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The dining-table had disappeared from the parlour, as had the rugs from the floor, and somehow a layer of white wax, like an incipient fall of snow, lay invitingly on the bare white pine boarding. And, too, it seemed only natural that the moment she came into the room ready for the fray, Daisy Furrer should make a rush for the ancient piano, and tinkle out with fair execution the strains of an old waltz. Her efforts broke up any sign of constraint; everybody knew everybody else, so they danced. This was the beginning; cards would come later.
They could all dance, and right well, too. Faces devoid of the absorbing properties of powder quickly shone with the exercise; complexions innocent of all trace of pigments and the toilet arts glowed with a healthy hue and beamed with perfect happiness. There could be no doubt that Prudence and her mother knew their world as well as any hostess could wish. And it was all so easy; no formality, few punctilios to observe––just free-and-easy good-fellowship.
Mrs. Malling emerged from the region of the kitchen. She was a little heated with her exertions, and a stray wisp or two of grey hair escaping from beneath her quaint lace cap testified to her culinary exertions. She had been stooping at her ovens regardless of her appearance. She found her daughter standing beside the door of the parlour engaged in a desultory conversation with Peter Furrer. Prudence hailed her mother with an air of relief, and the monumental Peter moved heavily away.
“Oh, mother dear, it’s too bad of you,” exclaimed the girl, gazing at her critically. “And after all the84trouble I took with your cap! Look at it now. It’s all on one side, and your hair is sticking out like––like––Timothy grass. Stand still while I fix it.”
The girl’s deft fingers soon arranged her mother afresh, the old lady protesting all the while, but submitting patiently to the operation.
“There, there; you children think of nothing but pushing and patting and tittivating. La, but one ’ud think I was going to sit down at table with a King or a Minister of the Church. Nobody’s going to look at me, child––until the victuals come on. Besides, what does it matter with neighbours? Look at old Gleichen over there, bowing and scraping to Mrs. Ganthorn; one would think it wasn’t his way to do nothing else. He’s less elaborate when he’s trailing after his plough. My, but I can’t abide such pretending. Guess some folks think women are blind. And where’s George Iredale? I don’t see him. Now there’d be some excuse for his doing the grand. He’s a gentleman born and bred.”
“Ah, yes, mother, we all know your weakness for Mr. Iredale,” replied Prudence, with an affectionate finishing pat to the grey old head. “But then he just wouldn’t ‘bow and scrape,’ as you call it, to Mrs. Ganthorn or anybody else. He’s not the sort for that kind of thing. He hasn’t come yet. I’ll bring him to you at once, dear, when he arrives,” she finished up with a laugh.
“You’re a saucy hussy,” her mother returned, with a chuckle. Then: “But I’d have taken to him as a son. Girls never learn anything now-a-days until they’re married to the man they fancy.”
“Nothing like personal experience, lady mother.85Did you ask any one’s advice when you married father?”
“That I didn’t for sure, child, but it was different. Your father, Silas, wasn’t the man to be put off with any notions. He just said he was going to marry me––and he did marry me. I was all sort of swept off my feet.”
“But still you chose him yourself,” persisted the girl, laughing.
“Well, maybe I did, child, maybe I did.”
“Andyoudidn’t regret your own choice, mother; so why should I?”
“Ah, it was different with me––quite different. Ah, there’s some one coming in.” Hephzibah Malling turned as she spoke, glad to be able to change the subject. The front door was opened, and a fur-clad figure entered. “It’s George Iredale,” she went on, as the man removed his cap and displayed a crown of dark-brown hair, tinged here and there with grey, a broad high forehead and a pair of serious eyes.
“Come along, George.” Mrs. Malling bustled forward, followed by her daughter. “I thought you couldn’t get, maybe. The folks are all dancing and dallying. You must come into the kitchen first and have something warm. It’s a cold night.”
“I meant to come earlier,” replied the new arrival, in a deep, quiet voice. “Unfortunately, just as I was going to start, word was brought in to me that a suspicious-looking horseman was hovering round. You see my place is so isolated that any arrival has to be inquired into. There are so many horse-thieves and other dangerous characters about that I have to be careful. Well, I rode out to ascertain who the86intruder was, but I lost him. That delayed me. How are you, and Prudence too? Why, it’s ages since I’ve seen either of you. Yes, something hot is always welcome after a long winter’s ride.”
George Iredale had divested himself of his coat and over-shoes, and now followed his hostess to the kitchen. He was a man of considerable inches, being little short of six feet in height. He was powerfully built, although his clothes disguised the fact to a large extent, and his height made him look even slim. He had a strong, keen, plain face that was very large-featured, and would undoubtedly have been downright ugly but for an expression of kindly patience, not unmixed with a suspicion of amused tolerance. It was the face of a man in whom women like to place confidence, and with whom men never attempt to take liberties. He had, too, a charm of manner unusual in men living the rough life of the prairie.
