s--townward.

At the Kenora Hotel corner his low whistle brought two men from the
saloon.

The three conversed together earnestly for a few moments, then they
separated to different positions in the shadows but commanding a full
view of the road leading down the hill from the east of the Main
Street of Vernock.

But of all this Eileen Pederstone--alone in the little bungalow up on
the hill--was blissfully ignorant.

CHAPTER III

At Pederstone's Forge

Pederstone the blacksmith--or, to give him his full name which he
insisted on at all times, John Royce Pederstone--was busy on his
anvil, turning a horse shoe. His sleeves were rolled up almost to his
shoulders and his lithe muscles slipped and rippled under his white
skin in a rhythm of harmony. His broad chest was bare as his arms, and
his chubby apple-red cheeks shone with perspiration which oozed from
his every pore. He was singing to himself in happy unconcern about his
being a jovial monk contented with his lot. Two horses were tied
inside the shop waiting to be shod, chafing and pawing in their
impatience.

Pederstone's right-hand man, Sol Hanson, a great chunk of a bachelor
Swede, was at the back door swearing volubly because an iron tire
refused to fit the wooden rim of a cart wheel to his satisfaction.

Horseshoes, ploughs, harrows, iron gates and cart and buggy wheels of
all kinds were lying about in disorderly profusion.

The noonday sun was pouring in aslant at the front door, while at the
back door, away from Hanson, a Russian wolf-hound was stretched out
lazily gnawing at a bone which it held between its fore paws.

The furnace fire was blazing, and Pederstone's anvil was ringing
merrily, when suddenly the melodious sounds were interrupted by a deep
growl and then a yelp of pain from the hound as it sprang away from
the spurred boot of a great, rough, yet handsome figure of a man of
the cowboy type, who came striding in, legs apart, dressed in
sheepskin chaps.

"Say, Ped!--ain't you got that hoss o' mine shod? Can't wait all day
in this burg!"

The smith stopped suddenly and glared at the newcomer.

"None of that Ped stuff, you untamed Indian! Mr. Royce Pederstone to
you and your kind; and, if you don't like it and can't wait your turn,
take your cayuse out of here and tie her up at the back of the hotel
for an hour or two. You're not half drunk enough yet to be going back
to Redmans Creek."

"All right, Mister-_Royce-Pederstone_-