When Arnold reached home in the evening, from Broadstone, he felt anything but pleased on learning that visitors had arrived and were awaiting his return. Tired and disappointed, he would have preferred being left to his own thoughts; but this was a privilege which for the present, at least, he found he had to forego. The first greetings over, his little wife informed him that his cousins from Jersey had arrived about an hour before him."They are on their way to Liverpool, bound for the Klondyke," she added."Where are they staying?" asked Arnold."I have not asked them that," she replied, "as I wanted to hear what you thought about our trying to accommodate them here for three nights, so as to save them the expense of going to an hotel.""But you know how very limited is the space at our disposal, my dear!""True," said Mrs. Arnold; "but it is not for long, and no doubt they will be much better pleased.""Well, if you feel that you can manage it, and they are willing to accept what accommodation we have to offer, I shall be quite prepared to fall in with whatever arrangement you like to make.""Very well; then I have no doubt we shall be able to settle matters to their satisfaction. And now, dear, you had better go and change your things, and make yourself look spruce, and then join us in the drawing-room, which will leave me at liberty to see to the supper."Later in the evening, when the proposals of Mrs. Arnold for the disposal and accommodation of the cousins were laid before them, they were only too pleased to avail themselves of the offered hospitality.John and Charles Barton, whose ages were respectively twenty-three and twenty-seven years, had worked on a small farm which their father rented until the old man died, which event happened three or four years prior to the present period. For the past three years they had continued it on their own account, but, failing to make it pay, they had sold everything off and resolved to emigrate. It was just about this time that the Klondyke successes began to be all the talk, and so taken were they with the marvellous stories related of that region that they determined to try their fortune on its inhospitable shores. Their purses were not too well lined, nor their prospects sufficiently promising, to render them independent of any little help or assistance they might meet with from friends on their way."What port are you bound for, Jack?" inquired Arnold."We go to Montreal, and thence by Canadian and Pacific line across the American Continent to San Francisco.""Isn't that the longest way there?" asked Arnold."That is so; but then it is by far the easier. All accounts are pretty unanimous in depicting not only the danger but the difficulties of the so-called Chilcoot Pass.""But what about the White Pass?""That appears to be the worst of the three, since it leads through a very rough country, over steep hills, through swift streams, and over a pass which, although said to be one thousand feet lower than the Chilcoot, is declared by surveyors to be two hundred feet higher. And as it is longer and more difficult we have thought it best to take the river route.""What is the difference in the matter of time over—say the Chilcoot route?""The time of starting may be somewhat later, as we shall have to wait until it is known that the navigation of the Yukon River is opened.""What distance have you to travel on the Yukon?""To Dawson City is one thousand seven hundred and fifty miles; and from San Francisco to Dawson City, which is altogether about four thousand five hundred and nine miles, the Steamship Companies estimate the time needed for this journey at thirty days, whilst through or over the passes it varies from fifty to seventy days.""Probably more often seventy than fifty days?""No doubt of it.""And I suppose the river route has other advantages besides?""Oh, decidedly! Our luggage, for example, has not to be carried, or packed, as it would have to be if we went to Skagway, Dyea, or some one of the ports leading to the passes.""That, of course, is a consideration, as well as a great saving in comfort and convenience.""Exactly; for you must remember that with several hundred pounds weight of goods on the beach, it would be no very easy matter arranging and carrying out all the details necessary for transferring them over the mountains to the head-waters of the Yukon.""No; I daresay you are right," added Arnold."Well, we have studied the matter, and, after careful thought, have no doubt whatever that although it may mean some delay at San Francisco or St. Michael's, waiting for the opening of navigation, and the possibility of arriving a little later at the 'diggings,' we shall not be worn out and fagged as we should be if we risked our goods and lives over the Chilcoot Pass.""And you think you can stand the climate?" asked Arnold."We intend to try," was Jack's response. "Mr. Ogilvie, who was commissioned by the Canadian Government to make certain explorations on their behalf in that region, and who spent some eleven years off and on there, says, 'I know many Englishmen from all parts of England who have been in it, five, six, and even twelve years, without being injured by the cold. No one that I know of, taking proper care of himself, has ever been hurt by the rigour of the climate.'""All I can say is," wound up Arnold, "that I sincerely hope you may find it to be the El Dorado you are anticipating, and return home millionaires."Three days later the cousins took their departure for Liverpool, and in due course embarked on board the outward-bound steamer for Montreal, full of hopeful anticipations of that future in a new land which imagination seldom fails to surround with a halo of romance.CHAPTER VI.THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS."Things outwardDo draw the inward quality after them,To suffer all alike."Antony and Cleopatra, Act III. sc. xi.To the outward observer the London business of H. & E. Quinion was unchanged. The carriages of its wealthy patrons stood outside, as for years had been the custom, whilst their titled occupants paraded round the palatial show-rooms, frequently with a desire to gratify the eye by a sight of the many objects of artistic beauty to be seen, rather than for the purpose of purchasing the wares exhibited. City men called on their way to business, gave their orders, and, without unnecessary delay, departed. Ladies entered later in the day, with little to do and plenty of time at their disposal, taking up the time of the patient salesmen, wearying them with needless questions, and compelling them to pander to their little whims and fads. But the undercurrent of dissatisfaction and annoyance which prevailed, together with the feeling of uncertainty and unrest which had been created, were not matters of concern for the general public, and therefore remained"Unrevealed to mortal sense."Yet they were influences which were working, and working prejudicially, for all concerned.Scarcely a month had elapsed since the announcement of Mr. Houghton's retirement, when Roberts was called into the manager's office, and informed that the firm had resolved to dispense with his services, and that the notice was to take effect in a month from that day. It was not without much hesitancy, and a display of no little emotion, that the venerable manager communicated this very unwelcome piece of intelligence. Its effect on Roberts may be better imagined than described. It was a crisis which he had never for one moment anticipated; and it filled him with astonishment and dismay. As soon as he had somewhat recovered from the shock which it naturally gave him, his first inquiry was for the reason of this; when he was informed that the firm desired to make certain changes, in order to reduce the expenses of the London establishment, and that Gregory had also received a similar notice."But, sir," said Roberts, "what does the firm expect I am going to do?""They don't say," was the reply of Mr. Houghton, in a tone of helplessness."Well," added Roberts, "I should never have expected such treatment from a firm standing so high as this does in the opinion of all who have any knowledge of it.""And a few months ago I should have expressed a similar opinion," said the manager; "but circumstances have changed.""Changed! I should think they have!" exclaimed Roberts. "When a wealthy firm such as this is can say to a man who has been in their employ upwards of a quarter of a century—with whom they find no fault, but simply to enable them to reduce expenses—you are to leave us in a month! it is anything but a fair or honourable way of treating a man at my time of life.""I deeply regret to be the bearer of such a message to you," said Mr. Houghton, "and can only advise you to write the firm, and fully express your views and feelings on the subject."Acting upon this advice, Roberts at once wrote a long but respectful letter to the firm at Broadstone, setting forth the hardship of the position in which he was thus suddenly placed; the difficulty which a man of his years would experience in obtaining another situation; and suggesting that he be allowed an interview with the firm at Broadstone before such a drastic measure was put into force.In course of post a reply was received declining the suggested interview, on the ground that it would be useless, since before arriving at their decision to act as they had done every circumstance had been fully considered; and whilst they recognised the value of the services which had been rendered, and had no fault to find with him, they must decline to reconsider an act the consequences of which had been well thought over before being made known.This was cold comfort for a man in Roberts' position.The day his notice expired a cheque arrived, which the manager handed him, with expressions of regret that such a course had been found necessary. The cheque was equivalent to two months' salary.Thus at the age of fifty, after spending the best years of his life in the service of the firm, Roberts found himself thrown upon the world, with no stain upon his reputation, compelled to commence again the battle of life, and to join the ranks of the large army of the unemployed.Such treatment is an evil of long standing, and is a tyranny which the poor and defenceless have to suffer from the wealthy."In the interest of the firm" was the only plea which could be urged for the course pursued. But the happiness, the future, the health, nay the very life, of the man concerned, were all nothing, and might well be sacrificed to the grasping capitalist "in the interest of the firm."CHAPTER VII.FAR WEST."To the West, to the West, to the land of the free."