Flett's eyes twinkled.
"I did get something that sounded like a hint. I'll confess that I felt like whooping after it."
"You have deserved all you'll get," George declared.
They spent the night at a junction, where Flett had some business, and it was the next evening when the local train ran into Sage Butte. The platform was crowded and as George and Flett alighted, there was a cheer and, somewhat to their astonishment, the reeve of the town advanced to meet them.
"I'm here to welcome you in the name of the citizens of the Butte," he said. "We have to request the favor of your company at supper at the Queen's."
"It's an honor," George responded. "I'm sensible of it; but, you see, I'm in a hurry to get back to work and I wired for a team. My harvest should have been started a week ago."
"Don't you worry 'bout that," said the reeve. "It wasn't our wish that you should suffer through discharging your duty, and we made a few arrangements. Four binders have been working steady in your oats, and if you don't like the way we have fixed things, you can alter them to-morrow."
Then West touched George's arm.
"You'll have to come. They've got two other victims—Hardie and
Grant—and the supper's ready."
The reeve looked at him in stern rebuke.