“Mrs. Nichols wants you to come down Saturday night until Monday. Will you?”
“Mrs. Nichols wants you to come down Saturday night until Monday. Will you?”
Nell thought hard for a minute. Should she go? It would be delightful to see all her friends at Bratley. It would also be delightful to be away from Camp’s Gulch for a Sunday just now, when she so heartily desired to avoid any encounter with Mr. Brunsen. But the difficulty lay in the fact that she could not be back at Camp’s Gulch on Monday morning until twenty minutes after her day of work was supposed to begin, and twenty minutes to a telegraph operator sometimes makes a very great difference indeed.
Other clerks at the depot had gone away and risked being found out, Joey had told her; but this absence-without-leave idea did not commend itself to Nell, so, after considerable misgiving, she wired to Lytton to know if she might be away from her post for that first twenty minutes on Monday morning.
The answer came back, after some little delay, and was very satisfactory, in spite of its curt-brevity.
“Yes; once in every month.”
“Yes; once in every month.”
So Nell told Gertrude that she would certainly come down by the cars on Saturday evening; and even while she was sending the message a bright idea came to her: she would write a note to Mr. Brunsen, and send him back his money and the portrait from Bratley. She could then put Bratley at the top of her letter, and he would never dream of looking for her at Camp’s Gulch.
This plan soothed her considerably. She wrote a frosty little note, saying that she had found the case and its contents on the morning after he left her grandfather’s house on Blue Bird Ridge, and had been unable to return them to him before, owing to her ignorance of his address.
But she was dispirited and unlike herself for days afterwards. It is never an easy thing to readjust one’s likes and dislikes at a moment’s notice; and the shattering of Nell’s secret idol cost her many a bitter pang.
NELL had quite an ovation of welcome when she reached Bratley on Saturday evening. Stout Mrs. Nichols was at the depot to welcome her guest. Mrs. Sam Peters was there also, one baby in her arms, another toddler clinging to her skirt, and two other small folk in the background. The baggage-clerk received her with his melancholy smile and the flourish of his cap usually reserved for railway inspectors and other official personages.
“Why, it is just like coming home!” exclaimed Nell, ecstatically, as she kissed all the Peters children, and tried not to notice how far from clean their faces were.
“That is just how we want you to feel,” replied Mrs. Nichols, who was wheezing and puffing more than ever from excitement and delight, as she prepared to carry her visitor off in triumph.
“I must go and speak to Gertrude first,” Nell said, breaking away from the others and making her way into the office.
Gertrude was hard at work, and could only look up, nod, and leave her welcome until later, when she had a moment’s breathing space.
Nell sat down to wait patiently enough; then saw what she had not noticed previously—a bundle in a rug lying on a bench behind the door, which a closer inspection revealed to be Sonny Russell, curled up, fast asleep and rosy.
“What a dear little fellow he is!” she exclaimed, when presently Gertrude turned to give her a warm welcome.
“Oh, Sonny is a darling! His father generally brings him here to stay with me when he is called away on a long journey, because the child frets if he is left too much with old Miss Gibson. They board with her, you know,” explained Gertrude.
“How are Teddy and the baby, and Flossie and Patsey?” asked Nell, whose heart still yearned for the big family for whom she had toiled so unweariedly.
Gertrude’s face grew overcast. “The children are well enough; even Flossie seems better this spring. Father is not well—he does not get strong nor does he lose his cough, and mother seems poorly too; neither of them is able to get over the shock of losing the boys. It is very sad for them.”
“What a pity they did not let you stay at home to comfort them!” cried Nell, warmly.
“I thought so at first, and was very loth to leave home, but I am very glad now that I came,” Gertrude said softly, while a rosy flush spread over her face and right up to the roots of her hair.
Nell looked at her in a little surprise. Gertrude was usually so pale and calm of aspect. But there was no time then for discovering the secret of her agitation.
The evening was so pleasant, and the Sunday which followed pleasanter still. There were one or two changes in Bratley, even in the six weeks since Nell had gone away. It seemed funny to her to see Dr. Russell walking along to meeting with little old Miss Gibson, who had never had any one to board before, although her house was one of the largest in Bratley. Then a family had gone away, another family having come in their place, and actually a new house was to be built at the end of the village.
“It looks as if we were going to be prosperous in Bratley,” Gertrude said merrily, as, when meeting was over, she and Nell sauntered away together.
“The population is increasing, certainly,” the other answered, with a laugh.
