paused, gave a quick look round, and then crossed it more
rapidly still. For at this point he was in full view of the prairie. Once
on the Indian Reservation, which began beyond the bridge, he again took to
the cover the park-like land afforded him. Nor did he appear again in the
open until he had passed the Mission and the Agency.

Once clear of these, however, he gave no more heed to secrecy, and walked
boldly along open paths in the full, bright evening light.