Hunter's face grew suddenly grave.
"I can believe it, Mavy. Had things been different it's quite likely I'd have had to keep the boys at home; I was only sure that I was throwing my time away yesterday. Anyway, I'm thankful that one hailed crop won't clean me out."
He dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand.
"As a matter of fact," he added, "though I'd probably come in any case, it was really Mrs. Hunter who sent me along."
"Mrs. Hunter!" ejaculated Thorne in what afterward occurred to him was very tactless astonishment.
"Sure!" laughed his companion. "She had a visitor shortly before she spoke to me about it, which may have had something to do with the thing, but the possibility of the notion's having struck Miss Leigh first wasn't any reason why I shouldn't come across. Mavy, it's my opinion that you're a very lucky man."
"It's mine, too," Thorne answered with a light in his eyes. "Still, I almost felt ashamed to admit it half an hour ago. The outlook seemed very black to me just then."
Hunter made a sign of comprehension.
"Well," he said, "from what I've seen of her, I don't think Miss Leigh would have fallen in with your point of view, though it was a very natural one. It strikes me there's a good deal of courage and a capacity for making the most of things in that girl. Anyway, there ought to be considerably fewer difficulties in front of both of you when we get this crop in; and that brings up another matter. The thrashers are leaving Shafter's for Tom Jordan's place to-morrow. Hadn't you better write to them right away and arrange for them to come along as soon as we're ready?"
Thorne recognized that this would be judicious, particularly as he expected that a neighbor who had spoken to him that morning would pass close by in the next hour or two. The man, who lived near Jordan, would, he felt confident, undertake to hand on the letter. A few minutes later he got down and entered his dwelling while Hunter drove on toward the grain. He found, however, that his ink had almost dried up, and when he sat down to write it was difficult to fix his thoughts on what he had to say. The relief he had experienced a little while ago had been great enough partly to bewilder him, and some time had passed before he produced a fairly intelligible letter. Putting it into his pocket, he went out again, and stopped a moment or two just outside the threshold with a sense of exultation that sent an almost painful thrill through him as he saw that Hunter had already got to work.