The tinkling strains of the waltz had ceased, and Prudence went back to the parlour. She felt that it was high time to set the tables for “progressive euchre.” It was past eight and Grey had not turned up. She began to think he intended carrying out his threat of staying away. Well, if he chose to do so he could. She wouldn’t ask him to do otherwise. She felt unhappy about him in spite of her brave thoughts.
Her announcement of cards was hailed with delight, and the guests departed with a rush to search the house for a sufficient number of small tables to cope with the requirements of the game.
In the kitchen George Iredale was slowly sipping87a steaming glass of rye whisky toddy. He was seated in a rigid, high-backed arm-chair, well away from the huge cook-stove, at which Hephzibah Malling was presiding. Many kettles and saucepans stood steaming upon the black iron top, and the occasional opening and shutting of the ovens told of dainties which needed the old farm-wife’s most watchful care. Mrs. Malling’s occupation, however, did not interrupt her flow of conversation. George Iredale was a great favourite of hers.
“He’s like his poor father in some things,” she was saying, as she lifted a batch of small biscuits out of the oven and moved towards the ice-box with them. “He never squealed about his misfortune to me. Not one letter did I get asking for help. He’s proud, is Hervey. And now I don’t know, I’m sure.”
She paused with her hand on the open door of the refrigerator and looked back into the man’s face.
“Did he tell you any details of his failure? What was responsible for it?” Iredale asked, poising his glass on one of the unyielding arms of his chair.
“No, that he didn’t, not even that,” in a tone of pride. “He just said he’d failed. That he was ‘broke.’ He’s too knocked up with travelling––he’s come from Winnipeg right here––or you should hear it from his own lips. He never blamed no one.”
“Ah––and you are going to help him, Mrs. Malling. What are you going to do?”
“That’s where I’m fixed some. Money he can have––all he wants.”
Iredale shook his head gravely.
“Bad policy, Mrs. Malling––until you know all the facts.”
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“What, my own flesh and blood, too? Well, there–––”
“I mean nothing derogatory to your boy, believe me,” interrupted Iredale, as he noted the heightened colour of face and the angry sparkle that flashed in the good dame’s eyes “I simply mean that it is useless to throw good money after bad. Fruit farming is a lottery in which the prizes go to those who take the most tickets. In other words, it is a question of acreage. A small man may lose his crop through blight, drought, a hundred causes. The larger man has a better chance by reason of the extent of his crop. Now I should take it, you could do better for your son by obtaining all the facts, sorting them out and then deciding what to do. My experience prompts me to suggest another business. Why not the farm?”
All signs of resentment had left Mrs. Malling’s face. She deposited her biscuits and returned to the stove, standing before her guest with her hands buried deep in her apron pockets and a delighted smile on her face.
“That’s just what I thought at once,” she said. “You’re real smart, George; why not the farm? I says that to myself right off. I couldn’t do better, I know, but there’s drawbacks. Yes, drawbacks. Hervey isn’t much for the petticoats––meaning his own folks. He’s not one to play second fiddle, so to speak. Now while I live the farm is mine, and I learned my business from one who could teach me––my Silas. Now I’d make Hervey my foreman and give him a good wage. He’d have all he wants, but he’d have to bemyforeman.” The old lady shook her head dubiously.
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“And you think Hervey wouldn’t accept a subordinate position?”
“He’s that proud. Just like my poor Silas,” murmured the mother.
“Then he’s a fool. But you try him,” Iredale said dryly.
“Do you think he might?”
“You never can tell.”
“I wonder now if you––yes, I’ll ask him.”
“Offer it to him, you mean.” George Iredale smiled quietly.
“Yes, offer it to him,” the old lady corrected herself thoughtfully. “But I’m forgetting my stewing oysters, and Mistress Prudence will get going on––for she had them sent up all the way from St. John’s––if they’re burned.” She turned to one of the kettles and began stirring at once. “Hervey is coming back after he’s been to Niagara, and I’ll talk to him then. I wish you could have seen him before he went, but he’s abed.”
“Never mind, there’s time enough when he comes back. Ah, Prudence, how is the euchre ‘progressing’?” Iredale turned as the girl came hurriedly in.
“Oh, here you are. You two gossiping as usual. Mother, it’s too bad of you to rob me of my guests. But I came to ask for more lemonade.”
