Charnock hesitated about meeting Sadie at breakfast, but found her calm and apparently good-humored. He felt embarrassed and his head ached, but she made him some strong coffee in a way he liked. Sadie did not often sulk, and he was grateful because she said nothing about what had happened on the previous night. Indeed, he was on the point of telling her so, but her careless manner discouraged him and he resolved instead that he would stop gambling and keep as steady as he could. After all, Sadie was really treating him well; she might, for example, have stopped his getting liquor. He meant to brace up and give her no more trouble.

He kept his resolve for a fortnight, and then, one morning, a man brought him a note from Wilkinson, asking him to drive over to the range. Charnock told the man he could not go, but presently put down his pen and looked out of the open window of the office of the store. The last of the snow had vanished some time since, and round white clouds drifted across the sky. Flying shadows streaked the wide plain, which gleamed like silver in the sunshine, and the bleached grass rolled in long waves before the breeze. There was something strangely exhilarating in the air and the dusty office smelt of salt-pork and cheese. It was a glorious day for a drive, he need not stay long at Wilkinson's, and the team needed exercise. Moreover, Sadie was not about and would not come home until afternoon; he might get back before her. He hesitated for a few minutes and then sent an order to the stable.

At midnight he had not returned, and Sadie sat in the office at the hotel, making futile efforts to fix her attention on a newspaper. The guests had gone to bed and the building was very quiet, but she had kept the ostler up. He might be needed and she could trust him not to talk.

At length she heard the sound she listened for. A beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels came down the street. It was their team, she knew their trot, but she wondered anxiously whether Bob was driving. When the rig stopped she went to the door, where the ostler stood with a lantern, and caught her breath as Wilkinson got down. There was nobody else on the seat of the light wagon, and Charnock had set off with a different rig.

“Where's Bob?” she asked in a strained voice.

“We put him inside,” said Wilkinson. “He wasn't quite able to sit up. I'd have kept him all night only that I reckoned you might be scared.”

Sadie, putting her foot on the wheel when the ostler held up the light, saw Charnock lying on a bundle of sacks. He was in a drunken stupor.

“Help Bill bring him, in,” she said with stony calm.

Wilkinson and the other lifted the unconscious man, and staggering along a passage, awkwardly climbed the stairs. They put him on his bed and were going out when Sadie stopped them.

“Thank you, Bill; hold the team for a few minutes,” she said and turned to Wilkinson. “I want you to wait in the office.”

Then she shut the door, and after unfastening Charnock's collar and vest stood looking at him for a minute or two. He had not wakened, but she had seen him like this before and was not alarmed. His face was flushed and the veins on his forehead were prominent; his clothes were crumpled and sprinkled with bits of hay. Sadie studied him with a feeling of helplessness that changed to contemptuous pity. Her romantic dreams and ambitions had vanished and left her this——

As she turned away her mood changed again. After all, he was her husband and she had schemed to marry him. She was honest with herself about this and admitted that Bob had not really loved her much. But he needed her and she must not fail him. There was some comfort in remembering that he had sought no other woman; her rivals were cards and liquor, and she did not mean that they should win. Obeying a sudden impulse, she turned back and kissed his hot face, and then, noting the smell of whisky, flushed and went out with a firm step.

When she entered the office, however, her face was hard and white. She did not sit down, but leaned against a desk opposite Wilkinson.

“Why did you ask Bob out to the range?”

Wilkinson did not like her look. It hinted that she was in a dangerous mood, but he answered good-humoredly: “I thought he wanted a change. You hold him too tight, Mrs. Charnock. Bob won't stand for being kept busy indoors all day; he won't make a clerk.”

“He won't,” said Sadie. “I'm beginning to see it now. But you don't care a straw for Bob. You wanted a pick on me because I made you cut out your game that night.”

“No,” said Wilkinson, with a gesture of protest. “I certainly thought you were too smart, although it was not my business. Anyhow, if you let him have a quiet game with his friends at home—”

“Pshaw! I know you, Jake Wilkinson, better than Bob does. You meant to make him drunk this evening and empty his wallet, and I guess you didn't find it hard.”

Wilkinson's face got red, but he saw he would gain nothing by denial. Besides, there was a matter he was anxious about.

“It wasn't hard to empty his wallet, because he had only a few small bills.”

“Yes; I fixed that. How much did you win from him when he was drunk?”

“He got drunk afterwards,” Wilkinson objected. “Then I didn't win it all; there were three or four others.”

Sadie smiled rather grimly. “How much?”

She got a jar when Wilkinson told her, but she fixed him with steady eyes.

