Ben Blair

The chance to sell his stock, ostensibly his reason for delaying departure, came to Scotty Baker much more quickly than he had anticipated. Within a week after the hunt--in the very first mail he received, in fact--came an offer from a Minneapolis firm to take every scrap of horse-flesh he could spare. With much compunction and a doleful face he read the letter aloud in the family council.

"That means 'go' for sure, I suppose," he commented at its conclusion.

Involuntarily Florence laughed. "You look as though you'd just got word that the whole herd had stampeded over a ravine, instead of having had a wave of good fortune," she bantered. "I believe you'd still back out if you could."

Scotty's face did not lighten. "I know I would," he admitted.

"We'll not give you the chance, though," broke in Mollie, with the first indication of enthusiasm she had shown in many a day. "Florence and I will begin packing right away, and you can carry the things along with you when you drive the horses to town."

Scotty looked at his wife steadily and caught the trace of excitement in her manner.

"Yes, that is a good suggestion," he replied slowly. "It's liable to turn cold any time now, and as long as we're going it may as well be before Winter sets in." He filled a stubby meerschaum pipe with tobacco, and put on cap and coat preparatory to going out of doors. "I spoke to Rankin about the place the other day," he added, "and he says he'll take it and pay cash whenever I'm ready. I'll drive over and see him this morning."

Rankin was not at home--so Ma Graham told Scotty when he arrived--and probably he wouldn't return till afternoon; but Ben was around the barn somewhere, more than likely out among the broncos. He usually was, when he had nothing else in particular to do.

Following her direction the Englishman loitered out toward the stock quarters, looked with interest into the big sheds where the haying machinery was kept, stopped to listen to the rush of water through the four-inch pipe of the artesian well, lit his pipe afresh, and moved on reflectively to the first of the great stock-yards that stretched beyond. A tight board fence, ten feet high, built as a windbreak on two sides, obstructed his way; and he started to walk around it. At the end the windbreak merged into a well-built fence of six wires, and, a wagon's breadth between, a long row of haystacks, built as a further protection against the wind. These, together with the wires, formed the third side of the yard. Leaning on the latter, Scotty looked into the enclosure, at first carelessly, then with interest. A moment later, without making his presence known, he stepped back to the hay, and, selecting a pile of convenient height, sat down in the sunshine to watch.