“There is no end to what it might mean—­may mean.  If your spring can be made to supply Valley City and the men working out yonder with water, to supply the horses and mules, it will mean that all the men and teams being used daily to haul from the Half Moon creek can be put to active work on the ditch.  And—­who knows?—­if you can find water at all in the desert we may be able to use it to irrigate!  God knows we want water on this land soon—­and the mountains are still a long way off!  But,” and he tried to make out her features in the darkness, “how does it happen that this spring has never been found before?”

“The country all about it is what the desert is everywhere.  No one would dream of water in it.  Then there is a rude circle of low-lying sand-hills.  Within their inclosure, consequently shut off from view unless one rides to the crest of the hills as I happened to do, is the spring.”

He thought that she was going to add something further, perhaps more in the way of a description of the location of the spring, when he heard horses’ hoofs and the rattle of dry wagon-wheels, and she broke off suddenly.

“It is father at last,” she said, softly.  “Remember, Mr. Conniston, I want to keep this a secret from father for a while—­until I know what it is worth.”

“I’ll remember,” he answered, rising with her and turning toward the two figures which had leaped down from the wagon and were hastening toward the cottage.  The man slightly in front of his companion, coming first into the rays of the lamp streaming through the window, was Mr. Crawford.  And Conniston saw with a quick frown that the other man was Roger Hapgood.

“Argyl, my dear,” said Mr. Crawford, as he kissed the girl who had gone to meet him, “I am sorry we are late.  You’ll be sorry, too, for I’m amazingly hungry.  Anything left?  Ah, Mr. Conniston, isn’t it?  Glad to see you.”  He took Conniston’s hand in a strong grip.  “Haven’t seen you since you came to the Valley.  I’m glad you’re here.  I want to talk with you about the work.”

He went on into the house, Argyl with him.  She had shaken hands with Roger Hapgood, and, with an invitation to him and Conniston to follow, went ahead with her father.

For a moment the two men faced each other in silence through the half-darkness.  Then Hapgood turned upon his heel and went into the house.  In a moment Conniston followed him, smiling.

He took a chair at the side of the room and lighted a fresh cigar while he watched the two men at table and Argyl bringing them their supper.  He saw that Mr. Crawford’s manner was what it always had been—­bluff, frank, open, cheery.  But he saw, too, or thought that he saw, little lines of worry upon the high forehead which had not been there a month ago.