omestead out of this."

CHAPTER XIII

SETTING THE TRAP

Notwithstanding the exhaustion occasioned by his journey Riles was
early about. The hotel bed was strange to him, and the noises that
floated up from the bar-room interrupted his slumbers. At least, he
told himself it was the noises, but the fact is a great new thought
had been sown in his brain, and had started the cells whirling in
dizzy speculation. The unexpected meeting with Gardiner, the latter's
evident prosperity, and his frank contempt for men who made their
living by labour, had left a deep impression upon Riles. He had no
idea by what means Gardiner proposed that they should possess
themselves of Harris's money, and he felt some doubt about any such
attempt being rewarded with success. Nevertheless, Gardiner seemed to
think the matter a simple one enough, and Gardiner's good clothes and
good cigars were evidence of his ability to carry his plans into
effect.

The streets had not yet assumed their morning activity when Riles
emerged from the hotel, but the unclouded Alberta sunshine was
bathing every atom of out-of-doors in a warmth and brilliance that
might have found, and in very truth did find, a keen response in the
inanimate objects of its affection. The jubilant laugh of running
mountain water rippled through the quiet air, fragrant with the
perfume of balm-of-Gilead and balsam; to the eastward the sunshine
poured into broad valleys of undulating, sweeping plain, and in the
west the great mountains, clad in their eternal robes of white,
loomed silent and impressive in their majesty. Even Riles stopped to
look at them, and they stirred in him an emotion that was not
altogether profane--a faint, undefined consciousness of the puniness
of man and the might of his Creator. No one can live for long in the
presence of the mountains without that consciousness, and it is a
great day for the mountain-dweller when he learns to distinguish
between the puniness of man, the animal, and the infinity of man, the
thinking soul. Riles breakfasted as soon as the dining-room was
opened, eating his meal hurriedly, as he always did, albeit the
French-fried potatoes, to which he was unaccustomed, could be poised
on his knife only with considerable effort. Then he sat down in an
arm-chair on the shady side of the hotel to wait for Gardiner. He had
suddenly lost his interest in the free lands which had been the
purpose of his journey.

His wait was longer