Edmonds smiled. He had handled his man cleverly, and had now a reasonably secure hold upon him and the Range, but he was far from satisfied. If Hawtrey made a further loss he would in all probability become irretrievably involved.

"Then," he pointed out, "there's every reason why you should try to get straight."

Hawtrey admitted it. "Of course," he said. "You feel sure I could do it by holding on?"

His companion seldom answered a question of this kind. It was apt to lead to unpleasantness afterwards.

"Well," he said, "Beeman, and Oliphant, and Barstow are operating for a fall. One would fancy that you were safe in doing what they do. When men of their weight sell forward figures go down."

This was correct, as far as it went, but Edmonds was quite aware that the gentlemen alluded to usually played a very deep and obscure game.

He had also reasons for believing that they were doing it now. It was, however, evident that his companion's hesitation was vanishing.

"It's a big hazard, but I feel greatly tempted to hang on," he said.

Edmonds, who disregarded this, sat smoking quietly. Since he was tolerably certain as to what the result would be, he felt it was now desirable to let Hawtrey decide for himself, in which case it would be impossible for the latter to reproach him afterwards. Wheat, it seemed very probable, would fall still further when the harvest commenced, but he had reasons for believing that the market would rally first. In that case Hawtrey, who had sold forward largely, would fall altogether into his hands, and he looked forward with very pleasurable antic.i.p.ation to enforcing his claim upon the Range. In the meanwhile he was un.o.btrusively watching his companion's face, and it had become evident that in another moment or two Hawtrey would adopt the course suggested, when there was a rattle of wheels outside. Edmonds, who saw a broncho team and a waggon appear from behind the barn, realised that he must decide the matter now.

"As I want to reach Lander's before it's dark I'll have to get on," he said carelessly. "If you'll give me a letter to the broker, I'll send it on to him."

Next moment a clear voice rose up somewhere outside. "I guess you needn't worry," it said, "I'll go right in."

Then, while Gregory started, Sally walked into the room.

Edmonds was disconcerted, but he made her a little inclination, and then sat down again, quietly determined to wait, for he fancied there was hostility in the swift glance she flashed at him.

"That's quite a smart team you were driving, Miss Creighton," he said.

Sally, who disregarded this, turned to Hawtrey.

"What's he doing here?" she asked.

"He came over on a little matter of business," said Hawtrey.

"You have been selling wheat again?"

Hawtrey looked embarra.s.sed, for her manner was not conciliatory.

"Well," he admitted, "I have sold some."

"Wheat you haven't got?"

Hawtrey did not answer, and Sally sat down. Her manner suggested that she meant to thoroughly investigate the matter, and Edmonds, who would have greatly preferred to get rid of her, decided that as this appeared impossible he would appeal to her cupidity. The Creightons were somewhat grasping folks, and he had heard of her engagement to Hawtrey.

"If you will permit me I'll try to explain," he said. "We'll say that you have reason for believing that wheat will go down and you tell a broker to sell it forward at a price a little below the actual one. If other people do the same it drops faster, and before you have to deliver you can buy it in at less than you sold it at. A good many dollars can be picked up that way."

"It looks easy," Sally admitted, with something in her manner which led him to fancy he might win her over. "Of course, prices have been falling. Gregory has been selling down?"

"He has. In fact, there's already a big margin to his credit," said Edmonds unsuspectingly.

"That is, if he bought in now he'd have cleared--several thousand dollars?"

Edmonds told her exactly how much, and then started in sudden consternation with rage in his heart, for she turned to Hawtrey imperiously.

"Then you'll write your broker to buy in right away," she said.

There was an awkward silence, during which the two men looked at one another until Edmonds spoke.

"Are you wise in suggesting this, Miss Creighton?" he asked.

Sally laughed harshly. "Oh yes," she said, "it's a sure thing. And I don't suggest. I tell him to get it done."

She turned again to Hawtrey, who sat very still looking at her with a flush in his face. "Take your pen and give him that letter to the broker now."

There was this in her favour that Hawtrey was to some extent relieved by her persistence. He had not the nerve to make a successful speculator, and he had already felt uneasy about the hazard he would incur by waiting. Besides, although prices had slightly advanced, he could still secure a reasonable margin if he covered his sales. In any case, he did as she bade him, and in another minute or two he handed Edmonds an envelope.