“Dip it out of yonder kettle, child. And you can take George off at once. It’s high time he got at the cards.”
“He’s too late, the game is nearly over. He’ll have to sit out with Leslie. He, also, was too late. Come along, Mr. Iredale,”––she had filled the lemonade pitcher,––“and, mother, when shall you be ready90with the supper? Remember, you’ve got to come and give out the prizes to the winners before that.”
“Also to the losers,” put in Iredale.
“Yes, they must all have prizes. What time, mother?”
“In an hour. And be off, the pair of you. Mary! Mary!” the old lady called out, moving towards the summer kitchen. “Bustle about, girl, and count down the plates from the dresser. La, look at you,” she went on, as the hired girl came running in; “where’s the cap I gave you? And for good-a-mussey’s sake go and scrub your hands. My, but girls be jades.”
Iredale and Prudence went off to the parlour. The game was nearly over, and the guests were laughing and chattering noisily. The excitement was intense. Leslie Grey sat aloof. He was engaged in a pretence at conversation with Sarah Gurridge, but, to judge by the expression of his face, his temper was still sulky or his thoughts were far away. The moment Iredale entered the room Grey’s face lit up with something like interest.
Prudence, accompanying the rancher, was quick to observe the change. She had been prepared for something of the sort, although the reason she assigned to his interest was very wide of the mark. She smiled to herself as she turned to reply to something Iredale had just said.
The evening passed in boisterous jollification. And after the prizes had been awarded supper was served. A solid supper, just such a repast as these people could and did appreciate. The delicacies Mrs. Malling offered to her guests were something to be remembered. She spared no pains, and even her91enemies, if she had any, which is doubtful, admitted that she could cook; such an admission amongst the prairie folks was a testimonial of the highest order.
After supper George Iredale, whose quiet manner and serious face debarred him from the revels of the younger men, withdrew to a small work-room which was usually set aside on these occasions for the use of those who desired to smoke. Leslie Grey, who had been talking to Mrs. Malling, and who had been watching for this opportunity, quickly followed.
He fondly believed that Iredale came to the farm to thrust his attentions upon Prudence. This was exasperating enough in itself, but when Grey, in his righteous indignation, thought of other matters pertaining to the owner of Lonely Ranch, his indignation rose to boiling pitch. He meant to have it out with him to-night.
Iredale had already adjusted himself into a comfortable chintz-covered arm-chair when Grey arrived upon the scene. A great briar pipe hung from the corner of his strong, decided mouth, and he was smoking thoughtfully.
Grey moved briskly to another chair and flung himself into its depths with little regard for its age. Nor did he attempt to smoke. His mind was too active and disturbed for anything so calm and soothing.
His first words indicated the condition of his mind.
“Kicking up a racket in there,” he said jerkily, indicating the parlour. “Can’t stand such a noise when I’ve got a lot to think about.”
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“No.” Iredale nodded his head and spoke without removing the pipe from his mouth.
“We are to be married to-morrow week––Prudence and I.”
“So I’ve been told. I congratulate you.”
Iredale looked at his companion with grave eyes. They were quite alone in the room. He had met Grey frequently and had learned to understand his ways and to know his bull-headed methods. Now he quietly waited. He had a shrewd suspicion that the man had something unpleasant to say. Unconsciously his teeth closed tighter upon his pipe.
Grey raised his eyebrows.
“Thanks. I hardly expected it.”
“And why not?” Iredale was smiling, his grey eyes had a curious look in them––something between quizzical amusement and surprise.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the other retorted with a shrug. “There is no telling how some men will take these things.”
Iredale removed his pipe, and pressed the ash down with his little finger. The operation required the momentary lowering of his eyes from his companion’s face.
“I don’t think I understand you.”
Grey laughed unpleasantly.
“There’s not much need of comprehension. If two men run after the same girl and one succeeds where the other fails, the successful suitor doesn’t usually expect congratulations from his unfortunate rival.”
“Supposing such to be the case in point,” Iredale replied quietly, but with an ominous lowering of his eyelids. “Mark you, I only say ‘supposing.’ I admit93nothing––to you. The less successful man may surely be honest enough, and man enough, to wish his rival well. I have known such cases among––men.”
Grey twisted himself round in his chair and assumed a truculent attitude.
“Notwithstanding the fact that the rival in question never loses an opportunity of seeking out the particular girl, and continuing his attentions after she is engaged to the other? That may be the way among––men. But not honest men.”
The expression of Iredale’s face remained quite calm. Only his eyes––keen, direct-gazing eyes––lit up with an angry sparkle. He drew a little more rapidly at his pipe, perhaps, but he spoke quietly still. He quite understood that Grey intended forcing a quarrel upon him.
