CONSTABLE FLETT'S SUSPICIONS

It was nearly six o'clock in the evening when George and his
companions, who had spent part of the day looking for the straying
stock, rode up to the Grant homestead through a vast stretch of grain.
This grew on the rich black soil they call "gumbo" in the West; but
here and there a belt of dark-colored summer fallow checkered the
strong green of the wheat and oats. Though he clung to the one-crop
system, Alan Grant was careful of his land. The fine brick house and
range of smart wooden buildings, the costly implements, which included
a gasoline tractor-plow, all indicated prosperity, and George
recognized that the rugged-faced man beside him had made a marked
success of his farming.

When the cattle had been secured, Flora Grant welcomed the new arrivals
graciously, and after a while they sat down to supper with the hired
men in a big room. It was plainly furnished, but there was everything
that comfort demanded, for the happy mean between bareness and
superfluity had been cleverly hit, and George thought Miss Grant was
responsible for this. He sat beside her at the foot of the long table
and noticed the hired hands' attitude toward her. It was respectful,
but not diffident. The girl had no need to assert herself; she was on
excellent terms with the sturdy toilers, who nevertheless cheerfully
submitted to her rule.

When the meal was over, Grant led his guests into a smaller room, and
produced a bag of domestic tobacco.

"The stock have gone far enough," he said. "You'll stay here to-night."

Flett looked doubtful, though it was obvious that he wished to remain.
He was a young, brown-faced man, and his smart khaki uniform proclaimed
him a trooper of the Northwest Mounted Police.

"The trouble is that I'm a bit late on my round already," he protested.

"That's soon fixed," said Grant.

He opened a roll-top desk, and wrote a note which he read out:

"'Constable Flett has been detained in the neighborhood of this
homestead through having rendered, at my request, valuable assistance
in rounding up a bunch of cattle, scattered in crossing the flooded
river.'"

"Thanks," said Flett. "That kind of thing counts when they're choosing
a corporal."

Grant turned to George with a smile.

"Keep in with the police, Lansing--I've known a good supper now and
then go a long way. They may worry you about fireguards and fencing,
but they'll stand by you when you're in trouble,