“That is what I tell Dr. Russell, and I am quite sure he will do well in time,” Gertrude said, the flush coming into her cheeks again.
“It is a pity he hasn’t got another trade to work at while he is waiting for folks to get sick,” Nell replied, in practical fashion.
Gertrude laughed. “You mustn’t call doctoring a trade; it is a profession, and a man who is a good doctor has no time to be anything else. Nell, shall I tell you a secret?”
“If you like,” the other answered soberly, stealing a look at the glowing face of her companion, and guessing what the secret was about.
Gertrude turned her head away, flicking at the grass with her black parasol. Then she said, in a low unsteady tone—
“I believe that Dr. Russell is going to like me very much some day.”
“So he ought to do,” replied Nell, promptly. “Every one always likes you.”
Gertrude shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “I couldn’t help it because George Miller, our hired man, was always wanting to give me things and take me on walks. I never encouraged him in any way, yet mother was always grumbling at me about it, and saying she did not want me to make a poor marriage, just as if she thought I should be likely to do such a thing.”
“Dr. Russell isn’t rich,” commented Nell.
“Of course not. Indeed, I suppose he is really poorer than George Miller at the present time; but it is the future that counts, and I’m quite willing to wait for my future, only——”
“Only what?” asked Nell, rather brusquely. Confidences of this description were apt to make her curt of speech, for, with her own reserve concerning all things which touched her closely, she could not understand the desire of some people to talk about the affairs of the heart.
“Oh, I should like to be sure, that is all. Guesswork is very well in its way, but it is not exactly satisfying. I wish he would say to me in plain speech, ‘Gertrude Lorimer, I’d rather have you to share my life than any one else, but I’m too poor to marry for a long time. Are you willing to wait?’ Then I should know what I had to look forward to.”
“We can’t have all we want in this world, I suppose, or else I should be able to get a good education,” Nell answered, with a sigh.
“Education is always what you are sighing for,” Gertrude said, rather disappointed because Nell did not seem more interested in her love-affair.
“That is because I want it so badly. A good education seems to be the foundation of everything, and when one knows little more than how to read and write, one is handicapped in every way. However, I’ve made up my mind what I’m going to do.”
“What is that?” asked Gertrude.
“I’m going to save a hundred dollars somehow, and then I’m going to spend it on educating myself,” Nell replied, with a vigorous shake of her head, as if to imply that her plans were all made.
“But how will you set about it? The proper way to get an education is to work up through the schools, win scholarships, and go to college; then of course it isn’t so expensive, but any other way would cost a fearful lot of money.”
Nell drew a long breath, and looked rather daunted for a moment; then she said brightly—
“I’ll tell you what I mean to do, when I get my dollars saved. I’m going to find out some learned person, and offer to do her housework in return for teaching. Then I shall reap a double benefit, for no two people have their housework done the same way; so I shall find out fresh ways of doing things, and get my education as well.”
“You would certainly get cheated,” objected Gertrude. “The person would be sure to get all her housework properly done, but you would not get your share of education.”
“Then I should not stay,” replied Nell, stoutly. “I may be ignorant, but I generally know when I am being cheated.”
“Don’t get in such a state of agitation; you have not won the hundred dollars yet, you know,” laughed Gertrude. Then Nell laughed also; and they rambled on through the sweet spring sunshine, chattering of the present, making plans for the future, and thoroughly enjoying the brief resting spell in their hard-working lives.
The day went all too quickly, as such days are apt to do; then came Monday morning, and Nell went back to Camp’s Gulch to take up her lonely life again, and zealously hoard the dollars which were to buy her a store of book-learning later.
It was a huge relief to feel that she had restored the thirty dollars and the portrait to their rightful owner, only for some weeks she had an unrestful feeling, from fear of encountering the man whom old Joey had identified for her.
About a month after her visit to Bratley, Joey Trip, who had as usual spent his evening leisure at the Settlement, returned in a state of great excitement, brimming over with news.
Mr. Brunsen had sold his copper interest to a syndicate for five thousand dollars, and then had promptly disappeared, before the unhappy syndicate had had time to find out that they had been most deliberately hoaxed, and that the seam, which had looked so rich and thick, was nothing but cleverly doctored shale, the copper ore having apparently worn itself out. Of course it might recur again farther in, but that had to be found out.
Meanwhile the syndicate were about the maddest lot of men in the district, and vowed all sorts of vengeance on Brunsen and his companions, if only they could be caught.
