“It has struck me that going round by this place puts another six miles on to your journey to the railroad, and a double team could not pull a big load up,” he said.

The lad nodded.  “The creek is a condemned nuisance.  We have either to load light when we are hauling grain in, and then pitch half the bags off at the bottom and come back for them—­while you know one man can’t put up many four-bushel bags—­or keep a man and horses at the ravine until we’re through.”

Winston laughed.  “Now, I wonder whether you ever figured how much those little things put up the price of your wheat.”

“This is the only practicable way down,” said the lad.  “You could scarcely climb up one side where the ravine’s narrow abreast of Silverdale.”

“Drive round.  I want to see it,” said Winston.  “Call at Rushforth’s for a spool of binder twine.”

Half an hour later Alfreton pulled the wagon up amid the birches on the edge of the ravine, which just there sloped steep as a railway cutting, and not very much broader, to the creek.  Winston gazed at it, and then handed the twine to the hired man.

“Take that with you, Charley, and get down,” he said.  “If you strip your boots off you can wade through the creek.”

“I don’t know that I want to,” said the man.

“Well,” said Winston, “it would please me if you did, as well as cool your feet.  Then you could climb up, and hold that twine down on the other side.”

The man grinned, and, though Alfreton remembered that he was not usually so tractable with him, proceeded to do Winston’s bidding.  When he came back there was a twinkle of comprehension in his eyes, and Winston, who cut off the length of twine, smiled at Alfreton.

“It is,” he said dryly, “only a little idea of mine.”

They drove on, and reaching Winnipeg next day, went straight to Graham the wheat-broker’s offices.  He kept them waiting some time, and in the meanwhile men with intent faces passed hastily in and out through the outer office.  Some of them had telegrams or bundles of papers in their hands, and the eyes of all were eager.  The corridor rang with footsteps, the murmur of voices seemed to vibrate through the great building, while it seemed to Alfreton there was a suggestion of strain and expectancy in all he heard and saw.  Winston, however, sat gravely still, though the lad noticed that his eyes were keener than usual, for the muffled roar of the city, patter of messengers’ feet, ceaseless tinkle of telephone call bells, and whir of the elevators, each packed with human freight, all stirred him.  Hitherto he had grappled with nature, but now he was to test his judgment against the keenest wits of the cities, and stand or fall by it, in the struggle that was to be waged over the older nations’ food.

At last, however, a clerk signed to them from a doorway, and they found Graham sitting before a littered table.  A man sat opposite him with the telephone receiver in his hand.