“You knew what he had in his wallet, but let him go on? You thought Keller's would stand for the debt?”

“Yes,” said Wilkinson, with some alarm; “we certainly thought so.”

“Very well. Keller's makes good. Take the pen and right out a bill like this—R. Charnock, debtor in losses on a card game.”

“You know it's never done.”

“It's going to be done now, or you won't get your cheque. I know what I'm up against in you and your gang.”

Wilkinson hesitated, but he needed the money and made out the bill. After examining it, Sadie wrote a cheque.

“I've paid you once, for Keller's sake, but you had better stop the card games after this. Bob's not my partner in the business, and no more of my dollars will go on gambling.”

“Ah!” said Wilkinson sharply, “you're smarter than I thought!”

Sadie gave him a searching glance and he noted an ominous tenseness in her pose and her drawn-back lips. He said afterwards that she looked like a wild cat.

“Anyhow, I think I have you fixed. There's nothing doing in making Bob drunk again, but you had better understand what's going to happen if you try. The next time you drive over to the settlement after my husband I'll whip you in the street with a riding quirt.”

Wilkinson put the cheque in his pocket and picked up his hat.

“On the whole, I guess I'd better not risk it,” he said and went out.

Sadie let him go, and then went limply upstairs. She felt worn out and her brain was dull. She could not think, and a problem that demanded solving must wait until the morning. After looking into the room where Charnock lay and seeing that he was sleeping heavily, she went to bed.

Next morning she shut herself in the office at the store and gave the clerks strict orders that she was not to be disturbed. Opening a drawer, she took out a rough balance sheet, which showed that the business was profitable and expanding fast. Things were going very well, in spite of Bob's extravagance, and she thought she had prevented his wasting any more money. In three or four years she could sell the hotel and store for a large sum and, as she thought of it, give herself a chance.

She was young, clever, and attractive, and had recently tried to cultivate her mind. It was laborious work and she had not much time, but the clergyman of the little Episcopal church gave her some guidance and she made progress. For one thing, she was beginning to talk like Bob and thought he noticed this, although she had not told him about her studies. She meant to be ready to take her part in a wider and brighter life when she left the settlement. Knowing little about large towns, she exaggerated the pleasures they could offer. Montreal, for example, was a city of delight. She had been there twice and had seen the Ice Palace glitter against the frosty sky, the covered skating rinks, the jingling sleighs, and the toboggans rushing down the long, white slides. Then she remembered afternoon drives in summer on the wooded slopes of the Mountain, and evenings spent among the garish splendors of Dominion Park, where myriads of lights threw their colored reflections upon the river. Since then, however, her taste had got refined, and she now admitted that if she lived at Montreal it might be better to cut out Dominion Park.

But she pulled herself up. It looked as if these delights were not for her. She could enjoy them, if she wanted, in a few years' time, but the risk was great. Bob might go to pieces while she earned the money that would open the gate of fairyland. Although she had checked the pace a little, he was going the wrong way fast. Sadie knitted her dark brows as she nerved herself to make a momentous choice.

On the one hand there was everything she longed for; on the other much that she disliked—monotonous work, the loneliness of the frozen prairie in the bitter winter, the society, at very long intervals, of farmers who talked about nothing but their crops, and the unslackening strain of activity in the hot summer. Sadie thought of it with shrinking; she would soon get old and faded, and Bob, for whose sake she had done so, might turn from her. Yet there was danger for him if they stayed at the settlement. He had too many friends and whisky was always about. She must save him from the constant temptation and must do so now.

For all that, she struggled. There were specious arguments for taking the other course. Bob had failed as a farmer and would certainly fail again if left to himself; but farming was the only occupation on the lonely prairie. Loneliness was essential, because he must be kept away from the settlements. But she saw the weak point in this reasoning, because Bob need not be left to himself. She would, so to speak, stand over him and see he did his work. Well, it looked as if she must let her ambitions go, and she got up, straightening her body with a little resolute jerk.

“Tell the boss I want him,” she said to the clerk.

Charnock came in, looking haggard and somewhat ashamed, and Sadie knew she had made the right choice when he sat down where the light touched his face. For a moment he blinked and frowned.

“I wish you'd pull down that blind,” he said. “The sun's in my eyes, and I can't get round the desk.”

Sadie did so, and then silently gave him Wilkinson's bill. He gazed at the paper with surprise, and colored.

“I'd no idea I lost so much. Why did you pay him?”

“Because you can't,” said Sadie. “He thought you had a share in the business when he risked his dollars.”

“I suppose that means you told him I wasn't your partner?”

“It does.”

