Keith McBain and his men went to work as if nothing had occurred for days to disturb the quiet, work-a-day life they had been living for months. Only one building was in imminent danger of being swept away by the flood, and in less than ten minutes after the close of the fight the men were busily engaged removing the camp equipment preparatory to taking the logs down and shifting the buildings back from the water's edge.Gabe came upon the old contractor giving orders and directing the work in his customary way."Where is she?" asked Gabe, excitedly, as he came up with McBain."She—who?""Anne—she's gone!" Gabe replied.McBain left the men and accompanied Gabe back to MacMurray's. They found McCartney lying on a bench where his men had placed him. Rickard was standing beside him talking with MacMurray."Where's the girl—Anne?" McBain asked MacMurray.He replied by looking at McCartney and then at Rickard. McCartney turned and looked at McBain and then allowed his eyes to rest on Rickard."Rick," he said, "get her and bring her here. You can tell her I want her."Rickard was gone less than ten minutes when he returned, preceded by Anne, who came quickly through the door and stopped suddenly before what she saw.She looked at the men standing about and then paused before Keith McBain. She did not ask the question, but McBain knew what was in her mind. His reply was brief."Howden," he said, and Anne's slow smile proved that she understood.Then she went over to McCartney's side and looked down at him."You always were a damn fool," she said very deliberately, and very slowly—and her voice had a strangely deep note of pity in it.Scattering the men before her, she hurried to the kitchen and came back with water in a basin and set about bathing McCartney's swollen face and washing the blood from his lips and chin. She was very silent and very gentle, and McCartney spoke no word to her as she worked over him.The men looked on only for a moment and then went out one by one, until the two were left alone.Later that morning Cherry went to MacMurray's to see if she could not prevail upon Anne to come over to Hurley's cottage to see King. She found Anne seated beside McCartney, who had fallen asleep. Anne was bending low over him, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she saw Cherry she got up quickly and brushed the tears impatiently from her eyes. Then she came to Cherry, where she was standing in the doorway."Anne—Anne," Cherry said, her voice soft with pity.But Anne was mistress of herself now."How is King?" she asked, in a most matter-of-fact tone that expressed quite clearly how little she wanted anyone's sympathy."He's all right now," Cherry replied. "He has a bad ankle and can't walk, but it will be all right in a day or two. He asked me to bring you over.""What does he want?"Cherry found it hard to reply to Anne's question—it was asked with such cold directness."I think he wants to explain to you what he feels about——."Anne stopped her abruptly. "Tell him it's all right. I ain't goin' to worry over a thing that I've been expectin' for weeks. Tell him it's all right."Cherry turned to go."Wait a minute," Anne called, and vanished into the house.She was gone a long time and Cherry waited patiently for her return. When she appeared again she held a folded paper in her hand and her hair was in disorder about her face."I had a time gettin' it," she said, coming towards Cherry and holding the paper before her. "I had to wake him up to tell me where it was. But he told me. One thing about Bill—he knows when he's beat—an' that's sayin' something for a man that was never beat before—ain't it?"She smiled comically, and Cherry could not help smiling at her in reply."Anyhow, here it is," she said, giving the paper to Cherry. "I thought of takin' it over myself—I like that boy—but you'd better give it to him."Cherry knew little or nothing about official documents, but she could not help guessing the meaning of the paper she held in her hand. She opened it and glanced quickly over the written record of a timber claim in the hills, interjected between the lines of legally phrased printed matter."Take it to him," Anne continued after a pause. "He'll know what to do with it. If he don't—ask old man Hurley.""But Anne——" Cherry protested, only to be interrupted again."Don't worry—I ain't stealin' it. Ain't I his wife?" she asked with a laugh. "Anyhow there's something else. I had a claim once out west—a good claim, too—never mind!"She broke off abruptly and gave Cherry a little push."Give it to him an' tell him 'God bless him' for me," she added.Cherry walked off slowly and Anne stood in the doorway watching her. When she had gone a few yards she stopped and came back."But father——" she began and paused awkwardly.Anne's face took on a strange look. She stepped down from the doorway and confronted Cherry."Say—did Bill spring that man-killin' joke on Old Silent?" she asked.Cherry nodded."Well, I'm blistered!" she exclaimed. "Leave it with me—I'll make him straighten