Anything I can do for you, sis? Want anything carried in--or _thrown out?_" He accented the last words.

Farwell, who had read danger signals in men's eyes before, saw the flare of enmity in the young man's, and raised his shoulders in a faint shrug. He smiled to himself in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"No, there's nothing, thanks," said Sheila, quite unconscious of the hidden meaning of his words. "Better get cleaned up for supper."

McCrae swung on silently, with his rapid, noiseless step. Farwell turned to Sheila.

"Do this for me, Miss McCrae," he pleaded. "Give me a fair chance with your father if you won't help me with him. Don't tell your brother of what I'm trying to do. If you do that, his influence will be the other way."

"If my father has made up his mind, none of us can change it," said Sheila. "But I'll give you a fair field. I won't tell Sandy."

Farwell, in spite of previous virtuous resolutions, remained for supper. The elder McCraes had not returned. The young people had the meal to themselves; and Sheila and Farwell had the conversation to themselves, for Sandy paid strict and confined attention to his food, and did not utter half a dozen words. Immediately afterward he vanished; but, when Farwell went to the stable for his horse, he found the young man saddling a rangy, speedy-looking black.

"Guess I'll ride with you a piece," he announced.

"All right," Farwell replied carelessly. He did not desire company; but if it was forced on him he could not help it.

The light was failing as they rode from the ranch house. The green fields lay sombre in the creeping dusk. Nighthawks in search of food darted in erratic flight, uttering their peculiar booming notes.

Running water murmured coolly in the ditch that flanked the road.

Cattle, full of repletion, stood in contented lethargy by the watering place, ruminating, switching listlessly at the evening flies which scarcely annoyed them. The vivid opalescent lights of the western sky grew fainter, faded. Simultaneously the zenith shaded from turquoise to sapphire. In the northeast, low over the plains, gleaming silver against the dark velvet background of the heavens, lay the first star.

But Farwell paid no attention to these things. Instead, he was thinking of Sheila McCrae--reconstructing her pose as she bade him good-bye, the direct, level gaze of her dark eyes, the contour of her face, the cloudy ma.s.ses of her brown hair. He was unconsciously engaged in the perilous, artistic work of drawing for his sole and exclusive use a mental "portrait of a lady"; and, after the manner of man attracted by woman, he idealized the picture of his creation. By virtue of this absorbing occupation, he quite forgot the presence of the brother of the woman. But a mile beyond the ranch young McCrae pulled up.

"I turn off here," he said.

"That so? Good night," said Farwell.

"There's something I came to tell you," McCrae pursued. "I'm not making any grand-stand play about it; but you'd better be a lot more careful when you're talking to my sister. Understand?"

"No, I don't," said Farwell. "I never said anything to Miss McCrae that her father and mother mightn't hear."

"Oh, _that!_" said young Sandy, and spat in disgust. "No, I guess you didn't--and you hadn't better. But you told her to do something--fairly ordered her. I heard you, and I heard her tell you she wouldn't.

Perhaps you'll tell me what it was?"

"Perhaps I won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to, mostly," said Farwell impatiently. "Also because it's none of your business. Your sister and I understand each other. Our conversation didn't concern you--directly, anyway."

"I'll let it go at that on your say-so," Sandy returned, with surprising calmness. "I'm not crowding trouble with you, but get this clear: You know why you're hanging around the ranch, and I don't. All the same, if you are up to any monkey business, you'll settle it with me."

Farwell's temper, never reliable, rose at once.

"Quite a Wild West kid, aren't you?" he observed, with sarcasm. "You make me tired. It's a good thing for you your people are decent." He crowded his horse close to the other. "Now, look here, young fellow, I won't stand for any fool boy's talk. You're old enough to know better.

Cut it out with me after this, do you hear?"

"Where are you coming with that cayuse?" demanded young McCrae, and suddenly raked a rowelled heel behind the animal's shoulder.

Ensued five strenuous minutes for Farwell, wherein he sought to soothe his mount's wounded feelings. When at last the quadruped condescended to allow his four hoofs to remain on the ground simultaneously for more than a fraction of a second, young McCrae was gone; and Farwell, somewhat shaken, and profane with what breath was left him, had nothing for it but to resume his homeward way.

