Neither of the others answered, and they drove on in silence until the lights of the Leslie homestead blinked across the snow. The cheerfulness which had marked the party when they set out had gone; they felt a sense of constraint, and Muriel wondered uneasily whether she had spoken with too much freedom.
The next morning they were sitting with Jernyngham and Gertrude when a neighboring rancher came in.
“I thought Leslie might be here,” he explained. “Don’t mean to intrude.”
Colston knew the man and he asked him to sit down. Jernyngham glanced up from the Winnipeg paper he was reading. His face was worn and had set into a fixed, harsh expression, but his manner conveyed a hint of eagerness; of late it had suggested that he was continually expecting something.
“I drove over to give Leslie a message,” the newcomer continued. “I guess you have heard that Prescott’s back.”
Jernyngham started and dropped the paper.
“Prescott back? You must be mistaken!”
“No, sir! Spoke to him on the trail last night. He was hauling in a load to the settlement, and I was driving home half an hour after Mr. Colston.”
“There’s only one trail,” said Jernyngham, looking hard at Colston. “You must have met the fellow. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Colston showed confusion.