“No, sir.  I couldn’t trouble you,” said Winston hastily.  “Men of his kind are also very hard to kill.”

Five minutes later he and the hired man hoisted Courthorne into the wagon and packed some hay about him, while, soon after the rattle of wheels sank into the silence of the prairie, the girl Maud Barrington had spoken to rejoined her companion.

“Could Courthorne have seen you coming in?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the girl, blushing.  “He did.”

“Then it can’t be helped, and, after all, Courthorne wouldn’t talk, even if he wasn’t what he is,” said the lad.  “You don’t know why, and I’m not going to tell you, but it wouldn’t become him.”

“You don’t mean Maud Barrington?” asked his companion.

“No,” said the lad, with a laugh.  “Courthorne is not like me.  He has no sense.  It’s quite another kind of girl, you see.”

CHAPTER XXII

COLONEL BARRINGTON IS CONVINCED

It was not until early morning that Courthorne awakened from the stupor he sank into soon after Winston conveyed him into his homestead.  First, however, he asked for a little food, and ate it with apparent difficulty.  When Winston came in he looked up from the bed where he lay, with the dust still white upon his clothing, and his face showed gray and haggard in the creeping light.

“I’m feeling a trifle better now,” he said; “still, I scarcely fancy I could get up just yet.  I gave you a little surprise last night?”

Winston nodded.  “You did.  Of course, I knew how much your promise was worth, but in view of the risks you ran, I had not expected you to turn up at the Grange.”

“The risks!” said Courthorne, with an unpleasant smile.

“Yes,” said Winston wearily, “I have a good deal on hand I would like to finish here and it will not take me long, but I am quite prepared to give myself up now, if it is necessary.”

Courthorne laughed.  “I don’t think you need, and it wouldn’t be wise.  You see, even if you made out your innocence, which you couldn’t do, you rendered yourself an accessory by not denouncing me long ago.  I fancy we can come to an understanding which would be pleasanter to both of us.”

“The difficulty,” said Winston, “is that an understanding is useless when made with a man who never keeps his word.”

“Well,” said Courthorne dryly, “we shall gain nothing by paying each other compliments, and whether you believe it or otherwise, it was not by intention I turned up at the Grange.  I was coming here from a place west of the settlement, and you can see that I have been ill if you look at me.  I counted too much on my strength, couldn’t find a homestead where I could get anything to eat, and the rest may be accounted for by the execrable brandy I had with me.  Any way, the horse threw me and made off, and after lying under some willows a good deal of the day, I dragged myself along until I saw a house.”