don't sell none. I
say, 'Champers, let 'em starf.' Den Champers, he let 'em. When supplies
for crasshopper sufferers cooms from East we lock 'em oop in der office,
tight. An' ve sell 'em. Huh! Cooms Yon Yacob an' he loan claim-holters
money--fife per cent, huh! Puy 'em, hide an' hoof, an' horn, an' tail! Dey
all swear py Yon Yacob. He rop me. I fix him yet sometime. I hate Yon
Yacob!"

And Hans Wyker's hate was slow, but it was incurably poison.

One morning in early autumn Dr. Horace Carey drove leisurely down the
street of the town that bore his name. The air was crisp and invigorating,
for the September heat had just been broken by copious showers. Todd
Stewart stood in the doorway of Jacobs' store, watching the doctor's
approach.

"Good morning, Doctor," he called. "Somebody dying or a highwayman chasing
after you for your pocketbook, that you drive so furiously?"

"Good morning, Stewart. No, nobody is in danger. Can't a doctor enjoy
life once in a while? The country's so disgustingly healthy I have to make
the best of it and kill time some way. Come, help at the killing, won't
you?" Carey drew rein before the door of the store.

"I can't do it, Carey. Jacobs is away up on Big Wolf appraising some land
and I want to be here when he comes in. I must do some holding up myself
pretty soon if things don't pick up after this hot summer."

"You're an asset to the community, to be growling like that with this
year's crops fairly choking the market," Horace Carey declared.

With a good-by wave of his hand he turned his horses' heads toward the
south and took his way past the grain elevator toward the railroad
crossing. The morning train was just pulling up to the station, blocking
the street, so Carey sat still watching it with that interest a great
locomotive in motion always holds for thinking people.

"Papa, there's Doctor Carey," a child's voice cried, and Thaine Aydelot
bounded across the platform toward him, followed by his less-excited
father.

Thaine was a sturdy, sun-browned little fellow of seven years, with
blooming cheeks and big dark eyes. He was rather under than over normal
size, and in the simplicity of plains life he had still the innocence of
the very little boy.

"Good morning, Thaine. Good morning, Aydelot. Are you just getting home?
Let me take you out. I'm going your way myself," Dr. Carey said.

"Good morning. Yes, we are getting home a little earlier than we were
expected and nobody is