“Kind o’ busy?” questioned Seth, in answer to the two men’s greetings.
The Agent glanced at the steaming horses and nodded.
“Going into Beacon Crossing,” he said.
“Ah,” said Rube, in his heavy, guttural fashion. “Gettin’ fixin’s?”
The Agent smiled, and nodded at the minister beside him.
“Yes, of a sort; we both are.”
“How?”
It was Seth who spoke, and a shade more sharply than usual.
“Well, I want to send a wire over the line, and wait a reply. We shan’t be out again until Tuesday, and that’s why we came over. There’ll be no sewing class on Monday. You see, Mr. Hargreaves is going with me. We are driving instead of riding, because we’re going to bring out some small arm ammunition. We’re both getting short of it.”
The Agent’s manner was casual enough, but the minister’s face was grave. The former endeavored to pass lightly over the matter of the ammunition.