“I don’t know that this is your business,” Wilkinson rejoined.  “I haven’t suggested that you should join us.”

“You know I wouldn’t join you.  I had one deal with you, and that’s enough.  No doubt you remember selling me the brown horse.”

“You tried the horse before you bought him.”

“I did.  He was quiet then, but I’ve since suspected that he was doped.  Anyhow, he nearly killed my hired man.”

Wilkinson laughed.  “You had your trial and backed your judgment.  Know more about machines than horses, don’t you?”

“I didn’t know the man I dealt with then.  You warranted the brute good-tempered and easy to drive.  I’ll give you five dollars if you’ll take him out of the stable and harness him now.”

“I haven’t time,” said Wilkinson.  “Didn’t charge you high and guess you’ve got to pay for learning your business.  The trouble is you’re too sure about yourself and reckoned you’d make a splash at farming without much trouble.  Anyhow, I don’t want to sell Charnock a horse; he’s a better judge than you.”

“He’s not much judge of building lots.  If your friend has got a safe snap, why do you want to let Charnock in?”

Wilkinson began to look impatient.  “I came over to talk to Charnock, and if he likes the deal it’s not your affair.”

“It is my affair if you stop him when he’s helping me,” Festing rejoined.  “If he’s a fool, he’ll talk to you some other time; if he’s wise, he won’t.  Just now I’d sooner you drove off my farm.”

Wilkinson gave him a curious look.  “Very well.  I reckon the place is yours; or your wife’s.”  Then he turned to Charnock.  “Are you coming over, Bob?”

“No,” said Charnock, irresolutely, “I don’t think I will.”

He lighted his pipe when Wilkinson started his team, and presently remarked:  “On the whole, I’m glad you headed him off, because I might have gone.  You mean well, Stephen, but that man doesn’t like you, and I’ve sometimes thought he doesn’t like Sadie.”

“It doesn’t matter if he likes me or not,” said Festing.  “Let’s get on with the mower.”

CHAPTER XV

THE CHEQUE

The North-west breeze was fresher than usual when, one afternoon, Helen rode through a belt of sand-hills on her way to the Charnock farm.  Clouds of dust blew about the horse’s feet, and now and then fine grit whistled past her head.  She had her back to the boisterous wind, but she urged the horse until they got behind a grove of scrub poplars.  Then she rolled up her veil and wiped her face before she looked about.

Round, dark clouds rolled across the sky, as they had done since spring, but for nearly a month none had broken.  A low ridge, streaked by flying shadows, ran across the foreground, and waves of dust rose and fell about its crest.  Sandy belts are common on parts of the prairie, and when they fringe cultivated land are something of a danger in a dry season, because the loose sand travels far before the wind.