ined you hurried over to boost the price. Well, it's too
late."

"Is Glidden here?" queried Kurt, hazarding another guess.

"Don't talk so loud," warned the proprietor. "Yes, he just got here in a
car with two other men. He's up-stairs having supper in his room."

"Supper!" Kurt echoed the word, and averted his face to hide the leap of
his blood. "That reminds me, I'm hungry."

He went into the big, dimly lighted dining-room. There was a shelf on
one side as he went in, and here, with his back turned to the room, he
laid the disjointed gun and his hat. Several newspapers lying near
attracted his eye. Quickly he slipped them under and around the gun, and
then took a seat at the nearest table. A buxom German waitress came for
his order. He gave it while he gazed around at his grim-faced old father
and the burly Neuman, and his ears throbbed to the beat of his blood.
His hand trembled on the table. His thoughts flashed almost too swiftly
for comprehension. It took a stern effort to gain self-control.

Evil of some nature was afoot. Neuman's presence there was a strange,
disturbing fact. Kurt had made two guesses, both alarmingly correct. If
he had any more illusions or hopes, he dispelled them. His father had
been won over by this arch conspirator of the I.W.W. And, despite his
father's close-fistedness where money was concerned, that eighty
thousand dollars, or part of it, was in danger.

Kurt wondered how he could get possession of it. If he could he would
return it to the bank and wire a warning to the Spokane buyer that the
wheat was not safe. He might persuade his father to turn over the amount
of the debt to Anderson. While thinking and planning, Kurt kept an eye
on his father and rather neglected his supper. Presently, when old Dorn
and Neuman rose and left the dining-room, Kurt followed them. His father
was whispering to the proprietor over the desk, and at Kurt's touch he
glared his astonishment.

"You here! What for?" he demanded, gruffly, in German.

"I had to see you," replied Kurt, in English.

"Did it rain?" was the old man's second demand, husky and serious.

"The wheat is made, if we can harvest it," answered Kurt.

The blaze of joy on old Dorn's face gave Kurt a twinge of pain. He hated
to dispel it. "Come aside, here, a minute," he whispered, and drew his
father over to a corner under a lamp. "I've got bad news. Look at this!"
He produced the cake of phosphorus, careful to hide it from other
c