le at
breakfast, then smote me on the back as he said:

"I'd have given a good deal to see it--the cunning old rascal! Got your
full wages out of him?--well, I guess you broke the record. What shall you
do now?--stay right where you are. It's a bonanza harvest, and I'll keep
my promise; fifteen dollars a month, isn't it? Mr. Lorraine! oh yes, I
know him--offer you the same. Then when harvest's over we'll talk again."

Needless to say, we gladly accepted the offer.

CHAPTER V

A BID FOR FORTUNE

We returned the horse with a note of sarcastic thanks, and flattered
ourselves that we had heard the last of the matter. Several days later,
however, when, grimed with oil and rust, I was overhauling a binder, a
weather-beaten man wearing a serviceable cavalry uniform rode in, and
explaining that he was a sergeant of the Northwest Police added that he
had come in the first case to investigate a charge of assault and robbery
brought against one Ralph Lorimer by Coombs. I told him as clearly as I
could just what had happened, and I fancied that his face relaxed, while
his eyes twinkled suspiciously as he patted the fidgeting horse, which did
not like the binder.

Then sitting rigidly erect, the same man who afterward rode through an
ambush of cattle-stealing rustlers who were determined to kill him, he
said, "I'm thinking ye acted imprudently--maist imprudently, but I'm not
saying ye could have got your wages otherwise oot o' Coombs. Weel, I'll
take Jasper's security for it that ye'll be here, and away back to report
to my superior. Don't think ye'll be wanted at Regina, Mr. Lorimer.
Good-morning til ye, Jasper."

"Get down, Sergeant Angus," said Jasper, grasping his rein. "If you have
run all decent whiskey off the face of the prairie, I've still got some
hard cider to offer you. Say, don't you think you had better ride round
and lock up that blamed old Coombs?"

There was less hard cider in the homestead when Sergeant Angus Macfarlane
rode out again, and our presence was never requested by the Northwest
Police. Nevertheless, it became evident that either Coombs or his wife was
of inquiring as well as revengeful disposition, and had read some of the
letters I left about, for some time later, when the snowdrifts raced
across the prairie I received the following epistle from Martin Lorimer:

* * * * *

"I return the last letter sent your cousin, and until the present clou