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Updated: June 12, 2025
The latter, who rose, took it from him quietly, for he was one who could face defeat. "Well," he said, with a gesture of resignation, "I'll send the thing on. If Miss Creighton will excuse me, I'll tell your man to get out my waggon." Then he went out, and Sally turned to Hawtrey with the colour in her cheeks and a flash in her eyes. "It's Harry Wyllard's money," she said.
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.
"For fear that you should tempt me from my duty?" Wyllard's expression changed, and there crept into his eyes a gleam of the passion that he was smothering. "My dear," he said, "I seem to know that I could make you break faith with that man. You belong to me. For three years you have been everywhere with me.
The ice is packing up along the north of it now, and the Russians have two or three settlements to the south. We don't want to run in and tell them what we're after." A faint smile touched Wyllard's lips. "No," he said, "not after that little affair on the beach.
As a matter of fact, however, our days weren't always grey. But what was the trouble when those steerage people came on board?" Wyllard's manner, as she noticed, was free alike from the complacent self-satisfaction which occasionally characterises the philanthropist, and any affectation of diffidence. "Well," he said, "there was something wrong with that woman's husband.
Hastings when the latter, who was driving over to Wyllard's homestead with her one afternoon, pulled up her team while they were still some little distance away from it, and looked about her with evident interest. On the one hand, a vast breadth of torn-up loam ran back across the prairie, which was now faintly flecked with green.
Already Wyllard's memory had become etherealised, and she treasured it as a very fine and precious thing. Still, though he now wore immortal laurels, that would not content her when all her human nature cried out for his bodily presence. She wanted him, as she had grown to love him, in the warm, erring flesh, and the vague, splendid vision was cold and far remote.
He worked in logging camps, and shoveled in the mines, and, as it happened, met Hawtrey, who, tempted by high wages, had spent a winter in the Mountain Province. Wyllard's father, who had taken up virgin soil in Assiniboia, died soon after Wyllard went back to him, and a few months later the relative in Vancouver also died.
It happened that Edmonds, the mortgage-broker, drove over to the Range, and found Hawtrey waiting for him in Wyllard's room. It was early in the evening, and he could see the hired men busy outside tossing prairie hay from the wagons into the great barn. The men were half-naked and grimed with dust, but Hawtrey, who was dressed in store clothes, evidently had taken no share in their labors.
Hawtrey would yield, and afterwards it would not be difficult to draw him into some unwise speculation with the object of getting the money back, which he imagined that Hawtrey would be desperately anxious to do. As the result of this, he expected to get such a hold upon the Range that he would be master of the situation when the property fell into the hands of Wyllard's trustees.
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