Nothing was heard of them, however. The weeks of summer sped on. June, July, and then August wore away, until at last September came in with fervid but shortening days, and Nell began to realize that it was almost a year since she had left the Lone House on Blue Bird Ridge, and set out to try her fortune in the great world.
She cherished no resentment against her grandfather for deserting her; indeed she felt rather under an obligation to him for having gone away and left her free to follow her own bent. He had given her good advice, too, in telling her to get over the border, and she was always thankful for the train of circumstances which had led her from one sort of work to another, until at last she had reached a fairly permanent position.
The summer had been so crowded with work, that books had been perforce relegated to the background. Joey Trip had a large garden spread out alongside of the railway track, in which he cultivated a great assortment of useful vegetables, and many bright but common flowers. But the crops would have been terribly weed-choked that summer had it not been for Nell’s unceasing energy in weeding. Early and late she plied her industrious hoe, for fortunately the garden was within easy hearing distance of the sounder.
The old people were very kind to her, and she in return was glad to do what she could for them. Besides, the outdoor work had a fascination for her, and despite her personal ambitions, it was impossible for her to sit in her hot little office engrossed in books, whilst the sun and wind were calling to her to come out and rejoice in the beauty of the summer world, and the weeds were growing so fast that the crops must suffer if they were not pulled out.
Arithmetic was her great stumbling-block on the road to knowledge. She could reckon things quickly in her head, but when it came to setting a sum out on paper, and working it by this rule and that, to bring it to a proper result, she was hopelessly confused. Geography was so fascinating that she had to look upon it as a play task, the study being altogether too delightful to be regarded as work. It was much the same with history, which in her own mind she classed with fiction, and she sandwiched it in between graver studies. Grammar proved almost as puzzling as arithmetic, but she struggled on, determined to write and speak as correctly as possible, and in this she was much more successful than any one might have deemed possible, considering the environment of her daily life.
But now it was September, garden work would soon be over, and the long dark evenings would give her the leisure she needed, to help her on towards the goal of her strivings.
So she watched the fading of the great beds of golden-rod without regret, although it had been one of the joys of the summer to her to admire the patches of living gold which adorned the open spaces of the valleys. The blue jays cried with shrill notes to each other as they flew in and out of the yellowing trees, and the plaintive chickadee cheeped mournfully through the quiet autumn days. But there was such a joy of living and of striving in Nell’s heart, that the chickadee only soothed instead of inspiring her with melancholy.
She had been down to Bratley but once since June, and now Mrs. Nichols was away, visiting some friends of earlier days on the American side, and Gertrude was sent to board meanwhile with little old Miss Gibson, whose house was large enough to admit of her taking Gertrude as well as Dr. Russell and his little son.
Miss Gibson had sent more than once asking Nell to come, but she would not go, having an instinctive feeling that Gertrude had no room in her heart for a girl friend just now.
“If ever she needs me, I’ll go to her quick enough, but I would rather not be regarded as a nuisance, so I will stay away until I am wanted,” Nell told herself, with quiet determination; for she had the rare faculty of being able to stand aside, to efface herself if the occasion required it, for the good of her friends, and although this entailed upon her many hours of loneliness, it did not fail to bring its own reward, all in good time—But that is anticipating.
Sometimes she had a long letter from Flossie Lorimer, detailing the doings of Teddy and the baby; also of Patsey, who meant to be a civil engineer when he grew up, and to invent as many things as Edison had done.
Nell read and re-read those letters from Flossie, sometimes she even cried over them, but that was on the rare occasions when she was low spirited and melancholy. It had been a keen disappointment to her that she had not been asked to spend her holiday at Lorimer’s Clearing. Because no invitation had come, she had taken no vacation, for a holiday is of little use to those who have no home in which to spend it.
Gertrude had not gone home either that summer, for she was anxious to save as much money as possible, to make up for the months in which she had been obliged to employ a deputy.
On the day before Nell’s birthday she had a letter from Flossie, which disturbed her a good deal.
“I wish you were here now” (the child wrote), “for you used to take all our burdens on your back, and I always felt so safe because you were so strong. But now mother is poorly most days, though she won’t let me tell father, and she says we can’t have the doctor for her because of the big bill we owe Dr. Shaw. Sometimes mother gets so short of breath that I’m afraid it will stop altogether, but she is dreadfully angry if I look frightened. Father has had a bad cough all summer, and he couldn’t work at all well in harvest. Mother does not know I’m writing this letter, but Patsey does, and he is going to pay the postage because I haven’t got any money of my own now. I wish you would come and stay with us again, dear Nell, and so does Patsey; he says he wishes you were our sister as well as Gertrude. Your lovingFlossie.”
