George got up the next morning feeling cramped and sore after his journey, and carefully looked about.  The building had solid walls of sod; such rude stalls as it had been fitted with had been removed, perhaps for the sake of the lumber.  He could not reach the door without alarming his jailer, who had taken up his quarters behind the board partition; and there was only one small window, placed high up and intended mainly for ventilation.  The window was very dusty, but it opened and George could see out by standing up, though the aperture was not large enough to squeeze through.

Outside stood some timbers which had once formed part of a shack, and a few strands of fence wire, trailing from tottering posts, ran into the grass.  The place appeared to have been a farm, whose owner had, no doubt, abandoned it after finding the soil too light, or after losing a crop by frost; but George was more curious to discover if there were any other homesteads in the vicinity.  His view was restricted, but there was no sign of life on the quarter-circle it commanded.  A flat, grassy waste, broken only by a few clumps of brush, ran back to the horizon, and by the cold blue of the sky and the drift of a few light clouds floating before the prevalent westerly wind, he knew he was looking north.  This was the way he must take if he could escape, but there was no house in which he could seek refuge, and scarcely any cover.  It was clear that he must obtain a good start before he was missed.  He had an idea that he would escape, though he admitted that it was more optimistic than rational.

Then he turned with a start, to see his jailer standing beside him, grinning.  The man had a hard, determined face.

“Guess you can’t get out that way; and it wouldn’t be much use, anyhow,” he drawled.  “The country’s pretty open; it would take you a mighty long while to get out of sight.”

“That’s how it struck me,” George confessed with an air of good-humored resignation.  “Do you mean to keep me here any time?”

“Until the trial,” the other answered, standing a little away from him with his hand thrust suggestively into a pocket.  “We’ll be glad to get rid of you when it’s finished, but you certainly can’t get away before we let you go.”

George cast a glance of keen but unobtrusive scrutiny at the man.  They were, he thought, about equal in physical strength; the other’s superiority consisted in his being armed, and George had no doubt that he was proficient with his weapons.  He had seen a rifle carried into the building, the man’s hand was now resting on a pistol, and there was a light ax outside.  It looked as if an attempt to escape would be attended with a serious risk, and George realized that he must wait until chance or some slackening of vigilance on his custodians’ part equalized matters.

He was given breakfast, and afterward told that he could go out and split some wood, which he was glad to do.  There was a pile of branches and a few rotten boards that had once formed part of the shack, and he set to work to break them up, while the rustler sat and smoked in the doorway.  The man ran no risk in doing so; there was not a bush within a quarter of a mile, and George knew that a bullet would speedily cut short his flight.  He could see nothing that promised a secure hiding place all the way to the skyline, and he thought that the plain ran on beyond it, as little broken.  When he had cut some wood, he turned back toward the door, and the man regarded him with a meaning smile.

“Come in, if you want; but leave the ax right there,” he said.

He moved back a few paces, out of reach of a sudden spring, as George entered, and the latter realized that he did not mean to be taken by surprise.  During the afternoon, another man arrived on horseback with some provisions and remained until George went to sleep.  The following morning, the stranger had disappeared, but he came again once or twice, and this was all that broke the monotony of the next few days.  George, however, was beginning to feel the strain; his nerves were getting raw, the constant watchfulness was wearing him.  The trial would now be beginning, and it was time the binders were driven into his grain; the oats would be ripe, and his neighbors would pick up all the Ontario hands who reached the settlement.  Another day passed, and he was feeling desperate when the relief watcher arrived in the afternoon.  Listening with strained attention, he heard the men talking outside.  Only a few words reached him, but one was “adjourned,” and it filled him with fresh determination.  If he could escape, it might not be too late.

It was an oppressive afternoon; the fresh northwest breeze had dropped, the sky was clouded, the air hot and heavy.  Both men remained about the building, but George sat quietly on the earth floor, smoking and waiting for night.  A few large drops of rain fell, splashing upon roof and grass while he ate his supper, but it stopped, and the evening was marked by a deep stillness.  He felt listless and disinclined to move; his guards, to judge by their voices, for they were playing cards outside, were languidly irritable.