that out himself."And Cherry went off with a light heart.That night Keith McBain came into the room where Cherry and King were sitting. King was preparing to leave for his shack—in spite of the protests of Mrs. Hurley—confident that he was able to get about and look after himself quite well with the help of old Gabe, who was going to stay with him. McBain came upon the two somewhat abruptly. When they looked up he was standing within a few feet of them, his old face beaming with a light that had not shone there for months."Cherry, girl," he said, coming towards her and holding his arms out to her, "it's all right!""What, father?" she asked, jumping up and going to him."McCartney lied—he has told me everything. The man is alive—Anne nursed him back—it's all right!"Cherry threw her arms about her father's neck and kissed him."Father, father, father!" she cried; and suddenly her voice broke. "If we had only known.""If we had only known!" repeated Old Silent; and his mind went back to a pile of stones and a little wooden cross that stood miles back beside, the right-of-way.CHAPTER EIGHTEENKing dropped his scythe upon the windrow of freshly-cut hay and stood a moment while he wiped the sweat from his brow. It was July, and the day had been very hot, and King had cut a very wide swath in the tall, wild grass. A little way off on the higher ground of the ridge stood his first crop of growing wheat, the soft green shoots stretching upward from the new soil and bending before a gently moving breeze. Between the meadow and the wheat lay a stretch of newly-broken land where, only the day before, King had driven the plough through long furrows of rich mould. Even yet the mellow odor of freshly-turned soil came to him, mingled with the cool fragrance of the meadow.King looked about him until his eyes fell upon Sal, where she was working half-buried in a hole she had dug in a futile attempt to follow a gopher to its place of hiding under the ground. He gave a sharp whistle and crouched low, holding out his hands as the dog came bounding towards him.Taking her in his arms he lifted her from the ground and then rolled her over playfully on the hay.Getting up, he strolled off along the edge of the standing grass, Sal running before him in a zig-zag search for gophers. When they came to the edge of a small slough the dog pounced at once into the water, almost on top of a wild duck and her brood of half-grown ducklings. They started up suddenly with much splashing of water and beating of wings and loud quacking."Back you—lie down!" King cried, and Sal retreated from the edge of the slough and came towards King wriggling and twisting her shaggy body in an effort to appear apologetic.It was a great day, and now that the afternoon was wearing on, King was strongly tempted to be lazy. He had worked hard during the past weeks. The land he had prepared for crop had been sown broadcast by hand. He had cut his hay with a scythe and would have to rake it by hand—though Cherry was longing for the hay to cure so that she could get into the field with King and rake the long windrows into coils.Oh, yes—Cherry was King's helper now. One day in spring, just before the men had gone out to begin work on the railway construction again, there had been a final gathering from the whole valley. Cherry and King might have left it until midsummer. King wanted to get his land into shape and his first crop in—and Cherry wanted to see her father started once again on his right-of-way contracts. At least, so they said. The fact of the matter was that Old Silent wanted to keep his daughter by him for just a few weeks more, and King and Cherry had both agreed, to humor him a little until the work was well under way.But the men had settled it. McCartney and his crowd—or such of them as felt themselves unable to face Keith McBain again—had withdrawn before the snow was on the ground. The season in the camps had been highly successful in every sense, a fact, by the way, that reflected much credit upon King Howden, who had handled the men and had taken the responsibility of conducting the camp during the winter. The work on the grade was waiting, and when the men went out to the right-of-way and the young settlers went to their land, The Town would be no more. There had not been a wedding in the place since the first hut had been built. The men—through a committee duly chosen and given full powers—made known to Keith McBain their feelings on the matter. For once the old contractor allowed himself to be persuaded against his will. He made only one condition, namely, that he himself should announce to King and Cherry the decision that The Town had come to. The men agreed, and withdrew from the presence of Old Silent to begin preparations for the great day.And it had been a day for all to remember. King thought of it now as he walked back to where his scythe lay, and picking it up stood it on its haft while he applied his whet-stone to the blade, and sent the rhythmic tune of the hay-maker