f
all the hard things that fall to the lot of the man who strives with his
eyes turned forward the hardest is to wait. Still, it was something to
have won Martin Lorimer's approval, for I had hitherto found him an
unsympathetic and critical man, who bore in his person traces of the
battle he had fought. There were those who called him lucky; but these had
lain softly and fared well while he starved and wrought, winning his way
by inches until he built up out of nothing the splendid trade of the Orb
mill.

None of us was talkative that evening, but fervent good wishes followed me
when I went out with the east-bound train the next day, and until the
dusky pines hid her, closing round the track, I saw cousin Alice's slight
figure with her face turned toward the departing train.

CHAPTER XX

THE RETURN TO THE PRAIRIE

We were busy during the two days that followed my return, for there was
much to be arranged; but at last all was settled satisfactorily. The
surveyor had obtained me free transport back to the prairie for two teams
that would not be needed, and Harry had promised to take charge of
operations in my place. He was young for the position, or would have been
considered so in England, but across the Atlantic much of the hard work is
done by very young men, and I could trust his discretion, so only one
thing remained to prevent my immediate return to Fairmead. I must see
Grace before I went, and after considering the subject at length I
determined to ride boldly up to the Colonel's ranch and demand an
interview. Even if this were refused me I should not be worse off than
before, and I had found that often in times of uncertainty fortune follows
the boldest move.

I rode out under the starlight from our camp, for if all went well I hoped
to turn my back on the mountain province by sunset, and if Harry guessed
how I proposed to spend the interval he made no direct reference, though
he said with unusual emphasis at parting, "I wish you good luck, Ralph--in
everything."

"I'll second that," added Johnston, wringing my hand as I bent down from
the saddle, for they had walked beside me down the trail; then I shook the
bridle and they vanished into the gloom behind. It may have been mere
coincidence, or a conceit of Johnston's playful fancy, for when I dipped
into the valley his voice came ringing after me, "Oh, who will o'er the
downs so free! Oh, who will with me ride?"

The next line or two was lost in a