world's granaries. They went under and were forgotten, but they showed
the way, and while their guerdon was usually six feet of prairie soil,
the wheatfields, mills, and railroads came, for it is written plainly
on the new Northwest that no man may live and labor for himself alone,
and there are many who realizing it instinctively ask very little and
freely give their best for the land that but indifferently shelters
them.

Presently, however, there was a knocking at the door, and though this
was most unusual Winston only quietly moved his head when a bitter
blast came in, and a man wrapped in furs stood in the opening.

"I'll put my horse in the stable while I've got my furs on. It's a
bitter night," he said.

Winston nodded. "You know where the lantern is," he said. "There's
some chop in the manger, and you needn't spare the oats in the bin. At
present prices it doesn't pay to haul them in."

The man closed the door silently, and it was ten minutes before he
returned and, sloughing off his furs, dropped into a chair beside the
stove. "I got supper at Broughton's, and don't want anything but
shelter tonight," he said. "Shake that pipe out, and try one of these
instead."

He laid a cigar case on the table, and though well worn it was of
costly make with a good deal of silver about it, while Winston, who
lighted one, knew that the cigars were good. He had no esteem for his
visitor, but men are not censorious upon the prairie, and Western
hospitality is always free.