Deringham glanced at his daughter, and the girl laughed.  “Then is there any means of getting on to Cedar Valley?” she said.

The man slowly shook his head.  “You might walk, but it’s close on forty miles,” he said.  “Stage goes out on Saturday.”

Deringham made a gesture of resignation.  “I never walked forty miles at once in my life,” he said.  “Can you suggest anything at all?  We cannot well live here on the platform until Saturday.”

“No,” said the man gravely.  “I don’t figure I could let you.  Well, now I wonder if Harry could find room for you.”

He shouted, and a man who was carrying a flour-bag turned his head and then went on again until he hove his load into a two-horse wagon, while Miss Deringham noticed that although the bag was stamped 140 lbs. the man trotted lightly across the metals and ballast with it upon his shoulders.  Then he came in their direction, and she glanced at him with some curiosity as he stood a trifle breathless before them.  He wore a blue shirt burst open at the neck which showed his full red throat, and somewhat ragged overalls.  The brown hair beneath his broad felt hat was whitened with flour, and his bronzed face was red with the dust.  Still he stood very straight, and it was a good face, with broad forehead and long, straight nose, while the effect of the solid jaw was mitigated by something in the shape of the mobile lips.  The grey eyes were keen and steady until a sympathetic twinkle crept into them, and Miss Deringham felt that the man understood her position.

“Well,” he said.  “What’s the difficulty?”

The station agent explained laconically, and the stranger gravely took off his battered hat.  “My wagon’s pretty full, but I can take you through,” he said.

“It would be a favour,” said Deringham, taking out a roll of bills.  “I should, of course, be glad to recompense you for your trouble.”

For a moment the man’s eyes closed a trifle, then he laughed, and Miss Deringham noticed that there was nothing dissonant in his merriment.  “Well,” he said lightly, “there will be plenty time to talk of that.  These are your things, miss?”

The girl nodded, and wondered when, heaving up the biggest trunk as though it weighed nothing at all, he laid it carefully in the wagon, because she remembered having to fee two hotel porters lavishly for handling it in Liverpool.  He stopped, however, and glanced at the second one with a faint trace of embarrassment.  It had burst open, and several folds of filmy fabric projected.

“My hands are floury.  You might be able to shut it up,” he said.