“I wish you were here now” (the child wrote), “for you used to take all our burdens on your back, and I always felt so safe because you were so strong. But now mother is poorly most days, though she won’t let me tell father, and she says we can’t have the doctor for her because of the big bill we owe Dr. Shaw. Sometimes mother gets so short of breath that I’m afraid it will stop altogether, but she is dreadfully angry if I look frightened. Father has had a bad cough all summer, and he couldn’t work at all well in harvest. Mother does not know I’m writing this letter, but Patsey does, and he is going to pay the postage because I haven’t got any money of my own now. I wish you would come and stay with us again, dear Nell, and so does Patsey; he says he wishes you were our sister as well as Gertrude. Your lovingFlossie.”
“Dare I write and ask if I may go to them for a fortnight?” Nell asked herself, as she pondered the letter in her mind. Once she thought of telling Gertrude over the wires that Mrs. Lorimer was not well, and was only deterred by the fear that poor Flossie might be found out and punished, for having ventured to let out the secret of her mother’s indisposition.
“I will wait until the day after to-morrow, and then if I feel the same about it, I will ask Mrs. Lorimer if I may come for two weeks; I will even offer to pay for my board. She will be less likely to refuse me then,” Nell told herself a little grimly, but never even guessed at the wild upheaval that was to come into her life before the day after to-morrow arrived.
“MANY happy returns of the day, dear; may it be the most delightful birthday you have ever spent.”
Nell smiled broadly to herself, as the clicking insistent little machine ticked out Gertrude’s message of birthday wishes, and she thought of last year, when Doss Umpey had even forgotten it was her birthday.
The smile changed to a sigh as her thoughts went backward. The old life had been very lonely and narrow; it was delightful to think how things had changed for her since then. It all seemed so far away now, but she remembered every minute of the day; how Pip had been so badly mauled, how her disappointment at not being able to have the key of her mother’s box had made her miserable, then how the stranger had come to collapse on the doorstep.
But she did not wish to remember anything about the stranger, so she dismissed the subject with a shrug, and tried to think of something else.
The day passed much as other days had done, except that there seemed more work than usual to do, and Joey Trip was weaker and less able to move the big packages.
“The old fellow ought to be superannuated, that is certain,” said the conductor of the evening train, when he and the fireman had to unload the freight which the old man should have handled.
But Joey was nowhere to be seen, and application to Mrs. Trip had produced the information that Joey was not well, and could not leave his bed. Then the men, who really needed instruction as to where to place the different sorts of merchandise which were being taken out of the freight cars, had to appeal to Nell for advice.
She was sewing in her office, and came at once when asked for assistance, but she looked genuinely surprised at being told that Joey was ill and unable to leave his bed, for she had seen him take the road to the Settlement about an hour before the cars came in.
However, concerning this she said nothing, for of course he might have returned and been taken poorly since that time.
Reaching down her big apron, she went out with the men, listened to what they had to say about the freight, then gave her own opinion as to where it should be placed.
The floor of the big shed had been raised to the level of a freight wagon, which was most useful for purposes of loading and unloading.
“I suppose this place is safe enough; locks up properly at night, and all that?” the conductor asked rather uneasily, when the fireman had gone back to his engine, and Nell was preparing to shut the great double doors.
“Oh yes; I should think it would stand a siege. Look at this bar across these doors,” she said, with a laugh, as she slid the great bar of stout wood into its place, and left the shed shut up for the night.
“That is well, for there is more value in some of that stuff brought here to-night than thousands of dollars could replace,” the man said earnestly.
Nell looked worried. “I wish you had not told me; I shall be having bad dreams to-night,” she said, with a nervous laugh.
“I had to tell some one, and seeing that Joey Trip isn’t here, why, I had to tell you, for how was I to know that you wouldn’t just leave the place with the doors open, so that any one who chose might walk in and help himself? But you’ve got your head screwed on right, so now I’ve warned you, it will be safe.”
“Where are these valuable things consigned to?” asked Nell, as she and the conductor made their way out of the shed by the small side door.
