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“O’Hara’s daughter is here. I control her,” said Munn, quietly.

“You mean she’s one of your infernal flock?” demanded Sprowl.

“One of the Shining Band,” said Munn, with a trace of a whine in his voice.

“Where are the papers in that proceeding, then? You said O’Hara burned them, you liar!”

“She has them in a box in her bedroom,” replied Munn.

“Does she know what they mean?” asked Sprowl, aghast.

“No–but I do,” replied Munn, with his ominous smile.

“How do you know she does not understand their meaning?”

“Because,” replied Munn, laughing, “she can’t read.”

Sprowl did not believe him, but he was at his mercy. He stood with his heavy head hanging, pondering a moment, then whistled his sorrel. The mare came to him and laid her dusty nose on his shoulder.

“You see these checks?” he said.

Munn assented.

“You get them when you put those papers in my hands. Understand? And when you bring me the deed of this cursed property here–house and all.”

“A week from to-day,” said Munn; his voice shook in spite of him. Few men can face sudden wealth with a yawn.

“And after that–” began Sprowl, and glared at Munn with such a fury that the Prophet hastily stepped backward and raised a nervous hand to his beard.

“It’s a square deal,” he said; and Sprowl knew that he meant it, at least for the present.

The president mounted heavily, and sought his bridle and stirrups.

“I’ll meet you here in a week from to-day, hour for hour; I’ll give you twenty-four hours after that to pack up and move, bag and baggage.”

“Done,” said Munn.

“Then get out of my way, you filthy beast!” growled Sprowl, swinging his horse and driving the spurs in.

Munn fell back with a cry; the horse plunged past, brushing him, tearing out across the pasture, over the bridge, and far down the stony road Munn heard the galloping. He had been close to death; he did not quite know whether Sprowl had meant murder or whether it was carelessness or his own fault that the horse had not struck him and ground him into the sod.

However it was, he conceived a new respect for Sprowl, and promised himself that if he ever was obliged to call again upon Sprowl for financial assistance he would do it through a telephone.

A dozen women, dressed alike in a rather pretty gray uniform, were singing up by the house; he looked at them with a sneer, then walked back along the river to where the young girl still sat under the elm.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, abruptly, “and I don’t want any more refusals or reasons or sentiments. I want to see the papers in that steel box.”

She turned towards him in that quaint, hesitating, listening attitude.

“The Lord,” he said, more cheerfully, “has put it into my head that we must journey once more. I’ve had a prayerful wrestle out yonder, and I see light. The Lord tells me to sell this land to the strangers without the gates, and I’m going to sell it to the glory of God.”

“How can you sell it?” said the girl, quietly.

“Isn’t all our holdings in common?” demanded Munn, sharply.

“You know that I am not one of you,” said the girl.

“Yes, you are,” said Munn; “you don’t want to be because the light has been denied you, but I’ve sealed you and sanctified you to the Shining Band, and you just can’t help being one of us. Besides,” he continued, with an ugly smile, “I’m your legal guardian.”

This was a lie; but she did not know it.

“So I want to see those papers,” he added.

“Why?” she asked.

“Oh, legal matters; I’ve got to examine ’em or I can’t sell this land.”

“Father told me not to open the box until … I found an … honest man,” she said, steadily.

Munn glared at her. She had caught him in a lie years ago; she never forgot it.

“Where’s the key?” he demanded.