Presley met him at the porch. He was going into town with Phelps, and proposed to Annixter that he should accompany them.
“I want to go over and see old Broderson,” Annixter objected.
But Presley informed him that Broderson had gone to Bonneville earlier in the morning. He had seen him go past in his buckboard. The three men set off, Phelps and Annixter on horseback, Presley on his bicycle.
When they had gone, Mrs. Derrick sought out her husband in the office of the ranch house. She was at her prettiest that morning, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her innocent, wide-open eyes almost girlish. She had fastened her hair, still moist, with a black ribbon tied at the back of her head, and the soft mass of light brown reached to below her waist, making her look very young.
“What was it he was saying to you just now,” she exclaimed, as she came through the gate in the green-painted wire railing of the office. “What was Mr. Annixter saying? I know. He was trying to get you to join him, trying to persuade you to be dishonest, wasn’t that it? Tell me, Magnus, wasn’t that it?”
Magnus nodded.
His wife drew close to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“But you won’t, will you? You won’t listen to him again; you won’t so much as allow him—anybody—to even suppose you would lend yourself to bribery? Oh, Magnus, I don’t know what has come over you these last few weeks. Why, before this, you would have been insulted if anyone thought you would even consider anything like dishonesty. Magnus, it would break my heart if you joined Mr. Annixter and Mr. Osterman. Why, you couldn’t be the same man to me afterward; you, who have kept yourself so clean till now. And the boys; what would Lyman say, and Harran, and everyone who knows you and respects you, if you lowered yourself to be just a political adventurer!”
For a moment, Derrick leaned his head upon his hand, avoiding her gaze. At length, he said, drawing a deep breath: “I am troubled, Annie. These are the evil days. I have much upon my mind.”
“Evil days or not,” she insisted, “promise me this one thing, that you will not join Mr. Annixter’s scheme.”
She had taken his hand in both of hers and was looking into his face, her pretty eyes full of pleading.
“Promise me,” she repeated; “give me your word. Whatever happens, let me always be able to be proud of you, as I always have been. Give me your word. I know you never seriously thought of joining Mr. Annixter, but I am so nervous and frightened sometimes. Just to relieve my mind, Magnus, give me your word.”
“Why—you are right,” he answered. “No, I never thought seriously of it. Only for a moment, I was ambitious to be—I don’t know what—what I had hoped to be once—well, that is over now. Annie, your husband is a disappointed man.”
“Give me your word,” she insisted. “We can talk about other things afterward.”
Again Magnus wavered, about to yield to his better instincts and to the entreaties of his wife. He began to see how perilously far he had gone in this business. He was drifting closer to it every hour. Already he was entangled, already his foot was caught in the mesh that was being spun. Sharply he recoiled. Again all his instincts of honesty revolted. No, whatever happened, he would preserve his integrity. His wife was right. Always she had influenced his better side. At that moment, Magnus’s repugnance of the proposed political campaign was at its pitch of intensity. He wondered how he had ever allowed himself to so much as entertain the idea of joining with the others. Now, he would wrench free, would, in a single instant of power, clear himself of all compromising relations. He turned to his wife. Upon his lips trembled the promise she implored. But suddenly there came to his mind the recollection of his new-made pledge to Annixter. He had given his word that before arriving at a decision he would have a last interview with him. To Magnus, his given word was sacred. Though now he wanted to, he could not as yet draw back, could not promise his wife that he would decide to do right. The matter must be delayed a few days longer.
Lamely, he explained this to her. Annie Derrick made but little response when he had done. She kissed his forehead and went out of the room, uneasy, depressed, her mind thronging with vague fears, leaving Magnus before his office desk, his head in his hands, thoughtful, gloomy, assaulted by forebodings.
Meanwhile, Annixter, Phelps, and Presley continued on their way toward Bonneville. In a short time they had turned into the County Road by the great watering-tank, and proceeded onward in the shade of the interminable line of poplar trees, the windbreak that stretched along the roadside bordering the Broderson ranch. But as they drew near to Caraher’s saloon and grocery, about half a mile outside of Bonneville, they recognised Harran’s horse tied to the railing in front of it. Annixter left the others and went in to see Harran.
“Harran,” he said, when the two had sat down on either side of one of the small tables, “you’ve got to make up your mind one way or another pretty soon. What are you going to do? Are you going to stand by and see the rest of the Committee spending money by the bucketful