“Some to one place, some to another; the smelter takes most. They’ll be sending down early in the morning, I expect, for the lot.”
“I wish they’d send to-night,” said Nell, with a sigh, knowing very well that it would fall to her lot to bear the responsibility.
The conductor laughed. Then, as time was up, he strolled back to the waiting cars, shouted an order to the engine driver as he went past, then, as the train began to move, swung himself on board. There were only three passengers, a man and two women, but there were some freight-cars laden with logs from the saw-mills at the Settlement, and one or two empty wagons.
A great silence seemed to fall on the lonely little depot after the engine and its train of cars had gone snorting and puffing down the valley, while the dusk of evening began to steal into the tree-shaded hollows of the hills, although higher up the last rays of sunset were lingering still.
Nell watched until the last trail of steam had disappeared round the bend in the valley, then, remembering that Joey Trip was unwell, she went to the house to ask what ailed him.
“In bed, is he? I am so sorry. Would you like me to wire down to Bratley for the doctor to come up on the morning cars?” whispered Nell to the deaf woman.
Mrs. Trip, who was looking very miserable, began to cry, faltering out between her sobs—
“It don’t come natural to me to fib, Miss Hamblyn, ’deed it don’t; but what was I to do? The truth would most likely have lost him his place.”
“What do you mean?” asked Nell, with a bewildered look.
“Joey ain’t sick at all,” gasped the old woman in great distress, “not that I knows on, at least, though I’ll grant you he’s silly.”
“Where is he, then?” demanded Nell, blankly.
“He ain’t at home; he went off nearly two hours ago, I should say it was,” sobbed the old woman.
“But where?” asked Nell.
“How should I know? I only saw him go. Then when the train man came to ask for him, I guessed he’d gone off somewhere; and because I was afraid I told the falsehood, and now I’ll have it on my conscience to my dying day,” Mrs. Trip said, moaning piteously.
Nell tried to comfort her, but did not succeed very well. Remembering that her office was not locked up, she went slowly back to make things secure for the night, turning over in her own mind as she went the probable reasons why Joey had chosen to absent himself from duty on that particular evening, and resolving to tell him pretty plainly when he returned that for the future he would have to do his own work, as she was quite tired of being pointsman, porter, and everything else, in addition to her own proper duties.
She was in her office, putting away things for the night, when she heard wheels rumbling along the road, and, looking out, saw a rough two-wheeled cart drawing up by the big shed.
“Oh, they have come for the valuables! How lucky!” she exclaimed to herself. Not stopping to shut the office door, she ran along to the big shed to open the double doors, and, if necessary, help the man to load the cases on the cart.
To her surprise, however, he had not come for goods, but had brought a dead Chinaman along in a coffin, to be put on the cars for Vancouver, whence the remains would be shipped to the land of his nativity.
“But the train ain’t gone yet for sure, is it?” asked the man in charge of this gruesome freight.
“Yes, ten minutes or a quarter of an hour ago. Why didn’t you hurry up?” said Nell, sharply.
“I thought I’d time, plenty of it, but it’s that wretched watch of mine; stops the thing does, then goes on again after half an hour or so as comfortable as you please, and me none the wiser,” the fellow said, drawing out his watch and showing it to Nell, who saw that it was, as he had said, half an hour slow.
“What are you going to do?” she asked curtly.
“Leave him here, of course, to go by first train in the morning; it won’t make much difference to him I guess, whether it’s now or next week. But I was told to get him here for the night cars, and I guess Li Hung will be pretty mad when he knows I missed. Still, accidents will happen sometimes.”
“Where does he—I mean where does it come from?” asked Nell, with a shiver.
“Goat’s Gulch; it’s a place pretty high up, about six miles beyond the Settlement, and it’s a silver claim what they’ve got, this lot of Chinkies, I mean. There’s six or seven of them. Li Hung he’s the boss, and this one here in the box was Li Hang, his brother. Is old Joey Trip about to help me to unload, miss? I’m in a hurry to get back, for my wife ain’t very well, and ours is rather a lonely location.”
“No, he is not about. Wait a minute while I go and get the double doors open, then I will help you myself,” she said brusquely, feeling more angry than ever with Joey Trip, for having gone off in such a careless fashion, leaving her in charge.
The coffin must be taken into the big shed, she knew, so she entered, groped her way to the double doors, slid out the bar, and pushed them open. It was not dark yet, but the moon was already coming up, and there was a luminous brightness in the sky left from a glorious sunset, which made things stand out in a particularly vivid manner.
