Part 20

“You're right, Ben. You're a gang of hustlers,” said Alec Murray. “There ain't much talkin' when you git a-goin'. But that's a pretty good day's work, Ben, ten acres.”

Ben gave a snort. “Yes. Not a bad day's work fer two men.” He had no love for any of the Morrisons, whose near neighbours he was and at whose hands he had suffered many things.

“Two men!” shouted Sammy. “Your gang, I suppose you mean.”

Suddenly Ben's self-control vanished. “Yes, by the jumpin' Jemima!” he cried, facing suddenly upon Sam. “Them's the two, if yeh want to know. Them's binders! They don't stop, at hevery corner to swap lies an' to see if it's goin' to ran. They keep a-workin', they do. They don't wait to cool hoff before they drink fer fear they git foundered, as if they was 'osses, like you fellers up on the west side line there.” Ben threw his h's recklessly about. “You hain't no binders, you hain't. Yeh never seed any.”

At this moment “King” Morrison himself entered the blacksmith shop.

“Hello, Ben! What's eatin' you?” he exclaimed.

Ben grew suddenly quiet. “Makin' a bloomin' hass of myself, I guess,” he growled.

“What's up with Benny? He seems a little raised,” said the “Old King,” addressing the crowd generally.

“Oh, blowin' 'bout his harvestin' gang,” said his son Sam.

“Well, you can do a little blowin' yourself, Sammy.”

“Guess I came by it natcherly n'ough,” said Sam. He stood in no awe of his father.

“Blowin's all right if you can back it up, Sammy. But what's the matter, Benny, my boy? We're all glad to see you about, an' more'n that, we're glad to hear of your good work this summer. But what are they doin' to you?”

“Doin' nothin',” broke in Sam, a little nettled at the “Old King's” kindly tone toward Ben. “He's blowin' round here to beat the band 'bout his gang.”

“Well, Sam, he's got a right to blow, for they're two good workers.”

“But they can't bind ten acres a day, as Ben blows about.”

“Well, that would be a little strong,” said the “Old King.” “Why, it took my four boys a good day to tie up ten acres, Ben.”

“I'm talkin' 'bout binders,” said Ben, in what could hardly be called a respectful tone.

“Look here, Ben, no two men can bind ten acres in a day, so just quit yer blowin' an' talk sense.”

“I'm talkin' 'bout binders,” repeated Ben stubbornly.

“And I tell you, Ben,” replied the “Old King,” with emphasis, “your boys--and they're good boys, too--can't tie no ten acres in a day. They've got the chance of tryin' on that ten acres of wheat on my west fifty. If they can do it in a day they can have it.”

“They wouldn't take it,” answered Ben regretfully. “They can do it, fast enough.”

Then the “Old King” quite lost patience. “Now, Ben, shut up! You're a blowhard! Why, I'd bet any man the whole field against $50 that it can't be done.”

“I'll take you on that,” said Alec Murray.

“What?” The “Old King” was nonplussed for a moment.

“I'll take that. But I guess you don't mean it.”

But the “Old King” was too much of a sport to go back upon his offer. “It's big odds,” he said. “But I'll stick to it. Though I want to tell you, there's nearer twelve acres than ten.”

“I know the field,” said Alec. “But I'm willing to risk it. The winner pays the wages. How long a day?” continued Alec.

“Quit at six.”