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He died soon after Wyllard went back to him, and a few months later the relative in Vancouver also died. Somewhat to Wyllard's astonishment, he bequeathed him a considerable property, which the latter realised and sunk most of the proceeds in further acres of virgin prairie. Willow Range was already one of the largest farms between Winnipeg and the Rockies.
Their troubles were over, and, what was more, Wyllard, who pledged the rest to secrecy, fancied that what had become of the schooner would remain a mystery. Harvest had commenced at the Range, and the clashing binders were moving through the grain when Hawtrey sat one afternoon in Wyllard's room at the Range.
There was a moderately wide opening in the floating barrier close ahead of him. The rest of the crew stood silent watching the skipper, for they were by this time more or less acquainted with Wyllard's temperament. "You can't get through that," said Dampier, pointing to the ice. Wyllard looked at him sourly, and the white men, at least, understood what he was feeling.
He had driven around 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 on 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 with which Gregory had very reluctantly parted.
Wyllard's face hardened as he mentioned the mining boss, and a curious little sparkle crept into his eyes, but after a pause he proceeded quietly: "We did what we could for the boy. In fact, it rather broke up the prospecting trip, but he was too far gone. He hung for a week or two, and one of us brought a doctor out from the settlements, but the day before we broke camp Jake and I buried him."
They set out again early next morning, and, as it happened, found a little depôt of provisions that Dampier had made, but it was several days before they met Charly and the Indian, and another week had passed before Overweg reached the place appointed. He listened to Wyllard's story gravely, and then appeared to consider. "You have some plans?" he asked.
"Does Gregory wash the plates?" she asked. Wyllard's eyes twinkled. "When Sproatly won't," he said. "Still, in a general way they do it only once a week." "Ah," observed Agatha, "I can imagine Gregory hating it. As a matter of fact, I like him for it." "Then the farmer's wife must bake, and mend her husband's clothes. Indeed, it's not unusual for her to mend for the hired man, too.
"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?"
It hurts" she made an abrupt movement "but I know it's true." She turned to Agatha suddenly. "Why did you do it?" "I thought you might save Gregory, if I told you." "That was all?" Sally looked at her with incredulous eyes. "No," answered Agatha simply, "that was only part. It did not seem right that Gregory should go against Wyllard's wishes, and gamble the Range away on the wheat market."
In spite of his resolution to proceed cautiously, a twinkle crept into Wyllard's eyes, and suggested that the fact she had mentioned was not so much of a coincidence as it probably appeared. She saw it, and was about to pass on, when he stopped her with a gesture. He was, after all, usually a candid person. "The fact is, I have been looking out for you the last three days," he said.
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