Chapter 20

THE FIRST STAKE.

A fortnight had slipped by since the evening Hawtrey had spent with Sally, when Winifred and Sproatly once more arrived at the Hastings homestead. The girl was looking a trifle jaded, and it appeared that the manager of the elevator, who had all along treated her with a good deal of consideration, had insisted upon her going away for a few days now the pressure of business which had followed the harvest had slackened. Sproatly, as usual, had driven her in from the settlement.

When the evening meal was over they drew their chairs close up about the stove, and Hastings thrust fresh birch billets into it, for there was a bitter frost. Mrs. Hastings installed Winifred in a canvas lounge and wrapped a shawl about her.

"You haven't got warm yet, and you're looking quite worn out," she said. "I suppose Hamilton has still been keeping you at work until late at night?"

"We have been very busy since I was last here," Winifred admitted, and then turned to Hastings. "Until the last week or so there has been no slackening in the rush to sell. Everybody seems to have been throwing wheat on to the market."

Hastings looked thoughtful. "A good many of the smaller men have been doing so, but I think they're foolish. They're only helping to break down prices, and I shouldn't wonder if one or two of the big, long-headed buyers saw their opportunity in the temporary panic. In fact, if I'd a pile of dollars lying in the bank I'm not sure that I wouldn't send along a buying order and operate for a rise."

His wife shook her head at him. "No," she said; "you certainly wouldn't while I had any say in the matter. You're rather a good farmer, but I haven't met one yet who made a successful speculator. Some of our friends have tried it--and you know where it landed them. I expect those broker and mortgage men must lick their lips when a nice fat woolly farmer comes along. It must be quite delightful to shear him."

Hastings laughed. "I should like to point out that most of the farmers in this country are decidedly thin, and have uncommonly little wool on them." Then he turned to the rest. "I feel inclined to tell you how Mrs. Hastings made the expenses of her Paris trip; it's an example of feminine consistency. She went round the neighbourhood and bought all the wheat anybody had left on hand up, or, at least, she made me do it."

His wife, who had, as it happened, means of her own, nodded. "That was different," she said; "anyway, I had the wheat, and I--knew--it would go up."

"Then why shouldn't other folks sell forward, for instance, when they know it will go down? That's not what I suggested doing, but the point's the same."

"They haven't got the wheat."

"Of course; they wouldn't operate for a fall if they had. On the other hand, if their anticipations proved correct, they could buy it for less than they sold at before they had to deliver."

"That," said Mrs. Hastings severely, "is pure gambling. It's sure to land one in the hands of the mortgage jobber."

Hastings smiled at the others. "As a matter of fact, it not infrequently does, but I want you to note the subtle distinction. The thing's quite legitimate if you've only got the wheat in a bag. In such a case you must naturally operate for a rise."

"There's a good deal to be said for that point of view," observed Sproatly. "You can keep the wheat if you're not satisfied, but when you try the other plan the margin that may vanish at any moment is the danger. I suppose Gregory has still been selling the Range wheat, Winifred?"

"I believe we have sent on every bushel."

Sproatly exchanged a significant glance with Hastings, whose face once more grew thoughtful.

"Then," said the latter drily, "if he's wise he'll stop at that."

Mrs. Hastings changed the subject, and drew her chair closer in to the stove, which snapped and crackled cheerfully.

"It must be a good deal colder where Harry is," she said with a shiver.

She flashed a swift glance at Agatha, and saw her expression change, but Sproatly broke in again.

"It was bad enough driving in from the railroad this afternoon," he said. "Winifred was almost frozen, which is why I didn't go round by Creighton's for the pattern mat--I think that's what he said it was--Mrs. Creighton borrowed from you. I met him at the settlement a day or two ago."

Mrs. Hastings said that he could bring it another time, and while the rest talked of something else Winifred turned to Agatha.

"It really was horribly cold, and I almost fancied one of my hands was frost-nipped," she said. "As it happens, I can't buy mittens like your new ones."

"My new ones?" said Agatha.

"The ones Gregory bought you."

Agatha laughed. "My dear, he never gave me any."

Winifred pursed her face up. "Well," she persisted, "he certainly bought them and a fur cap, too. I was in the store when he did it, though I don't think he noticed me. They were lovely mittens--such a pretty brown fur."

Just then Mrs. Hastings, unobserved by either of them, looked up and caught Sproatly's eye. His face became suddenly expressionless, and he looked away.

"When was that?" asked Agatha.

"A fortnight ago, anyway."

Agatha sat silent, and was rather glad when Mrs. Hastings asked Winifred a question. She desired no gifts from Gregory, but since he had bought the cap and mittens she wondered what he could have done with them. It was rather disconcerting to feel that, while he evidently meant to hold her to her promise, he must have given them to somebody else. She had, as it happened, never heard of his acquaintance with Sally Creighton, but it struck her as curious that although the six months' delay he had granted her had lately expired, he had neither sent her any word nor called at the homestead.

A few minutes later Mrs. Hastings took up a basket of sewing she had been engaged in, and moved towards the door. Sproatly, who rose as she approached him, drew aside his chair, and she handed the basket to him.

