edge, but he seemed to feel the pulse of returning life. The damp sod
that the frost had lately left had a different smell. Then a faint
measured throbbing came out of the distance, and he knew the beat of
wings before a harsh, clanging call fell from the sky.

He stopped and watched a crescent of small dark bodies plane down on
outstretched wings. The black geese were breaking their long journey
to the marshes by the Arctic Sea; they would rest for a few days in the
prairie sloos and then push on again. Their harsh clamor had a note
of unrest and rang through the dark like a trumpet call, stirring the
blood. The brant and bernicle beat their way North against the roaring
winds, and man with a different instinct pressed on towards the West.

It was a rich land that rolled back before him towards the setting sun.
Birch and poplar bluffs broke the wide expanse; there was good water in
the winding creeks, a black soil that the wheat plant loved lay beneath
the sod, and the hollows held shallow lakes that seldom quite dried up.
Soon the land would be covered with grain; already there were scattered
patches on which the small homesteaders labored to free themselves from
debt. For the most part, their means and tools were inadequate, the
haul to the elevators was long, and many would fall an easy prey to the
mortgage robber. But things would soon be different; the railroad had
come. For all that, Festing resolved that he would not be rash. His pay
was good in the meantime, and he would wait.

By and by a cluster of buildings rose out of the grass. A light or two
twinkled; a frame house, a sod stable, and straw-covered wheat bins that
looked like huge beehives grew into shape. The homestead was good, as
homesteads in the back townships went, but Festing knew the land was
badly worked. Charnock had begun well, with money in the bank, but luck