Another man, a burly, purple-cheeked son of earth, took up the harangue at the point where Jean Bateese dropped it. This was Jack Mackenzie, Simon said.

"Me, I am sick of waiting, too!" he cried. "Always we wait, and John Gaviller do what he like! Why he put down the price of grain? Why he do everything? It is to keep us in his debt. We can work till our backs break, but he fix it so we are still in debt.

"Because we can do not'ing when we are in his debt. We are his slaves!

We got to break our slave chains. It is time to act. Now I say out loud what all are whispering: let us burn the store!"

Thirty men took a sharp breath between their teeth. There was a little silence; then quick cries of approval broke out. The meeting was with the speaker.

Ambrose, thinking of Colina, turned a little sick with apprehension.

Simon rose to still the noise, but Mackenzie held the floor.

"I know w'at Simon Grampierre goin' to say!" he cried, pointing. "He goin' to say if you break the law you fix yourselves. They send many police and put you all in jail. Simon Grampierre got good property.

He not want lose it.

"Me, I say all right! I go to jail. There is a trial. Everything got come out. John Gaviller he cannot make slaves after that. I say let them send me to jail. My children will be free!"

The meeting went wild at this. Simon had lost control. Even his own sons, as could be read in their faces, sympathized with the speakers.

The old man betrayed nothing in his face. He stood like a rock until he could get a hearing.

"Jack Mackenzie say I rich," he said proudly. "Say I think of my property first. I now say whatever we do, we do together. We will decide by vote. If you vote to burn the store I will put the fire to it myself!"

They cheered him to the echo. Some cried: "Burn the store!" Some cried: "Vote!" By this move Simon captured their attention again. He held up a hand for silence.

"Wait!" he said. "I have a little more to say. Jack Mackenzie say we got to break our chains. Those are true words! But how? If we burn the store we only rivet them tighter.

"Gaviller will cry these are bad men and lawbreakers. These are _incendiaries_! It is a word the white men hate. They will say do what you like to the incendiaries. They deserve no better."

The strange word intimidated them. But a voice cried defiantly: "Must we wait some more?" And their cries threatened to down the old man.

"No!" he cried in a voice that silenced them. "Here is Ambrose Doane!"

He paused for dramatic effect.

"I ask Ambrose Doane to our meeting to talk with us. I now say to him"--he turned to Ambrose--"you have heard these men. They are so much wronged they cannot see the right. They are so mad they don't know what they do.

"I ask, Ambrose Doane, will you save them from their madness? Will you help us break our chains? _Buy our grain_?"

CHAPTER XV.

THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN.

An absolute silence followed Simon Grampierre's unexpected words. The astute old man had withheld his proposal until the psychological moment. Ambrose was a little dazed by it. He rose, feeling every eager eye upon him, and said slowly:

"I must have a little time to consider. I must talk with Simon Grampierre. I will give him my answer before morning."

Simon said to the company: "Men, will you sell your wheat to Ambrose Doane at a dollar-seventy-five?"

The question broke the spell of silence. There could be no mistake that the proposal was successful. A chorus of acclamations filled the room.

"Very good!" said Simon. "I will talk with Ambrose Doane and try to make him trade with us."

The meeting broke up. It was then a little after nine.

Simon and Ambrose went apart to a bench on the river bank. There were innumerable questions to be asked and answered. Simon estimated that the grain in question, provided they had no frost, would amount to twenty thousand bushels of wheat, and half as much oats. It was a momentous decision for a youth like Ambrose to be called upon to make.

The greatest difficulty was how to grind the wheat.

"You have an engine here?" asked Ambrose.

"Yes, for our thrashing-machine," said Simon.

"I could order a small process mill from outside," said Ambrose, "but it's doubtful if we could get it in this year."

"I have a hand mill," said Simon. "We call her the mankiller. Work all day, grind a couple bags of flour. It is very old."

"Could it be rigged to the engine?" Ambrose asked.

"Wa! I never think of that," said Simon. "Maybe grind four bags a day, then."

Ambrose had no intention of giving an answer until he had communicated with Colina. Strongly against Simon's advice, he insisted that Gaviller, as he said, must be given one more chance to relent. Simon unwillingly yielded. At ten o'clock Ambrose and Tole started down the river in a dugout.

Ambrose did not mean to seek the interview with Colina. Before starting he scribbled a hasty note.

DEAR COLINA:

The farmers have asked me to buy their grain. I've got to do it unless you will pay their price. It's not much good to say it now, but I'd sooner cut off my hand than seem to be fighting you.

I can't help myself. You won't believe it, but it's a fact just the same, if you won't pay their price I must, in order to save you. If you will agree to pay them one-seventy-five, I'll go back to Moultrie to-morrow, and never trouble you again. AMBROSE.

Landing below Gaviller's house Ambrose sent Tole up the bank with this.

In a surprisingly short time he saw the half-breed returning.

"Did you see her?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Tole.

"Did she send an answer back?"

"Only this."

Ambrose held out his hand, and Tole dropped the torn fragments of his own letter into it. Ambrose stared at them stupidly. He had steeled himself against a possible humiliation at her hands--but to be humiliated before the half-breed!

He drew a long breath to steady himself, and opening his hand, let the fragments float away on the current.

"Let us go back," he said quietly.