Dusk came and a thick obscurity, unlike the usual clearness of the summer nights, shut in the lonely building.  It was intensely dark in the stable; George could not see the relief man’s horse, though he could now and then hear it move.  Voices rose at intervals from beyond the partition, but they ceased at last and only an occasional crackle of the dry grass that served for seats and bedding told that one at least of the rustlers was keeping watch.  George felt his limbs quiver while he waited, and he was conscious of an unpleasant tension on his nerves.  There was thunder brewing, and he thought the storm might offer him an opportunity for getting out.

At length it struck him that the silence was unusually deep.  Rising to his feet he moved about.  There was no challenge; and by way of further experiment, he kicked his tin plate so that it rattled.  Still nobody called to him, though the horse made a little noise in moving.  George sat down and took off his boots while his heart throbbed painfully.  It looked as if his guards had gone to sleep.  He moved a few yards, stopped to listen, and went on for several paces more.  There was no sound yet beyond the partition, and he crept softly past the horse; he longed to lead it out, but decided that the risk would be too great.

Then he stood in the gap between the wall and the partition, straining eyes and ears, and wondering where the rifle lay.  He could see nothing, however; and, creeping on cautiously, with tingling nerves and an intolerable feeling of suspense, he drew level with the doorway.  It was hard to refrain from leaping out, but this might make some noise.  Crossing the threshold with careful movements, he made for the spot where he had cut the wood.  He struck something that rattled, but he found the ax and the feel of it sent a thrill through him.  It was light enough to be carried easily; and he did not mean to be recaptured.

For some minutes he moved straight on, hurting his feet on the stronger grass stalks; and then, sitting down, he hastily put on his boots.  After that he broke into a steady run, which he meant to keep up as long as possible.  He was now anxious that the threatened storm should not break, because if the rustlers had gone to sleep, the longer they remained so the better.  He failed to understand how he had escaped; perhaps his guards had been lulled into false security by his tranquil demeanor; perhaps they had trusted to each other; or one, rendered listless by the tension in the air, had relaxed his watchfulness for a few moments.  This, however, did not matter.  George was free; and he only wished that he had some idea as to where he was heading.  He wanted to place a long distance between him and the stable by morning.

Dripping with perspiration, breathing hard, he kept up a steady pace for, so he thought, an hour, after which he walked a mile or two, and then broke into a run again.  The grass was short; he struck no brush, and the ax did not encumber him.  He imagined that dawn must be getting near when a dazzling flash swept the prairie and there was a long reverberatory rumbling overhead.  He was almost blinded and bewildered, doubly uncertain where he was going; and then a great stream of white fire fell from the zenith.  The thunder that followed was deafening, and for the next few minutes blaze succeeded blaze, and there was a constant crashing and rumbling overhead.  After that came a rush of chilly wind and the air was filled with falling water.

A hot, steamy smell rose about him; but George, who had been walking again, began to run.  He must use every exertion, for if he were right in concluding that he had been detained on American soil, his pursuers would follow him north, and when daylight came a mounted man’s view would command a wide sweep of level prairie.  The storm passed away, muttering, into the distance; the rain ceased, and the air was fresh and cool until the sun sprang up.  It was on his right hand, he thought he had kept his line; but he stopped to consider on the edge of a ravine.  The sides of the hollow were clothed with tall, wet grass and brush; it would offer good cover, but he could hardly avoid leaving a track if he followed it, and his pursuers would search such spots.  It seemed wiser to push on across the plain.

Descending through the thinnest brush he could find, he stopped for a drink from the creek at the bottom, and then went on as fast as possible.  He was becoming conscious of a pain in his left side; one foot felt sore; and as the sun got hotter a longing to lie down a while grew steadily stronger.  Still, he could see nothing but short, gray grass ahead; he must hold on; there might be bluffs or broken country beyond the skyline.

At length a small square block cut against the dazzling brightness and slowly grew into a lonely homestead.  After some consideration, George headed for it, and toward noon reached a little, birch-log dwelling, with a sod stable beside it.  Both had an uncared-for appearance, which suggested their owner’s poverty.  As George approached the door, a gaunt, hard-faced man in dilapidated overalls came out and gazed at him in surprise.  George’s clothing, which had been torn when he was seized in the bluff, had further suffered during the deluge.  He looked a weary, ragged outcast.

