“No,” said Harry; “I don’t think he’s niggardly.  It’s another word for low down in this country.  You see he has always had to work hard for a living, and never had time to teach himself the nice little ways you folks have in England.  He’s just a big rough rancher who has fought pretty toughly for his own hand, and that’s apt to take the gentleness out of a man, and make him what you would call coarse and brutal.”

The girl seemed to shiver.  “Is there nothing to say on the other side?” she said.

“Well,” said the teamster reflectively, “I think he means well, and never took more than his right from any man, while there are people who would as soon have his word as its value in dollar bills.”

“You seem to know him suspiciously well,” said Miss Deringham sharply.

“I do,” said Harry simply, as he stood up.  “Anyway, as well as most people.  You know where I fixed your bed up, sir, when you want to turn in.  There’s nothing in this bush, miss, that would hurt you.”

He stepped back into the shadows, and the camp seemed lonely without him, while as the girl shivered in the cold wind, Deringham glanced at her curiously.

“Well?” he said.

Then the red crept into his daughter’s cheeks and a sparkle Into her eyes.  “It will take a very long time to get used to.  I could almost hate the man,” she said,

“It is hard to lose one’s inheritance,” said Deringham dryly.

The flush grew a trifle plainer in his daughter’s cheek.  “It is not the value of the land,” she said.  “But think of such a man, a brutal, cattle-driving boor, ruling at Carnaby where my mother lived.”

“Still,” said Deringham, “the value is not inconsiderable, and Carnaby would have been yours some day.”

The girl made a gesture of impatience.  “That is not my complaint,” she said.  “I could have let it pass without bitterness to an Englishman who would have lived in it in accordance with the traditions of his race, but this man——­”

“Will no doubt cut down the timber, open the fireclay pits, and desecrate the park with brickworks,” he said.  “That is, unless he has convivial proclivities, and, finding himself ostracized, fills Carnaby with turf and billiard-room blacklegs.”

The girl ground her heel viciously into the mould.  “Have you any reason for going into these details?” she said.

Deringham watched her closely.  “I only wished you to understand the position, and to remember that you and I are both to some extent at the mercy of our rancher kinsman,” he said.

He left her presently to seek the couch the teamster had prepared for him, and Miss Deringham retired to the wagon.  She found the bed of cedar-twigs comfortable, but it was some time before she slept and dreamed that a stranger dressed in coarse blue jean was holding high revel in the Carnaby she loved.  She was awakened by the howl of a wolf, and lay still shivering, until she saw the tall, dusky figure of the Canadian approach the fire and stand there as if on guard with the red light upon him.  Then with a curious sense of security she went to sleep again.