The Major. Ralph Connor
know.” Mr. Sleighter significantly tipped up with his little finger and winked toward Mr. Gwynne.
“But you love that country,” she said.
“Yes, I love it and I hated to leave it. But the missis never liked it. She was city born and bred. She wanted the lights, I guess, and the shows. I don't blame her, though,” he continued rapidly. “It's kind of lonely for women, you know. They've got to have amusements and things. But it's God's own country, believe me, and I would go back to-morrow, if I could.”
“You still own your ranch?”
“Yes; can't sell easily. You see there's not much broke on it—only a hundred acres or so.”
“Why, how big is the ranch?”
“Five hundred acres and a wood lot. I did not farm much, though—mostly cattle and horses. I was away a good deal on the trail.”
“The trail?”
“Yes, buying cattle and selling again. That was the worst of it. I am not much of a farmer, though farming's all right there, and I was away almost all of the time. I guess that made it pretty hard for the missis and the kids.”
At this point the Widow Martin came in to lay the table for tea. Mr. Sleighter took the hint and rose to go.
“You will do us the pleasure of staying for tea, Mr. Sleighter?” said Mrs. Gwynne earnestly.
“Oh, do,” said the youngest little girl, Nora, whose snapping black eyes gleamed with eager desire to hear more of the wonderful western land.
“Yes, do, and tell us more,” said the boy.
“I hope you will be able to stay,” continued Mrs. Gwynne.
Mr. Sleighter glanced at her husband. “Why, certainly,” said Mr. Gwynne, “we would be glad to have you.”
Still Mr. Sleighter hesitated. “Say, I don't know what's come over me. I feel as if I had been on the stump,” he said in an embarrassed voice. “I ain't talked to a soul about that country since I left. I guess I got pretty full, and when you pulled the cork, out she come.”
During the tea hour Mrs. Gwynne tried to draw her visitor out to talk about his family, but here she failed. Indeed a restraint appeared to fall upon him that nothing could dispel. Immediately after tea Mrs. Gwynne placed the Bible and Book of Prayers on the table, saying, “We follow the custom of reading prayers every evening after tea, Mr. Sleighter. We shall be glad to have you join us.”
“Sure thing, ma'am,” said Mr. Sleighter, pushing back his chair and beginning to rock on its hind legs, picking his teeth with his pen knife, to the staring horror of the little girls.
The reading was from the Scripture to which throughout the centuries the Christian Church has gone for authority and guidance in the exercise of charity and in the performance of social service, the story of the Samaritan gentleman to whom the unhappy traveller whose misfortune it was to be sorely mishandled by thieves owed his rescue and his life.
Throughout the reading Mr. Sleighter paid the strictest attention and joined in the prayers with every sign of reverence. At the close he stood awkwardly shifting from one foot to another.
“Well, I'll be goin',” he said. “Don't know how you roped me in for this here visit, ma'am. I ain't et in any one's house since I left home, and I ain't heard any family prayers since my old dad had 'em—a regular old Methodist exhorter he was. He used to pray until all was blue, though most times, specially at night, I used to fall asleep. He was great on religion.”
“I don't suppose he was any the worse for that,” said Mrs. Gwynne.
“Not a mite, not a mite, ma'am. A little strict, but straight as a string, ma'am. No one could say anythin' against Hiram Sleighter—H. P. Sleighter. I was named for him. He used to pray to beat creation, and then some, but he was a straight man all right. And to-night your kids and your family prayers made me think of them old days. Well, good-night and thank you for the good time you gave me. Best I've had in a dog's age.”
“You will come again, Mr. Sleighter,” said Mrs. Gwynne, giving him her hand.
“Yes, and tell us more about that new country,” added her son. “My, I'd like to go out there!”
“It's a wonderful country all right and you might do a hull lot worse.”
CHAPTER V
WESTWARD HO!
Mr. Gwynne accompanied Mr. Sleighter to the door. “Will you walk down to the store?” said Mr. Sleighter.
“Very well,” said Mr. Gwynne, setting off with him.
Mr. Sleighter evidently had something on his mind. The usual fountain of his speech seemed to be dried up. As they drew near to the store, he seized Mr. Gwynne by the arm, arrested him, and said:
“Say, Mr. Gwynne, you ain't got any right to be in business. You ain't got the parts, and that Machine Company and the rest of 'em put it all over you.”
“We needn't go into that now, I suppose,” said Mr. Gwynne.
“No, I guess I am buttin' in—a thing I don't often do—but I am off my stride to-night anyway, and I am doin' what I never did in all my life before. I guess it was them kids of yours and your missis. I know it ain't my business, but what are you goin' to do with yourself?”
“I don't know yet,” replied Mr. Gwynne, declining to be confidential.
“Not goin' into business, I hope. You ain't got the parts. Some people ain't got 'em, and you ain't. Goin' to farm?”
“No, I think not. The fact is I'm about selling my farm.”
“Selling it?”
“Yes, I had an offer to-day which I am thinking of accepting.”
“An offer, eh, from a feller named Martin, I suppose?”
“How did you know?”
“I don't know. I just figgered. Offered you about a hundred dollars, eh?”
“No; I wish he had. It's worth a hundred with the house and buildings—they are good buildings.”
“Say, I don't like to butt in on any man's business, but is the price a secret?”
“Oh, no; he offers four thousand, half cash.”
“And how much for the buildings?”
“Four thousand for everything, it's not enough but there are not many buyers in this neighbourhood.”
“Say, there's nothing rash about that feller. When do you close?”
“Must close to-morrow night. He has a chance of another place.”
“Oh, he has, eh? Big rush on, eh? Well, don't you close until I see you some time to-morrow, partner.”
Mr. Sleighter scented another salvage deal, his keen eyes gleamed a bit, the firm lips were pressed a little more closely together.
“And say,” he said, turning back, “I don't wonder you can't do business. I couldn't do anything myself with a missis like yours. I couldn't get any smooth work over with her lookin' at me like that, durned if I could. Well, good-night; see you to-morrow.”
Mr. Sleighter spent the early hours of the following day among the farmers