ance, he had deprived Maud Barrington of
part of hers. The girl's coldness stung him, but her unquestionable
beauty and strength of character had not been without their effect, and
the man winced as he remembered that she had no pity for anything false
or mean. He had decided only upon two things, first that he would
vindicate himself in her eyes, and, since nobody else could apparently
do it, pull the property that should have been hers out of the ruin it
had been drifting into under her uncle's guardianship. When this had
been done, and the killing of Trooper Shannon forgotten, it would be
time for him to slip back into the obscurity he came from.

Then the fact that the homestead was growing nearer forced itself upon
his perceptions, and he glanced doubtfully across the prairie as he
approached the forking of the trail. A gray dimness was creeping
across the wilderness and the smoky sky seemed to hang lower above the
dully gleaming snow, while the moaning wind flung little clouds of icy
dust about him. It was evident that the snow was not far away, and it
was still two leagues to Silverdale, but Winston, who had been to
Winnipeg, had business with the farmer, and had faced a prairie storm
before. Accordingly he swung the team into the forking trail and shook
the reins. There was, he knew, little time to lose, and in another
five minutes he stood, still wearing his white-sprinkled furs, in a
room of the birch-log building.

"Here are your accounts, Macdonald, and while we've pulled up our
losses, I can't help thinking we have just got out in time," he said.
"The market is but little stiffer yet, but there is less selling, and
before a few months are over we're going to see a sharp recovery."

The farmer glanced at the documents, and smiled with contentment as he
took the check. "I'm glad I listened to you," he said. "It's
unfortunate for him and his niece that Barrington wouldn't--at least,
not until he had lost the opportunity."

"I don't understand," said Winston.

"No," said the farmer, "you've been away. Well, you know it takes a
long while to get an idea into the Colonel's head, but once it's in,
it's even harder to get it out again. Now Barrington looked down on
wheat jobbing, but money's tight at Silverdale, and when he saw what
you were making, he commenced to think. Accordingly, he's going to
sell, and, as he seems convinced that wheat will not go up again, let
half the acreage lie fallow thi