roker for sale, he left the city one evening on the Atlantic train.
Three days later, he was driving across the prairie towards the
Hastings homestead, and, as it happened, its inmates were sitting
together in the big general room after supper, when the waggon he had
hired swung into sight over the crest of a rise.

It was a still, hot evening, and as the windows were open wide a faint
beat of hoofs came up across the tall wheat and dusty prairie before
the waggon topped the rise. Hastings, who lay in a cane chair near the
window, with his pipe in his hand, looked up as he heard it.

"Somebody driving in," he said. "I shouldn't be astonished if it's
Gregory. He talked about coming over the last time I saw him."

"If he wants to talk about a deal in wheat, he can stay away," said
Mrs. Hastings with a certain dryness. "If all one hears is true, he
has lost quite a few of Harry's dollars on the market lately."

Hastings looked somewhat troubled at this. "I'd sooner think it was
his own dollars he'd thrown away."

"That's quite out of the question. He hasn't any."

"Well," said Hastings, with an air of reflection, "I'll get Sproatly to
make inquiries. He'll probably be along with Winifred this evening,
and if he finds that Gregory is getting in rather deep I'll have a word
or two with him. Anyway, I can't have him wasting Harry's money, and I
have some right to protest as one of the executors."

Agatha started at the last word. It had an ominous ring, and she
fancied that Hastings had noticed the effect it had on her, for he
seemed to glance at her curiously. Turning from him, she rose and
walked quietly towards the window.

The wheat stretched across the foreground, tall and darkly green, and
beyond it the white grass ran back to the rise, which cut sharp against
a red and smoky glow. The sun had dipped some little time ago, and
already there was a wonderful exhilarating coolness in the air.
Somehow the sight reminded her of another evening, when she had looked
out across the prairie from a seat at Wyllard's table, almost a year
ago.

In the meanwhile, a waggon was drawing nearer down the long slope of
the rise, and the beat of hoofs which grew steadily louder in a sharp
staccato made the memories clearer. She had heard Dampier riding in
the night Wyllard had received his summons, and now she wondered who
the approaching stranger was, and what his business could be. She did
not know why, but she scar