hard himself in the task of rebuilding.

The temper of the ranchers was at the breaking point. Naturally the
blame fell on Farwell; he was the villain of the piece. He had expected
unpopularity, but he had no idea of the depth of it. The black looks he
met did not disturb him in the least; nor, to do him justice, would he
have been seriously alarmed if he had known that more than one man was
quite ready to pick a deadly quarrel with him. For some time he had not
seen Sheila McCrae, but he found himself thinking of her constantly.
And so, one evening he rode over to Talapus.

Somewhat to his relief, neither McCrae nor Sandy was visible. Mrs.
McCrae was calmly civil. Her manner gave no hint that he was unwelcome.
Sheila, she told him, had gone for a walk somewhere along the ditch.

"Oh," said Farwell, with elaborate carelessness, "then I think I'll
just stroll along and meet her."

At the end of ten minutes' walk he came upon the girl. She was sitting,
her chin propped on her hands, beside the stream where a little
bordering grove of willows had sprung up. The deep murmur of the
running water muffled his footsteps so that she neither saw nor heard
him till he was at her side.

"Good evening," he said.

She turned her head slowly, without start or exclamation.

"I did not expect to see you, Mr. Farwell."

"I thought I'd run over," he said awkwardly. "I intended to come
before."

She allowed a long minute of silence to lie between them. "And why have
you come now?" she asked.

"Why?" Farwell repeated the word. "Why? I wanted to see you. Why
shouldn't I come?"

"You ought to know why. It's one thing to do your work; but it's quite
another to blow up our dams!"

"Why do you think I did that?"

"Because I have ordinary common sense. I don't suppose you did it with
your own hand. But you've brought in a bunch of toughs and gunmen to
overawe us and do your dirty work. It will lead to serious trouble."

"I can handle trouble," said Farwell grimly. "Has anybody meddled with
your dam?"

"No."

"Then I don't see what you have to complain of. I don't admit anything.
But when you get indignant at blowing up dams you ought to remember
what happened to ours."

"Oh, as for that"--she shrugged her shoulders. "We had to have water.
Nobody blamed you before. But these dams that did you no harm--that's
different."

"But you _have_ water. Your own dam is all right," he insisted.

"Yes. And do you know what people are