lling
of the bitter wind that was never still. Then he said softly: "You are
only exciting him, and had better go," and with a last glance at Grace's
slender figure stooping beside the bed I went out softly.

It was nearly midnight and a cold creepiness pervaded everything when he
joined the rest of us round the stove.

"Gone!" he said simply. "Just clenched his hand and died. There was some
fine material wasted in that man. Well, I think he was wronged somehow,
and I'm sorry for him."

We turned away in silence, for a shadow rested upon Carrington, while the
outlaw lay in state in the homestead he had helped to rob, until the
Northwest Police bore what was left of him away. But before that time we
rode back to Fairmead.

CHAPTER IX

A RECKONING

It was some time after the holding up of Carrington Manor before I was
able, with Jasper's assistance, to fulfill my promise to Minnie Fletcher.
Jasper knew everybody within fifty miles up and down the C. P. R. Line,
and at least as far across the prairie, while they all had a good word for
him. So when he heard the story he drove us over to Clearwater, where an
elevator had been built beside the track, only to find that the agent in
charge of it had already a sufficient staff. He, however, informed us that
the manager of a new creamery wanted a handy man to drive round collecting
milk from the scattered homesteads who could also help at the accounts and
clerking. Such a combination might not have been usual in England, but in
the Western Dominion one may find University graduates digging trenches
and unfortunate barristers glad to earn a few dollars as railroad hands.

"I guess we'll fix him up in that creamery," said Jasper. "The man who
runs it was raised not far from the old folks' place in Ontario," and we
started forthwith on an apparently endless ride across the frozen prairie.
Some of our horses are not much to look at, and others are hard to drive,
but the way they can haul the light wagons or even the humble ground
sleigh along league after league would surprise those not used to them. We
spent one night with a Highland crofter in a dwelling that resembled a
burrow, for most of it was underground, but the rammed earth walls kept
out the cold and the interior was both warm and clean. We spent another
in somewhat grim conviviality at the creamery, for the men whose fathers
hewed sites for what are now thriving towns out of the bush of Ontario are
rather