r harsh laugh, producing
the beautifully made weapon,

"It's a pretty thing. I wonder whether you can use it?"

"Will you stand up at about twenty paces and hold out your hat?"

"Certainly not!" said Edgar firmly. "I wouldn't mind putting it on a
stick, only that the shot would bring the others out. But I've no
doubt you can handle a pistol; you're a curious people."

He thought the last remark was justified. Here was a girl, as refined
and highly trained in many ways as any he had met, and yet who owned a
dangerous weapon and could use it effectively. Then there was her
father, an industrious, peaceable farmer, whose attention was, as a
rule, strictly confined to the amassing of money, but who was
nevertheless capable of riding or shooting down the outlaws who
molested him or his friends. What made the thing more striking was
that neither of them had been used to alarms; they had dwelt in calm
security until the past twelve months. Edgar, however, remembered that
they sprang from a stock that had struggled sternly for existence with
forest and flood and frost; no doubt, in time of stress, the strong
primitive strain came uppermost. Their nature had not been altogether
softened by civilization. The thought flung a useful light upon
Flora's character.

"If the trial's a lengthy one and these fellows hold him up until it's
over, it will be a serious thing for George," he resumed, by way of
implying that this was the worst that could befall his comrade. "The
grain's ripening fast, and he hasn't made his arrangements for harvest
yet. Men seem pretty scarce around here, just now."

"It's a good crop; I'm glad of that," said Flora, willing to avoid the
graver side of the topic. "Mr. Lansing was anxious about it, but this
harvest should set him on his feet. I suppose he hasn't paid off the
full price of the farm."

"As a matter of fact, he hasn't paid anything at all."

"Then has he only rented the place?"

There was surprise and strong interest in the girl's expression and
Edgar saw that he had made a telling admission. However, he did not
regret it.

"No," he said; "that's not the case, either. The farm is still Mrs.
Marston's."

"Ah! There's something I don't understand."

Edgar was sorry for her, and he felt that she was entitled to an
explanation. Indeed, since George was strangely unobservant, he
thought it should have been made earlier; but the matter had appeared
too delicate for him to