—HENRY RUSSELL.Some thirty miles or more from the banks of the Qu'Appelle River, the scenery is wild and romantic. Winding creeks abound, into which are projected rocky promontories; deep ravines, formed by enormous boulders of red and grey granite, the beds bestrewn with the bones and relics of the former inhabitants of this vast country; stunted poplars, or weedy willows, with a varied undergrowth of wild fruit-bushes, contribute to form an impenetrable undergrowth and an almost pathless bush.Still farther inland, the "rolling prairie" meets the traveller's view—a waving grassy expanse, which, when set in motion by the wind, is like nothing so much as the boundless ocean, of which nearly all writers agree it most vividly reminds them.Towards the close of a Canadian summer's day, a solitary horseman might have been seen pursuing his weary way along the banks of a winding creek some few miles from the Qu'Appelle. An Englishman, not more than thirty years of age, well mounted; his cord breeches and hunting-boots, and a rifle slung across the shoulder, gave him an appearance of having some acquaintance with a settler's wild life.Human habitations were only to be met with at long intervals, when occasionally a hunter's shanty made itself visible amongst the trees. Out on the prairie were to be seen log-houses and shanties here and there; and some twenty or thirty miles distant, eastward, the indications of a little town, only just faintly visible on the far horizon.The jaded condition of both man and steed were unmistakable signs of the many weary miles which had been passed in the saddle, and it was with a feeling of relief that he espied a substantial-looking range of log buildings, marking out their owner as a man of some means, who must have made his way, and succeeded in overcoming the initial difficulties of a settler's life.The deserted look of the place was not, at first sight, encouraging. As, however, he drew in rein at the door of the house, its owner—a man apparently in the prime of life—advanced to meet him. Dressed in a suit of homespun garments, remarkable for their ease and convenience rather than their elegance, his good-humoured and good-tempered looking face gave every indication of a hearty welcome awaiting those who happened to be in need of it."Good evening, friend," said the settler, as the rider jumped from his horse, retaining hold of the reins with a loose hand. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a stalwart-looking youth who had made his appearance from a row of wooden shanties which formed the stabling of the settlement, "take and put up this gentleman's horse. See that he has a good rub down before feeding, for he looks pretty well done up.""And so I should think he was," said his owner, "since it is about seven hours since our last halt for rest or refreshment of any kind.""Come in, come in, my friend; and we will soon see what the larder has to put before you.""Well, if I may so far trespass upon Canadian hospitality, I shall only be too glad to accept anything you may be able to offer me.""Rely upon it that Canadian hospitality will never be backward in giving a right good hearty welcome to travellers from the Old Country, whom fortune or misfortune may bring to our shores.""Your words," said the tired horseman, as he followed his guide into the house, "have a true British ring in them, which makes one feel at home at once.""Well, I don't want it ever to be said that James Ranger was the man to turn away the stranger needing help from his door."Rough and unfinished in appearance as most of the appointments about the place seemed, there was yet that air of comfort and cleanliness which is the marked characteristic of nearly all Canadian houses. A living-room with a kitchen attached—the walls of which had been rendered smooth with endless coats of whitewash—formed the downstairs apartments. In the centre of the room was a rough deal table, on which a tidy white cloth was being spread by a comely-looking, matronly woman well past forty. A couple of cushioned rocking-chairs stood one on each side of a capacious fireplace, and two or three ordinary chairs, neatly cushioned, against the wall. In one corner was a serviceable chest of drawers, with a few books on the top; whilst in front of the window was a small but substantial-looking table, having all the appearance of being home-made, on which a pot with a flower in it was standing. The floor was painted yellow, and partly covered with rag carpets and rugs.Seating himself, without waiting for any further invitation, our traveller at once proceeded to divest himself of his boots, preliminary to that rest and ease so necessary after a hard day's ride.Full justice having been done to the ample provisions spread out before her tired guest, the two men lighted their pipes, and, seating themselves in the rear of the house, on a wooden bench running along the full length of the wall, and commanding an extensive view of the magnificent open country beyond, after a few general observations, the old settler, whose curiosity had been aroused by a few casual remarks which had fallen from his guest, inquired—"Well, my friend, I do not want to pry into your secrets, but may I ask where you are bound for, and what are your intentions in wandering so far away out of the beaten track of ordinary civilised life?""Well, the fact is, I am a wanderer, with little more to call my own than Jacob had when, with a stone for his pillow, he slept peacefully in the open, dreaming of the future and a land beyond. Who I am is of little consequence, since I have disgraced my lineage, sullied a good name, and am now seeking to hide my head somewhere—anywhere—so that I may escape recognition, and if possible live out a life which, opening with promise, is destined to close, as that of all wastrels do, in sorrow and disgust!""Come, come, young man,—for you are yet young,—it is neither good nor right that you should talk in such a hopeless or despairing tone; whatever may have been your past—and I do not seek to know it beyond what you may be disposed willingly to reveal—there is time yet before you in which wrong-doing may perhaps be atoned for, and some effort made to redeem the past.""Ah, if you knew all, I am afraid you would be less disposed to say so.""Well, let's see now," said Ranger. "What are your plans?—if you have formed any.""Plans I can scarcely be said to have made, unless to wander aimlessly on until chance puts me on the track of doing something for somebody, which will bring me bread-and-cheese, can be called such. Since landing at Montreal, where I bought my horse and the few things you see I possess, and started off into the interior, I have subsisted occasionally by a few purchases, but mainly on the hospitality which has been freely dispensed at the various farmhouses or settlements I have passed through. I shall continue to pursue this course until chance throws me into the way of some employment which I shall be able to enter into.""Not a very startling or encouraging prospect," was Ranger's comment; "but since time is not an important object with you under such circumstances, you may as well make a short stay here and have a look round.""With all my heart," replied the traveller, "if you do not think I shall be in the way.""No fear of that. There is plenty of room out here. We are not overburdened with inhabitants, and can very well spare the trifle you will cost for living; so we will consider that point settled, and we can return to the subject after you have had a good night's rest."As the evening closed in, the weary traveller was glad to be shown to a comfortable bed, which the kind-hearted hostess had been busily preparing for him, and in less than ten minutes the sounds which issued from his sleeping apartment proclaimed most unmistakably that he was soundly sleeping.CHAPTER VIII.MONTREAL."I hold the world but as the world...;A stage, where every man must play a part."Merchant of Venice, Act I. sc. i.The Bartons in due course reached Montreal. The passage across was uneventful, and has been so often described that it needs no record here. On landing, they proceeded at once to the ship's agent to whom they had been recommended, and sought from him instructions and information as to their future course. This was readily given. And as they felt they could spare two or three days to gaze upon the sights of this wonderful city, after securing a lodging they took advantage of the opportunity for doing so.A traveller who visited the city fifty years ago described it as being "one of the oldest settlements on the North American Continent." It stands upon the site of an ancient Indian settlement, all traces of which were soon obliterated by the progressive action of the pale-faces. At first named Mount Royal, in honour of the King of France, after sixty or seventy years' usage it appears to have been corrupted, or changed, to Montreal, but by whom and under what circumstances is not apparent. The town extends along the border of the St. Lawrence for some miles, nearly midway between Quebec and Ottawa, and the principal streets run almost parallel with the river. The older parts of the town forcibly remind one of some of the oldest cities in France, and are as ill-conceived and badly arranged as many of the worst streets of old London. The more modern parts are designed and built in the best of style, justifying its being described as "a noble city of stone edifices, rising from a crowded harbour to its mountain park." This mountain park is an adjunct such as no other city on the Continent can boast of, "whilst its shipping and business quarters give evidence of wealth and commercial activity, which invest it with more than a passing interest."The two Bartons spent a good deal of time inspecting the chief attractions of the city, until, tired with their wanderings, as they passed through Notre Dame Street they came to a narrow turning, down which they were induced to venture on seeing a small crowd about the centre. On making their way through, they found it to be one of those brawls common enough in their own land, and which they soon learned was not regarded as a strange thing in these parts. It was a fight between two men, with an excited crowd of partisans egging them on. Presently the police arrived on the scene, when an end was quickly put to the combative feelings of the crowd, which was dispersed in very much the fashion that similar crowds are dispersed in the Old Country.Retracing their steps, their attention was arrested by an ordinary but respectable-looking refreshment bar, which they entered.A seafaring man was seated at one of the tables, drinking whisky, and loudly declaiming against some injustice—real or imaginary—he wanted his hearers to believe he had suffered at the hands of the Customs' authorities. A group of interested listeners was gathered about him, which our friends joined; but after a while, not feeling interested in the subject he was dilating upon, they separated themselves from the group, and, selecting a table which was unoccupied, ordered a modest meal, such as they believed their means would admit of.When