It had been shown him plainly that no man of his own devices can make the wheat grow, and standing beside it in the creeping dusk he felt in a vague, half-pagan fashion that there was, somewhere behind what appeared the chaotic chances of life, a scheme of order and justice immutable, which would in due time crush the too presumptuous human atom who opposed himself to it. Regret and rebellion were, it seemed, equally futile, and he must go out from Silverdale before retribution overtook him. He had done wrong, and, though he had made what reparation he could, knew that he would carry his punishment with him.
The house was almost dark when he reached it, and as he went in his cook signed to him. “There’s a man in here waiting for you,” he said. “He doesn’t seem in any way friendly or civil.”
Witham nodded as he went on, wondering with a grim expectancy whether Courthorne had returned again. If he had, he felt in a mood for very direct speech with him. His visitor was, however, not Courthorne. Witham could see that at a glance, although the room was dim.
“I don’t seem to know you, but I’ll get a light in a minute,” he said.
“I wouldn’t waste time,” said the other. “We can talk just as straight in the dark, and I guess this meeting will finish up outside on the prairie. You’ve given me a good deal of trouble to trail you, Mr. Guyler.”
“Well,” said Witham dryly, “it seems to me that you have found the wrong man.”
The stranger laughed unpleasantly. “I was figuring you’d take it like that, but you can’t bluff me. Well now, I’ve come round to take it out of you for slinging that decanter at me, and if there is another thing, we needn’t mention it.”
Witham stared at the man, and his astonishment was evident, but the fact that he still spoke with an English accentuation, as Courthorne did, was against him.
“To the best of my recollection, I have never suffered the unpleasantness of meeting you in my life,” he said. “I certainly never threw a decanter or anything else at you, though I understand that one might feel tempted to.”
The man rose up slowly, and appeared big and heavy-shouldered as he moved athwart the window. “I guess that is quite enough for me,” he said. “What were you condemned Englishmen made for, anyway, but to take the best of what other men worked for, until the folks who’ve got grit enough run you out of the old country! Lord, why don’t they drown you instead of dumping you and your wickedness on to us? Still, I’m going to show one of you, as I’ve longed to do, that you can’t play your old tricks with the women of this country.”