all," he said.

Again there was a stillness in the clearing, until the auctioneer's
voice rose raucously expostulating. "It is really preposterous,
gentlemen," he said. "I'm giving the place away."

"Well, I'll go ten better," said somebody, and the girl held her breath,

"Twenty!" said another man, and there was a laugh.

"Then that takes me. You can have the ranch."

The voice of the auctioneer rose again. "Nobody to follow him? Your
last chance, gentlemen. He's getting it for nothing. Too late in a
moment. Going--going."

Nellie Townshead closed her hands and turned her head away, then sprang
up quivering with the revulsion from despair to hope. Through the
silence she heard a faint drumming down the valley.

"He is coming. Stop them, father," she said.

Nobody else apparently heard the sound. The eyes of all in the
clearing were fixed upon the auctioneer, and while Townshead rose from
his chair he brought down his hand.

"It's yours, sir," he said, "I'll take your cheque, or you can fill
this contract in if you're bidding for the smaller lots."

Nellie Townshead grew white in face as she glanced towards her father.
Townshead stood still, gripping the back of his chair.

"We are homeless now," he said.

It was five minutes before the girl looked out again, and then in spite
of every effort her eyes grew hazy, but it was a long time before she
forgot the scene, for the groups of bronzed men in jean, cattle,
clearing, and the tall firs behind them burned themselves into her
memory. Hallam stood smiling close by the auctioneer's table with a
cigar in his hand, and another man from the cities was apparently
replacing a roll of paper dollars in his wallet. That impressed her
even more than the sympathetic faces turned towards the house, for it
was a token that the sale was irrevocably completed. Then the group
split up as a man rode at a gallop straight towards the table. He was
breathless, the horse was smoking, and there were red smears upon its
flanks as well as flecks of spume. He swung himself from the saddle,
and there followed the sound of an altercation while a noisy group
surged about the table. It opened up again, and rancher Alton walked
out, pale and grim of face, alone.

"You should have come sooner, Harry," said somebody.

The rancher turned, the group closed in again, and the girl did not see
Alton stride up to a big man, and laying a hand upon his shoulder swing
him round.