the time to settle up arrived, what was their dismay and horror to find that their pockets had been emptied of all the money they possessed.Calling the proprietor, they made known to him their dilemma; but he refused to admit that they had been robbed in his house, and as they could not declare with any certainty that this was the case, they were required to pay; but how to do this was not so easy to determine.A grinning crowd soon surrounded them, expressing considerable doubts about thebonâ fidesof their representations. They, however, succeeded in convincing the landlord that they were what they represented themselves to be by producing the railway tickets, which they had fortunately taken for their forward journey; and he, relying upon their promise to forward the sum due out of the first money they made, allowed them to depart after some little haggling.Their difficulties, however, were not yet over. It had been their intention to stay a few days longer in Montreal, and they had accordingly engaged their lodgings with that object in view. This was now rendered impossible. They had left a deposit with the lodging-house keeper, so that the only plan they could think of was to interview her, make a clean breast of their position, and, in the event of finding her incredulous, forfeit the money in hand and start at once to the West.The day being well advanced, they returned to the lodging-house where they had intended staying, which was situate in one of the streets contiguous to the harbour.The landlady, a sharp-looking little woman, incredulous at first as to the truth of their story, explained that she had so frequently been done by similar representations that they must not feel surprised at her hesitating to accept their statement as true. Convinced at length, she agreed to allow them to remain the night in return for the deposit, so that they might be able to depart by the morning train, outward bound at nine-five a.m. This difficulty overcome, it was not so clear to our two friends how they were to subsist during the long journey which lay before them.From the police they obtained very little that could be considered satisfactory. The street they described had an indifferent reputation, and the restaurant at which they had stopped was frequently being brought under their notice. But the fact of their having mingled in the row in the street rendered it so extremely probable that the robbery took place there, that they held out no hopes of their loss being recovered. Acting upon police advice, they resolved to call upon the British Consul and acquaint him with the destitute position in which this event had placed them, in the hope that he might be willing to render them a little assistance.They had not far to go to reach that useful official, into whose presence they were readily admitted.He was a tall, handsome-looking man, with a fine military bearing, who had well passed the meridian of life. His face was a study which Lavater would have revelled over; it had all the expression of good-humour and a kindly disposition, so delightful to meet with, yet accompanied with a pair of expressive blue eyes which seemed to pierce the person they were looking at. He was certainly not the man to be imposed upon, yet he was quite prepared to listen and weigh a fairly good tale of trouble.The story of the Bartons was very simple. After taking their tickets at Liverpool, they had the balance out of one hundred pounds left. They had not spent much since reaching Montreal beyond the price of their railway tickets, which had been taken to San Francisco. They had therefore more than half the money they had begun with intact, when so unfortunately deprived of the balance.Their papers and railway tickets tended to confirm these statements, whilst their manners and appearance were sufficient to convince His Majesty's representative their story was a true one."I believe all you tell me," said his Excellency, "and am afraid the treatment you have received from our countrymen will not lead you to form a too favourable impression of them.""On the contrary," spoke up the elder of the two men, "we feel that there was a great want of thought on our part in the matter, and the kindness we have already met with convinces us that in this country, as in England, the bad are always to be found mixed up with the good.""I am glad you take that sensible view of the affair; and at the same time, whilst regretting that I cannot make up your loss, which it would perhaps not be wise for me to do, yet to convince you that, as a people, we are not indisposed to extend a helping hand to those who stand in need of it, I shall be quite willing to make you a present of ten pounds, trusting you will guard it with more care than that which has gone.""Your Excellency's offer is far more than we had any right to anticipate, and overwhelms us with gratitude. It is a noble and generous act, for which we cannot find words adequately to express our feelings.""Good day," added the Consul, as they were leaving; "in the land you are going to I hope you will find what you are in search of.""And be assured, sir, you will have no reason to regret your confidence in us, for the very first moneys we succeed in making will be devoted to the return of what we prefer to regard as a loan."And it was with a feeling of proud satisfaction that, in less than six months, the elder Barton found himself in a position to remit the amount to his Excellency, in a letter which expressed the gratitude felt for the timely help so kindly and generously afforded.CHAPTER IXRANGER'S RANCH."Thou, like a kind fellow, gave thyself away; and I thank thee."Henry IV., Part II. Act IV. sc. iii.Guide-books tell us that "the Dominion of Canada is the largest of the British possessions," and it is difficult to form a true conception of the vast area comprised within the limits of our North American Provinces.No country has such grand possibilities before it, and its progress of recent years has been remarkable. All Canadians are proud of their country, and believe in it.But we are not at present concerned so much about Canada in general, or as a whole, as we are with that section which lies some few hundred miles west of Winnipeg, in the district of Assiniboia.It was here, in the lovely valley of the Qu'Appelle River, that we left our weary traveller at Ranger's Ranch, with a prospect of provisional entertainment, until something suitable could be decided upon for his future.Having, as he explained, no definite plan of action before him, he very readily fell in with a proposal Ranger made, in the course of a few days, to stay and assist on the farm, so as to ascertain to what extent he was adapted for agricultural pursuits, and whether it was a life he would be willing to settle down to."What sort of climate have you here?" was one of the earliest questions asked by Fellows, the name he had expressed a wish to be known by."Much the same as prevails in the neighbouring province of Manitoba," was Ranger's reply. "The summer months usually bright, clear, and very warm, but nights cool.""How is it later on?""The autumn months are the finest of the year.""No rain?""Frequently the atmosphere is dry and free from moisture for several weeks.""Is your winter exceptionally hard?""For the matter of that," replied Ranger, "much depends upon constitution. Without doubt it is cold, but there is usually very little wind, and almost constant sunshine; there is no snowfall to any great depth, and traffic is but slightly impeded. In fact, the general dryness of the air causes it to be exceedingly bracing and healthy.""I suppose you consider it superior to that of the Old Country?""Decidedly I do! Experience would tell me that, but the testimony of our Officer of Health goes to confirm it. Listen to what he says," added Ranger, as he took down a little book from the slender stock on the shelf by his side: "'We are absolutely protected by our climatic conditions from several of the most dangerous and fatal diseases, whilst others, which are common to all peoples on the face of the earth, are comparatively rare.'""Your favourable description, added to my own brief experience, so charms me, that I feel very much like staying where I am," said Fellows."Well, friend, if you are really so minded I daresay we can manage to fix you," was Ranger's rejoinder."I am extremely grateful for your kind reception, and courteous treatment, of a perfect stranger, as well as for your further promise and all that it implies; but unless I can be made of some use by you I shall certainly object to becoming a burden here.""We shall not let you be that," said Ranger. "To-morrow morning I am going to drive into the railway station, which is some fifteen miles out, on the branch line of the C.P.R. running through the valley. You can go with me, as it will give you a good opportunity of seeing a little more of the surroundings, and perhaps enable you to judge of what there is to be done."Left to himself, with the afternoon before him, Fellows strolled away to the top of a hill which commanded an extensive view over the prairie-land surrounding him on all sides, and there, seating himself beneath a sheltering tree, his thoughts wandered away to a distant home, where in imagination he saw the features of those he loved, and who were seldom absent from his mind. A stranger might not have been able to tell the current of thought engaging his attention, but it would have been apparent to the most casual observer, by the contracted brow and the gloom on his countenance, that his reflections were none of the pleasantest.After a considerable lapse of time, his attention was diverted by hearing distant sounds of voices borne upon the still air, apparently proceeding from a rough-looking timber construction, the abode of some one of the many farm-hands engaged upon the Ranch.Built upon a spur of the hill, in a somewhat deep indentation, it was a little distant from where he was seated, but he soon became an attentive observer of all that was passing.A labouring-looking man came from the house with a pail, and ran with all haste to a pond at a short distance and commenced filling it, but before he could return loud screams proceeded from the interior, which caused Fellows to hasten down the hill in order to ascertain the cause of the commotion.Reaching the dwelling at the same time as did the other with his pail of water, he found the living-room in a blaze of fire, whilst screams were proceeding from a room beyond, all communication with which appeared to be cut off by the trend of the flames. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he hastily dipped it in the pail the man was carrying, wrung it out, tied it round his mouth, and then rushed swiftly through the flames into the room where the sounds of distress were to be heard.On reaching the room, a task which was only successfully accomplished with much difficulty, and considerable painful cost, he beheld a female form sink fainting to the ground, overcome, apparently, by the heat and smoke, of which latter the apartment was full.To raise her from the floor was the work of an instant; his next proceeding was to place her upon a bed in the room, roll a blanket round her, and rush through the smoke and flame to the outer room with as much speed as the weight of the burden he bore would permit.The fiery marks on face and hands, which were subsequently to be seen, bore eloquent testimony to the severity of the ordeal he had passed through in accomplishing the dangerous and difficult task so bravely and fearlessly undertaken.When the outbreak was observed from the other stations on the Ranch, a number of willing hands began to congregate with all haste, and with the assistance of such appliances as were most readily available a united effort was made to stem the progress of the flames. These, however, had by this time obtained so firm a hold, that it was evident the building, with its contents, was doomed. In a short while nothing remained of the humble dwelling but a blackened and smouldering ruin.The inanimate form of his daughter occupied all the attention of Russell, the late occupier of the hut, who, as soon as she could be restored to consciousness, was found not to have suffered much harm, thanks to the brave and timely efforts of Fellows on her behalf.He, however, had not escaped so freely, having suffered considerably about the hands and face, which had been exposed to the full force of the flames as he twice made his way through them.A cart was procured, in which he was at once placed and driven back to Ranger's dwelling, to be doctored with such native measures as Mrs. Ranger was able hastily to command.The cause of the fire, as the girl explained when she was sufficiently recovered to do so, was one of common occurrence. Some light articles of clothing had been hung in front of the fire to air, and whilst Russell sat enjoying his after-dinner nap, she had gone into the other room to attend to certain domestic duties, and during this temporary absence a spark must have set the things on fire, which was only discovered when the outer room was in a blaze.As the few things which Russell possessed were all destroyed, arrangements had to be temporarily made for the accommodation of himself and his daughter in two of the other huts on the Ranch, until his own could again be rebuilt.Leaving instructions for all hands to turn to in the morning, and help put up another dwelling for the two who had been thus suddenly left houseless, Ranger, who, as soon as informed of what was happening, had lost no time in proceeding to the scene of the fire, returned home to see how it fared with Fellows, and to make preparations for his journey in the morning, which would now have to be undertaken without his companionship.Fellows was in a high state of fever; whilst many of the burns he had sustained were seen to be of such a serious character that it was felt more skilled assistance would have to be procured. A messenger was at once despatched into the town—distant some fifteen miles—for the only medical man in the neighbourhood.It was shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon, that, mounted on a good horse, the messenger set out for M'Lean Station, in hopes of finding the doctor and returning with him. His way for the most part was over rolling prairie, relieved by clumps of trees, which are to be found on the borders of such lakes and streams as are constantly to be met with; or down amid the hollows, where grow the heavy luxuriant grasses from which the farmer obtains his supply of winter hay.As the slanting rays of the westering sun were sending up their brilliant points into the clear blue vault above, Ranger's messenger drew rein before the door of the doctor's dwelling, a very unpretentious, one-storeyed detached villa—one of some half-dozen—standing upon a hillside leading up to the station.Dr. Fisherton was not at home; he had left in the early morning for the Pleasant Hills, in response to an imperative request from a Nat Langham, who kept a store, and farmed a small holding at the foot of the hills, and was not expected back till late. There was no help for it but to wait. So, stabling his horse, he accompanied his negro attendant into the servants' quarters, determined to make himself as comfortable as possible for the time being.After doing full justice to the meal which was presently spread out before him, and which his long ride had well prepared him for, he lighted his pipe and seated himself at the window to wait for the doctor's return.Slowly the hours seemed to pass, until eleven o'clock struck, without any signs of the doctor's appearance. At length the sound of a horse's feet were heard approaching, and soon all doubt was put at rest with the entry of the man so long expected.The appearance of the doctor was that of a man in the prime of life; tall, and with a good physique, and a countenance calculated to impart confidence almost at a glance.On learning that a messenger was in waiting for him, he, without standing on ceremony, immediately made his way to where he was sitting and inquired the nature of his business."There's been a fire, sir, this afternoon, at Farmer Ranger's, and one of his men is very seriously injured; in fact, when I left home he was in a high state of fever, so that it was thought advisable to send me, in order, if possible, to take you back at once to him.""Well, you see I was out and in the saddle early this morning, and have only just returned after a hard day's work. What do you say to staying the night, so that we may start together soon after daylight in the morning?""It may sound a little inconsiderate, sir," responded the man, "but if you could manage to come now, we shall be able to reach the Ranch about two o'clock; and my own opinion is, that it is a case where every hour may be a matter of importance."After reflecting for a few moments, during which time he seemed to be turning the matter well over in his mind, he announced his decision in a manner which admitted of no appeal."I think it would be very unwise to start at such an hour. It is late; there is no moon; the track is very uneven; and in the darkness it would not be difficult to miss one's way. Besides, the ground is not free from loafers and tramps—to give them no more desperate title—whom it would be dangerous to meet at such a time. We will bed you up for the night, and start in the morning soon after the dawn; and instead of reaching the farm at the unearthly hour of two, get there between six and seven, a delay of four or five hours, which, on the whole, I think will be a far preferable arrangement."The wisdom of the course recommended was too evident to admit of dispute; therefore, after giving orders for the morning, the doctor retired, and the man was shown at once to his sleeping apartment, and for a few brief hours sought a welcome rest.The grey light of dawn was stealing rapidly up from the east when the messenger, Burt, was awakened by the negro attendant and told that it was time to be up. To arise and dress, for a man of his habits, was not a work occupying much time; in less than ten minutes he was seated in the kitchen, doing ample justice to the well-spread table before him. And by the time the doctor was ready to depart, Burt was in the saddle by his side, and together they started on their ride to the Ranch.The atmosphere being clear, the view up the valley along which they journeyed was uninterrupted. Where the river ran there was a thick and tangled line of vegetation, but the absence of rain had reduced it to the proportions of a very modest stream, flowing sluggishly within narrow limits. As they reached higher ground they found it everywhere thickly covered with the short crisp variety of grass known as "buffalo grass," forming excellent pasture both in winter and summer.Familiarity may not always breed contempt, because of the beauty of things with which long association has rendered one familiar, nevertheless it induces indifference. And in the case of our two friends—Fisherton and Burt—the scenes through which they were passing had been so frequently viewed by them, that it was with a species of indifference they rapidly pushed on, intent upon accomplishing their journey with as little delay as possible.Reaching the farm just as Ranger and his household were about to sit down to breakfast, they were fully prepared, after rising so early and their long and rather exhausting ride, to join him at the morning meal.When seated at the breakfast-table, the doctor inquired about the patient he had come to see, and was informed that he had passed a very restless night, with fitful intervals of sleep, and seemed to be in great pain."When your messenger arrived, it happened, unfortunately," said Dr. Fisherton, "that I was out. A mounted messenger from the Pleasant Hills had that morning arrived to say I was wanted at Nat Langham's Store, where a free fight had resulted in one man being shot dead and two others severely wounded, and I was unable to get back until eleven at night, when I found him waiting to bring me here.""Ah, I see!" added Ranger; "and of course you naturally felt it was too late to start out then to come here.""That is just it, my friend. Your man wanted me to do so; but I decided that, rather than arrive here in the middle of the night, it would be better to take a few hours' rest, start with the dawn, and get here, as we have done, in broad daylight.""Quite right, doctor; and when you have finished breakfast, I will take you to the patient, and let you see for yourself if you think the delay has done him any harm.""I trust not," was the doctor's only comment.Breakfast over, the "gudewife" conducted the doctor to the bedroom of the invalid, whilst Ranger set about preparing for his journey into town.After a careful examination of the injuries he had received, the doctor pronounced them to be in no sense dangerous, although serious. The measures which had been adopted to allay irritation and heal the burns were highly approved; and, having dressed the wounded parts and administered a cooling draught, he took his departure, giving strict instructions as to the course to be followed, with a view to reduce the fever, and promising to return in three days unless previously sent for, which he did not apprehend would be necessary.
When Arnold reached home in the evening, from Broadstone, he felt anything but pleased on learning that visitors had arrived and were awaiting his return. Tired and disappointed, he would have preferred being left to his own thoughts; but this was a privilege which for the present, at least, he found he had to forego. The first greetings over, his little wife informed him that his cousins from Jersey had arrived about an hour before him.
