Still, farmer
Winston was a man of courage with a quiet belief in himself, and in ten
minutes he was fast asleep.
When he came down to breakfast his host was already seated with a
bundle of letters before him, and one addressed to Courthorne lay
unopened by Winston's plate. The officer nodded when he saw him.
"The trooper has come in with the mail, and your friends in Canada are
not going to worry you," he said. "Now, if you feel like staying here
a few days, it would be a favor to me."
Winston had in the meanwhile opened the envelope. He knew that when
once the decision was made, there could only be peril in half-measures,
and his eyes grew thoughtful as he read. The letter had been written
by a Winnipeg lawyer from a little town not very far away, and
requested Courthorne to meet and confer with him respecting certain
suggestions made by a Colonel Barrington. Winston decided to take the
risk.
"I'm sorry, but I have got to go into Annerly at once," he said.
"Then," said the officer, "I'll drive you. I've some stores to get
down there."
They started after breakfast, but it was dusk next day when they
reached the little town, and Winston walked quietly into a private room
of the wooden hotel, where a middle-aged man with a shrewd face sat
waiting him. The big nickeled lamp flickered in the draughts that
found their way in, and Winston was glad of it, though he was outwardly
very collected. The stubborn patience and self-control with which he
had faced the loss of his wheat crops and frozen stock stood him in
good stead now.
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