"You can carry it if you like," she said.

Sproatly took the basket, and followed her into another room, where he sat it down.

"Well?" he said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Mrs. Hastings regarded him thoughtfully. "I wonder if you know what Gregory did with those mittens?"

"I'm rather pleased that I can assure that I don't."

"Do you imagine that he kept them?"

"I'm afraid I haven't an opinion on that point."

"Still, if I said that I felt certain he had given them to somebody you would have some idea as to who it would probably be?"

"Well," said Sproatly reluctantly, "If you insist upon it, I must admit that I could make a guess."

Mrs. Hastings smiled in a manner which suggested comprehension. "So could I," she said. "I shouldn't wonder if we both guessed right. Now you may as well go back to the others."

Sproatly, who made no answer, turned away, and he was talking to Agatha when, half an hour later, a waggon drew up outside the door. In another minute or two he leaned forward in amused expectation as Sally walked into the room.

"I'm going on to Lander's, and just called to bring back the mat you lent us," she said to Mrs. Hastings. "Sproatly was to have come for it, but he didn't."

Sproatly, who said he was sorry, fixed his eyes on her. It was clear to him that Agatha did not understand the situation, but he rather fancied from her expression that Sally was filled with an almost belligerent satisfaction. She was then wearing a very smart fur cap, and she carried a pair of new fur mittens which she had just stripped off in one hand. Sproatly, who glanced at them, noticed that Winifred did the same. Then Mrs. Hastings spoke.

"I don't think you have met Miss Ismay, Sally," she said.

Sally merely said that she had not, and Sproatly became more sure that the situation was an interesting one, when Mrs. Hastings formally presented her. It was clear to him that Agatha was somewhat puzzled by Sally's attitude.

As a matter of fact, Agatha, who said that she must have had a cold drive, was regarding the new arrival with a curiosity she had not expected to feel when she first came in. Miss Creighton, she admitted, was comely, though she was clearly somewhat primitive and crude. The long skin coat she wore hid her figure, but her pose was too virile, and there was a look which puzzled Agatha in her eyes. It was almost openly hostile, and there was a suggestion of triumph in it. Agatha, who could find no possible reason for this, resented it.

In the meanwhile Sally remained standing, and, as she said nothing further, there was a somewhat awkward silence. She was the dominant figure in the room, and the others became sensible of a certain slight constraint and embarrassment as she gazed at Agatha with unwavering eyes. In fact, it was rather a relief to them when at length she turned to Mrs. Hastings.

"I can't stop. It wouldn't do to leave the team in this frost," she said.

This was so evident that they let her go, and Mrs. Hastings, who went with her to the door, afterwards sat down beside Sproatly a little apart from the rest.

"I've no doubt you noticed those mittens," she said softly.

"I did," Sproatly admitted. "I think you can rely upon my discretion. If you hadn't wanted this assurance I don't suppose you'd have said anything upon the subject. It, however, seems very probable that Winifred noticed them, too."

"Does that mean you're not sure that Winifred's discretion is equal to your own?"

Sproatly's eyes twinkled. "In this particular case the trouble is that she's animated by a sincere attachment to Miss Ismay, and has, I understand, a rather poor opinion of Gregory. Of course, I don't know how far your views on that point coincide with hers."

"Do you expect me to explain them to you?"

"No," said Sproatly, "I'm only anxious to keep out of the thing. Gregory, as it happens, is a friend of mine, and, after all, he has his strong points. I should, however, like to mention that Winifred's expression suggests that she's thinking of something."

His companion smiled. "Then I must endeavour to have a word or two with her."

She left him with this, and not long afterwards she and Winifred went out together, while when the others were retiring she detained Agatha for a minute or two in the empty room.

"Haven't the six months Gregory gave you run out yet?" she asked.

Agatha said they had, but it was evident that she had attached no particular significance to the fact that Sally had worn a new fur cap.

"He hasn't been over to see you since."

The girl, who admitted it, looked troubled, and Mrs. Hastings laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"My dear," she said, "if he does come you must put him off."

"Why?" Agatha asked, in a low, strained voice.

"For one thing, because we want to keep you," and Mrs. Hastings looked at her with a very friendly smile. "Are you very anxious to make it up with Gregory?"

A little shiver ran through the girl. "Oh," she said, "I can't answer you that. I must do what is right."

Then, somewhat to her astonishment, her companion drew her a little nearer, stooped and kissed her.

"Most of us, I believe, have that wish, but the thing is often horribly complex," she said. "Anyway, you must put Gregory off again if it's only for another month or two. I fancy you will not find it remarkably difficult."

She turned away with that, but her manner had been so significant that Agatha, who did not sleep very well that night, decided that if it was possible she would act on her advice.

In the meanwhile, it happened that a little very dapper gentleman who was largely interested in the land-agency and general mortgage business was spending the evening with Hawtrey in Wyllard's room at the Range. He had driven round by Hawtrey's homestead earlier in the afternoon, and had deduced a good deal from the state of it, though this was a point he kept to himself. Now he lay in a lounge chair beside the stove smoking one of Wyllard's cigars and unobtrusively watching his companion. There was a roll of bills in his pocket which the latter had very reluctantly parted with.