"They are on their way to Liverpool, bound for the Klondyke," she added.
"Where are they staying?" asked Arnold.
"I have not asked them that," she replied, "as I wanted to hear what you thought about our trying to accommodate them here for three nights, so as to save them the expense of going to an hotel."
"But you know how very limited is the space at our disposal, my dear!"
"True," said Mrs. Arnold; "but it is not for long, and no doubt they will be much better pleased."
"Well, if you feel that you can manage it, and they are willing to accept what accommodation we have to offer, I shall be quite prepared to fall in with whatever arrangement you like to make."
"Very well; then I have no doubt we shall be able to settle matters to their satisfaction. And now, dear, you had better go and change your things, and make yourself look spruce, and then join us in the drawing-room, which will leave me at liberty to see to the supper."
Later in the evening, when the proposals of Mrs. Arnold for the disposal and accommodation of the cousins were laid before them, they were only too pleased to avail themselves of the offered hospitality.
John and Charles Barton, whose ages were respectively twenty-three and twenty-seven years, had worked on a small farm which their father rented until the old man died, which event happened three or four years prior to the present period. For the past three years they had continued it on their own account, but, failing to make it pay, they had sold everything off and resolved to emigrate. It was just about this time that the Klondyke successes began to be all the talk, and so taken were they with the marvellous stories related of that region that they determined to try their fortune on its inhospitable shores. Their purses were not too well lined, nor their prospects sufficiently promising, to render them independent of any little help or assistance they might meet with from friends on their way.
"What port are you bound for, Jack?" inquired Arnold.
"We go to Montreal, and thence by Canadian and Pacific line across the American Continent to San Francisco."
"Isn't that the longest way there?" asked Arnold.
"That is so; but then it is by far the easier. All accounts are pretty unanimous in depicting not only the danger but the difficulties of the so-called Chilcoot Pass."
"But what about the White Pass?"
"That appears to be the worst of the three, since it leads through a very rough country, over steep hills, through swift streams, and over a pass which, although said to be one thousand feet lower than the Chilcoot, is declared by surveyors to be two hundred feet higher. And as it is longer and more difficult we have thought it best to take the river route."
"What is the difference in the matter of time over—say the Chilcoot route?"
"The time of starting may be somewhat later, as we shall have to wait until it is known that the navigation of the Yukon River is opened."
"What distance have you to travel on the Yukon?"
"To Dawson City is one thousand seven hundred and fifty miles; and from San Francisco to Dawson City, which is altogether about four thousand five hundred and nine miles, the Steamship Companies estimate the time needed for this journey at thirty days, whilst through or over the passes it varies from fifty to seventy days."
"Probably more often seventy than fifty days?"
"No doubt of it."
"And I suppose the river route has other advantages besides?"
"Oh, decidedly! Our luggage, for example, has not to be carried, or packed, as it would have to be if we went to Skagway, Dyea, or some one of the ports leading to the passes."
"That, of course, is a consideration, as well as a great saving in comfort and convenience."
"Exactly; for you must remember that with several hundred pounds weight of goods on the beach, it would be no very easy matter arranging and carrying out all the details necessary for transferring them over the mountains to the head-waters of the Yukon."
"No; I daresay you are right," added Arnold.
"Well, we have studied the matter, and, after careful thought, have no doubt whatever that although it may mean some delay at San Francisco or St. Michael's, waiting for the opening of navigation, and the possibility of arriving a little later at the 'diggings,' we shall not be worn out and fagged as we should be if we risked our goods and lives over the Chilcoot Pass."
"And you think you can stand the climate?" asked Arnold.
"We intend to try," was Jack's response. "Mr. Ogilvie, who was commissioned by the Canadian Government to make certain explorations on their behalf in that region, and who spent some eleven years off and on there, says, 'I know many Englishmen from all parts of England who have been in it, five, six, and even twelve years, without being injured by the cold. No one that I know of, taking proper care of himself, has ever been hurt by the rigour of the climate.'"
"All I can say is," wound up Arnold, "that I sincerely hope you may find it to be the El Dorado you are anticipating, and return home millionaires."
Three days later the cousins took their departure for Liverpool, and in due course embarked on board the outward-bound steamer for Montreal, full of hopeful anticipations of that future in a new land which imagination seldom fails to surround with a halo of romance.
CHAPTER VI.
THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.
"Things outwardDo draw the inward quality after them,To suffer all alike."Antony and Cleopatra, Act III. sc. xi.
To the outward observer the London business of H. & E. Quinion was unchanged. The carriages of its wealthy patrons stood outside, as for years had been the custom, whilst their titled occupants paraded round the palatial show-rooms, frequently with a desire to gratify the eye by a sight of the many objects of artistic beauty to be seen, rather than for the purpose of purchasing the wares exhibited. City men called on their way to business, gave their orders, and, without unnecessary delay, departed. Ladies entered later in the day, with little to do and plenty of time at their disposal, taking up the time of the patient salesmen, wearying them with needless questions, and compelling them to pander to their little whims and fads. But the undercurrent of dissatisfaction and annoyance which prevailed, together with the feeling of uncertainty and unrest which had been created, were not matters of concern for the general public, and therefore remained
"Unrevealed to mortal sense."
Yet they were influences which were working, and working prejudicially, for all concerned.
Scarcely a month had elapsed since the announcement of Mr. Houghton's retirement, when Roberts was called into the manager's office, and informed that the firm had resolved to dispense with his services, and that the notice was to take effect in a month from that day. It was not without much hesitancy, and a display of no little emotion, that the venerable manager communicated this very unwelcome piece of intelligence. Its effect on Roberts may be better imagined than described. It was a crisis which he had never for one moment anticipated; and it filled him with astonishment and dismay. As soon as he had somewhat recovered from the shock which it naturally gave him, his first inquiry was for the reason of this; when he was informed that the firm desired to make certain changes, in order to reduce the expenses of the London establishment, and that Gregory had also received a similar notice.
"But, sir," said Roberts, "what does the firm expect I am going to do?"
"They don't say," was the reply of Mr. Houghton, in a tone of helplessness.
"Well," added Roberts, "I should never have expected such treatment from a firm standing so high as this does in the opinion of all who have any knowledge of it."
"And a few months ago I should have expressed a similar opinion," said the manager; "but circumstances have changed."
"Changed! I should think they have!" exclaimed Roberts. "When a wealthy firm such as this is can say to a man who has been in their employ upwards of a quarter of a century—with whom they find no fault, but simply to enable them to reduce expenses—you are to leave us in a month! it is anything but a fair or honourable way of treating a man at my time of life."
"I deeply regret to be the bearer of such a message to you," said Mr. Houghton, "and can only advise you to write the firm, and fully express your views and feelings on the subject."
Acting upon this advice, Roberts at once wrote a long but respectful letter to the firm at Broadstone, setting forth the hardship of the position in which he was thus suddenly placed; the difficulty which a man of his years would experience in obtaining another situation; and suggesting that he be allowed an interview with the firm at Broadstone before such a drastic measure was put into force.
In course of post a reply was received declining the suggested interview, on the ground that it would be useless, since before arriving at their decision to act as they had done every circumstance had been fully considered; and whilst they recognised the value of the services which had been rendered, and had no fault to find with him, they must decline to reconsider an act the consequences of which had been well thought over before being made known.
This was cold comfort for a man in Roberts' position.
The day his notice expired a cheque arrived, which the manager handed him, with expressions of regret that such a course had been found necessary. The cheque was equivalent to two months' salary.
Thus at the age of fifty, after spending the best years of his life in the service of the firm, Roberts found himself thrown upon the world, with no stain upon his reputation, compelled to commence again the battle of life, and to join the ranks of the large army of the unemployed.
Such treatment is an evil of long standing, and is a tyranny which the poor and defenceless have to suffer from the wealthy.
"In the interest of the firm" was the only plea which could be urged for the course pursued. But the happiness, the future, the health, nay the very life, of the man concerned, were all nothing, and might well be sacrificed to the grasping capitalist "in the interest of the firm."
CHAPTER VII.
FAR WEST.
"To the West, to the West, to the land of the free."—HENRY RUSSELL.