“Can you give me something to eat and hire me a horse?” he asked.

The farmer seemed suspicious.

“Guess I want my horses for the binder; I’m harvesting oats.”

“I’ll pay you well for the time you lose,” George broke out.

“How much?”

Thrusting his hand into his pocket, George found with dismay that his wallet, which contained some bills, was missing.

“Anything you ask in reason, but you’ll have to take a check on a Brandon bank.  Have you got a pen and paper in the house?”

“How am I to know your check’s good?” The farmer laughed ironically.

George was doubtful of the man, but he must take a risk.

“My name’s Lansing, from the Marston homestead, beyond Sage Butte.  It’s a pretty big place; any check I give you will be honored.”

The farmer looked at him with growing interest.

“Well,” he said, “you can’t have my horse.”

It was evident from his manner that reasoning would be useless.

“How does Sage Butte lie from here?” George asked him.

“Can’t tell you; I’ve never been in the place.”

George realized that he had blundered, both in calling at the homestead and in mentioning his name, which had figured in the newspaper account of the attack on Grant.  The farmer, it seemed, had a good idea of the situation, and if not in league with the rustlers, was afraid of them.  George was wasting time and giving information that might put his pursuers on his trail.  In the meanwhile he noticed a face at the window and a voice called to the man, who stepped back into the house and appeared again with a big slab of cold pie.

“Take this and light out,” he said.

Having eaten nothing since his supper, George was glad of the food; but he walked on smartly for an hour before he sat down in a clump of brush and made a meal.  Then he lighted his pipe and spent a couple of hours in much needed rest.  Haste was highly desirable; he had no doubt that he was being followed, but he could go no farther for a while.

It was very hot when he got up; he was sore all over, and his foot was paining, but he set off at a run and kept it up until he had crossed a rise two miles away.  The country was getting more broken, which was in his favor, because the clumps of bush and the small elevations would tend to hide him.  He went on until dusk, without finding any water; and then lay down among some tall grass in the open.  There was a little bluff not far off, but if the rustlers came that way, he thought they would search it.  It grew cold as darkness crept down; indeed he imagined that the temperature had fallen to near freezing-point, as it sometimes does on the plains after a scorching day.

Part of the night he lay awake, shivering; but during the rest he slept; and he rose at dawn, very cold and wet with dew.  His foot was very sore, and he had a sharp pain in his side.  For the first hour, walking cost him an effort; but as he grew warmer it became less difficult, and his foot felt easier.  Then, as he crossed a slight elevation, he saw a faint gray smear on the far horizon and it sent a thrill through him.  Canadian locomotives burning native coal pour out clouds of thick black smoke which can be seen a long way in the clear air of the prairie.  George was thirty or forty feet, he thought, above the general level of the plain, the light was strong, and he imagined that it would take him most of the day to reach the spot over which the smoke had floated.  He was, however, heading for the track, and he gathered his courage.

He saw no more smoke for a long time ­the increasing brightness seemed to diminish the clarity of the air.  Before noon the pain in his side had become almost insupportable, and his head was swimming; he felt worn out, scarcely able to keep on his feet, but again a gray streak on the horizon put heart into him.  It did not appear to move for a while, and he thought it must have been made by a freight-engine working about a station.  Then, as he came down the gradual slope of a wide depression, a long bluff on its opposite verge cut the skyline, a hazy smear of neutral color.  He determined to reach the wood and lie down for a time in its shadow.

It scarcely seemed to grow any nearer, and an hour had passed before it assumed any regularity of outline.  When it had grown into shape, George stopped and looked about.  It was fiercely hot, the grass was dazzlingly bright, there was no house or sign of cultivation as far as his sight ranged; but on glancing back he started as he saw three small mounted figures on the plain.  They had not been there when he last turned around, and they were moving, spread out about a mile apart.  It was obvious that the rustlers were on his trail.  For another moment he looked at the bluff, breathing hard, with his lips tight set.  If he could reach the wood before he was overtaken, it would offer him cover from a bullet, and if he could not evade his enemies, he might make a stand with the ax among the thicker trees.  It was an irrational idea, as he half recognized; but he had grown savage with fatigue, and he had already suffered as much as he was capable of bearing at the hands of the cattle thieves.  Now he meant to turn on them; but he would be at their mercy in the open.

