prairie, which was fast fading into dimness; the wood looked desolate
and forbidding in the dying light. He did not think any one could have
seen him and his companion enter it. Then he and the man floundered
through the undergrowth until they reached the sloo, where they hid
themselves among the grass at some distance from the case, which had
not been removed.

There was no moon, and a fresh breeze swept through the wood, waking
eerie sounds and sharp rustlings among the trees. Once or twice George
started, imagining that somebody was creeping through the bushes behind
him, but he was glad of the confused sounds, because they would cover
his movements when the time for action came. His companion, a teamster
born on the prairie, lay beside him amid the tall harsh grass that
swayed to and fro with a curious dry clashing. He broke into a soft
laugh when George suddenly raised his head.

"Only a cottontail hustling through the brush. Whoever's coming will
strike the bluff on the other side," he said. "Night's kind of wild;
pity it won't rain. Crops on light soil are getting badly cut."

George glanced up at the patch of sky above the dark mass of trees.
Black and threatening clouds drove across it; but during the past few
weeks he had watched them roll up from the west a little after noon
almost every day. For a while, they shadowed the prairie, promising
the deluge he eagerly longed for; and then, toward evening, they
cleared away, and pitiless sunshine once more scorched the plain.
Grain grown upon the stiff black loam withstood the drought, but the
light soil of the Marston farm was lifted by the wind, and the sharp
sand in it abraded the tender stalks. It might cut them through if the
dry weather and strong breeze continued; and then the crop which was to