"Father!"

"Well, dear? You seem to be so interested in the man."

"Father, oh, father!" and the next instant she was crying. He reached out and caught her fondly to him. "My girl, my girl, I didn't intend to upset you. Now be papa's little darling and don't cry any more!"

"You have never been this way before," she sobbed. He caressed her more now.

"Well, dearest. You see. Well, your mother--"

"My mother!" she sat quickly up.

"We are going to raise a great crop this year. I feel sure of it."

"But my mother!"

"I think I know where I can get some good seed oats."

They rode along in silence the rest of the way, consumed with their own thoughts. No words passed, but Agnes was thinking. She would never get out of her mind what her father had started to say. But he had stopped in time.... Her mind went back to the strange incidents in her life. She lived over again the day she had looked in the mirror and had seen that strange look, she connected it singularly with what her father had started to say. She was silent thereafter, but her soul was on fire.

CHAPTER XI

WHAT JEAN BAPTISTE FOUND IN THE WELL

"Well, my friend," said A.M. Barr, stopping before Baptiste's hut one day shortly after his visit to Kaden's, "I have my date and will make proof on the 22nd of March. I have listed you as one of my witnesses.

Guess I may depend on you to be ready that day?"

"I shall remember it, Mr. Barr," answered Baptiste. "Have you rented your place yet?"

"No, I have not. Rather, not the buildings. My neighbor across the road, however, will put the thirty acres I have broken into crop, and break a few more."

"M-m."

"How much do you plan seeding this season?"

"All of both places anyhow."

"Ah, young man, I tell you, you are a worker! Such young men as you will be the making of this country. And you'll be rich in time."

"Oh, no," cried Baptiste disdainfully.

"If I were young and strong like you, I would be doing the same."

"You expect to go away when you have completed your proof...."

"Well, I don't know," whereupon A.M. Barr cast a furtive glance in his direction. Baptiste pretended not to see it.

"What'll you do with your horses?" Another furtive glance.

"Well, I might advertise a sale," he said boldly. He cast a dark look in Baptiste's direction, which the other pretended not to see--but did see nevertheless. "Why, what could he know," was in Barr's mind. "Nothing,"

he answered his own question. A moment later he was the same Barr; the officious Englishman when he drove down the road a few minutes later, and none the wiser therefor.

March the twenty-second came and went, and Augustus offered proof on his homestead, and passed, Baptiste assisting him as witness.

Sunday was the next day, and when it came, all calm and beautiful, Baptiste realized that he did not have enough seed wheat to sow all his land that he wished put in wheat. A squaw man had raised a large crop to the southwest of him the year before, and this, he understood, was for sale. He decided to call on the squaw man, ascertain the fact, and if so, purchase a share of it for his purpose.

Accordingly, Sunday morning after he had breakfasted, and piled the dishes bachelor fashion (unwashed) he started out.

The route he took carried him directly by Peter Kaden's claim, and when he had gone that far, and found himself looking at the low, sod house that stood a few paces back from the road, he was curious. He paused unconsciously before the house and observed it idly a few moments.

He was struck with the quietness about, and at once became curiously apprehensive. No smoke emerged from the chimney. There was no evidence that any one was about. Impelled by his growing curiosity, he approached the house and knocked at the door. There was no response from within. He tried it again. Still no response. He tried the knob. It gave. He pushed the door open cautiously, and peered in. The house was empty but for the crude furniture. He entered curiously and looked about. The bed was spread over, there was no fire in the stove, the coldness of the atmosphere within impressed him with a theory that no fire had been in the stove that day or the night before. The dishes were clean and piled on the table with a cloth spread over them. He went outside, closing the door behind him and swept the surrounding country with his gaze which revealed no Peter Kaden. He lowered his eyes in thought as his lips muttered:

"Wonder where he is?"

A path began at his feet. It led down to a draw some two hundred yards away. He fell into it aimlessly and followed its course for a short way.

Presently, upon looking up, he saw a well at the side of the draw which obviously was the terminus of the path.

Forthwith he made the well his objective. In that country wells were not plentiful. The soil was of the richest and blackest loam with a clay subsoil; but water except where there was sand, was not easily found only in or near a draw, or a flat. He reached the well, and, drawing aside the bucket that reposed on the lid, he opened the well and lowered the bucket to the water some thirty feet below.

The bright sun rays somewhat blinded him and for a moment he could not see the water clearly. The bucket struck, in due time, however, and he wondered why there was no splash. He jerked it over, and when it struck again there was the sound of water, but it appeared difficult to sink it. He peered down into it again to ascertain what the matter was. A wave of ripples caught his gaze, while the bucket seemed to be resting on something. He gave the rope another jerk and twist, and it came down bottom-side up on the dark object.

"Hell," he muttered, "this well is dry!" He took another look. "No, it isn't dry. There is something in the well." Bending until his face was shaded by the shadow of the well, he searched below very closely with his eyes. He could distinguish that there was something; and that _the something_ seemed to bobble. He withdrew the bucket, unfilled, and, allowing a few moments for the ripples to subside, he searched the darkness below again closely. He became conscious of a cold feeling stealing up his spine, then he caught and held his breath as slowly what was below took outline. It was not a dog, a coyote, a pig, or an animal of any kind. It was _something_ else ... and the _something_ else had features that were familiar. At last realization was upon him, his fingers gripped the boards they held as he gradually straightened up.

"My God!" he cried at last, terror stricken.

For below him, with white face turned upward as if laughing, was the dead body of Peter Kaden.

CHAPTER XII

MISS STEWART RECEIVES A CALLER

Coincident with the finding of Peter Kaden's body in the well, certain things became public with regard to others. But to complete this part of it. After finding the body Jean Baptiste hurried into Dallas and gave the alarm. Excitement ran high for a time, and as it was Sunday, in a few hours the spot around the well was crowded. From over all the reservation the people came, and the consensus of opinion was that it was suicide.... Perhaps Jean Baptiste was the only one who had his doubts. If it was suicide, then he was positive it was a precipitated suicide.

Until the coroner arrived there was no disposition made of the remains, and when he did, the decision of suicide was sustained.

Since the man Baptiste had started to see was brought to the spot by the excitement, the business in hand was settled thereupon, and that evening, he went to call on the Stewarts with a view to hiring Bill.

He found Agnes alone, but was invited to enter. From her expression, he could see that he was expected, and while he waited for her father who had gone across the road, they fell into amiable conversation.

"Springtime is knocking at our door," he ventured.