ringing across the meadow.The Town was gone. There were a few old unfilled wells and the tumbled foundations of cabins, and a winding street grown over with grass and weeds—but that was all. Farther up the valley its ambitious successor was already thriving beside the right-of-way, waiting for the coming of the steel. Soon it would be linked up with the outside world, it would be given a name and placed on the map by someone who probably had never seen it—and the world's outer edge would have been pushed a little farther westward, and a little farther northward.King tossed his stone aside upon the coat that lay on the hay near him, and taking his scythe in his hands, stepped forward and swung it through the grass.From behind him came a clear call, and pausing at the end of his stroke he turned with a smile and waved his hand to Cherry, who was tripping along down the meadow towards him. King dropped his scythe and went to meet her. When they met he caught her by the arms, and lifting her from the ground, kissed her on the lips."Leave the hay, King," she said, as soon as he had set her upon her feet again, "and let's go to the camp for supper. It's not four o'clock yet—we have more than two hours."King glanced at the hay waiting to be put into coils and then at Cherry, whose face was full of fresh girlish expectancy. Her eyes were as roguish as they had been in those first days of their meeting, nearly a year ago.She caught his sidelong glance and read its meaning at once."Ah, King," she pleaded, "it won't rain—see, there isn't a cloud in the sky! Besides—if it does—let it. There's lots and lots of hay—and there's only a little—just so much summer."She pinched the end of a slender finger to give point to her last statement, and looked at King with a smile brightening in her eyes."You little scamp," he said, going to her and taking her head between his hands, "what's the use of a man making up his mind to anything where you are?"He kissed her again and started towards the little cabin on the ridge, with Cherry dancing along beside him, clinging to his arm and chattering as she went.When they came to the cabin they went in for a few moments to prepare for their trip. The cabin was larger and more comfortable than the shack in which King had lived during the previous summer—and infinitely cleaner. King had brought the logs from the hills during the winter, and had built the cabin with the assistance of a half dozen of Keith McBain's men. Cherry did the rest—and the place was as neat and snug as the heart could wish.In a moment King was out again and was gone to the corral among the willows below the ridge. When he returned and stood before the door of the cabin he led the horses, saddled and bridled and champing their bits. King called and Cherry emerged ready for the road. Sal leaped about them until they had got into the saddles, and then all went off together.Keith McBain's camp lay some twelve or fifteen miles up the valley to the north and west. With two hours to make the trip they had ample time, without much loitering, to reach camp before the men should leave the grade for supper. They followed the freighters' trail that wound in and out, now skirting the edge of the right-of-way, now heading into the standing poplars, or running out across open reaches of green plain. Before the summer's end the steel gang would have laid the rails and the first trains would have steamed into the valley from beyond the hills. Even now the gang of engineers and levellers were close upon the heels of the graders, giving the road-bed its final touches before the steel was laid.Cherry and King rode along easily, without hurrying their horses, King listening while Cherry did most of the talking. Here and there new beauties came to meet them in the curving trail and waving grass and tall white poplars with glistening leaves and white powdered trunks. They crossed a half-dozen little streams of clear water rippling over gravel and shale. Frequently they came out where they caught a distant view of the hills that lay to the north of the valley, pale blue and lying low upon the horizon, like a fringe of dark cloud. To-day they were a very pale blue, and Cherry smiled as she pointed to them and reminded King of what she had told him in the meadow."You see—it isn't going to rain for days," she said. "See how smoky the hills are."King extended his hand and leaned towards her. The horses moved closer together in instinct born of training at the hands of practised riders, and King's arm went about Cherry as he drew her close to him.He seemed about to speak, but kissed her instead.The next moment they were off at a brisk run along a stretch of open trail.It was not yet six o'clock when the trail took them out upon the right-of-way a scant half mile from where Keith McBain's men were still at work on the grade. King drew his horse in and stood for some time gazing down the open right-of-way towards the workers, and then turned to look behind him, where the grade stretched