"Well, be wise and go to a doctor in time," Doctor Carey said, only half in jest. "Champers, we haven't always worked together out here, but I guess we know each other pretty well. I'm willing to trust you. Are you afraid to trust me?" Darley Champers leaned back in his office chair and stared at the questioner. Horace Carey's heavy hair was very white now, although he was hardly fifty-five years old. The decades of consecrated service to his profession had told only in this one feature. His face was the face of a vigorous man, and something in his life, maybe the meaning of giving up and the meaning of the service, he once told Jim Shirley, he had known, had left upon his countenance their mark of strength. As Darley Champers looked at this face, he realized, as he had never done before, the freedom and joy of an unsullied reputation and honest dealing. "Lord, no, I'd trust you in hell, Doc," he exclaimed bluntly. "I won't put it to the proof," the doctor assured him. "Nor will I trouble you nor myself with any matter not concerning us two. Tell me frankly all the trouble about this sale." Briefly, Champers explained Smith's hatred of Jim Shirley, and his anger at the present sale. "All I ask is that you will not break your word to Miss Shirley," Horace Carey said. "I happen to know that the money will be ready for you. This Smith is the same man who came to old Carey's Crossing years ago, of course?" "Why, do you remember him?" Darley Champers asked in surprise. "I've crossed his trail a hundred times since then, and it's always an ill-smelling trail. Some day I may follow it a bit myself. You'll do well to break with him," the doctor assured him. "If Doc Carey ever starts on that hyena's trail, I'd like to be in at the end of the chase," Champers declared with a grin. "Why not help a bit yourself? I'm going East for a week. When I come back, I'll see you. Maybe I can help you a little to get his claws unhooked from your throat," Carey suggested, and the two men shook hands and separated. Champers stood up and breathed deeply. The influence of an upright man's presence is inspiring. Horace Carey did not dream that his confidence and good will that day were turning the balances for Darley Champers for the remainder of his life. Champers was by nature a ferret, and Carey's parting words took root and grew in his mind. The May rains that had flooded Grass River and its tributaries did worse for Clover Creek in Ohio a few days later. The lower part of the town of Cloverdale was uncomfortably submerged until the high railroad grade across the creek on the Aydelot farm broke and let the back water have broader outlet.