“We’ll fix it up without you, as far as we can, but if we want you to give evidence that the man who lost his horse in the river was not farmer Winston, we’ll know where to find you,” he said.  “You’ll have to take your chance of being tried with him if we find you’re trying to get out of the country.”

It was half an hour later when the rest of the troopers arrived and Stimson had some talk with their officer aside.

“A little out of the usual course, isn’t it?” said the latter.  “I don’t know that I’d have countenanced it, so to speak, off my own bat at all, but I had a tolerably plain hint that you were to use your discretion over this affair.  After all, one has to stretch a point or two occasionally.”

“Yes, sir,” said Stimson.  “A good many now and then.”

The officer smiled a little and went back to the rest.  “Two of you will ride after the other rascal,” he said.  “Now, look here, my man, the first time my troopers, who’ll call round quite frequently, don’t find you about your homestead, you’ll land yourself in a tolerably serious difficulty.  In the meanwhile, I’m sorry we can’t bring a charge of whisky-running against you, but another time be careful who you hire your wagon to.”

Then there was a rapid drumming of hoofs as two troopers went off at a gallop, while when the rest turned back towards the outpost.  Stimson rode with them quietly content.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE REVELATION

Winston’s harvesting prospered as his sowing had done, for by day the bright sunshine shone down on standing wheat and lengthening rows of sheaves.  It was in the bracing cold of sunrise the work began, and the first pale stars were out before the tired men and jaded horses dragged themselves home again.  Not infrequently it happened that the men wore out the teams and machines, but there was no stoppage then, for fresh horses were led out from the corral or a new binder was ready.  Every minute was worth a dollar, and Winston, who had apparently foreseen and provided for everything, wasted none.

Then, for wheat is seldom stacked in that country, as the days grew shorter and the evenings cool, the smoke of the big thrasher streaked the harvest field, and the wagons went jolting between humming separator and granary, until the later was gorged to repletion and the wheat was stored within a willow framing beneath the chaff and straw that streamed from the chute of the great machine.  Winston had around him the best men that dollars could hire, and toiled tirelessly with the grimy host in the whirling dust of the thrasher and amid the sheaves, wherever another pair of hands, or the quick decision that would save an hour’s delay, was needed most.