far into the distance and was lost in the closing perspective."I like this," he said to Cherry, who had drawn rein beside him. "There's something about it all that makes a man glad he has lived and taken some little part in it. If we could see the world in the making—I think it would be something like this."He stretched out his arm and swept it about him as he spoke.Cherry looked into his face, in contemplation, not so much of what he was saying but rather of what she saw in his eyes. All that made him a man—all that made him the man she loved—all that made him the man that men loved—was there in the simple gravity and the deep seriousness of his face.A few moments later they rode down among the men to where Keith McBain was standing alone smoking his pipe and watching a line of teamsters swinging about, an endless chain of "slushers" moving the earth from the side of the right-of-way to the grade in the middle. They were met on all sides by greetings from the men, who paused in their work to give them a welcome.When they came to Keith McBain, Cherry sprang to the ground and kissed her father, and King, swinging down from the saddle, came forward and shook hands with the old contractor. In Keith McBain's eyes there was a light as of returning youth. The smile on his face was the smile of a man who had found the world a good place to live in, after all, and wants nothing more than to be left to do his work and fill his remaining days with achievement.There was almost a half hour still left before six o'clock, but Cherry went close to her father and patted his cheeks with her two hands."Let's all quit work for the day," she said. "I don't come to camp often."Old Silent looked at her with all the pretense at being stern that he could command in the presence of his daughter."Who's going to build this railroad?" he asked, a smile growing upon his features.Cherry kissed her father and patted his cheeks playfully again. "Old Silent is," she said; "but his daughter, Cherry McBain, is going to make his men glad she came. She's going to make them want her back again.""You buy your popularity at a very high price," he replied."Remember—I have a husband who does as I tell him," Cherry returned. "If you don't call the men in—I'll tell him to do it."Keith McBain looked at King and then put his arm about his daughter. The look carried a meaning, and King turned towards the men and gave the call."All in!"The men responded as if they had been expecting the call, and almost at once the works were deserted and the men were trooping off in the direction of the camp. The little group of three were the last to leave the grade. They lingered a long time talking and looking over the work the men had done during the day. Then they walked off together, King and Cherry on either side of the old man, the two horses following behind them with the bridle-reins hanging across their necks, Sal leisurely bringing up the rear."And won't you be leaving this work soon and coming to stay with us?" King asked of Keith McBain when they had come almost to the camp."What—leave this and go puttering round on a farm?" he replied. "No, boy, no. As long as I can give the call to 'roll out' in the mornings I'll stay with it. When I'm through—I'll quit here—with my men!"The remainder of the walk to camp was made in silence.There was a big dinner that evening that lasted long after the usual hour. And there was much talking and laughing and some singing of songs at the table. All ate together, with a place at the centre of one long table for Cherry, where she could see all the men from where she sat. On one side of her sat her father, and on the other side her husband. And when it was all over the men gave cheers, first for Cherry McBain, and then for the man who was the father of Cherry McBain, and last of all for the man who had played the game and had won the heart of Cherry McBain.And late that evening King and Cherry took the trail again to return home. And the men gathered to cheer once more until they were gone from sight.Then came upon them the silence of the evening and the magic of it. In the west was the dying flame of a day that had set. About them lay the woods and the grassy reaches of plain, with a deep hush upon them broken only by the occasional sleepy twitter of birds, or the lazy croaking of frogs in the hollows, or the sharp whistle of night-hawks that swept down above them on whirring wings. And from far away there came the sound of someone singing in the night.THE END.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE HEART OF CHERRY MCBAIN***
Keith McBain and his men went to work as if nothing had occurred for days to disturb the quiet, work-a-day life they had been living for months. Only one building was in imminent danger of being swept away by the flood, and in less than ten minutes after the close of the fight the men were busily engaged removing the camp equipment preparatory to taking the logs down and shifting the buildings back from the water's edge.
