ire in the prairie grass; a spark or two more
and nothing could stop the conflagration that would sweep the plains
country. If the law were to fail these red-blooded and long-suffering
homesteaders there would be final weapons alright--real weapons! It
was no use shutting one's eyes to the danger. Some fool would do
something rash, and with the farmers already inflamed and embittered,
there was no telling what desperate things might be attempted.

That was the fear which stirred and perplexed the solitary traveller;
for he had heard things that afternoon--seen things that he did not
like but could not ignore. He recognized an undercurrent of feeling, a
silence more ominous than all the heated talk, and that was where the
danger lay. Something would have to be done, and that soon. But what?
What?

So engrossed was he that beyond an occasional flip of the reins or a
word to the horses he paid no heed to his surroundings. A huge
jack-rabbit sprang up, almost from beneath the noses of the team, and
went flying off in great leaps over the stubble. A covey of prairie
chicken, fat and fit, whirred into the air and rocketed away. But he
scarcely saw them. Had he looked up he might have noticed a horseman
loping down a cross trail with the evident intention of heading off the
wagon. But the rider had pounded almost within hailing distance before
the other was aware of his approach.

It was Bob McNair of the "Two-Bar Ranch," as he insisted upon calling
his wheat farm. He waved an oil-spattered Stetson and came into the
trail with a rush, pulling up the wiry broncho with a suddenness that
would have unseated one less accustomed than McNair, former corporal,
Royal North-West Mounted Police.

"Howdy, W. R. Thought 'twas your outfit. Good job I aint a Blackfoot
on the warpath," he laughed. "I'd sure 'a' had your scalp sneaked
before you could draw a bead!" He swung alongside, stepped into the
wagon, looped the bridle-rein over the handle of the new plow and,
climbing forward, shook hands heartily and sat down.

"You're looking fit, Bob," welcomed the other with evident pleasure.
"What brings you over this way? Everything going alright?"

"So-so," nodded McNair. "Been over Sintaluta to see about gettin' a
car, among other things."

"Of course you got it?"

"Sure! Oh, sure I got it--got it still to get!" and McNair burst into
a flow of language that did even him justice. More or less vehement at
all times,