“I see,” said Charnock, with some dryness. “You thought he'd leave me alone if he knew I wasn't worth powder and shot? Well, I believe it's very possible.” Then he paused and smiled. “I can imagine his astonishment when you asked for a bill, and must admit that you're a sport. All the same, it's humiliating to have my friends told you don't trust me with money.”

“The trouble is I can't trust you. Now you listen, Bob. This tanking and gambling has got to be stopped.”

“I'm afraid I've given you some bother,” Charnock answered penitently. “For all that, I'm not so bad as I was. In fact, I really think I'm steadying down by degrees, and since you have paid my debts I don't mind promising—”

“By degrees won't do; you have got to stop right off. Besides, you know how much your promises are worth.”

Charnock colored. “That's rather cruel, Sadie, but I suppose it's deserved.”

“I don't mean what you think; not your promise to Miss Dalton,” Sadie answered with some embarrassment. “You told me you wouldn't drive over to Wilkinson's again, and the first time I wasn't about you went. Very well. Since I can't trust you round the settlement, we're going to quit. I've decided to sell out the business as soon as I can get the price I want.”

“Sell the store and hotel!” Charnock exclaimed. “I suppose you know you'd get three or four times as much if you held on for a few years.”

“That's so. But what's going to happen to you while I wait?”

Charnock turned his head for a moment, and then looked up with a contrite air.

“By George, Sadie, you are fine! But I can't allow this sacrifice.”

“You won't be asked,” Sadie rejoined with forced quietness. She was moved by Charnock's exclamation, but durst not trust him or herself. There was a risk of his persuading her to abandon the plan if he knew how deeply she was stirred.

“Well,” he said, “what do you propose to do?”

“Take a farm far enough from town to make it hard for you to drive in and out. Donaldson's place would suit; he quits in the fall, you know, and we hold his mortgage.”

Charnock got up and walked about the floor. Then he stopped opposite his wife.

“You mean well, Sadie, and you're very generous,” he said with some emotion. “Still you ought to see the plan won't work. I had a good farm and made a horrible mess of things.”

“You won't do that now. I'll be there,” Sadie rejoined.

Charnock did not answer, but gave her a curious look, and she pondered for a moment or two. He was obviously moved, but one could not tell how far his emotions went, and she knew he did not want to listen. She understood her husband and knew he sometimes deceived himself.

“No!” He resumed; “it's too big a sacrifice! You like people about you and would see nobody but me and the hired man, while I admit I'm enough to jar a woman's nerves. Then think of the work; the manual work. You couldn't live as the bachelors live among dust and dirt, and it's a big undertaking to keep a homestead clean when you can't get proper help. Besides, there's the baking, cooking, and washing, while you have done nothing but superintend. I'd hate to see you worn and tired, and you know you're not so patient then. I get slack if things go wrong, and if I slouched about, brooding, when I ought to be at work, it would make you worse.”

Sadie smiled. “That's very nice, Bob; but how much are you thinking about me and how much about yourself?”

“To tell the truth, I don't know,” Charnock replied with naÏve honesty. “Anyhow, I am thinking about you.”

“That is what I like, but there's no use in talking. Since I can make this business go I can run a farm, and see no other way. My plan's made and I'm going to put it over.”

Charnock was silent for some moments and then turned to her with a look in his face she had not seen.

“I don't want to farm, but if you can stand it for my sake, I must try. You will need some patience, Sadie—I may break out at times if the strain gets too hard. One can't help running away when one is something of a cur. But I'll come back, ashamed and sorry, and pitch in again. Since you mean to stand by me, perhaps I'll win out in the end.”

Bending down suddenly, he kissed her and then went to the door. She heard it shut, and sat still, but her eyes filled with tears. Bob had not promised much, but she thought he meant to keep his word now, and doubts that had troubled her melted away. She did not grudge the sacrifice she had made, for a ray of hope had begun to shine. It was, however, characteristic that after musing for a minute or two she took out some notepaper and began to write. Since the business must be sold, there was nothing to be gained by delay, and she gave a Winnipeg agent clear instructions. Then she went out and hid her annoyance when she saw Charnock sitting languidly on the hotel veranda.

“Has Wilkinson sent back our rig?” she asked.

“He has, but the team has done enough. Where are you going?”

“To look at Donaldson's farm. I want you to come along. Go across and ask Martin if he'll let you have his team.”

Charnock got up with a resigned shrug. “You are a hustler, Sadie. It's not many minutes since you decided about the thing.”

“I don't see what I'd get by waiting, and you may as well make up your mind that you're going to hustle, too. Now get busy and go for Martin's team.”