harvesting oats."

"I'll pay you well for the time you lose," George broke out.

"How much?"

Thrusting his hand into his pocket, George found with dismay that his
wallet, which contained some bills, was missing.

"Anything you ask in reason, but you'll have to take a check on a
Brandon bank. Have you got a pen and paper in the house?"

"How am I to know your check's good?" The farmer laughed ironically.

George was doubtful of the man, but he must take a risk.

"My name's Lansing, from the Marston homestead, beyond Sage Butte.
It's a pretty big place; any check I give you will be honored."

The farmer looked at him with growing interest.

"Well," he said, "you can't have my horse."

It was evident from his manner that reasoning would be useless.

"How does Sage Butte lie from here?" George asked him.

"Can't tell you; I've never been in the place."

George realized that he had blundered, both in calling at the homestead
and in mentioning his name, which had figured in the newspaper account
of the attack on Grant. The farmer, it seemed, had a good idea of the
situation, and if not in league with the rustlers, was afraid of them.
George was wasting time and giving information that might put his
pursuers on his trail. In the meanwhile he noticed a face at the
window and a voice called to the man, who stepped back into the house
and appeared again with a big slab of cold pie.

"Take this and light out," he said.

Having eaten nothing since his supper, George was glad of the food; but
he walked on smartly for an hour before he sat down in a clump of brush
and made a meal. Then he lighted his pipe and spent a couple of hours
in much needed rest. Haste was highly desirable; he had no doubt that
he was being followed, but he could go no farther for a while.

It was very hot when he got up; he was sore all over, and his foot was
paining, but he set off at a run and kept it up until he had crossed a
rise two miles away. The country was getting more broken, which was in
his favor, because the clumps of bush and the small elevations would
tend to hide him. He went on until dusk, without finding any water;
and then lay down among some tall grass in the open. There was a
little bluff not far off, but if the rustlers came that way, he thought
they would search it. It grew cold as darkness crept down; indeed he
imagined that the temperature had fallen to near freezing-point, as it
sometimes does on the plai