“Yes,” Grant said wearily. “Get your supper and sleep when you can. You’ll be driving from sun up until after it’s dark to-morrow.”
They ate almost in silence, but, though the messenger and Breckenridge retired shortly after the meal, Grant sat writing until late in the night. Then, he stretched his arms wearily above his head, and his face showed worn and almost haggard in the flickering lamplight.
“It has put Hetty further from me than ever, and cost me the goodwill of every friend I had; while the five thousand dollars I’ve lost as well don’t count for very much after that,” he said.
Early next morning Breckenridge and the messenger drove away, and rather more than a week later Fräulein Muller, whom the former had taken to attend on the homesteader’s wife, arrived one night at Fremont ranch. She came in, red-cheeked, unconcerned, and shapeless, in Muller’s fur coat, and quietly brushed the dusty snow from her dress before she sat down as far as possible from the stove.
“I a message from Mrs. Harper bring,” she said. “Last night two men to Harper’s house have come, and one now and then will to the other talk in our tongue. He is one, I think, who will destroy everything. Then they talk with Harper long in the stable, and to-day Harper with his rifle rides away. Mrs. Harper, who has fears for her husband, would have you know that to-night, or to-morrow he will go with other men to the Cedar Ranch.”
Grant was on his feet in a moment, and nodded to Breckenridge, who rose almost as quickly and glanced at him as he moved towards the door.
“Yes,” he said, “there’s some tough hoeing to be done now. You’ll drive Miss Muller back to Harper’s, and then turn out the boys. They’re to come on to Cedar as fast as they can.”
“And you?” said Breckenridge quietly.
“I’m going there now.”
“You know the cattle-men would do almost anything to get their hands on you.”