Gabe came upon the old contractor giving orders and directing the work in his customary way.
"Where is she?" asked Gabe, excitedly, as he came up with McBain.
"She—who?"
"Anne—she's gone!" Gabe replied.
McBain left the men and accompanied Gabe back to MacMurray's. They found McCartney lying on a bench where his men had placed him. Rickard was standing beside him talking with MacMurray.
"Where's the girl—Anne?" McBain asked MacMurray.
He replied by looking at McCartney and then at Rickard. McCartney turned and looked at McBain and then allowed his eyes to rest on Rickard.
"Rick," he said, "get her and bring her here. You can tell her I want her."
Rickard was gone less than ten minutes when he returned, preceded by Anne, who came quickly through the door and stopped suddenly before what she saw.
She looked at the men standing about and then paused before Keith McBain. She did not ask the question, but McBain knew what was in her mind. His reply was brief.
"Howden," he said, and Anne's slow smile proved that she understood.
Then she went over to McCartney's side and looked down at him.
"You always were a damn fool," she said very deliberately, and very slowly—and her voice had a strangely deep note of pity in it.
Scattering the men before her, she hurried to the kitchen and came back with water in a basin and set about bathing McCartney's swollen face and washing the blood from his lips and chin. She was very silent and very gentle, and McCartney spoke no word to her as she worked over him.
The men looked on only for a moment and then went out one by one, until the two were left alone.
Later that morning Cherry went to MacMurray's to see if she could not prevail upon Anne to come over to Hurley's cottage to see King. She found Anne seated beside McCartney, who had fallen asleep. Anne was bending low over him, tears streaming down her cheeks. When she saw Cherry she got up quickly and brushed the tears impatiently from her eyes. Then she came to Cherry, where she was standing in the doorway.
"Anne—Anne," Cherry said, her voice soft with pity.
But Anne was mistress of herself now.
"How is King?" she asked, in a most matter-of-fact tone that expressed quite clearly how little she wanted anyone's sympathy.
"He's all right now," Cherry replied. "He has a bad ankle and can't walk, but it will be all right in a day or two. He asked me to bring you over."
"What does he want?"
Cherry found it hard to reply to Anne's question—it was asked with such cold directness.
"I think he wants to explain to you what he feels about——."
Anne stopped her abruptly. "Tell him it's all right. I ain't goin' to worry over a thing that I've been expectin' for weeks. Tell him it's all right."
Cherry turned to go.
"Wait a minute," Anne called, and vanished into the house.
She was gone a long time and Cherry waited patiently for her return. When she appeared again she held a folded paper in her hand and her hair was in disorder about her face.
"I had a time gettin' it," she said, coming towards Cherry and holding the paper before her. "I had to wake him up to tell me where it was. But he told me. One thing about Bill—he knows when he's beat—an' that's sayin' something for a man that was never beat before—ain't it?"
She smiled comically, and Cherry could not help smiling at her in reply.
"Anyhow, here it is," she said, giving the paper to Cherry. "I thought of takin' it over myself—I like that boy—but you'd better give it to him."
Cherry knew little or nothing about official documents, but she could not help guessing the meaning of the paper she held in her hand. She opened it and glanced quickly over the written record of a timber claim in the hills, interjected between the lines of legally phrased printed matter.
"Take it to him," Anne continued after a pause. "He'll know what to do with it. If he don't—ask old man Hurley."
"But Anne——" Cherry protested, only to be interrupted again.
"Don't worry—I ain't stealin' it. Ain't I his wife?" she asked with a laugh. "Anyhow there's something else. I had a claim once out west—a good claim, too—never mind!"
She broke off abruptly and gave Cherry a little push.
"Give it to him an' tell him 'God bless him' for me," she added.
Cherry walked off slowly and Anne stood in the doorway watching her. When she had gone a few yards she stopped and came back.