Nell was helping with her vigorous young strength to drag the coffin from the cart to the raised floor of the shed, when she noticed to her surprise that there were round holes here and there along the side, under the raised beading which ornamented the lid.
Instantly it flashed into her mind that these were air-holes, and as instantly it occurred to her that dead men did not require air-holes, although live ones might do.
By a great effort she kept the sudden terror which leaped into her heart from showing in her face, while she pushed and pulled with great fuss and much apparent effort, as if the work were beyond her strength.
“Are there a couple of blocks anywhere that we could lift the coffin on, miss?” the man asked a little anxiously, as he peered about the dusky interior of the big shed.
Nell seized upon two square blocks of wood, upsetting as she did so a long length of light but very strong steel chain, which had come up on the cars that evening, consigned to the company running the smelter. The chain put an idea in her head, that came like an inspiration of hope.
“Will these do?” she asked, dragging the blocks forward for his inspection.
“Just the right sort of thing, thank you. Would you mind shoving the blocks under while I tilt the concern up? You see, it’s polished underneath, and Li Hung would never get over it if he thought I’d left it so that the bottom would get scratched or spoiled. Terrible particular about their coffins these Chinkies are. It is the first thing they buy when they are able to save money a bit, and they’ll spend no end of time in polishing and rubbing to keep them bright and shining.”
“Ugh! How horrible! I’m so afraid of things of that sort,” cried Nell, glad to relieve her feelings by a violent shudder.
She was honestly very much afraid just then, only it was not a dead man, but a possible live one inside the coffin, whom she feared so greatly.
“Bless you, miss, you’ve no call to be frightened; dead men won’t hurt nobody. Shall I stay and help you to lock up?” he asked, with a sympathetic kindness which Nell would have greatly appreciated, if she had not believed him to be a hypocrite, which he actually was.
“No, thank you; I would rather do it myself,” she answered brusquely, beginning to draw the first of the doors into its place.
“Good evening, miss,” he said cheerily, as he got into his cart and started the horse on its homeward journey up the hilly road between the trees.
“Good evening,” she answered, giving the half of the double doors a shake and a bang, as if it would not settle into its place properly.
The door was all right, but she wanted a moment or two in which to let the man with the cart get farther away before she acted on the inspiration which had come to her.
The horse was going slowly, and the man kept looking back, but at last he had passed the place where a derelict railway wagon blocked the view. Then she turned, and, quick as thought, seized upon the length of steel chain and passed it round the coffin four or five times. After this, as a final precaution, she dumped two heavy cases upon the polished lid, and, shutting the other half of the door, slid the great bar into its place.
It was awkward work groping her way to the side door, and she knocked herself more than once upon the way against barrels and cases, some of the latter having sharp corners.
But she was outside at last, and, locking the door behind her, had a moment in which to sort out her thoughts and decide what next had to be done.
She was quite positive in her own mind that the inmate of the coffin was a living man, that the person who had brought it had arrived purposely late for the evening train, and that a scheme was afoot to rob the big shed.
Could she by any means prevent the robbery? The man in the coffin was certainly a prisoner until some one released him, for the steel chain was much too strong for one man’s strength to break. But he would have confederates, several perhaps, and how could she, a girl, hope to outwit them?
If she ran all the way to the Settlement, the robbery might take place before she could get back. She might even be intercepted, and prevented from giving an alarm.
Then she remembered the telegraph, and darting into her office, the door of which was open, she struck a light, and prepared to wire to Bratley, or if necessary to Lytton for help.
To her dismay, however, she could not get into communication anywhere; the wires had been cut.
Strangely enough, this new phase of disaster, instead of overwhelming her, braced her nerves, and made her determined to succeed in summoning help to save the railway company from robbery.
She thought of the inspection trip which she had made with the inspector, and of his explanation of how a message could be sent if the wire were cut. But when she had found where the wire had been cut, how was she, a girl, to climb a twenty-foot telegraph-pole in the dark and carry with her the long end of the wire? Then suddenly she remembered that there was a testing pole about a mile away; that is, a pole with iron spikes sticking out at intervals, up which an active person might climb. The inspector had explained to her that at each station the wire was carried down into the ground, and that the current, after passing along it, made its way through the earth to the point from which it started. It occurred to her therefore that if she could climb the testing pole she might be able to complete the circuit by cutting the wire there and then tapping one of the ends against the lightning conductor, with which most of the poles in that ironstone region had been fitted, a long metal rod running down into the earth. If she could do this, she felt sure she would be able to send a message. At any rate she could try.
