"Why, yes," said the agent. "I've a number of inquiries for farming land on my books. I shouldn't wonder if I fixed the thing up in a week."

"I can't wait a week. There's a pretty good haulage contract I could get, but it will take some financing, which is what brought me along; because I ought to see about it in the next few days. Now I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll sell you that land to-night at the lower figure."

The agent pondered.

"No, sir," he said, irresolutely. "I'd only make a few dollars an acre on the deal, and I can get ten per cent. on my money right in this hotel."

"You'd have to wait a year for it, wouldn't you? What price will give you ten per cent. profit on this quarter-section? You want to remember that you may get it in a few weeks, and you'd have first-cla.s.s security."

After making a rough calculation in his notebook, the agent looked up.

"As a rule, I prefer to buy for other people, but I can't go back on what I said about land being in strong demand, and I'll make you a bid. This is the most I can do."

Wandle, after trying to raise the price, made a sign of acquiescence.

"We'll let it go at that. I'll get things fixed up as soon as the land-office is open in the morning."

He left the hotel, satisfied on the whole, though he had sacrificed a dollar or two an acre and there was an element of danger in what he had done. The sale of the land must be registered, and the date would be two or three days after the one on which Jernyngham was killed. The latter's homestead was, however, a long distance off, there was only one small weekly newspaper published in the district, and it was very probable that the agent would not hear of the affair until some time had elapsed, and then might not attach any importance to the fact that the victim's name was that of his customer. Even if he did so, the small discrepancy in the dates would, no doubt, escape his attention. Wandle did not think he had much cause for uneasiness.

Reaching home the next day, he raked out his stove and found the cash-box. It had not fallen to pieces as he had expected, and he doubled it up again with the ax before he flung it into the ash pail. Then he lighted the stove and set about getting supper, for it was late in the evening. After finishing the meal, he threw some fragments of potatoes and a rind of pork into the pail and took it up to carry it to the refuse heap, but stopped with a start when he left the house. It was getting dark, but two shadowy figures were riding up the trail and by the way they sat their horses he recognized them as police troopers. Putting down the pail, he waited until they dismounted near-by.

"You're too late for supper, Curtis," he said coolly. "I've just cleaned it up."

The corporal glanced at the pail and in the dim light noticed only the domestic refuse.

"I've had some," he answered. "I want a few minutes' talk." Then he motioned to his companion. "Hitch the horses, Stanton, and come in when you're ready."

They entered the house, followed presently by the trooper, and Wandle lighted his pipe. He felt more at ease with it in his hand and he suspected that he would need all his collectedness.

"Well," he said, "what's the trouble?"

"I suppose you know that Jernyngham's missing?"

"I heard that he was killed."

"Looks like it," said Curtis. "You know the muskeg where the creek spreads out, about fourteen miles north?"

"I don't; never been up so far."

Curtis noticed the prompt disclaimer.

"Anyway, Jernyngham rode there and was knocked out with something heavy that must have left him stunned, if it didn't make an end of him. He didn't ride away after it, though his horse went on. The point is that it was led."

"How do you know that?" Wandle asked.

"It's my business to know these things. Think we can't tell the difference between the tracks of a led horse and a ridden one? The only times two horses trot close together at an even distance is when one's rider has both bridles, or when they're yoked to a wagon pole. However, I've come to ask if you can throw any light on the matter? You and Jernyngham were partners, in a way, weren't you?"

"That's so. Now and then we bought implements and horses, or hired a tractor plow, between us. As a matter of fact, Jernyngham owed me about five hundred dollars. Anyhow, I'm as puzzled about the thing as you must be."

"Then you think we're puzzled?" Curtis said in a significant tone.

Wandle laughed.

"It struck me as likely. You know there's not a rancher in the district who would hurt the man. He was easy to get on with."

"Did you know that he borrowed money on his holding and took it with him the night he disappeared?"

"I didn't," said Wandle, starting. "I'm not pleased to hear it now. I've a claim on the place and there are some pretty big storekeepers' bills to come in."

Curtis asked a few more questions before he took his leave. He pa.s.sed near the ash pail as he went out and Stanton touched it with his foot, but they had mounted and reached the trail before either of them spoke.

"Well?" said Curtis.

Stanton smiled.

"Nothing much to be learned from him; the fellow's about as sly and hard to get at as a coyote."

"A sure thing," Curtis agreed. "We'll keep an eye on him; I've a suspicion he knows something."

Then they trotted away in the moonlight, for it was a long ride to their camp beside the muskeg, which with the a.s.sistance of several men they were engaged in searching.

On the next afternoon, Prescott was at work in the summer fallow, sitting in the iron saddle of a gangplow, which four powerful horses hauled through the crackling stubble. It was fiercely hot and he was lightly clad in thin yellow shirt and overalls. A cloud of dust rose about him from the parched soil, and the broad expanse of wheat which the fallow divided glowed with varied colors as it rippled before the rush of breeze, the strong greens changing to a silvery l.u.s.ter as the lush blades bent and caught the light. Farther on, there were faint streaks of yellow among the oats; the great stretch of gra.s.s was white and delicate gray, the rows of clods behind the plow rich chocolate-brown.

Prescott, however, paid little attention to his surroundings. He was perhaps the only man in the district who had known Jernyngham intimately; he felt troubled about his disappearance, and he had had a disturbing interview with Wandle during the morning. The Austrian had contested his right to manage the farm, declaring that Jernyngham owed him money and had made certain plans for the joint working of their land which must be carried out. This did not so much matter, in a sense, if one could take Jernyngham's death for granted; but Prescott could not do so and had, moreover, no intention of letting his property fall into the hands of a cunning, grasping fellow, who, he was fully persuaded, had no real right to it. If Jernyngham did not turn up, Prescott meant to discharge all his debts after harvest and, as the crop promised well, to send the balance to England as a proof that his friend had not been a failure in Canada.

This might be some comfort to Jernyngham's people.

He was considering the matter when he heard the stubble crackle behind him and, looking around, saw Curtis riding up. Stopping his team, he waited until the corporal drew bridle.

"Have you found him yet?" he asked.

"We have not," said Curtis. "It's a big muskeg and quite deep. You know the place?"

"Oh, yes, I know it pretty well."

Curtis looked at him sharply, but Prescott seemed to be musing.

"It's a sad thing when you think of it," he said after a few moments.

"From the little he told me, the man had hard luck all through; and that Mrs. Jernyngham should leave him just after he'd sacrificed his future for her must have been a knock-out blow. Yet I've an idea that instead of crushing it braced him. It pulled him up; he showed signs of turning into a different man."

"You knew him better than I did," Curtis replied. "I heard at the hotel he'd asked you to look after his place, given you a share in the crop."

"He did. I'd some words with Wandle about the matter this morning; Jernyngham warned me he might pretend he had a claim. However, that's not to the purpose; somehow I feel convinced he'll turn up again. What motive could any one have for killing him? The only man we might have suspected--the fellow who went off with Ellice--must have been on the train bound for St. Paul."

"He was; we wired the conductor. But the thing's quite simple--the motive was robbery. You remember that wad of bills?" The corporal paused before he added: "Where did you last see Jernyngham?"

"At the trail-forks near my place. He rode right on; I took the turning."

"Did you see your man, Svendsen, or his wife when you got home?"