th a madness. And
so he sat figuring while the hours slipped by, trying to discount his
future income from the wheat to justify himself in taking the money
from the bank's vaults. His figures did not encourage him. They showed
him that to be honest with the farmers he might hope for no profit
from that year's crop, and with two years of failure behind him, he
knew that to discount the next year's crop would be nothing less than
stealing. Then, strong and compelling, came the temptation to let the
farmers fight it out with the Eastern investors. The temptation rocked
the foundations of his soul. He knew it was wrong; he knew he would be
a thief, if he did it, no matter what the law might say, no matter
what the courts might adjudge. To Barclay what was legal was right,
and what the courts had passed upon--that was legal. But Hendricks
sat with his pencil in his hand, going over and over his figures,
trying to silence his conscience.

It was a hot afternoon that he sat there, and idly through his mind
went the computation that he had but sixty-six more hours of hope, and
as he looked at the clock he added, "and thirty-eight minutes and
twenty-seven seconds," when Martin Culpepper came ambling into the
back room of the bank.

"Robert," began the colonel, with his eyes on the floor and his hands
deep in his trousers pockets, "I've just been talking to John." The
colonel rubbed his neck absent-mindedly and went on, "John's a Yankee,
Robert--the blue stripe on his belly is fast blue, sir; it won't
fade, change colour, or crock, in point of fact, not a damned bit,
sir, not till the devil covers it with a griddle stripe, sir, I may
say." The colonel slouched into a chair and looked into Hendricks'
face with a troubled expression and continued, "That John certainly is
Yankee, Robert, and he's too many for me. Yes, sir, certainly he's got
me up in the air, sir--up in the air, and as I may say a mile west,
on that wheat deal." Hendricks leaned forward unconsciously, and the
colonel dropped both hands to his knees and leaned toward Hendricks.
"Robert Hendricks," asked the colonel, as he bored his deep black eyes
into the younger man, "did you know about that option in the wheat
land mortgage? Answer me, sir!"

"Not at the time, Colonel," returned Hendricks, and began, "but I--"

"Well, neither did I. And I got half of those mortgages myself. Lige
and I did it all, sir. And Lige knew--Lige, he says it's legal, but I
say it's ju