"In view of the fall in wheat it must have been rather a pull for you to pay me that interest," he said.

"It certainly was," Hawtrey admitted with a somewhat rueful smile. "I'm sorry it had to be done."

"I don't quite see how you made it," persisted the other man. "What you got for your wheat couldn't have done much more than cover working expenses."

Hawtrey laughed. He was quite aware that his companion's profession was not one that was regarded with any great favour by the prairie farmers, but he was never particularly cautious, and he rather liked the man.

"As a matter of fact, it didn't, Edmonds," he said. "You see, I practically paid you out of what I get for running this place. The red wheat Wyllard raises generally commands a cent or two a bushel more from the big milling people than anything put on the market round here."

Edmonds made a sign of agreement. He had without directly requesting him to do so led Hawtrey into showing him round the Range that afternoon, and having of necessity a practical knowledge of farming he had been impressed by all that he had noticed. The farm, which was a big one, had evidently been ably managed until a little while ago, and he felt the strongest desire to get his hands on it. This, as he admitted, would have been out of the question had Wyllard been at home, but with Hawtrey, upon whom he had a certain hold, in charge, the thing appeared by no means impossible.

"Oh, yes," he said. "I suppose he was reasonably liberal over your salary."

"I don't get one. I take a share of the margin after everything is paid."

Edmonds carefully noted this. He was not sure that such an arrangement would warrant one in regarding Hawtrey as Wyllard's partner, but he meant to gather a little more information upon that point by and bye.

"If wheat keeps on dropping there won't be any margin at all next year, and that's what I'm inclined to figure on," he said. "There are, however, ways a man with nerve could turn it to account."

"You mean by selling wheat down."

"Yes," said Edmonds, "that's just what I mean. Of course, there is a certain hazard in the thing. You can never be quite sure how the market will go, but the signs everywhere point to still cheaper wheat next year."

"That's your view?"

Edmonds smiled, and took out of his pocket a little bundle of market reports.

"Other folks seem to share it in Winnipeg, Chicago, New York, and Liverpool. You can't get behind these stock statistics, though, of course, dead low prices are apt to cut the output."

Hawtrey read the reports with evident interest, and, as it happened, they were all in the same pessimistic strain, though he was not aware that his companion had carefully selected them with a view to the effect he fancied they would produce. Edmonds, who saw the interest in his eyes, leaned towards him confidentially when he spoke again.

"I don't mind admitting that I'm taking a hand in a big bear operation," he said. "It's rather outside my usual business, but the thing looks almost certain."

Hawtrey glanced at him with a gleam in his eyes. There was no doubt that the prospect of acquiring dollars by an easier method than toiling in the rain and wind appealed to him.

"If it's good enough for you it should be safe," he said. "The trouble is that I've nothing to put in."

"Then you're not empowered to lay out Wyllard's money. If that was the case it shouldn't be difficult to pile up a bigger margin than you're likely to do by farming."

Hawtrey started, for the idea had already crept into his mind.

"In a way, I am, but I'm not sure that I'm warranted in operating on the market with it."

"Have you the arrangement you made with him in writing?"

Hawtrey opened a drawer, and Edmonds betrayed no sign of the satisfaction he felt when he was handed a somewhat informally worded document. He perused it carefully, and it seemed to him that it constituted his companion a partner in the Range, which was satisfactory. Then he looked up thoughtfully.

"Now," he said, "while I naturally can't tell what Wyllard contemplated, this paper certainly gives you power to do anything you think advisable with his money. In any case, I understand that he can't be back until well on in next year."

"I shouldn't expect him until late in the summer, anyway."

There was silence for a moment or two, and during it Hawtrey's face grew a trifle hard. It was unpleasant to look forward to the time when he would be required to relinquish the charge of the Range, and of late he had been wondering how he could make the most of the situation in the meanwhile. Then his companion spoke again.

"It's almost certain that the operation I suggested can only result one way, and it appears most unlikely that Wyllard would raise any trouble if you handed him several thousand dollars over and above what you had made by farming. I can't imagine a man objecting to that kind of thing."

Hawtrey sat still with indecision in his eyes for half a minute, and Edmonds, who was too wise to say anything, leaned back in his chair. Then Hawtrey turned to the drawer again with an air of sudden resolution.

"I'll give you a cheque for a couple of thousand dollars, which is as far as I care to go just now," he said.

He took a pen, and Edmonds watched him with quiet amusement as he wrote. As a matter of fact, Hawtrey was in one respect, at least, perfectly safe in entrusting the money to him. Edmonds had deprived a good many prairie farmers of their possessions in his time, but he never stooped to any crude trickery. He left that to the smaller fry. Just then he was playing a deep and cleverly thought-out game.

He pocketed the cheque Hawtrey gave him, and then discussed other subjects for half an hour or so until he rose.

"You might ask them to get my team out. I've some business at Lander's and have ordered a room there," he said. "I'll send you a line when there's any change in the market."