“I don’t know what Hardie’s doing, but I’ve an idea that Mrs. Nelson means to make some move at the Farmers’ Club fair,” he said.  “She’s a mighty determined and enterprising woman.  If you can spare the time, you’d better ride in and see what’s going on.”

On reaching home, George was not surprised to find that the man who had come for the horses had departed without waiting for his answer.  The next day he received an intimation that the annual exhibition of the Sage Butte Farmers’ Club would shortly be held; and one morning a fortnight later he and Edgar rode off to the settlement.

They found the little town rudely decorated with flags and arches of poplar boughs, and a good-humored crowd assembled.  The one-sided street that faced the track was lined with buggies, wagons, and a few automobiles; horses and two or three yoke of oxen were tethered outside the overfull livery stables.

A strong breeze drove blinding dust-clouds through the place, but even in the wind the sunshine was scorching.

As he strolled toward the fair-ground, George became interested in the crowd.  It was largely composed of small farmers, and almost without exception they and their wives were smartly attired; they looked contented and prosperous.  Mingling with them were teamsters, many as neatly dressed as their masters, though some wore blue-jean and saffron-colored shirts; and there were railroad-hands, mechanics, and store-keepers.  All of them were cheerful; a few good years, free from harvest frost and blight, had made a marked improvement in everybody’s lot.

Yet, there was another side to the picture.  Odd groups of loungers indulged in scurrilous jests; hoarse laughter and an occasional angry uproar issued from the hotels, and shabby men with hard faces slouched about the veranda of one.  George noticed this, but he presently reached the fair-ground, where he inspected the animals and implements; and then, toward supper-time, he strolled back with Grant.  They were walking up one of the side-streets when shouts broke out behind them.

George looked around but for a moment he could see very little through the cloud of dust that swept the street.  When it blew away it revealed a row of women advancing two by two along the plank sidewalk.  They were of different ages and stations in life, but they all came on as if with a fixed purpose, and they had resolute faces.  Mrs. Nelson led them, carrying a riding quirt, and though George was not astonished to see her, he started when he noticed Flora Grant near the end of the procession.  She was paler than usual, and she walked quietly with a rather strained expression.

Grant touched George’s shoulder.

“This is certainly more than I figured on,” he said; “but I guess there’s no use in my objecting.  Now she’s started, she’ll go through with it.  They’re making for the Sachem; we had better go along.”

Shortly afterward, a gathering crowd blocked the street.