They had spent two hours in the bluff when they brought the last load through, and sitting down in a patch of scrub they took out their lunch. After a while Edgar flung off his badly splashed hat and jacket and lay down in the sunshine.
"The thing's done; the pity is it must be done again to-morrow," he remarked, "In the meanwhile, we'll forget it; I'll draw a veil over my feelings."
They had finished lunch and lighted their pipes when a buggy appeared from behind a projecting dump of trees and soon afterward Flora Grant pulled up her horse near by. Edgar rose and stood beside the vehicle bareheaded, looking slender and handsome in his loose yellow shirt, duck overalls, and long boots, though the marks of the journey were freely scattered about him. Flora glanced at the jaded teams and the miry wagons and smiled at the lad. She had a good idea of the difficulties he had overcome.
"The trail must have been pretty bad," she said. "I struck off to the east by the creek, but I don't think you could get through with a load."
"It was quite bad enough," Edgar assured her. Flora looked thoughtful.
"You have only two wagons; we must try to send you another, though our teams are busy. Didn't you say Mr. Lansing would be back in a day or two?"
"I did, but I got a note this morning saying he thought he had better go on to Winnipeg, if I could get along all right. I told him to go and stop as long as he likes. Considering the state of the trails, I thought that was wise."
Flora smiled. She knew what he meant, since they had agreed that all the seed must be hauled in before his comrade's return.
"I'm not going to thank you; it would be difficult, and George can ride over and do so when he comes home," Edgar resumed. "I know he'll be astonished when he sees the granary."
"If he comes only to express his gratitude, I'm inclined to believe my father would rather he stayed at home."