ody about."

He strolled round the homestead, and noticed that log barns and stables
were all well built, while presently he found a man plucking fowls in a
galvanized shed. There was a row of them before him, all without
heads, while an ensanguined axe close by indicated the fashion of their
execution. He glanced at Deringham a moment, and then fell to work
again.

"Oh, yes, this is Somasco, and the finest ranch this side of the
Fraser," he said. "Can you see Mr. Alton? Well, I figure he's busy,
and you had better wait a little. Get hold of this. It's your supper."

Deringham recoiled a pace when a somewhat gory fowl struck him on the
knee, and then sat down on a pile of cedar-wood staring at the speaker.
"I wish to see Mr. Alton as soon as possible," he said.

The other man looked up again, and grinned. "You'd better not," said
he. "Harry Alton's a bit short in temper when he's busy, and if you're
peddling anything it would be better if you saw him after supper. Then
if you can't make a deal you can go on to-morrow. There's plenty good
straw in the barn."

Deringham was not especially flattered at being mistaken for a peddler,
nor had the prospect of sleeping on straw any great attraction for him,
but he had a sense of humour, and, being desirous of acquiring
information, took up the fowl.

"Do you put up every stranger who calls here, and give him a fowl for
supper? What am I to do with this one?" he said.

"Now, where did you come from?" said the other. "That's just what we
do. A fowl's not much for a man, anyway, and Harry will eat two of
them when he's hungry. What are you going to do with it? Well, you
can, pull the feathers off it, and fix it for cooking, unless you like
them better with their insides in."

Deringham gravely pulled out four or five feathers, and then, finding
it more difficult than he had expected, desisted. "Mr. Alton is
apparently not married," he said.

The man grinned. "No, Harry knows when he's well off, and it would
take a woman with a mighty firm grip to manage him," said he. "Still,
there's one or two of them quite ready to see what they could make of
him, but Mrs. Margery scares them off when they come round bringing him
little things, and Harry's a bit pernicketty. His father was a duke or
something in the old country."

"Mrs. Margery?" said Deringham inquiringly.

"Yes," said the other. "She's not here just now, but she keeps the
house for him. I hel