t first I thought it was to be a duel, only
I couldn't make out how it could be fought with a post-hole augur and a
few lengths of jointed gaspipe, for this was what the men carried away
with them.

Away across the prairie I could see them apparently engaged in the silly
and quite profitless occupation of putting down a post-hole where it
wasn't in the least needed, and then clustering about this hole like a
bunch of professorial bigwigs about a new specimen on a microscope
slide. Then they moved on and made another hole, and still another,
until I got tired of watching them. It was two hours later before they
came back. Their voices now seemed more facetious and there was more
laughing and joking, Dinky-Dunk and the uncivil civil engineer being the
only quiet ones. And then the car engine purred and hummed and they
climbed heavily in and lighted cigars and waved hands and were off in a
cloud of dust.

But Dinky-Dunk, when he came back to the shack with his papers, was in
no mood for talking. And I knew better than to try to pump him. To-night
he came in early for supper and announced that he'd have to leave for
Winnipeg right away and might even have to go on to Ottawa. So I cooked
his supper and packed his bag and held Babe up for him to kiss good-by.
But still I didn't bother him with questions, for I was afraid of bad
news. And he knew that I knew I could trust him.

He kissed me good-by in a tragically tender, or rather a tenderly tragic
sort of way, which made me wonder for a moment if he was possibly never
coming back again. So I made 'em all wait while I took one extra, for
good measure, in case I should be a grass widow for the rest of my
days.

To-night, however, I sat Terry down at the end of the table and third
degreed him to the queen's taste. The fight, as far as I can learn from
this circuitous young Irishman, is all about a right of way through our
part of the province. Dinky-Dunk, it seems, has been working for it for
over a year. And the man he called wicked names had been sent out by the
officials to report on the territory. My husband claims he was bribed by
the opposition party and turned in a report saying our district was
without water. He also proclaimed that our land--_our_ land, mark
you!--was unvaryingly poor and inferior soil! No wonder my Dinky-Dunk
had stormed! Then Terry rather disquieted me by chortlingly announcing
that they had put one over on the whole bunch. For, three days before