y in the sunshine. It was early October in the year
1901--one of those clear bright days which contribute enchantment to
that season of spun gold when harvest bounties are garnered on the
Canadian prairies. Everywhere was the gleam of new yellow stubble. In
serried ranks the wheat stocks stretched, dwindling to mere specks,
merging as they lost identity in distance. Here and there stripes of
plowed land elongated, the rich black freshly turned earth in sharp
contrast to the prevailing gold, while in a tremendous deep blue arch
overhead an unclouded sky swept to cup the circumference of vision.
Many miles away, yet amazingly distinct in the rarefied air, the smoke
of threshers hung in funnelled smudges above the horizon--like the
black smoke of steamers, hull down, at sea.

On this particular autumn afternoon a certain black dot might have been
observed, so lost in the immensity of landscape that it appeared to be
stationary. It was well out upon the trail that wound northward from
Indian Head into the country of the Fishing Lakes--the trail that
forked also eastward to dip through the valley of the Qu'Appelle at
Blackwood before striking north and east across the Kenlis plain
towards the Pheasant Hills. In reality the well kept team which drew
the big grain wagon was swinging steadily ahead at a smart pace; for
their load of supplies, the heaviest item of which was a new plow, was
comparatively light, they were homeward bound and the going in the
earlier stages of the long journey was smooth.

The driver sat hunched in his seat, reins sagging. He was a man of
powerful physique, his skin deep coppered by long exposure to prairie
winds and sun. In repose the face that was shadowed by the wide felt
hat would have appeared somewhat deceptive in its placidity owing to
the fact that the strong jaw and firm mouth were partly hidden by a
heavy moustache and a thick, black beard, trimmed short.

Just now it was evident that the big farmer's mood was far from
pleasant. Forearm on knee, he had surrendered completely to his
thoughts. His fists clenched spasmodically and there was an angry
glint in his eyes. Occasionally he shook his head as if the matter in
mind were almost too hopeless for consideration. A sudden surge of
resentment made him lash his booted leg with the ends of the lines.

"Confound them!" he muttered aloud.

He had just delivered his first load of the season's new wheat. Three
nights before, by