Some thirty miles or more from the banks of the Qu'Appelle River, the scenery is wild and romantic. Winding creeks abound, into which are projected rocky promontories; deep ravines, formed by enormous boulders of red and grey granite, the beds bestrewn with the bones and relics of the former inhabitants of this vast country; stunted poplars, or weedy willows, with a varied undergrowth of wild fruit-bushes, contribute to form an impenetrable undergrowth and an almost pathless bush.
Still farther inland, the "rolling prairie" meets the traveller's view—a waving grassy expanse, which, when set in motion by the wind, is like nothing so much as the boundless ocean, of which nearly all writers agree it most vividly reminds them.
Towards the close of a Canadian summer's day, a solitary horseman might have been seen pursuing his weary way along the banks of a winding creek some few miles from the Qu'Appelle. An Englishman, not more than thirty years of age, well mounted; his cord breeches and hunting-boots, and a rifle slung across the shoulder, gave him an appearance of having some acquaintance with a settler's wild life.
Human habitations were only to be met with at long intervals, when occasionally a hunter's shanty made itself visible amongst the trees. Out on the prairie were to be seen log-houses and shanties here and there; and some twenty or thirty miles distant, eastward, the indications of a little town, only just faintly visible on the far horizon.
The jaded condition of both man and steed were unmistakable signs of the many weary miles which had been passed in the saddle, and it was with a feeling of relief that he espied a substantial-looking range of log buildings, marking out their owner as a man of some means, who must have made his way, and succeeded in overcoming the initial difficulties of a settler's life.
The deserted look of the place was not, at first sight, encouraging. As, however, he drew in rein at the door of the house, its owner—a man apparently in the prime of life—advanced to meet him. Dressed in a suit of homespun garments, remarkable for their ease and convenience rather than their elegance, his good-humoured and good-tempered looking face gave every indication of a hearty welcome awaiting those who happened to be in need of it.
"Good evening, friend," said the settler, as the rider jumped from his horse, retaining hold of the reins with a loose hand. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a stalwart-looking youth who had made his appearance from a row of wooden shanties which formed the stabling of the settlement, "take and put up this gentleman's horse. See that he has a good rub down before feeding, for he looks pretty well done up."
"And so I should think he was," said his owner, "since it is about seven hours since our last halt for rest or refreshment of any kind."
"Come in, come in, my friend; and we will soon see what the larder has to put before you."
"Well, if I may so far trespass upon Canadian hospitality, I shall only be too glad to accept anything you may be able to offer me."
"Rely upon it that Canadian hospitality will never be backward in giving a right good hearty welcome to travellers from the Old Country, whom fortune or misfortune may bring to our shores."
"Your words," said the tired horseman, as he followed his guide into the house, "have a true British ring in them, which makes one feel at home at once."
"Well, I don't want it ever to be said that James Ranger was the man to turn away the stranger needing help from his door."
Rough and unfinished in appearance as most of the appointments about the place seemed, there was yet that air of comfort and cleanliness which is the marked characteristic of nearly all Canadian houses. A living-room with a kitchen attached—the walls of which had been rendered smooth with endless coats of whitewash—formed the downstairs apartments. In the centre of the room was a rough deal table, on which a tidy white cloth was being spread by a comely-looking, matronly woman well past forty. A couple of cushioned rocking-chairs stood one on each side of a capacious fireplace, and two or three ordinary chairs, neatly cushioned, against the wall. In one corner was a serviceable chest of drawers, with a few books on the top; whilst in front of the window was a small but substantial-looking table, having all the appearance of being home-made, on which a pot with a flower in it was standing. The floor was painted yellow, and partly covered with rag carpets and rugs.
Seating himself, without waiting for any further invitation, our traveller at once proceeded to divest himself of his boots, preliminary to that rest and ease so necessary after a hard day's ride.
Full justice having been done to the ample provisions spread out before her tired guest, the two men lighted their pipes, and, seating themselves in the rear of the house, on a wooden bench running along the full length of the wall, and commanding an extensive view of the magnificent open country beyond, after a few general observations, the old settler, whose curiosity had been aroused by a few casual remarks which had fallen from his guest, inquired—
"Well, my friend, I do not want to pry into your secrets, but may I ask where you are bound for, and what are your intentions in wandering so far away out of the beaten track of ordinary civilised life?"
"Well, the fact is, I am a wanderer, with little more to call my own than Jacob had when, with a stone for his pillow, he slept peacefully in the open, dreaming of the future and a land beyond. Who I am is of little consequence, since I have disgraced my lineage, sullied a good name, and am now seeking to hide my head somewhere—anywhere—so that I may escape recognition, and if possible live out a life which, opening with promise, is destined to close, as that of all wastrels do, in sorrow and disgust!"
"Come, come, young man,—for you are yet young,—it is neither good nor right that you should talk in such a hopeless or despairing tone; whatever may have been your past—and I do not seek to know it beyond what you may be disposed willingly to reveal—there is time yet before you in which wrong-doing may perhaps be atoned for, and some effort made to redeem the past."
"Ah, if you knew all, I am afraid you would be less disposed to say so."
"Well, let's see now," said Ranger. "What are your plans?—if you have formed any."
"Plans I can scarcely be said to have made, unless to wander aimlessly on until chance puts me on the track of doing something for somebody, which will bring me bread-and-cheese, can be called such. Since landing at Montreal, where I bought my horse and the few things you see I possess, and started off into the interior, I have subsisted occasionally by a few purchases, but mainly on the hospitality which has been freely dispensed at the various farmhouses or settlements I have passed through. I shall continue to pursue this course until chance throws me into the way of some employment which I shall be able to enter into."
"Not a very startling or encouraging prospect," was Ranger's comment; "but since time is not an important object with you under such circumstances, you may as well make a short stay here and have a look round."
"With all my heart," replied the traveller, "if you do not think I shall be in the way."
"No fear of that. There is plenty of room out here. We are not overburdened with inhabitants, and can very well spare the trifle you will cost for living; so we will consider that point settled, and we can return to the subject after you have had a good night's rest."
As the evening closed in, the weary traveller was glad to be shown to a comfortable bed, which the kind-hearted hostess had been busily preparing for him, and in less than ten minutes the sounds which issued from his sleeping apartment proclaimed most unmistakably that he was soundly sleeping.
CHAPTER VIII.
MONTREAL.
"I hold the world but as the world...;A stage, where every man must play a part."Merchant of Venice, Act I. sc. i.
The Bartons in due course reached Montreal. The passage across was uneventful, and has been so often described that it needs no record here. On landing, they proceeded at once to the ship's agent to whom they had been recommended, and sought from him instructions and information as to their future course. This was readily given. And as they felt they could spare two or three days to gaze upon the sights of this wonderful city, after securing a lodging they took advantage of the opportunity for doing so.
A traveller who visited the city fifty years ago described it as being "one of the oldest settlements on the North American Continent." It stands upon the site of an ancient Indian settlement, all traces of which were soon obliterated by the progressive action of the pale-faces. At first named Mount Royal, in honour of the King of France, after sixty or seventy years' usage it appears to have been corrupted, or changed, to Montreal, but by whom and under what circumstances is not apparent. The town extends along the border of the St. Lawrence for some miles, nearly midway between Quebec and Ottawa, and the principal streets run almost parallel with the river. The older parts of the town forcibly remind one of some of the oldest cities in France, and are as ill-conceived and badly arranged as many of the worst streets of old London. The more modern parts are designed and built in the best of style, justifying its being described as "a noble city of stone edifices, rising from a crowded harbour to its mountain park." This mountain park is an adjunct such as no other city on the Continent can boast of, "whilst its shipping and business quarters give evidence of wealth and commercial activity, which invest it with more than a passing interest."
The two Bartons spent a good deal of time inspecting the chief attractions of the city, until, tired with their wanderings, as they passed through Notre Dame Street they came to a narrow turning, down which they were induced to venture on seeing a small crowd about the centre. On making their way through, they found it to be one of those brawls common enough in their own land, and which they soon learned was not regarded as a strange thing in these parts. It was a fight between two men, with an excited crowd of partisans egging them on. Presently the police arrived on the scene, when an end was quickly put to the combative feelings of the crowd, which was dispersed in very much the fashion that similar crowds are dispersed in the Old Country.
Retracing their steps, their attention was arrested by an ordinary but respectable-looking refreshment bar, which they entered.
A seafaring man was seated at one of the tables, drinking whisky, and loudly declaiming against some injustice—real or imaginary—he wanted his hearers to believe he had suffered at the hands of the Customs' authorities. A group of interested listeners was gathered about him, which our friends joined; but after a while, not feeling interested in the subject he was dilating upon, they separated themselves from the group, and, selecting a table which was unoccupied, ordered a modest meal, such as they believed their means would admit of.
