Leland said nothing, for there were others present, but Carrie felt her face grow hot when he looked at her. It was also significant that soon after the meal was over the others seemed to feel they would be excused if they went out to watch the threshing. Gallwey, whose face beamed, surmised that the impression was conveyed to them by Eveline Annersly, though he could not be sure how she had accomplished it.
The dusk came early now, but a full moon was rising above the prairie, and men still toiled about the big machine, whose hum rang through the stillness. Loaded waggons lurched through the crackling stubble. Outside the homestead, Leland sat with his wife, watching them.
"The first wheat we sell will get that crescent back," he said. "The next will take us for two months to New York. We'll start when the snow is on the ground, but it will not be like that first drive we had."
There was a curious little tremor in Carrie Leland's voice. "Charley,"
she said, "everything is different now. You have driven out the rustlers and you have saved your wheat."
Leland laughed.
"That isn't quite what you mean, and, after all, it wouldn't go very far by itself. The thing that counts the most is that Carrie Leland is content with her prairie farmer."