old
out until harvest and reap a record crop----

Then his hired man, driving the other plow, waved his arm, and Charnock
saw a rig lurch across a rise amidst a cloud of sand. It was the
mail-carrier going his round, but he would not have come that way unless
he had letters, and Charnock waited until the man arrived.

"Here's your lot," he said, taking out three or four envelopes.

Charnock's hand shook as he opened the first, it was large and had an
official look, and he found a number of unpaid accounts inside. Besides
these, there was a lawyer's letter, stating that certain dealers had
instructed him to recover payment of the debts Charnock owed. He crushed
the letter in his clenched hand and the veins stood out on his forehead,
while his face got red. The blow he feared had fallen and he was
ruined; but when the shock began to pass he felt a faint relief. It
was something to be free from doubt and anxiety, and there were
consolations. Now he was beaten, the line he must take was plain, and it
had some advantages.

"You can quit plowing and put the teams in the stable," he said to the
hired man.

"Quit now!" exclaimed the other. "What about the machines?"

"Let them stop," said Charnock. "It seems they belong to my creditors,
who can look after them. I'm going to Concord and don't know when I'll
be back."

He went off towards the homestead and half an hour later drove away
across the plain.

CHAPTER IV

FESTING COMMITS THEFT

The air was sharp and wonderfully invigorating when Festing stopped
for a few moments, one evening, outside Charnock's homestead. A row of
sandhills glimmered faintly against the blue haze in the east, but the
western edge of the plain ran in a hard black line beneath a blaze
of smoky red. It was not dark, but the house was shadowy, and Festing
noticed a smell of burning as he entered.

The top was off the stove in Charnock's room, and the flame that
licked about the hole showed that the floor was strewn with torn paper.
Charnock was busy picking up the pieces, and when he threw a handful
into the stove a blaze streamed out and the light shone upon the wall.
Festing noted that the portrait that had hung there had gone, and
looking round in search of it, saw a piece of the broken frame lying on
the stove. It was half burned and a thin streak of smoke rose from its
glowing end. Festing remarked this with a sense of anger.

"What are you doing, Bob?" he asked.

"Cleaning up,"