The latter, who rose, took it from him quietly, for he was one who could face defeat.

"Well," he said, with a gesture of resignation, "I'll send the thing on. If Miss Creighton will excuse me, I'll tell your man to get out my waggon."

Then he went out, and Sally turned to Hawtrey with the colour in her cheeks and a flash in her eyes.

"It's Harry Wyllard's money," she said.

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN THE WILDERNESS.

A bitter wind was blowing when Wyllard stood outside the little tent the morning after he had made a landing on the ice, watching the grey daylight break amidst a haze of sliding snow. He was to leeward of the straining canvas which partly sheltered him, but the raw cold struck through him to the bone, and he was stiff and sore from his exertions during the previous day. Most of his joints ached unpleasantly, and his clothing had not quite dried upon him with the warmth of his body.

He was also conscious of a strong desire to crawl back into the tent and go to sleep again, but that was one it would clearly not be wise to indulge in, since they were, he fancied, still some distance off the beach, and the ice might commence to break up at any moment. It stretched away before him, seamed by fissures and serrated ridges here and there, for a few hundred yards, and then was lost in the sliding snow, and as he gazed at it all his physical nature shrank from the prospect of the journey through the frozen desolation.

Then with a little shiver he crawled back into the tent where his two companions were crouching beside the cooking lamp. The feeble light of its sputtering blue flame touched their faces which were graver than usual, but Charly turned and looked up as he came in.

"Wind's dropping," said Wyllard curtly. "We'll start as soon as you have made breakfast. We must try to reach the beach to-night."

Charly made no answer, though the dusky-skinned Siwash grunted, and in a few more minutes they silently commenced their meal. It was promptly finished, and they struck the tent, and packed it with their sleeping bags and provisions upon the sled, and then, taking up the traces, set out across the ice. The light had grown a little clearer now, and the snow was thinning, but it still whirled about them, and lay piled in drawn-out wreaths to lee of every hummock or ragged ridge. They floundered through them knee-deep, and in the softer places the weight upon the traces grew unpleasantly heavy. That, however, was not a thing any of them felt the least desire to complain of, and it was indeed a matter of regret to them that they were not harnessed to a heavier burden. There was a snow-wrapped desolation in front of them, and they had lost a number of small comforts and part of their provisions in making a landing. Whether the latter could by any means be replaced they did not know, and in the meanwhile it certainly did not seem very probable.

This was, however, an excellent reason for pushing on as fast as possible, and they stumbled and floundered forward until late in the afternoon, while the ice became more rugged and broken as they proceeded. The snow had ceased, but the drifts which stretched across their path were plentiful, and they were in the midst of one when it seemed to Wyllard who was leading that they were sinking much deeper than usual. The snow was over the top of his long boots, the sled seemed very heavy, and he could hear his comrades floundering savagely.

Then there was a cry behind him, and he was jerked suddenly backwards for a pace or two until he flung himself down at full length clawing at the snow. After that he was drawn back no further, but the strain upon the trace became almost insupportable, and there was still a furious scuffling behind him.

In a moment or two, however, the strain slackened, and looking round he saw Charly waist-deep in the snow. The latter struggled out with difficulty holding on by the trace, but the sled had vanished, and it was with grave misgivings that Wyllard scrambled to his feet. Then, saying nothing, they hauled with all their might, and after a tense effort that left them gasping dragged the sled back into sight. Part of its load, however, had been left behind in the yawning hole.

Charly went back a pace or two cautiously until he once more sank to the waist, and they had some trouble in dragging him clear. Then he sat down on the sled, and Wyllard stood still looking at the holes in the snow.

"Did you feel anything under you?" he asked at length in a jarring voice.

"I didn't," said Charly simply. "It was only the trace saved me from dropping through altogether, but if I'd gone a little further I'd have been in the water. Kind of snow bridge over a crevice. We broke it up, and the sled fell through."

Wyllard turned and flung the tent, their sleeping bags, and the few packages which had not fallen out off the sled, after which he hastily opened one or two of them. His companions looked at them with apprehension in their eyes until he spoke again.