tone was too dictatorial; George expected civility when asked a favor.

"After all," he said, "it would only be fair."

"Then you won't sign?"

"No."

Beamish sat silent a moment or two, regarding George steadily.

"One name more or less doesn't matter much, but I'll own that the
opinion of you farmers who use my hotel as a stopping-place counts with
the authorities," he told him. "I've got quite a few signatures. You
want to remember that it won't pay you to go against the general wish."

There was a threat in his manner, and George's face hardened.

"That consideration hasn't much weight with me," he said.

"Well," returned Beamish, "I guess you're wrong; but as there's nothing
doing here, I'll get on."

He rode away, and George thought no more of the matter for several
days. Then as he was riding home with Edgar from a visit to a neighbor
who had a team to sell, they stopped to rest a few minutes in the shade
of a poplar bluff. It was fiercely hot on the prairie, but the wood
was dim and cool, and George followed Edgar through it in search of
saskatoons. The red berries were plentiful, and they had gone farther
than they intended when George stopped waist-deep in the grass of a dry
sloo, where shallow water had lain in the spring. He nearly fell over