d and listened to the other's talk, the memory of having seen
him with Kate gathered stormily in his mind. But he still smiled when
he looked up. He still replied in the light-hearted fashion in which
he had accepted the police officer's coming. He was perfectly aware of
the reason of the man's presence there. And, equally, he was
indifferent to it.

"Where are you haying now?" Fyles inquired presently.

Charlie answered without turning from his work.

"Half a mile down stream. Guess we all hay that way. There's no other
sloughs handy on the west side of the village."

"That's why the wagon's kept here?"

"Sure. Saves the horses. They'll come out here to-morrow, and stop
right here till we quit."

Charlie spun the last wheel round after replacing the cap.

"Where are you stopping with your men?" he demanded abruptly, as he
let the jack down.

"Just around," said Fyles evasively.

"I see. On the prowl." Charlie smiled up into the man's shrewd,
good-looking face. "You need to do some prowling around this valley if
you're going to clean things up. Yes, and I'd say you need a mighty
big broom."

"We've got the broom, and I guess we'll do the work," replied Fyles
nodding. "We generally do--in the end."

Charlie's eyes had become thoughtful.

"Yes," he agreed. "I s'pose you do. Guess I'll have to be moving."

He returned the grease and jack to the wagon box, and moved toward the
gate of the corral.

"Coming my way?" he asked casually.

"Not just now. I'm looking around--some."

Charlie laughed.

"Ah. I'd forgotten that broom."

"Most folks do," replied Fyles, "--until they fall over it."

Charlie had reached his horse's side. He unhooked the reins from the
fence, and flung them over its head. Then, with an agility quite
remarkable, he vaulted into the saddle.

"Well, I hope that broom won't come my way," he laughed. "I'd hate
falling around."

"I hope it won't," said Fyles, in the same light manner, as he
followed out of the corral. "That's a dandy plug of yours," he said
with admiration, as his appreciative eyes noted the chestnut's points.

"He surely is," returned Charlie. "He can go some, too. I'll give you
a run one day--if you fancy yours."

Fyles was hooking his reins over the post Charlie had vacated.

"Mine?" he said. "Peter's the quickest thing west of Winnipeg. He'll
sure give you a run when--the time comes."

Charlie laughed. The drift of the talk, its hidden meaning, amused
him.