hen watch out," he said to the others.

He was seated in another moment, the girl quietly making room for him;
then, to Edgar's astonishment, he lashed the frantic horses with the
whip, and, plunging forward, they swept madly through the opening in
the fence, with the wagon jolting from rut to rut. A minute or two
afterward they had vanished into the thick obscurity that veiled the
waste of grass, and there was a dazzling flash and a stunning roll of
thunder. George, flushed and breathless, looked around with a soft
laugh.

"Grant has pretty good nerve," he said.

"That's so, sir," Grierson agreed. "Strikes me he'll take some of the
wickedness out of his team before he gets them home. I noticed that
Miss Grant didn't look the least bit afraid."

Then a deluge of rain drove them into the house, where Edgar sat
smoking thoughtfully; for what Flora Grant had said about Sylvia had a
disturbing effect on him. It looked as if her selfish regard for her
comfort had hampered Marston in his struggle; and though Edgar had
never had much faith in Sylvia, this was painful to contemplate.
Moreover, George cherished a steadfast regard for her, which
complicated things; but Edgar prudently decided that the matter was a
delicate one and must be left to the people most concerned. After all,
Miss Grant might be mistaken.

CHAPTER VII

A CATTLE DRIVE

George was summer fallowing, sitting in the iron saddle of a plow which
a heavy Clydesdale team hauled through the stubble. The work should
have been done earlier, for the soil on the Marston farm was very
light, and, as it had already grown several crops of cereals, George
was anxious to expose it to the influence of sun and wind as soon as
possible. It was about the middle of the afternoon and very hot.
Rounded cloud-masses overhung the plain, but dazzling sunshine fell on
grass and stubble, and a haze of dust surrounded the team, while now
and then the fine soil and sand, blown from the rest of the fallow by
the fresh breeze, swept by in streams. George wore motor-goggles to
protect his eyes, but his face and hands felt scorched and sore.
Farther back, Edgar plodded behind a lighter team, making very poor
progress.

Presently George looked up and saw Flora Grant riding toward him. She
sat astride, but her skirt fell in becoming lines, and he thought the
gray blouse and wide Stetson hat, with a red band round it, most
effective. She reined up her horse near the