"One should always object to a saloon," Mrs. Nelson corrected him.

Hardie smiled good-humoredly.

"After all, the other's the more pressing evil. There's no doubt about
the unfortunate influence of the Sachem."

"That's so," Grant agreed. "When I first came out from Ontario, there
wasn't a loafer in the town. When the boys were through with their
day's job, they had a quiet talk and smoke and went to bed; they came
here to work. Now the Sachem bar's full of slouchers every night, and
quite a few of them don't do anything worth speaking of in the daytime,
except make trouble for decent folks. If the boys try to put the screw
on a farmer at harvest or when he has extra wheat to haul, you'll find
they hatched the mischief at Beamish's saloon. But I've no use for
giving those fellows tracts with warning pictures."

"That," said Mrs. Nelson, "is by no means what we intend to do."

"I'm afraid that admonition hasn't had much effect, and I agree with
Mr. Grant that the Sachem is a gathering place for doubtful
characters," Hardie went on. "What's worse, I've reasons for supposing
that Beamish gets some of them to help him in supplying the Indians on
the reservation with liquor."

This was a serious offense, and there was a pause, during which Edgar
glanced meaningly at George. Then he made a pertinent remark.

"Four churches to two saloons is pretty long odds. Why do you think it
needful to call in the farmers?"