A mile away, and the ground so rough it would take her at least twenty minutes to get there, and even then she would have to cut the wire. But there was a wire-cutter in the drawer of the instrument table, and seizing it she dashed out to the warm darkness of the September gloom, and, taking a path leading away from the railway track, ran at top speed until she was pretty well exhausted.
Then she dropped on the ground for a twofold purpose—first to get a complete rest, and secondly to hear if she were being followed.
But there was no sound that reached her ears, saving her own panting breath, and after a brief rest she was up and away again, heading straight for the railway now, and getting over the ground faster than at first, because the going was smoother.
Having arrived at the testing pole, she had to drop on the ground again and have another rest, for she was much too tremulous and exhausted to attempt the climb until she had recovered her breath a little.
Step by step she pulled herself up the tall pole until she reached the top; then she gave a low cry of surprise, for it was there that the wire had been cut!
Fortunately for her purpose, it had been cut on the side nearer to Camp’s Gulch, and about two feet from the pole. She therefore dragged the cut end of the wire round until it reached the lightning conductor, thus making the circuit complete. Then, tapping it on the rod, she sent her imploring appeal to Bratley.
But it was nearly eight o’clock, perhaps even past that hour, and Gertrude’s office might be shut up, so, after having twice repeated her message of distress to Bratley, she sent an appeal all the way to Lytton, being determined that some one should know of the desperate strait she was in.
It was harder work coming down the pole than it had been going up, and when at length the bottom was reached in safety, she was trembling so much with the fearful strain of her achievement that again she had to lie down to recover a little.
Full well she realized that the greatest danger was yet to come, and that the time of waiting for help to arrive was the most anxious and hazardous of all.
If Joey Trip had only been at home it would not have been so bad. But, since a stone-deaf woman was practically as useless as no one, she was to all intents and purposes alone.
Back she went as fast as she could travel, only now there was a clutching fear at her heart, and she started at every sound, real or imaginary.
Mrs. Trip was standing at the door, peering out, when Nell came in sight, walking leisurely now because she did not want to frighten the old woman too soon.
“Come in, child. What do you want to go wandering round at night for, just as if you were an owl? I’ve made you a real nice pancake for your supper, and there’s honey as well, because of its being your birthday,” said the old woman, laying her hand affectionately on Nell’s shoulder. Then, because something in the girl’s strained white face and troubled eyes arrested her attention, she asked sharply, “What is it? What’s the matter, child? Has aught of harm come to Joey?”
“No; it isn’t Mr. Trip. But I’m afraid there is mischief afoot,” whispered Nell.
Then, dragging the old woman farther into the lighted room, she stood with her face turned to the lamp, and told in whispers the story of what they had to fear.
“Heaven send that Joey has not gone off on purpose to be out of this!” cried the old woman, lifting up her shaking hands with an imploring gesture.
“No, no, I am sure he has not,” whispered Nell; “for in that case he would have waited until the cars had gone as usual. But I must go now, for I have to watch the big shed, even though I may not be able to save the stuff. Give me a bit of bread that I can carry with me, and the pancake must wait until I have more time to eat it.”
“It is such a beautiful pancake, and I made it for your birthday,” said the old woman, regretfully, as she cut a generous chunk from the loaf.
Nell started. She had forgotten about it being her birthday; and then, remembering her last birthday, she wondered if always the date was to mark change and upheaval in her life.
But she had no time for speculation now, and, eating a mouthful of bread, she gulped down a cup of hot tea without sugar or milk; after which she noiselessly emerged from the house door, and, making a wide detour by way of Joey’s garden, gained the other side of the railway track.
She meant to creep as far as the derelict freight-car if she could, but to reach it there was an open moon-lit space to cross. Once hidden in the freight-car, she believed that she would be able to see without being seen, so that if a raid were really made on the big shed she might be able to know in which direction the things were taken away.
But, as she crouched waiting in the shadow of the trees until the passing of the moon left the open space in shadow once more, a slouching step sounded, coming nearer and nearer, and, to her amazement, Doss Umpey came into view.
“Granfer!” she cried, startled into forgetfulness of the need there was for keeping herself out of sight.
Just then, from far away down the valley came the faint whistle of a train.