CHAPTER IX

The astute Mr. Sleeman's prediction to Farwell--namely, that the att.i.tude of the ranchers would affect land sales--proved correct.

Naturally, owing to a perfect advertising machinery, a number of sales were made to people at distant points, who bought for speculation merely. But these, though well enough in their way, were not entirely satisfactory. The company needed actual settlers--men who would go upon the lands and improve them--to furnish object lessons from the ground itself to personally conducted, prospective buyers, who in turn should do the same, and ultimately provide the Prairie Southern branch of Western Airline with a paying traffic in freight and humanity.

But prospective buyers proved annoyingly inquisitive. After looking at the company's holdings, they naturally wished to see for themselves what the country was good for; and the obvious way to find out was to visit the established ranches.

Sleeman could not prevent it--nor appear to wish to prevent it. In fact, he had to acquiesce cheerfully and take them himself. That was better than letting them go alone. But the very air seemed to carry rumours. In vain he a.s.sured them that there was no fear of trouble, that in any event the company would protect them; in vain he showed them the big ca.n.a.l and beautiful system of ditches, and pointed with much enthusiasm to the armour-belted, double-riveted clause in the sale contracts, guaranteeing to the lucky buyer the delivery of so many miner's inches or cubic feet of water every day in the year.

"It's like this," said one prospective buyer: "They ain't enough water for the whole country, and you're certainly aimin' to cinch some of the men that's here already so tight they can't breathe. If I buy water they're gettin' now, they're mighty apt to be sore on me. Dunno's I blame them, either. I like to stand well with my neighbours. Your land's all right, but I can't see where we deal."

And the att.i.tude of this individual was fairly representative.

Landlookers came, saw; but, instead of remaining to conquer the soil, the majority of them went elsewhere.

This was hard on Sleeman. He was a good salesman, and he had a good proposition; but he was handicapped by conditions not of his creating and beyond his control. And he knew quite well that, while a corporation may not give an employee any credit whatever for satisfactory results, it invariably saddles him with the discredit of unsatisfactory ones.

He foresaw that sooner or later--and very probably sooner--he would be asked to explain why he was not making sales. And he came to the conclusion that, as something was sure to start, he might as well start it himself.

His cogitations crystallized in the form of a letter to his chief, the head of the land department, wherein he told the bald and shining truth without even a mental reservation. And he intimated tactfully that if the department had another man whom they considered better fitted to deal with the unfortunate local conditions, he, Sleeman, would be charmed to a.s.sist him, or to go elsewhere in their service, if that seemed best to their aggregate wisdom. He worded his part of this letter very carefully, for he had seen as good men as himself incontinently fired merely because they could not deny themselves the luxury of a petulant phrase.

His letter bore fruit; for Carrol, the mighty head of the land department, came down to see things for himself.

Carrol, however, suffered from a species of myopia not uncommon among gentlemen who have for a long time represented large interests. He had so come to look upon Western Airline as an irresistible force, that the concept of an immovable body was quite beyond him. He had nothing but contempt for any person or set of persons--corporations with equal capital always excepted--rash enough to oppose any of its plans.

"Now, see here," he said at a conference with Sleeman and Farwell. "We can't afford to have our sales blocked this way. Our ditches will carry water now, and the dam itself is nearly completed. Open up the ditches and take all the water you can. Then we'll see whether there is anything in these yarns."

"But if we take water before we need it, we simply stiffen their hand,"

Sleeman objected. "We give them legitimate grounds to kick."

"They'll kick, anyway," said Carrol. "We need water to grow gra.s.s--if anybody should ask you. The sooner we take it the sooner we shall be able to acquire these ranches. Once the men see what they're up against they'll ask us to buy, which we'll do on our own terms. That's the programme. What do you think, Farwell?"

"You're the doctor," Farwell replied.

"You don't antic.i.p.ate any trouble?"

"Not a bit," said Farwell contemptuously. "They'll howl, of course. Let 'em. In a month they'll eat out of your hand."

"Quite so," said Carrol; "that's how I look at it."

"There's one man, though," said Farwell, "whom I'd like to see get a fair price. That's McCrae, who owns Talapus Ranch. It's the biggest and best in the country."

"Will he sell now?"

"He might."