“This is worse and worse,” she said.

Deringham, who was fond of his daughter, laid a hand upon her shoulder reassuringly.  “You can go on to Vancouver when you wish,” said he.  “Sit still and rest, while I see if there is anybody about.”

He strolled round the homestead, and noticed that log barns and stables were all well built, while presently he found a man plucking fowls in a galvanized shed.  There was a row of them before him, all without heads, while an ensanguined axe close by indicated the fashion of their execution.  He glanced at Deringham a moment, and then fell to work again.

“Oh, yes, this is Somasco, and the finest ranch this side of the Fraser,” he said.  “Can you see Mr. Alton?  Well, I figure he’s busy, and you had better wait a little.  Get hold of this.  It’s your supper.”

Deringham recoiled a pace when a somewhat gory fowl struck him on the knee, and then sat down on a pile of cedar-wood staring at the speaker.  “I wish to see Mr. Alton as soon as possible,” he said.

The other man looked up again, and grinned.  “You’d better not,” said he.  “Harry Alton’s a bit short in temper when he’s busy, and if you’re peddling anything it would be better if you saw him after supper.  Then if you can’t make a deal you can go on to-morrow.  There’s plenty good straw in the barn.”

Deringham was not especially flattered at being mistaken for a peddler, nor had the prospect of sleeping on straw any great attraction for him, but he had a sense of humour, and, being desirous of acquiring information, took up the fowl.

“Do you put up every stranger who calls here, and give him a fowl for supper?  What am I to do with this one?” he said.

“Now, where did you come from?” said the other.  “That’s just what we do.  A fowl’s not much for a man, anyway, and Harry will eat two of them when he’s hungry.  What are you going to do with it?  Well, you can, pull the feathers off it, and fix it for cooking, unless you like them better with their insides in.”

Deringham gravely pulled out four or five feathers, and then, finding it more difficult than he had expected, desisted.  “Mr. Alton is apparently not married,” he said.

The man grinned.  “No, Harry knows when he’s well off, and it would take a woman with a mighty firm grip to manage him,” said he.  “Still, there’s one or two of them quite ready to see what they could make of him, but Mrs. Margery scares them off when they come round bringing him little things, and Harry’s a bit pernicketty.  His father was a duke or something in the old country.”

“Mrs. Margery?” said Deringham inquiringly.

“Yes,” said the other.  “She’s not here just now, but she keeps the house for him.  I help round and do the cooking.”

Deringham, who could adapt himself to his surroundings, nodded.  “That is what you would consider a soft job in this country?”