When the time to settle up arrived, what was their dismay and horror to find that their pockets had been emptied of all the money they possessed.
Calling the proprietor, they made known to him their dilemma; but he refused to admit that they had been robbed in his house, and as they could not declare with any certainty that this was the case, they were required to pay; but how to do this was not so easy to determine.
A grinning crowd soon surrounded them, expressing considerable doubts about thebonâ fidesof their representations. They, however, succeeded in convincing the landlord that they were what they represented themselves to be by producing the railway tickets, which they had fortunately taken for their forward journey; and he, relying upon their promise to forward the sum due out of the first money they made, allowed them to depart after some little haggling.
Their difficulties, however, were not yet over. It had been their intention to stay a few days longer in Montreal, and they had accordingly engaged their lodgings with that object in view. This was now rendered impossible. They had left a deposit with the lodging-house keeper, so that the only plan they could think of was to interview her, make a clean breast of their position, and, in the event of finding her incredulous, forfeit the money in hand and start at once to the West.
The day being well advanced, they returned to the lodging-house where they had intended staying, which was situate in one of the streets contiguous to the harbour.
The landlady, a sharp-looking little woman, incredulous at first as to the truth of their story, explained that she had so frequently been done by similar representations that they must not feel surprised at her hesitating to accept their statement as true. Convinced at length, she agreed to allow them to remain the night in return for the deposit, so that they might be able to depart by the morning train, outward bound at nine-five a.m. This difficulty overcome, it was not so clear to our two friends how they were to subsist during the long journey which lay before them.
From the police they obtained very little that could be considered satisfactory. The street they described had an indifferent reputation, and the restaurant at which they had stopped was frequently being brought under their notice. But the fact of their having mingled in the row in the street rendered it so extremely probable that the robbery took place there, that they held out no hopes of their loss being recovered. Acting upon police advice, they resolved to call upon the British Consul and acquaint him with the destitute position in which this event had placed them, in the hope that he might be willing to render them a little assistance.
They had not far to go to reach that useful official, into whose presence they were readily admitted.
He was a tall, handsome-looking man, with a fine military bearing, who had well passed the meridian of life. His face was a study which Lavater would have revelled over; it had all the expression of good-humour and a kindly disposition, so delightful to meet with, yet accompanied with a pair of expressive blue eyes which seemed to pierce the person they were looking at. He was certainly not the man to be imposed upon, yet he was quite prepared to listen and weigh a fairly good tale of trouble.
The story of the Bartons was very simple. After taking their tickets at Liverpool, they had the balance out of one hundred pounds left. They had not spent much since reaching Montreal beyond the price of their railway tickets, which had been taken to San Francisco. They had therefore more than half the money they had begun with intact, when so unfortunately deprived of the balance.
Their papers and railway tickets tended to confirm these statements, whilst their manners and appearance were sufficient to convince His Majesty's representative their story was a true one.
"I believe all you tell me," said his Excellency, "and am afraid the treatment you have received from our countrymen will not lead you to form a too favourable impression of them."
"On the contrary," spoke up the elder of the two men, "we feel that there was a great want of thought on our part in the matter, and the kindness we have already met with convinces us that in this country, as in England, the bad are always to be found mixed up with the good."
"I am glad you take that sensible view of the affair; and at the same time, whilst regretting that I cannot make up your loss, which it would perhaps not be wise for me to do, yet to convince you that, as a people, we are not indisposed to extend a helping hand to those who stand in need of it, I shall be quite willing to make you a present of ten pounds, trusting you will guard it with more care than that which has gone."
"Your Excellency's offer is far more than we had any right to anticipate, and overwhelms us with gratitude. It is a noble and generous act, for which we cannot find words adequately to express our feelings."
"Good day," added the Consul, as they were leaving; "in the land you are going to I hope you will find what you are in search of."
"And be assured, sir, you will have no reason to regret your confidence in us, for the very first moneys we succeed in making will be devoted to the return of what we prefer to regard as a loan."
And it was with a feeling of proud satisfaction that, in less than six months, the elder Barton found himself in a position to remit the amount to his Excellency, in a letter which expressed the gratitude felt for the timely help so kindly and generously afforded.
CHAPTER IX
RANGER'S RANCH.
"Thou, like a kind fellow, gave thyself away; and I thank thee."Henry IV., Part II. Act IV. sc. iii.
Guide-books tell us that "the Dominion of Canada is the largest of the British possessions," and it is difficult to form a true conception of the vast area comprised within the limits of our North American Provinces.
No country has such grand possibilities before it, and its progress of recent years has been remarkable. All Canadians are proud of their country, and believe in it.
But we are not at present concerned so much about Canada in general, or as a whole, as we are with that section which lies some few hundred miles west of Winnipeg, in the district of Assiniboia.
It was here, in the lovely valley of the Qu'Appelle River, that we left our weary traveller at Ranger's Ranch, with a prospect of provisional entertainment, until something suitable could be decided upon for his future.
Having, as he explained, no definite plan of action before him, he very readily fell in with a proposal Ranger made, in the course of a few days, to stay and assist on the farm, so as to ascertain to what extent he was adapted for agricultural pursuits, and whether it was a life he would be willing to settle down to.
"What sort of climate have you here?" was one of the earliest questions asked by Fellows, the name he had expressed a wish to be known by.
"Much the same as prevails in the neighbouring province of Manitoba," was Ranger's reply. "The summer months usually bright, clear, and very warm, but nights cool."
"How is it later on?"
"The autumn months are the finest of the year."
"No rain?"
"Frequently the atmosphere is dry and free from moisture for several weeks."
"Is your winter exceptionally hard?"
"For the matter of that," replied Ranger, "much depends upon constitution. Without doubt it is cold, but there is usually very little wind, and almost constant sunshine; there is no snowfall to any great depth, and traffic is but slightly impeded. In fact, the general dryness of the air causes it to be exceedingly bracing and healthy."
"I suppose you consider it superior to that of the Old Country?"
"Decidedly I do! Experience would tell me that, but the testimony of our Officer of Health goes to confirm it. Listen to what he says," added Ranger, as he took down a little book from the slender stock on the shelf by his side: "'We are absolutely protected by our climatic conditions from several of the most dangerous and fatal diseases, whilst others, which are common to all peoples on the face of the earth, are comparatively rare.'"
"Your favourable description, added to my own brief experience, so charms me, that I feel very much like staying where I am," said Fellows.
"Well, friend, if you are really so minded I daresay we can manage to fix you," was Ranger's rejoinder.
"I am extremely grateful for your kind reception, and courteous treatment, of a perfect stranger, as well as for your further promise and all that it implies; but unless I can be made of some use by you I shall certainly object to becoming a burden here."
"We shall not let you be that," said Ranger. "To-morrow morning I am going to drive into the railway station, which is some fifteen miles out, on the branch line of the C.P.R. running through the valley. You can go with me, as it will give you a good opportunity of seeing a little more of the surroundings, and perhaps enable you to judge of what there is to be done."
Left to himself, with the afternoon before him, Fellows strolled away to the top of a hill which commanded an extensive view over the prairie-land surrounding him on all sides, and there, seating himself beneath a sheltering tree, his thoughts wandered away to a distant home, where in imagination he saw the features of those he loved, and who were seldom absent from his mind. A stranger might not have been able to tell the current of thought engaging his attention, but it would have been apparent to the most casual observer, by the contracted brow and the gloom on his countenance, that his reflections were none of the pleasantest.
After a considerable lapse of time, his attention was diverted by hearing distant sounds of voices borne upon the still air, apparently proceeding from a rough-looking timber construction, the abode of some one of the many farm-hands engaged upon the Ranch.
Built upon a spur of the hill, in a somewhat deep indentation, it was a little distant from where he was seated, but he soon became an attentive observer of all that was passing.
A labouring-looking man came from the house with a pail, and ran with all haste to a pond at a short distance and commenced filling it, but before he could return loud screams proceeded from the interior, which caused Fellows to hasten down the hill in order to ascertain the cause of the commotion.
Reaching the dwelling at the same time as did the other with his pail of water, he found the living-room in a blaze of fire, whilst screams were proceeding from a room beyond, all communication with which appeared to be cut off by the trend of the flames. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he hastily dipped it in the pail the man was carrying, wrung it out, tied it round his mouth, and then rushed swiftly through the flames into the room where the sounds of distress were to be heard.