"But father——" she began and paused awkwardly.
Anne's face took on a strange look. She stepped down from the doorway and confronted Cherry.
"Say—did Bill spring that man-killin' joke on Old Silent?" she asked.
Cherry nodded.
"Well, I'm blistered!" she exclaimed. "Leave it with me—I'll make him straighten that out himself."
And Cherry went off with a light heart.
That night Keith McBain came into the room where Cherry and King were sitting. King was preparing to leave for his shack—in spite of the protests of Mrs. Hurley—confident that he was able to get about and look after himself quite well with the help of old Gabe, who was going to stay with him. McBain came upon the two somewhat abruptly. When they looked up he was standing within a few feet of them, his old face beaming with a light that had not shone there for months.
"Cherry, girl," he said, coming towards her and holding his arms out to her, "it's all right!"
"What, father?" she asked, jumping up and going to him.
"McCartney lied—he has told me everything. The man is alive—Anne nursed him back—it's all right!"
Cherry threw her arms about her father's neck and kissed him.
"Father, father, father!" she cried; and suddenly her voice broke. "If we had only known."
"If we had only known!" repeated Old Silent; and his mind went back to a pile of stones and a little wooden cross that stood miles back beside, the right-of-way.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
King dropped his scythe upon the windrow of freshly-cut hay and stood a moment while he wiped the sweat from his brow. It was July, and the day had been very hot, and King had cut a very wide swath in the tall, wild grass. A little way off on the higher ground of the ridge stood his first crop of growing wheat, the soft green shoots stretching upward from the new soil and bending before a gently moving breeze. Between the meadow and the wheat lay a stretch of newly-broken land where, only the day before, King had driven the plough through long furrows of rich mould. Even yet the mellow odor of freshly-turned soil came to him, mingled with the cool fragrance of the meadow.
King looked about him until his eyes fell upon Sal, where she was working half-buried in a hole she had dug in a futile attempt to follow a gopher to its place of hiding under the ground. He gave a sharp whistle and crouched low, holding out his hands as the dog came bounding towards him.
Taking her in his arms he lifted her from the ground and then rolled her over playfully on the hay.
Getting up, he strolled off along the edge of the standing grass, Sal running before him in a zig-zag search for gophers. When they came to the edge of a small slough the dog pounced at once into the water, almost on top of a wild duck and her brood of half-grown ducklings. They started up suddenly with much splashing of water and beating of wings and loud quacking.
"Back you—lie down!" King cried, and Sal retreated from the edge of the slough and came towards King wriggling and twisting her shaggy body in an effort to appear apologetic.
It was a great day, and now that the afternoon was wearing on, King was strongly tempted to be lazy. He had worked hard during the past weeks. The land he had prepared for crop had been sown broadcast by hand. He had cut his hay with a scythe and would have to rake it by hand—though Cherry was longing for the hay to cure so that she could get into the field with King and rake the long windrows into coils.
Oh, yes—Cherry was King's helper now. One day in spring, just before the men had gone out to begin work on the railway construction again, there had been a final gathering from the whole valley. Cherry and King might have left it until midsummer. King wanted to get his land into shape and his first crop in—and Cherry wanted to see her father started once again on his right-of-way contracts. At least, so they said. The fact of the matter was that Old Silent wanted to keep his daughter by him for just a few weeks more, and King and Cherry had both agreed, to humor him a little until the work was well under way.
But the men had settled it. McCartney and his crowd—or such of them as felt themselves unable to face Keith McBain again—had withdrawn before the snow was on the ground. The season in the camps had been highly successful in every sense, a fact, by the way, that reflected much credit upon King Howden, who had handled the men and had taken the responsibility of conducting the camp during the winter. The work on the grade was waiting, and when the men went out to the right-of-way and the young settlers went to their land, The Town would be no more. There had not been a wedding in the place since the first hut had been built. The men—through a committee duly chosen and given full powers—made known to Keith McBain their feelings on the matter. For once the old contractor allowed himself to be persuaded against his will. He made only one condition, namely, that he himself should announce to King and Cherry the decision that The Town had come to. The men agreed, and withdrew from the presence of Old Silent to begin preparations for the great day.
