The greatest difficulty was how to grind the wheat.

“You have an engine here?” asked Ambrose.

“Yes, for our thrashing-machine,” said Simon.

“I could order a small process mill from outside,” said Ambrose, “but it’s doubtful if we could get it in this year.”

“I have a hand mill,” said Simon.  “We call her the mankiller.  Work all day, grind a couple bags of flour.  It is very old.”

“Could it be rigged to the engine?” Ambrose asked.

“Wa!  I never think of that,” said Simon.  “Maybe grind four bags a day, then.”

Ambrose had no intention of giving an answer until he had communicated with Colina.  Strongly against Simon’s advice, he insisted that Gaviller, as he said, must be given one more chance to relent.  Simon unwillingly yielded.  At ten o’clock Ambrose and Tole started down the river in a dugout.

Ambrose did not mean to seek the interview with Colina.  Before starting he scribbled a hasty note.

DEAR COLINA: 

The farmers have asked me to buy their grain.  I’ve got to do it unless you will pay their price.  It’s not much good to say it now, but I’d sooner cut off my hand than seem to be fighting you.

I can’t help myself.  You won’t believe it, but it’s a fact just the same, if you won’t pay their price I must, in order to save you.  If you will agree to pay them one-seventy-five, I’ll go back to Moultrie to-morrow, and never trouble you again.  AMBROSE.

Landing below Gaviller’s house Ambrose sent Tole up the bank with this.  In a surprisingly short time he saw the half-breed returning.

“Did you see her?” he demanded.

“Yes,” said Tole.

“Did she send an answer back?”

“Only this.”

Ambrose held out his hand, and Tole dropped the torn fragments of his own letter into it.  Ambrose stared at them stupidly.  He had steeled himself against a possible humiliation at her hands—­but to be humiliated before the half-breed!

He drew a long breath to steady himself, and opening his hand, let the fragments float away on the current.

“Let us go back,” he said quietly.

During the whole of the way he did not speak.

Grampierre was waiting for them in the big kitchen.

“I will now give you my answer,” said Ambrose.

“Well?” said the old man eagerly.

“It is only a partial answer.  I agree to purchase enough of your grain at one-seventy-five to see you all through the winter; and I agree to bring a stock of goods here to supply your necessities.”

Simon warmly grasped his hand.  “It is well!” he cried.  “I expected no more.”

“I will return to Moultrie to-morrow,” Ambrose went on in his dull, quiet way.  “I will consult with my partner, and if we can finance it, we will buy all your grain.”