The man’s tone was commanding and Curtis complied.
“On the whole, I’m inclined to blame the other fellow, Wandle.”
“Against the evidence?” asked his superior in quiet surprise. “You of course remember your instructions and know what your duty is.”
“Yes, sir,” said Curtis. “Still, I think——” He paused and continued diffidently: “You would have an answer.”
The other leaned back in his chair with a meditative expression.
“We’ll let it go at that,” he said. “Perhaps you had better follow the waiting course you seem to have decided on, but if suspicion gathers round Prescott it won’t be a drawback and you needn’t discountenance it. For one thing, it may divert attention, and after all he may be the right man.”
A look of comprehension shone in the corporal’s eyes. He believed that his superior, who never expressed a strong opinion prematurely, agreed with him.
“Suppose either of the men lights out?” he suggested.
“You’ll have to guard against it. If it happens, apply for a warrant and follow him.”
The officer returned to Regina the next day; and a week or two, during which Curtis and his assistants laboriously searched the drying swamp, passed uneventfully. Then one morning Prescott sat somewhat moodily in the saddle of his binder which a powerful team hauled along the edge of the wheat. The great stretch of grain blazed with color as it swayed with a harsh rustle of warm-tinted ears before the breeze, but now and then broad cool shadows sped across it as the white-edged clouds drove by. Behind him followed two more teams and machines, half covered by falling sheets of yellow grain, while their whirling wooden arms flashed in the dazzling sunlight as they flung out the sheaves. Bare-armed and very scantily attired men came after them, piling the stocks together. Disturbed as he was, Prescott felt cheered by the prospect of harvesting a record crop.