"I did that," he replied at length, half defiantly, but in great confusion.

"But why? There was nothing to be gained by that. There were no cattle in the pasture or near it."

Huntington hesitated, shifting his weight uneasily from his left foot to his right, and back again to the left. Then he looked at Marion, saw the appeal in her eyes, and plunged.

"I wanted to make you angry."

"To make me angry?"

"To make you do something reckless."

Haig studied him, and saw that he was dealing with a man who was in some respects, and for all his physical strength, a boy--a child. He felt his anger rising, but put it down resolutely.

"That was very foolish, Huntington!" he said, with some sharpness. "It certainly made me furious, as you saw later at the post-office."

"But you were wrong to call me a liar and a thief. And that's something you've got to--"

"Got to what?" demanded Haig quickly.

Huntington did not answer at once. Claire's face, already as pale as it could well be, became drawn and ashen, while Marion, seeing the danger, unconsciously took a step forward, as if to throw herself between the two men. For some tense seconds Huntington and Haig faced each other belligerently.

"Got to what, Huntington?" repeated Haig. "There's nothing I've _got_ to do."

Huntington had not meant the "got" in the sense in which it was taken by Haig. He had begun to say, "You've got to admit that was pretty hard." But his unfortunate pause on the uncompleted sentence had justified Haig in putting the worst possible construction on the objectionable phrase. And now Huntington could not finish it as he had intended, without seeming to back down, or weaken. Nor could he afford to drop the mischievous word for another. In his desperation he took the boldest course, and made a more aggressive speech by far than any he had rehea.r.s.ed for the occasion, and forgotten.

"You've got to take that back!" he blurted out.

It was Haig's turn now to ponder deeply. His first impulse was to tell Huntington to go to the devil, and thereupon to walk out of the house.

But he had come there to make peace; and he bethought himself in time that to give way to anger would only be to allow Huntington the first victory he had ever had over him. Besides--he turned toward Marion, and saw her face distorted with apprehension. That decided the issue.

"All in good time, Huntington," he said, with a smile. "Your actions certainly justified everything I said. What have you to say about your scheme to take my horse?"

Huntington groped in vain for one of the crushing retorts that he had valiantly prepared for this meeting. Then he caught Marion's eye again.

"That was a mistake," he said. "But I'm no thief and no liar."

"I grant you're honest enough, Huntington, when you stop to think. As for Sunnysides, he's settled that business for himself. And if you'll give me a straightforward answer on one more point, I'll acquit you of being a liar."

"What's that?"

"You killed my bull, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did! But it was a question of yours or mine. They were fighting, and mine was getting the worst of it."

"And it never occurred to you to let the best one win?"

"No. I was angry. It was the day that--" He caught himself, and looked in fresh alarm at Marion.

"The day that--" Haig prompted.

"No matter. I was angry. I'll pay you what the bull was worth."

"No. Settle that with Thursby. Is there anything more?"

"Nothing except the cause of the whole trouble. You took more than your share."

"We might talk all day and all night about that, and come to no understanding. But I'll tell you what I've done. I've suggested to Thursby that he and you and the rest of them go into a pool. There's enough pasture for all of you if--"

"That's an idea!" cried Huntington. "What does Thursby say?"

"He's willing. He doesn't like trouble as I--did. He'll even sell off some of his stock."

Huntington was silent a moment, looking doubtfully at Haig. Then the best of him rose to the occasion.

"I told Thursby that--I hadn't anything to take back, but that--you're a man, for all of it And if you--d.a.m.n it! There's my hand."

"Done!" said Haig heartily.

"Oh!" cried Claire, breaking away from the mantel, to which she clung through all the interview, trembling between hope and fear. She stepped up to Haig, her eyes shining through tears.

"Mine too!" she said, offering her hand to him.

But when it was all finished there was another awkward interval of silence. For years of controversy and enmity are not so quickly resolved into perfect peace. It was Haig who brought back a certain ease to them.

"Would you mind, Mrs. Huntington, if I asked Miss g.a.y.l.o.r.d to go for a drive with me?"

"Indeed, no!"

"And if she took dinner with me? I'll bring her back early."

"If Marion thinks--"

But Marion, who had stood silent and anxious until then, did not reply to Claire's glance of inquiry. She heard the last words as if in a dream. But dreams were coming true these days; miracle followed miracle. With a stifled cry she ran past them, and into her room.

There she sank down on the edge of the bed, and crossed her hands over her breast, and stared at vacancy, her face burning, a mist before her eyes. Weakness overcame her for a moment. Then she leaped to her feet, dressed quickly for the drive, and went out befurred and radiant to put her arms around Claire and kiss her.

"You'll be welcome, Haig, if you want to--to come in any time,"

Huntington was saying awkwardly.

"I will!" replied Haig.

Then Philip and Marion were gone, and Seth and Claire stood staring at the door.

"Oh, I'm so happy, Seth!" cried Claire at last, holding up her arms to him.

"Umph!" said Huntington, submitting to her ecstatic endearments.