“Perhaps you’d better rouse out your hired man, Mrs. Charnock,” he said awkwardly.  “I’ve got your husband here, but it’s going to take two of us to bring him in.”

Sadie brought a lamp and, with her mouth firmly set, looked into the rig.  Bob lay upon some sacks in an ungainly attitude, and the jolting had not broken his heavy sleep.  It was some time since he had come home like this, and Sadie felt dejected and tired.  Then with an effort she went to waken the hired man.

They carried Charnock in, and when she had given the driver some money she sat down and indulged her passionate indignation.  Wilkinson had sent the rig, but had not been prompted by kindness when he told the man to drive Bob back; it was his revenge for his defeat.  He had found Bob, made him drunk, when there was nothing to be gained by doing so, and sent him home like this.  The fellow was poison-mean, but she thought him rash.  He had struck her a cruel blow, but she did not mean to sit still and nurse the wound.  She must strike back with all the force she could use and make him sorry he had provoked her to fight.  Then, putting off her half-formed plans until next day, she went to bed.

CHAPTER XVI

A COUNTER-STROKE

When Sadie got up next morning she ordered the buggy to be brought round, and then went to look at Charnock.  He was asleep, of which she was rather glad, because there was something to be said and she was highly strung.  She could not trust her temper yet and might go too far.  Bob was generally docile, particularly when repentant; but it was possible to drive him into an obstinate mood when nothing could be done with him.  She was angry, but her anger was mainly directed against Wilkinson.

After breakfast she drove off across the plain.  It was about eight o’clock, but the sun was hot.  The breeze was not so fresh as usual, and a bank of dark clouds rolled up above the prairie’s edge.  They looked solid and their rounded masses shone an oily black, and she wondered whether they promised one of the thunder-storms that often broke upon the plains on summer afternoons.  She would have welcomed the savage downpour, even if it had spoiled her clothes.

Sadie was getting anxious about the crop.  Its failure would mean a serious loss, and she hated to see labor and money wasted; but this was not all.  Knowing the risks the farmer ran on newly-broken land, she had not adventured too much of her capital on the first year’s harvest; but success might encourage Bob, while failure would certainly daunt him.  He would work for an object he was likely to gain, but if disappointed, regretted the exertions he had made, and refused, with humorous logic, to be stirred to fresh effort.

“I’m not convinced that farming’s my particular duty,” he once said.  “When I plow it’s in the expectation of cashing the elevator warrants for the grain.  If I’m not to reap the crop, it seems to me that working fourteen hours a day is a waste of time that might be agreeably employed in shooting or riding about.”