His weariness seemed to fall away from him to give place to grim fury as he broke into a run, and he did not look back for a while.  When he did so, the figures had grown larger; one could see that they were moving swiftly; and the bluff was still far away.  George believed that he had been noticed and he strove to quicken his pace.  The beat of hoofs was in his ears when he next looked around; the three horsemen were converging, growing more distinct; and the bluff was still a mile ahead.  He was stumbling and reeling, his hat fell off, and he dared not stop to pick it up.

A mile was covered; he would not look back again, though the thud of hoofs had swelled into a sharp staccato drumming.  With face fiercely set and the perspiration dripping from him, he held on, scorched and partly dazzled by the glare.  The wood was getting closer; he thought it was scarcely a quarter of a mile off.  His heart throbbed madly, the pain in his side had grown excruciating; but somehow he must keep going.  His eyes smarted with the moisture that ran into them, his lips and mouth were salty; he was suffering torment; but he kept on his feet.

At length, when the trees were close ahead, a faint smudge of smoke appeared on the edge of them; there was a report like a whipcrack, and he stopped in despair.  His last refuge was held against him.  Then, as he turned in savage desperation to meet the rustlers’ onslaught with the ax, he saw there were only two horsemen, who pulled up suddenly, about sixty yards away.  The third was not visible, but his horse, which had fallen, was struggling in the grass.  As the meaning of this dawned on George he broke in a wild, breathless yell of exultation; there was another crack behind him, and the two horsemen wheeled.  They were not too soon, for a mounted man in khaki with something that flashed across his saddle was riding hard from behind the bluff to cut them off.  Another appeared, going at a furious gallop, and George stood watching while the four figures grew smaller upon the prairie.

Turning at a shout he saw Flett and Edgar walking toward him, and he went with them to the fallen horse.  A man lay, gray in face, among the grass, held down by the body of the animal which partly rested upon him.

“Get me out,” he begged hoarsely.  “Leg’s broke.”

George felt incapable of helping.  He sat down while the other two extricated the man; then Flett placed his carbine against the horse’s head, and after the report it ceased its struggling.

“She came down on me sudden; couldn’t get my foot clear in time,” the rustler explained.

“You had to be stopped.  I sighted at a hundred; a quick shot,” Flett remarked.  “Is there anything else the matter except your leg?”

“I guess it’s enough,” said the helpless man.

Flett turned to George.

“Walk into the bluff and you’ll strike our camp.  West must stay with me until we put on some fixing that will hold this fellow’s leg together.”

George did as he was bidden, and sat down again limply when he reached an opening in the wood where a pile of branches, with a kettle suspended over them, had been laid ready for lighting.  Presently the others rejoined him.

“The fellow can’t be moved until we get a wagon,” said Flett.  “We’ve been looking for you all over the country, but it was quite a while before we got a hint that sent us down this way.  We had stopped in the bluff when we saw a fellow running with three mounted men after him, and we lay close, expecting to get the bunch.  It’s unfortunate they got too near you and I had to shoot, but I guess the boys will bring them back.”

Edgar looked at his comrade reproachfully.

“If you could only have sprinted a little and kept ahead, we would either have outflanked them or have had the finest imaginable ride with every chance of running the fellows down.  As things turned out, I couldn’t go off with the troopers until I found that you had got through unhurt.”

“I’m sorry,” George told him, with a little dry laugh.  “But I don’t think I spared any effort during the last quarter of a mile.”

Then he related his adventures, and answered a number of questions.

“You’ll take my horse,” said Flett, “and start for the railroad as soon as you feel able.  Get on to Regina by the first train; judging by the last wire I got, you’ll still be in time.  West had better go with you to the station, and he can send a wagon for the man who’s hurt.  Now I guess we’ll get you something to eat.”

“I shouldn’t mind,” said George.  “It’s twenty-four hours since my last meal, and that one was remarkably small.”

He drank a canful of cold tea, and then went suddenly to sleep while the others lighted the fire.