And it had been a day for all to remember. King thought of it now as he walked back to where his scythe lay, and picking it up stood it on its haft while he applied his whet-stone to the blade, and sent the rhythmic tune of the hay-maker ringing across the meadow.
The Town was gone. There were a few old unfilled wells and the tumbled foundations of cabins, and a winding street grown over with grass and weeds—but that was all. Farther up the valley its ambitious successor was already thriving beside the right-of-way, waiting for the coming of the steel. Soon it would be linked up with the outside world, it would be given a name and placed on the map by someone who probably had never seen it—and the world's outer edge would have been pushed a little farther westward, and a little farther northward.
King tossed his stone aside upon the coat that lay on the hay near him, and taking his scythe in his hands, stepped forward and swung it through the grass.
From behind him came a clear call, and pausing at the end of his stroke he turned with a smile and waved his hand to Cherry, who was tripping along down the meadow towards him. King dropped his scythe and went to meet her. When they met he caught her by the arms, and lifting her from the ground, kissed her on the lips.
"Leave the hay, King," she said, as soon as he had set her upon her feet again, "and let's go to the camp for supper. It's not four o'clock yet—we have more than two hours."
King glanced at the hay waiting to be put into coils and then at Cherry, whose face was full of fresh girlish expectancy. Her eyes were as roguish as they had been in those first days of their meeting, nearly a year ago.
She caught his sidelong glance and read its meaning at once.
"Ah, King," she pleaded, "it won't rain—see, there isn't a cloud in the sky! Besides—if it does—let it. There's lots and lots of hay—and there's only a little—just so much summer."
She pinched the end of a slender finger to give point to her last statement, and looked at King with a smile brightening in her eyes.
"You little scamp," he said, going to her and taking her head between his hands, "what's the use of a man making up his mind to anything where you are?"
He kissed her again and started towards the little cabin on the ridge, with Cherry dancing along beside him, clinging to his arm and chattering as she went.
When they came to the cabin they went in for a few moments to prepare for their trip. The cabin was larger and more comfortable than the shack in which King had lived during the previous summer—and infinitely cleaner. King had brought the logs from the hills during the winter, and had built the cabin with the assistance of a half dozen of Keith McBain's men. Cherry did the rest—and the place was as neat and snug as the heart could wish.
In a moment King was out again and was gone to the corral among the willows below the ridge. When he returned and stood before the door of the cabin he led the horses, saddled and bridled and champing their bits. King called and Cherry emerged ready for the road. Sal leaped about them until they had got into the saddles, and then all went off together.
Keith McBain's camp lay some twelve or fifteen miles up the valley to the north and west. With two hours to make the trip they had ample time, without much loitering, to reach camp before the men should leave the grade for supper. They followed the freighters' trail that wound in and out, now skirting the edge of the right-of-way, now heading into the standing poplars, or running out across open reaches of green plain. Before the summer's end the steel gang would have laid the rails and the first trains would have steamed into the valley from beyond the hills. Even now the gang of engineers and levellers were close upon the heels of the graders, giving the road-bed its final touches before the steel was laid.
Cherry and King rode along easily, without hurrying their horses, King listening while Cherry did most of the talking. Here and there new beauties came to meet them in the curving trail and waving grass and tall white poplars with glistening leaves and white powdered trunks. They crossed a half-dozen little streams of clear water rippling over gravel and shale. Frequently they came out where they caught a distant view of the hills that lay to the north of the valley, pale blue and lying low upon the horizon, like a fringe of dark cloud. To-day they were a very pale blue, and Cherry smiled as she pointed to them and reminded King of what she had told him in the meadow.
"You see—it isn't going to rain for days," she said. "See how smoky the hills are."
King extended his hand and leaned towards her. The horses moved closer together in instinct born of training at the hands of practised riders, and King's arm went about Cherry as he drew her close to him.
