e was not surprised to find that the man who had
come for the horses had departed without waiting for his answer. The
next day he received an intimation that the annual exhibition of the
Sage Butte Farmers' Club would shortly be held; and one morning a
fortnight later he and Edgar rode off to the settlement.

They found the little town rudely decorated with flags and arches of
poplar boughs, and a good-humored crowd assembled. The one-sided
street that faced the track was lined with buggies, wagons, and a few
automobiles; horses and two or three yoke of oxen were tethered outside
the overfull livery stables.

A strong breeze drove blinding dust-clouds through the place, but even
in the wind the sunshine was scorching.

As he strolled toward the fair-ground, George became interested in the
crowd. It was largely composed of small farmers, and almost without
exception they and their wives were smartly attired; they looked
contented and prosperous. Mingling with them were teamsters, many as
neatly dressed as their masters, though some wore blue-jean and
saffron-colored shirts; and there were railroad-hands, mechanics, and
store-keepers. All of them were cheerful; a few good years, free from
harvest frost and blight, had made a marked improvement in everybody's
lot.

Yet, there was another side to the picture. Odd groups of loungers
indulged in scurrilous jests; hoarse laughter and an occasional angry
uproar issued from the hotels, and shabby men with hard faces slouched
about the veranda of one. George noticed this, but he presently
reached the fair-ground, where he inspected the animals and implements;
and then, toward supper-time, he strolled back with Grant. They were
walking up one of the side-streets when shouts broke out behind them.

George looked around but for a moment he could see very little through
the cloud of dust that swept the street. When it blew away it revealed
a row of women advancing two by two along the plank sidewalk. They
were of different ages and stations in life, but they all came on as if
with a fixed purpose, and they had resolute faces. Mrs. Nelson led
them, carrying a riding quirt, and though George was not astonished to
see her, he started when he noticed Flora Grant near the end of the
procession. She was paler than usual, and she walked quietly with a
rather strained expression.

Grant touched George's shoulder.

"This is certainly more than I figured on," he said; "but