GERTRUDE LORIMER was in her office, waiting rather impatiently for the hour of her release from duty. There were so many reasons why she wanted to be free on this particular night.
For one thing, Mrs. Nichols had arrived home earlier in the evening, after a long stay on American territory, and Gertrude was anxious to hear the story of her adventures—so far, at least, as it could be told over an early supper. Afterwards Dr. Russell had suggested that a walk up to Skwail Point in the moonlight would be a pleasant way of passing the autumn evening.
The schoolmistress was going, and Neal Peters, the baggage-clerk’s younger brother; Tom Smithers, his wife and her sister would be pretty sure to go also, for moonlight walks when the day’s work was done were becoming quite a favourite recreation among the young people.
Skwail Point was always worth seeing, whether by moonlight or daylight, because of the Indian legend attaching to it.
The Point or Peak was the highest ground in all that hilly district, and the Squamish tribe held the belief that from Skwail Point the blessing of daylight had first been let loose upon the world. Previously it had been shut up in a box and jealously guarded by the sea-gull. But one very severe winter when the Chinook did not blow, the sea-gull was driven inland from the coast in search of shelter from the bitter cold, and, pausing to rest for a few minutes on the Point, found his feet frozen to the ground. While the sea-gull, with the precious box of daylight under his wing, was making frantic efforts to free himself, a raven came along and offered to assist.
But the raven’s attempts only hurt the sea-gull, who cried to him to desist.
“I should not hurt you if I could see better,” said the wily raven. “Why don’t you open your daylight box, and let me see to get you out of this fix? For if you stay here much longer, you will certainly be frozen to death.”
At this the sea-gull opened the box just a little way, being in terror of letting the imprisoned daylight escape, and in still greater terror of being frozen to death.
But the raven, who meant that the daylight should be set free, kept hurting more and more, declaring all the time that he must have more light for his work, or the sea-gull would die. Presently the sea-gull, which had been endeavouring to have as much light for himself as was necessary, but to keep all the rest shut up, dropped the box by accident, and the daylight rushed out, spreading itself all over the world so that it could never be gathered again. The sea-gull wept bitterly on discovering what had happened, and that is why the sea-gulls still utter such a plaintive cry as they skim the waters in search of food.
Gertrude had told the legend to a good many people, at different times when she had gone up the Point, and she meant on this evening to tell it to Dr. Russell. She told stories exceedingly well; her manners were easy, and her language simple and direct. It was her one great accomplishment, and she was secretly very proud of it.
Dr. Russell had quite revolutionized Bratley; he was always pointing out some improvements, or suggesting alterations which would be for the benefit of the place. He was getting patients now, and there seemed every probability that in time he would be able to build up a lucrative practice. He had been to Lytton that day to consult a doctor there, regarding the case of a Roseneath miner who was then just occupying a spare bed in Miss Gibson’s house, in order to be under the care of the doctor.
Twenty minutes to eight o’clock, a quarter, then ten minutes. How long that last half-hour was, to be sure!
The cars had gone, and the only remaining sign of activity on the depot was an engine and one freight car waiting to take some miners to Roseneath; it would be gone in a few minutes, and then Gertrude would be free for her supper and the pleasure which was to come after.
Just then she heard a piercing shriek, many shouts, and much trampling of feet.
Running out to see what was the matter, she saw a group gathered about the engine; but before she could reach the place, a man detached himself from the group and ran at the top of his speed in the direction of Miss Gibson’s house.
“An accident; some one is hurt, and they have gone for the doctor!” she murmured, turning pale.
Just then Sam Peters saw her coming, and moved to intercept her.
“Don’t come here, Miss Lorimer; it ain’t a sight for girls. Driver Tompkins has just been and got scalded awful about the hands and face, and they’re gone to fetch the doctor to him. Go back to your office, and wait to see if you are needed to wire anywhere for help, for we haven’t got another driver on the place to-night.”
Gertrude fled back to her office, shutting the door with a bang. She had a nervous horror of accidents, of sickness, and of unpleasant sights generally, and she sat for what seemed to be an interminable time waiting to be of use, in case it was necessary to telegraph anywhere for help.
Suddenly the sounder began to call, while a great clicking ensued, as if the telegraph-instrument had suddenly gone crazy.
Gertrude sprang to the table, glancing at the clock as she passed, being surprised to find that it was twenty minutes past eight, when in an ordinary way she would have been off duty, and the office locked up.
What a funny message it was, too!