When Bancroft returned home Mr. and Mrs. Conklin were still up, and he related to them all that had taken place. The Elder rose and stretched himself without having made a remark. In a whisper Bancroft asked Mrs. Conklin to let him have a word with her husband. As soon as they were alone, he began:
“Mr. Conklin, I insulted you yesterday. I am sorry for it. I hope you'll forgive me.”
“Yes,” replied the Elder meditatively, overlooking the proffered hand, “yes, that's Christian, I reckon. But the truth's the truth.” Turning abruptly to leave the room, he added: “The corn's ripe, waitin' to be cut; ef the United States troops don't eat it all up we'll have a good year.” There was a light in his steady eyes which startled the schoolmaster into all sorts of conjectures.
A day or two later, the Conklins and Bancroft were seated at dinner when a knock came at the door. “Come in!” said Mrs. Conklin, and a young officer appeared in the uniform of the United States cavalry. He paused on the threshold, lifted his cap, and apologized for his intrusion:
“Elder Conklin, I believe?” The Elder nodded his head, but continued eating. “My business isn't pleasant, I fear, but it needn't take long. I'm sent by General Custer to draw the boundary line between the State of Kansas and the Indian Reserve, to break down all fences erected by citizens of the United States in the Territory, and to destroy such crops as they may have planted there. I regret to say our surveyor tells me the boundary line here is Cottonwood Creek, and I must notify you that tomorrow about noon I shall be here to carry out my orders, and to destroy the crops and fences found on the further side of the creek.”
Before withdrawing he begged pardon again, this time for the short notice he was compelled to give—a concession apparently to Miss Conklin's appearance and encouraging smiles.
“Oh, pappa!” cried Loo, as he disappeared, “why didn't you ask him to have some dinner? He jest looked splendid, and that uniform's too lovely.”
The Elder made no answer. Neither the courteous menace of the lieutenant nor his daughter's reproach seemed to have had any effect upon him. He went on with his dinner.
Loo's outspoken admiration of the officer did not move Bancroft as she had anticipated. It simply confirmed his worst suspicions. His nature was neither deep nor passionate; he had always lived in the conventions which the girl constantly outraged, and they now exercised their influence. Moreover, he had self-possession enough to see that she meant to annoy him. He was exceedingly anxious to know what the Elder intended to do, and what Loo might think or feel did not interest him greatly.
A few hours later a clue was given to him: Jake came and told him as a piece of news that “Pa's shot-gun ain't in his room.” Bancroft could not rid himself of the thought that the fact was significant. But the evening passed away quietly; Loo busied herself with some work, and the Elder seemed content to watch her.