Harding laughed as he stood up.
"Oh, I can deal with him. Now you go to sleep and don't worry any more."
After he left, Lance lay for a while thinking over the conversation. He was puzzled to know what had prompted Harding to come to his rescue. The Allenwood settlers had certainly been none too friendly to the prairie man, who was considered an outsider because he believed in work and in progress. Lance thought that there was no selfish motive in Harding's offer. What, then?
He suddenly shook off the thoughts and, reaching out to a table by his bedside, rang a small handbell there. Beatrice answered it.
"I want something to eat," he said petulantly. "Not slops this time; I'm tired of them."
His sister looked at him in surprise.
"Why, you wouldn't touch your lunch!"
"All the more reason I should want something now. You ought to be glad I'm getting better!"
Beatrice laughed.
"It's a very sudden improvement," she said. "Mr. Harding must be a magician. What has he done to you?"