Kate nodded, and the warm light of her eyes had changed to a look of anxiety.

"There is a whole day and more before the--settlement, a day and night which may be fraught with a world of disaster. Let us leave it at that--for the present." Then, with an effort, she banished the seriousness from her manner. "But I am delaying. I must pack my grip, and harness my team. You see, I must leave directly after dinner."

Fyles accepted his dismissal. He turned to his horse and prepared to mount. Kate followed his every movement with a forlorn little smile.

She would have given anything if he could have stayed. But----.

"Good luck," she cried, in a low tone.

"Good luck? Do you know what that means?" Fyles turned abruptly. "It means my winning the wager, Kate."

"Does it?" Kate smiled tenderly across at him. "Well, good luck anyway."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

AN ENCOUNTER

Service was still proceeding at the Meeting House. The valley was quiet. Scarcely a sound broke the perfect peace of the Sabbath morning. The sun blazed down, a blistering fragrant heat, and the laden atmosphere of the valley suggested only the rusticity, the simple innocence of a pastoral world.

At Kate Seton's homestead a profound quiet reigned. There was the occasional rattle of a collar chain to be heard proceeding from the barn; the clucking of a foolish hen, fussing over a well-discovered worm of plump proportions, sounded musically upon the air, and in perfect harmony with the radiant, ripening sunlight. A stupid mongrel pup stretched itself luxuriantly upon the ground in the shade of the barn, and drowsily watched the busy hens, with one eye half open.

Another, evidently the brother of the former, was more actively inclined. He was snuffing at the splashes of axle "dope" on the ground beneath the wagon. He was young enough to eat, and appreciate, anything he could get his baby teeth into.

There was scarcely a sign of life about the place otherwise. The whole valley was enjoying that perfect, almost holy, calm, to be found pretty well all the world over, yielded by man to the hours of worship.

Inside the house there was greater activity. Kate Seton was in her homely parlor. She was at her desk. That Bluebeard's chamber, which roused so much curiosity in her sister, was open. The drawers were unlocked, and Kate was sorting out papers, and collecting the loose paper money she kept there.

She was very busy and profoundly occupied. But none of her movements were hurried, or suggested anything but the simple preparations of one about to leave home.

Her work did not take her long. All the loose money was collected into a pocketbook, bearing her initials in silver on its outer cover. This she bestowed in the bosom of her dress. Then, very deliberately, she tore up a lot of letters and loose papers, thrust them in the cookstove, and watched them burn in the fragment of fire smouldering there. Next she pa.s.sed across to the wall where her loaded revolvers were hanging, and took one of them from its nail. Then, with an air of perfect calm and a.s.surance, she pa.s.sed out of the room to her bedroom, where a grip lay open on the simple white coverlet of her bed.

Her packing was proceeded with leisurely. Yet the precision of her movements and the certainty with which she understood her needs made the process rapid.

Everything was completed. The grip was full to overflowing. She stood looking at it speculatively. She was a.s.suring herself that nothing was forgotten for her few days' sojourn away from home.

In the midst of her contemplation she abruptly raised her eyes to the window and inclined her head in an att.i.tude of listening. A sound had reached her, a sound which had nothing to do with the two puppies, or the hens, outside. It was a sound that brought a swift, alert expression into her handsome eyes, the look of one who belongs to a world where the unusual is generally looked upon with suspicion.

A moment later she was peering out of the window into the radiant sunlight. The sound was plainer now, and she had recognized it. It was the sound of a horse galloping, and approaching her home.

Still the doubtful questioning was in her eyes.

She left the window and pa.s.sed out of the room. The next moment she was standing in the doorway at the back of the house, and in front of her stood the wagon that was to bear her to Myrtle. The slumberous pup was on its feet standing alertly defiant. Its brother was already yapping truculently in its baby fashion. The old hen had abandoned its search for more delectable provender, and had fled incontinently.

A horseman dashed up to the house. He had ignored the front door and made straight for the barn. He drew up with a jerk, and sat looking at the wagon standing there. Then, with an excited, impatient e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, he flung out of the saddle.

The next moment he became aware of Kate's presence in the doorway.

With eyes alight and half-angry, half-impatient, Charlie Bryant turned upon her.

"Why have you taken this wagon, Kate?" he demanded, going to the point of his concern without preamble.

The woman drew a sharp breath. It was as though she realized that a vital moment had arrived, a moment when she must grip the situation, and use all her power of domination over the questioner.

"You've placed it at my disposal at all times," she said, smiling into his excited eyes.

The man rushed on.

"Yes, yes, I know; but why have you taken it now? You say you are going to Myrtle. You don't need it. You could ride to Myrtle--in the ordinary way. You are welcome to the wagon at all times. To anything I have. But why are you taking it now? I only found out it had gone this morning. I--" he averted his gaze--"I only happened to go over to the corral this morning--and I found it--gone."

Quick as a shot Kate's answer was formulated and fired at him.

"Why did you go to the corral--this morning?"

The man's reply was slow in coming. His cheeks flushed, and it looked as though he were seeking excuse.

"I had to go there. I--needed my wagon for to-morrow's work."

Kate smiled. She was feeling more confident.

"For hauling your hay? Won't it wait? You see, I can't carry a grip on the saddle."

Great beads of sweat were standing on Charlie's youthful face. He raised one nervous hand and brushed it across his forehead. He cleared his throat.

"Say, why--why must you go now, Kate? What is this absurd talk I have heard? You going away because--because of that tree business? Kate, Kate, such an idea isn't worthy of you. You going? You flying from superst.i.tion? No, no, it's not worthy of you. Kate----" he paused.

Then, with a gulp: "You can't have the wagon. I refuse to--lend it you. I simply must have it."

Kate was leaning against the door casing. She made no move. Her smile deepened, that was all. She understood all that lay behind the man's desperate manner, and--she had no intention of yielding.

"If you must have it, you must," she said, in her deep voice, so like his own. "You had better send for it, but--" her look suddenly hardened--"don't ever speak to me again. That is all I have to say."

The man's determination wavered before the woman's coldness. He looked into her dark eyes desperately. They were cold and hard. They had never looked at him like that before.

"D'you mean that, Kate?" he demanded desperately. "Do you mean that if I take that wagon you have--done with me forever? Do you?"

"I meant precisely what I said." Kate suddenly bestirred herself. The coldness in her eyes turned to anger, a swift, hot anger, to which the man was unused, and he shrank before it. "If you are sane you will leave that wagon to me. You _do not_ want it for your haying to-morrow. Anyway, your haying excuse is far too thin for me. I know why you want it. If you take it I wash my hands of you entirely. You must choose now between these things, once and for all. I am in no trifling mood. You must choose now--at once. And your choice must stand for all time."

Kate watched the effect of every word she spoke, and she knew, long before she finished speaking, she was to have her way. It was always so. This man had no power to refuse her anything. It was only in her absence, when his weakness overwhelmed him, that her influence lost power over him.

All the excitement had died out of his eyes. Anger gave way to despair, decision to weakness and yielding. And through it all a great despair and hopelessness sounded in his voice.

"Oh, Kate," he cried, "I can't believe this is you--I can't--I can't.

You are cruel--crueller than ever I would have believed. You know why I want to keep the wagon just now. I implore you not to do this thing.

I will do most anything else you ask me, but--leave that wagon."

Kate shook her head in cold decision.

"My mind is quite made up," she said. "There is nothing more to be said. You must choose here--and now."