up the light,
saw Charnock lying on a bundle of sacks. He was in a drunken stupor.

"Help Bill bring him, in," she said with stony calm.

Wilkinson and the other lifted the unconscious man, and staggering along
a passage, awkwardly climbed the stairs. They put him on his bed and
were going out when Sadie stopped them.

"Thank you, Bill; hold the team for a few minutes," she said and turned
to Wilkinson. "I want you to wait in the office."

Then she shut the door, and after unfastening Charnock's collar and vest
stood looking at him for a minute or two. He had not wakened, but she
had seen him like this before and was not alarmed. His face was flushed
and the veins on his forehead were prominent; his clothes were crumpled
and sprinkled with bits of hay. Sadie studied him with a feeling of
helplessness that changed to contemptuous pity. Her romantic dreams and
ambitions had vanished and left her this----

As she turned away her mood changed again. After all, he was her husband
and she had schemed to marry him. She was honest with herself about this
and admitted that Bob had not really loved her much. But he needed her
and she must not fail him. There was some comfort in remembering that he
had sought no other woman; her rivals were cards and liquor, and she did
not mean that they should win. Obeying a sudden impulse, she turned back
and kissed his hot face, and then, noting the smell of whisky, flushed
and went out with a firm step.

When she entered the office, however, her face was hard and white. She
did not sit down, but leaned against a desk opposite Wilkinson.

"Why did you ask Bob out to the range?"

Wilkinson did not like her look. It hinted that she was in a dangerous
mood, but he answered good-humoredly: "I thought he wanted a change. You
hold him too tight, Mrs. Charnock. Bob won't stand for being kept busy
indoors all day; he won't make a clerk."

"He won't," said Sadie. "I'm beginning to see it now. But you don't care
a straw for Bob. You wanted a pick on me because I made you cut out your
game that night."

"No," said Wilkinson, with a gesture of protest. "I certainly thought
you were too smart, although it was not my business. Anyhow, if you let
him have a quiet game with his friends at home--"

"Pshaw! I know you, Jake Wilkinson, better than Bob does. You meant to
make him drunk this evening and empty his wallet, and I guess you didn't
find it hard."

Wilkinson's face got red, but he saw he