“Then I’ll raise you a hundred dollars,” said the man.

There was a growl of dissatisfaction, and the stranger turned to the part of the crowd from which it proceeded.

“This is an open auction, boys.  I was born in the next province, and I’ve seen a good many farms seized in the years when we have had harvest frost, but this is the first time I ever saw anybody try to interfere with a legal sale.  Guess you may as well quit yapping, unless you mean to bid against me.”

There was derisive laughter, and a loafer from Sage Butte threw a clod.  Then another growl, more angry than the first, broke out as Grant, moving forward into a prominent place, nodded to the auctioneer.  His rugged face was impassive, and he ignored the crowd.  A number of the farmers strolled toward him and stood near by with a resolute air which had its effect on the others, though George saw by Grant’s look of surprise that he had not expected this.  Another man made a bid, and the competition proceeded languidly, but except for a little mocking laughter and an occasional jeer, nobody interfered.  In the end, the stranger bought the land; and soon afterward Grant walked up to George.

“I want the team, if I can get it at a reasonable figure; they’re real good beasts with the imported Percheron strain strong in them,” he said.  “It will be a while before they’re put up, and I’d be glad if you could ride round and let Flora know what’s keeping me.  I’d an idea she expected there might be some trouble to-day.”

“I’ll get off; but there’s a mower yonder I would like.  Will you buy it for me, if it goes at a fair price?”

“Certainly,” promised Grant.  “Tell Flora to give you supper; and if you ride back afterward by the trail, you’ll meet me and I’ll let you know about the mower.”

George rode away shortly afterward, and Grant waited some time before he secured the team, after rather determined opposition.  Finding nobody willing to lead the horses home, he hitched them to the back of his light wagon and set off at a leisurely pace.  When he had gone a little distance, he overtook a man plodding along the trail.  The fellow stopped when Grant came up.

“Will you give me a lift?” he asked.

The request is seldom refused on the prairie, and Grant pulled up his team.

“Get in,” he said.  “Where are you going?”

“North,” answered the other, as he clambered up.  “Looking for a job; left the railroad yesterday and spent the night in a patch of scrub.  Heard there was stock in the bluff country; that’s my line.”

Grant glanced at the fellow sharply as he got into the wagon and noticed nothing in his disfavor.  His laconic account of himself was borne out by his appearance.

“It’s quite a way to the first homestead, if you’re making for the big bluffs,” he said.  “You had better come along with me and go on in the morning.”