Winston, who was usually correct in his deductions, surmised that his companion had an object, and expected something in return for this confidence.  There was also no need for reticence when every farmer in the district knew all about his affairs, while something urged him to follow Courthorne’s lead.

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “They are.  You see, when I lost my cattle in the blizzard, I had to sell out or mortgage the place to the hilt, and during the last two years I haven’t made the interest.  The loan falls due in August, and they’re going to foreclose on me.”

“Then,” said Courthorne, “what is keeping you here when the result of every hour’s work you put in will go straight into another man’s pocket?”

Winston smiled a little.  “In the first place, I’ve nowhere else to go, and there’s something in the feeling that one has held on to the end.  Besides, until a few days ago I had a vague hope that by working double tides, I might get another crop in.  Somebody might have advanced me a little on it because the mortgage only claims the house and land.”

Courthorne looked at him curiously.  “No.  We are not alike,” he said.  “There’s a slow stubborn devil in you, Winston, and I think I’d be afraid of you if I ever did you an injury.  But go on.”

“There’s very little more.  My team ran away down the ravine, and I had to put one beast out of its misery.  I can’t do my plowing with one horse, and that leaves me stranded for the want of the dollars to buy another with.  It’s usually a very little thing that turns the scale, but now the end has come, I don’t know that I’m sorry.  I’ve never had a good time, you see, and the struggle was slowly crushing the life out of me.”

Winston spoke quietly, without bitterness, but Courthorne, who had never striven at all but stretched out his hand and taken what was offered, the more willingly when it was banned alike by judicial and moral law, dimly understood him.  He was a fearless man, but he knew his courage would not have been equal to the strain of that six years’ struggle against loneliness, physical fatigue, and adverse seasons, during which disaster followed disaster.  He looked at the bronzed farmer as he said, “Still, you would do a little in return for a hundred dollars that would help you to go on with the fight?”

A faint sparkle crept into Winston’s eyes.  It was not hope, but rather the grim anticipation of the man offered a better weapon when standing with his back to the wall.

“Yes,” he said slowly.  “I would do almost anything.”

“Even if it was against the law?”

Winston sat silent for almost a minute, but there was no indecision in his face, which slightly perplexed Courthorne.  “Yes,” he said.  “Though I kept it while I could, the law was made for the safe-guarding of prosperous men, but with such as I am it is every man for his own hand and the devil to care for the vanquished.  Still, there is a reservation.”