Carter nodded his sympathy. On the occasions that he visited their house, Greer's wife, a silver-haired old lady, had vied with her two daughters in pleasant attentions. But it did not require that thought to stir him to action.
"Oh, here!" he laughed. "We are not dead yet. To-morrow I'll go the round of the employment offices and—"
Smythe threw up his hands, a gesture eloquent of despair. "Went round myself—this afternoon. Harvest is on and men scarcer than diamonds. Besides, Brass Bowels has left an order with every agency in town to ship every man they can get west to the mountains."
"Um-m!" Carter thought a while. "Then we'll have to play the last card."
"The last card?" Smythe raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, biggest trump in the pack. How long before—"
"Oh, they can't touch us for two months."
"Good! Now listen." Glancing around as though distrustful of the very walls, he whispered in Smythe's ear for a minute that saw the latter's dejection dissolve in new-born hope. "You must go with me," he finished, aloud. "While you pack your grip, I'll drop round and see Greer. He must be here to-morrow to carry out the bluff. And hurry—for we must make it down and back before we are missed."
XXIX
THE BLUFF