"This place," Benson resumed, "hasn't much to offer one in the way of relaxation, and, for a man used to something different, life at a lonely homestead soon loses its charm. Unless he's a keen farmer, he's apt to go to bits."
"Then why don't you quit?" Harding asked.
"Where could I go? A man with no profession except the one he hasn't the means to follow is not much use at home, and all my money is sunk in my place here. As things stand, I can't sell it." He turned to Blake. "I left the army because a financial disaster I wasn't responsible for stopped my allowance and I was in debt. Eventually about two thousand pounds were saved out of the wreck, and I came here with that feeling badly hipped, which was one reason why I took to whisky, and Clarke, who engaged to teach me farming, saw I got plenty of it. Now he has his hands on all that's mine, but he keeps me fairly supplied with cash, and it saves trouble to leave things to him."
When Benson stopped Blake made a sign of comprehension, for he knew that somewhat exceptional qualities are required of the man who undertakes the breaking of virgin prairie in the remoter districts. He must have unflinching courage and stubbornness and be able to dispense with all the comforts and amenities of civilized life. No interests are offered him beyond those connected with his task; for half the year he must toil unremittingly from dawn to dark, and depend upon his own resources through the long, bitter winter. For society he may have a hired hand and the loungers in the saloon of the nearest settlement, which is often a day's ride away, and they are not, as a rule, men of culture or pleasing manners. For the strong in mind and body it is nevertheless a healthful life, but Benson was not of sufficiently tough fibre.
"Now see here," said Harding. "I'm out for dollars, and this is a business trip, but Blake wants to take you and I'm agreeable. If you can stand for two or three months hard work in the open and very plain living, you'll feel yourself a match for Clarke when you get back. Though there's no reason why you should tell a stranger like myself how you stand if you'd sooner not, I know something of business and might see a way out of your difficulties."
Benson hesitated. He would have resented an attempt to use his troubles as a text for improving remarks, since he already knew his failings. What he desired was a means of escaping their consequences, and the American, whose tone was reassuringly matter of fact, seemed to offer it. He began an explanation and, with the help of a few leading questions, made his financial position fairly clear.
"Well," said Harding, "Clarke has certainly got a tight hold on you, but I guess it's possible to shake him off. As things stand, however, it seems to me he has most to gain from your death."
"He couldn't count on that; to do the fellow justice, he'd hardly go so far, but there's some truth in what you say." Benson looked disturbed and irresolute, but after a few moments he abruptly threw his cigar away and leaned forward with a decided air. "If you'll have me, I'll go with you."
"You're wise," Harding said quietly.
Shortly afterwards Benson left them and Harding said to Blake, "Now you had better go along and see if you can learn anything from Clarke about our road. He's a rogue, but that's no reason we shouldn't make him useful. If he can help us, pay him and be careful what you say. Remember that he was watching you at the Windsor, and I've a suspicion that he was standing in the shadow near the stairs when Benson talked last night."