"You were able to remember that?"

"Certainly! Then there were the teams. It would have been a pity to let them be killed."

Beatrice thought he might have offered a better explanation. He had implied that anxiety about the boiler had influenced him more than regard for his horses. She felt that she must give him an opportunity for defending himself.

"I wonder which consideration counted most?"

He looked at her with amus.e.m.e.nt; and she flushed as she suddenly recalled that he was sometimes very shrewd.

"Well," he said, "the main thing was to get hold of the reins--and I don't know that it matters now."

"I suppose not," Beatrice agreed, vexed that he did not seem anxious to make the best impression. "After all, breaking land on a large scale must be expensive, and I understand that your plans are ambitious."

Harding glanced across the prairie: it ran back to the blue smear of trees on the horizon, covered with thin snow, and struck a note of utter desolation.

"Yes," he said with a gleam in his eyes. "All this looks lifeless and useless now, but I can see it belted with wheat and oats and flax in the fall. There will be a difference when the binders move through the grain in rows."

"In rows!"

"We'll want a number, if all goes well. Devine's land follows my boundary, and we must drive our plows in one straight line. We begin at the rise yonder and run east to the creek."

The boldness of the undertaking appealed to the girl as she glanced across the wide stretch of snow.

"It's a big thing," she said.

"A beginning. Two men can't do much, but more are coming. In a year or two the wheat will run as far as you can see, and there'll be homesteads all along the skyline."

They walked on in silence for a moment; then he gave her an amused glance.

"I guess Colonel Mowbray doesn't like what I'm doing?"

"He doesn't go so far. It's to what you are persuading our friends to do that he objects."

"That's a pity. They'll have to follow--not because I lead, but because necessity drives."

"You're taking it for granted that it does drive; and you must see my father's point of view."

"That I'm encouraging your people to rebel? That's not my wish, but he can't hold them much longer--the drift of things is against him."

Beatrice's eyes sparkled. He thought she looked very charming with her proud air and the color in her face; but he must keep his head. He was readjusting his opinions about sudden, mutual love, and he saw that precipitation might cost him too much. If he could not have the girl on his own terms, he must take her on hers.

"Colonel Mowbray founded the settlement," Beatrice said, "and it has prospered. Can't you understand his feelings when he sees his control threatened?"

"The time when one man could hold full command has gone. He can be a moral influence and keep the right spirit in his people, but he must leave them freedom of action."

"That is just the trouble! It's the modern spirit which you are bringing into the settlement that disturbs us. We managed to get along very well before we ever heard of Mr. Harding and his steam-plow and his wheat-binders and his creameries."

She could not keep the slight scorn out of her voice; indeed, she did not wish to do so. But he took it good-naturedly.

"Do you know what I see?" he questioned with a smile. "A time when Colonel Mowbray--and Colonel Mowbray's daughter," he added teasingly--"will look with pride upon the vast acres of Allenwood turned from waste gra.s.sland into productive fields of wheat and oats and flax; when the obsolete horse-plow will be sc.r.a.pped as old iron and the now despised steam-plow will be a highly treasured possession of every settler; when----"

"Never!" Beatrice interrupted emphatically. "You must understand that my father's views and yours are as widely different as the poles--and my father is the head of Allenwood!"

Harding looked down at the haughty face turned up to him; and a great longing suddenly surged through him. He had never desired her more than at that instant. His admiration showed so strongly in his eyes that the blood swept into Beatrice's face.

"Bee!" Lance called back to them. "Mrs. Broadwood wants you to verify what I'm telling her about the collie pup."

Beatrice loved her brother for the interruption.

CHAPTER XII

THE ENEMY WITHIN

It was getting late, but the Allenwood Sports Club prolonged its sitting at the Carlyon homestead. The inst.i.tution had done useful work in promoting good fellowship by means of healthful amus.e.m.e.nts, but recently its management had fallen into the hands of the younger men, and the founders contented themselves with an occasional visit to see that all was going well. Some, however, were not quite satisfied, and Mowbray entertained suspicions about the Club. He was an autocrat, but he shrank from spying, or attempting to coerce a member into betraying his comrades. Some allowance must be made for young blood; and, after all, nothing that really needed his interference could go on, he felt, without his learning about it. Nevertheless, he had a disturbing feeling that an undesirable influence was at work.

Carlyon's room was unusually well furnished, and several fine London guns occupied a rack on the matchboarded wall. The cost of one would have purchased a dozen of the Ma.s.sachusetts-made weapons which the prairie farmers used. The photograph of a horseman in English hunting dress with M.F.H. appended to the autograph was equally suggestive, and it was known that Carlyon's people had sent him to Canada with money enough to make a fair start. Unfortunately, he had not realized that success in farming demands care and strenuous work.

He sat with a flushed, excited face at a rosewood table, upon which the cigar ends, bottles, and gla.s.ses scarcely left room for the cards he was eagerly scanning. Gerald Mowbray leaned back in his chair, watching him with a smile. Emslie, the third man, wore a disturbed frown; opposite him, Markham sat with a heavy, vacant air.

"Your luck's changing, Carlyon," Gerald said; "but we must stop at this round. Markham's half asleep--and I'm not surprised, considering what he's drunk; and the Colonel will wonder where I've been, if I stay much longer."

Carlyon drained his gla.s.s.

"Very well," he consented, with a harsh laugh and a glitter in his eyes.

"As I've a good deal to get back, I'll double and throw my Percheron team in. Does that take you?"

Markham immediately became alert.

"I think not. Go on, Gerald!"

Gerald put down a card, Emslie followed with a deepening frown, but Markham chuckled as he played. Carlyon started, and then with an obvious effort pulled himself together. For the next few moments all were quiet, and the stillness was emphasized by the patter of the falling cards.

Then Carlyon pushed his chair back noisily and looked at the others, his face pale and set.

"I thought it was a certainty; there was only one thing I forgot," he said in a strained voice.

Markham leaned forward heavily.

"Fellows who play like you can't afford to forget, my boy. Know better next time; let it be a lesson."

Carlyon glanced at a notebook and took out a wad of bills which he tried to count.

"Sorry, but I seem to be five dollars short; don't know when you'll get it, but I'll send the horses to the next Brandon sales. I dare say somebody will help me with my plowing."

"Don't be an a.s.s!" said Gerald. "Throwing in the team was a piece of silly bluff. We're not going to take advantage of it."