On reaching the room, a task which was only successfully accomplished with much difficulty, and considerable painful cost, he beheld a female form sink fainting to the ground, overcome, apparently, by the heat and smoke, of which latter the apartment was full.
To raise her from the floor was the work of an instant; his next proceeding was to place her upon a bed in the room, roll a blanket round her, and rush through the smoke and flame to the outer room with as much speed as the weight of the burden he bore would permit.
The fiery marks on face and hands, which were subsequently to be seen, bore eloquent testimony to the severity of the ordeal he had passed through in accomplishing the dangerous and difficult task so bravely and fearlessly undertaken.
When the outbreak was observed from the other stations on the Ranch, a number of willing hands began to congregate with all haste, and with the assistance of such appliances as were most readily available a united effort was made to stem the progress of the flames. These, however, had by this time obtained so firm a hold, that it was evident the building, with its contents, was doomed. In a short while nothing remained of the humble dwelling but a blackened and smouldering ruin.
The inanimate form of his daughter occupied all the attention of Russell, the late occupier of the hut, who, as soon as she could be restored to consciousness, was found not to have suffered much harm, thanks to the brave and timely efforts of Fellows on her behalf.
He, however, had not escaped so freely, having suffered considerably about the hands and face, which had been exposed to the full force of the flames as he twice made his way through them.
A cart was procured, in which he was at once placed and driven back to Ranger's dwelling, to be doctored with such native measures as Mrs. Ranger was able hastily to command.
The cause of the fire, as the girl explained when she was sufficiently recovered to do so, was one of common occurrence. Some light articles of clothing had been hung in front of the fire to air, and whilst Russell sat enjoying his after-dinner nap, she had gone into the other room to attend to certain domestic duties, and during this temporary absence a spark must have set the things on fire, which was only discovered when the outer room was in a blaze.
As the few things which Russell possessed were all destroyed, arrangements had to be temporarily made for the accommodation of himself and his daughter in two of the other huts on the Ranch, until his own could again be rebuilt.
Leaving instructions for all hands to turn to in the morning, and help put up another dwelling for the two who had been thus suddenly left houseless, Ranger, who, as soon as informed of what was happening, had lost no time in proceeding to the scene of the fire, returned home to see how it fared with Fellows, and to make preparations for his journey in the morning, which would now have to be undertaken without his companionship.
Fellows was in a high state of fever; whilst many of the burns he had sustained were seen to be of such a serious character that it was felt more skilled assistance would have to be procured. A messenger was at once despatched into the town—distant some fifteen miles—for the only medical man in the neighbourhood.
It was shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon, that, mounted on a good horse, the messenger set out for M'Lean Station, in hopes of finding the doctor and returning with him. His way for the most part was over rolling prairie, relieved by clumps of trees, which are to be found on the borders of such lakes and streams as are constantly to be met with; or down amid the hollows, where grow the heavy luxuriant grasses from which the farmer obtains his supply of winter hay.
As the slanting rays of the westering sun were sending up their brilliant points into the clear blue vault above, Ranger's messenger drew rein before the door of the doctor's dwelling, a very unpretentious, one-storeyed detached villa—one of some half-dozen—standing upon a hillside leading up to the station.
Dr. Fisherton was not at home; he had left in the early morning for the Pleasant Hills, in response to an imperative request from a Nat Langham, who kept a store, and farmed a small holding at the foot of the hills, and was not expected back till late. There was no help for it but to wait. So, stabling his horse, he accompanied his negro attendant into the servants' quarters, determined to make himself as comfortable as possible for the time being.
After doing full justice to the meal which was presently spread out before him, and which his long ride had well prepared him for, he lighted his pipe and seated himself at the window to wait for the doctor's return.
Slowly the hours seemed to pass, until eleven o'clock struck, without any signs of the doctor's appearance. At length the sound of a horse's feet were heard approaching, and soon all doubt was put at rest with the entry of the man so long expected.
The appearance of the doctor was that of a man in the prime of life; tall, and with a good physique, and a countenance calculated to impart confidence almost at a glance.
On learning that a messenger was in waiting for him, he, without standing on ceremony, immediately made his way to where he was sitting and inquired the nature of his business.
"There's been a fire, sir, this afternoon, at Farmer Ranger's, and one of his men is very seriously injured; in fact, when I left home he was in a high state of fever, so that it was thought advisable to send me, in order, if possible, to take you back at once to him."
"Well, you see I was out and in the saddle early this morning, and have only just returned after a hard day's work. What do you say to staying the night, so that we may start together soon after daylight in the morning?"
"It may sound a little inconsiderate, sir," responded the man, "but if you could manage to come now, we shall be able to reach the Ranch about two o'clock; and my own opinion is, that it is a case where every hour may be a matter of importance."
After reflecting for a few moments, during which time he seemed to be turning the matter well over in his mind, he announced his decision in a manner which admitted of no appeal.
"I think it would be very unwise to start at such an hour. It is late; there is no moon; the track is very uneven; and in the darkness it would not be difficult to miss one's way. Besides, the ground is not free from loafers and tramps—to give them no more desperate title—whom it would be dangerous to meet at such a time. We will bed you up for the night, and start in the morning soon after the dawn; and instead of reaching the farm at the unearthly hour of two, get there between six and seven, a delay of four or five hours, which, on the whole, I think will be a far preferable arrangement."
The wisdom of the course recommended was too evident to admit of dispute; therefore, after giving orders for the morning, the doctor retired, and the man was shown at once to his sleeping apartment, and for a few brief hours sought a welcome rest.
The grey light of dawn was stealing rapidly up from the east when the messenger, Burt, was awakened by the negro attendant and told that it was time to be up. To arise and dress, for a man of his habits, was not a work occupying much time; in less than ten minutes he was seated in the kitchen, doing ample justice to the well-spread table before him. And by the time the doctor was ready to depart, Burt was in the saddle by his side, and together they started on their ride to the Ranch.
The atmosphere being clear, the view up the valley along which they journeyed was uninterrupted. Where the river ran there was a thick and tangled line of vegetation, but the absence of rain had reduced it to the proportions of a very modest stream, flowing sluggishly within narrow limits. As they reached higher ground they found it everywhere thickly covered with the short crisp variety of grass known as "buffalo grass," forming excellent pasture both in winter and summer.
Familiarity may not always breed contempt, because of the beauty of things with which long association has rendered one familiar, nevertheless it induces indifference. And in the case of our two friends—Fisherton and Burt—the scenes through which they were passing had been so frequently viewed by them, that it was with a species of indifference they rapidly pushed on, intent upon accomplishing their journey with as little delay as possible.
Reaching the farm just as Ranger and his household were about to sit down to breakfast, they were fully prepared, after rising so early and their long and rather exhausting ride, to join him at the morning meal.
When seated at the breakfast-table, the doctor inquired about the patient he had come to see, and was informed that he had passed a very restless night, with fitful intervals of sleep, and seemed to be in great pain.
"When your messenger arrived, it happened, unfortunately," said Dr. Fisherton, "that I was out. A mounted messenger from the Pleasant Hills had that morning arrived to say I was wanted at Nat Langham's Store, where a free fight had resulted in one man being shot dead and two others severely wounded, and I was unable to get back until eleven at night, when I found him waiting to bring me here."
"Ah, I see!" added Ranger; "and of course you naturally felt it was too late to start out then to come here."
"That is just it, my friend. Your man wanted me to do so; but I decided that, rather than arrive here in the middle of the night, it would be better to take a few hours' rest, start with the dawn, and get here, as we have done, in broad daylight."
"Quite right, doctor; and when you have finished breakfast, I will take you to the patient, and let you see for yourself if you think the delay has done him any harm."
"I trust not," was the doctor's only comment.
Breakfast over, the "gudewife" conducted the doctor to the bedroom of the invalid, whilst Ranger set about preparing for his journey into town.
After a careful examination of the injuries he had received, the doctor pronounced them to be in no sense dangerous, although serious. The measures which had been adopted to allay irritation and heal the burns were highly approved; and, having dressed the wounded parts and administered a cooling draught, he took his departure, giving strict instructions as to the course to be followed, with a view to reduce the fever, and promising to return in three days unless previously sent for, which he did not apprehend would be necessary.