He seemed about to speak, but kissed her instead.
The next moment they were off at a brisk run along a stretch of open trail.
It was not yet six o'clock when the trail took them out upon the right-of-way a scant half mile from where Keith McBain's men were still at work on the grade. King drew his horse in and stood for some time gazing down the open right-of-way towards the workers, and then turned to look behind him, where the grade stretched far into the distance and was lost in the closing perspective.
"I like this," he said to Cherry, who had drawn rein beside him. "There's something about it all that makes a man glad he has lived and taken some little part in it. If we could see the world in the making—I think it would be something like this."
He stretched out his arm and swept it about him as he spoke.
Cherry looked into his face, in contemplation, not so much of what he was saying but rather of what she saw in his eyes. All that made him a man—all that made him the man she loved—all that made him the man that men loved—was there in the simple gravity and the deep seriousness of his face.
A few moments later they rode down among the men to where Keith McBain was standing alone smoking his pipe and watching a line of teamsters swinging about, an endless chain of "slushers" moving the earth from the side of the right-of-way to the grade in the middle. They were met on all sides by greetings from the men, who paused in their work to give them a welcome.
When they came to Keith McBain, Cherry sprang to the ground and kissed her father, and King, swinging down from the saddle, came forward and shook hands with the old contractor. In Keith McBain's eyes there was a light as of returning youth. The smile on his face was the smile of a man who had found the world a good place to live in, after all, and wants nothing more than to be left to do his work and fill his remaining days with achievement.
There was almost a half hour still left before six o'clock, but Cherry went close to her father and patted his cheeks with her two hands.
"Let's all quit work for the day," she said. "I don't come to camp often."
Old Silent looked at her with all the pretense at being stern that he could command in the presence of his daughter.
"Who's going to build this railroad?" he asked, a smile growing upon his features.
Cherry kissed her father and patted his cheeks playfully again. "Old Silent is," she said; "but his daughter, Cherry McBain, is going to make his men glad she came. She's going to make them want her back again."
"You buy your popularity at a very high price," he replied.
"Remember—I have a husband who does as I tell him," Cherry returned. "If you don't call the men in—I'll tell him to do it."
Keith McBain looked at King and then put his arm about his daughter. The look carried a meaning, and King turned towards the men and gave the call.
"All in!"
The men responded as if they had been expecting the call, and almost at once the works were deserted and the men were trooping off in the direction of the camp. The little group of three were the last to leave the grade. They lingered a long time talking and looking over the work the men had done during the day. Then they walked off together, King and Cherry on either side of the old man, the two horses following behind them with the bridle-reins hanging across their necks, Sal leisurely bringing up the rear.
"And won't you be leaving this work soon and coming to stay with us?" King asked of Keith McBain when they had come almost to the camp.
"What—leave this and go puttering round on a farm?" he replied. "No, boy, no. As long as I can give the call to 'roll out' in the mornings I'll stay with it. When I'm through—I'll quit here—with my men!"
The remainder of the walk to camp was made in silence.
There was a big dinner that evening that lasted long after the usual hour. And there was much talking and laughing and some singing of songs at the table. All ate together, with a place at the centre of one long table for Cherry, where she could see all the men from where she sat. On one side of her sat her father, and on the other side her husband. And when it was all over the men gave cheers, first for Cherry McBain, and then for the man who was the father of Cherry McBain, and last of all for the man who had played the game and had won the heart of Cherry McBain.
And late that evening King and Cherry took the trail again to return home. And the men gathered to cheer once more until they were gone from sight.
Then came upon them the silence of the evening and the magic of it. In the west was the dying flame of a day that had set. About them lay the woods and the grassy reaches of plain, with a deep hush upon them broken only by the occasional sleepy twitter of birds, or the lazy croaking of frogs in the hollows, or the sharp whistle of night-hawks that swept down above them on whirring wings. And from far away there came the sound of someone singing in the night.
THE END.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE HEART OF CHERRY MCBAIN***