the river, driving at random, and after an hour saw
a faint light under the dusky horizon.

"The lone settler!" exclaimed Harley, who began to cherish fond
anticipations of a bed. "Go straight for it, driver."

The driver was not loath, and even the horses, seeming to have renewed
hope, changed their sluggish walk to a trot. They had no hesitation in
seeking shelter at that hour, entire strangers though they were, such an
act being in perfect accordance with the laws of Western hospitality.

As they approached, a bare wooden house, unprotected by trees, rose out
of the plain. A wire fence enclosed a half-acre or so about it, and
apparently there had been a few rather futile attempts to make a lawn.

"Looks cheerless," said Harley.

"But it holds beds," said the candidate.

"You save your voice," said Harley; "I'll call the farmer, and I hope it
will be a man who can speak English, and not some new Russian or
Bohemian citizen."

He sprang out of the carriage, glad to relieve himself from his cramped
and stiff position, and walked towards the little gate in the wire
fence. There was a sudden rush of light feet, a stream of fierce barks
and snarls, and Harley sprang back in alarm as two large bull-dogs,
red-mouthed, flung themselves against the fence.

"I said you had no cause to regret that war," called the candidate from
the carriage.

The wires were strong, and they held the dogs; but the animals hung to
the fence, as fierce as wolves; and Harley, lifting up his voice, added
to the chorus with a "Hi! Hi! Mr. Farmer! Strangers want to stop with
you!"

The din was tremendous, and presently a window in the second story was
shoved up, and a man, fully dressed, carrying a long-barrelled rifle in
his hands, appeared at it. He called to the dogs, which ceased at once
their barking and snarling, and then he gazed down at the intruders in
no friendly manner. Harley saw him clearly, a tall, gaunt old man,
white-haired, but muscular and strong. He held the rifle as if he were
ready to use it--a most unusual thing in this part of the country, where
householders seldom kept fire-arms.

"What do you want?" he called, in a sharp, high voice.

"Beds!" cried Harley. "We are lost, and if you don't take us in we'll
have to sleep on the prairie, which is a trifle damp."

"Waal, I 'low it hez rained a right smart," said the old man, grimly.

Harley noticed at once the man's use of "right smart," an expression
with which he