“I shall not pretend to misunderstand you, Grey. Your manner puts that out of the question. You are unwarrantably accusing me of a most ungentlemanly proceeding. Such an accusation being made by any one––what shall I say?––more responsible than you, I should take considerable notice of; as it is, it is hardly worth my consideration. You are at best a blunderer. I should pause before I replied had I the misfortune to be you, and try to recollect where you are. If you wish to quarrel there is time and place for so doing.”
Iredale’s words stung Leslie Grey to the quick. His irresponsible temper fairly jumped within him, his eyes danced with rage, and he could scarcely find words to express himself.
“You may sneer as much as you like,” he at length blurted out, “but you cannot deny that your visits to94this house are paid with the object of addressing my affianced wife. You are right when you describe such conduct as ungentlemanly. You are no gentleman! But I do not suppose that the man who owns Lonely Ranch will feel the sting of being considered a––a––cad or anything else.”
“Stop!” Iredale was roused, and there was no mistaking the set of his square jaw and the compression between his brows. “You have gone a step too far. You shall apologize or–––”
“Stop––eh? You may well demand that I should––stop, Mr. George Iredale. Were I to go on you would have a distinctly bad time of it. But my present consideration is not with the concerns of Lonely Ranch, but only with your visits here, which shall cease from to-day out. And as for apologizing for anything I have said, I’ll see you damned first.”
There was a pause; a breathless pause. The two men confronted each other, both held calm by a strength which a moment ago would have seemed impossible in at least one of them.
Grey’s face worked painfully with suppressed excitement, but he gripped himself. George Iredale was calm under the effort of swift thought. He was the first to break the silence, and he did so in a voice well modulated and under perfect control. But the mouthpiece of his pipe was nearly bitten through.
“Now I shall be glad if you will go on. You apparently have further charges to make against me. I hardly know whether I am in the presence of a madman or a fool. One or the other, I am sure. You may as well make your charges at once. You95will certainly answer for all you have already said, so make the list of your accusations complete before–––”
“You fool!” hissed Grey, goaded to the last extremity of patience. His headlong nature could not long endure restraint. Now his words came with a blind rush.
“Do you think I’d speak without being sure of my ground? Do you think, because other men who have occupied the position which is mine at Ainsley have been blind, that I am? Lonely Ranch; a fitting title for your place,” with a sneer. “Lonely! in neighbourhood, yes, but not as regards its owner. You are wealthy, probably the wealthiest man in the province of Manitoba; why, that alone should have been sufficient to set the hounds of the law on your trail. I know the secret of Lonely Ranch. I have watched day after day the notice you have inserted in theFree Press––‘Yellow booming––slump in Grey.’ Nor have I rested until I discovered your secret. I shall make no charge here beyond what I have said, but–––”
He suddenly broke off, awakening from his blind rage to the fact of what he was doing. His mouth shut like a trap, and beads of perspiration broke out upon his forehead. His eyes lowered before the ironical gaze of his companion. Thus he sat for a moment a prey to futile regrets. His anger had undone him. The sound of a short laugh fell upon his ears, and, as though drawn by a magnet, his eyes were once more turned on the face of the rancher.
“I was not sure which it was,” said Iredale dryly; “whether you were a fool or a madman. Now I know. I had hoped that it was madness. There96is hope for a madman, but none for a fool. Thank you, Grey, for the information you have supplied me with. Your folly has defeated your ends. Remember this. You will never be able to use the ‘Secret’––as you are pleased to call it––of Lonely Ranch. I will take good care of that. And now, as I hear sounds of people running up-stairs, we will postpone further discussion. This interview has been prolonged sufficiently––more than sufficiently for you.”
Iredale rose from his chair; to all appearance he was quite undisturbed. Grey’s condition was exactly the reverse.
He, too, rose from his seat. There was a sound of some one approaching the door. Grey stepped up to his companion and put his mouth close to his ear.
“Don’t forget that you cannot conceal the traces that are round your––ranch. Traces which are unmistakable to those who have an inkling of the truth.”
“No, but I can take steps which will effectually nullify the exertions you have been put to. Remember you said I was wealthy. I am tired of your stupid long-winded talk.”
Iredale turned away with a movement of disgust and irritation just as the door opened and Prudence came in.
“Ah, here you are, you two. I have been wondering where you were all this time. Do you know the people are going home?”
The girl ceased speaking abruptly and looked keenly at the two men before her. Iredale was smiling; Grey was gazing down at the stove, and apparently not listening to her.
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Prudence saw that something was wrong, but she had no suspicion of the truth. She wondered; then she delivered a message she had brought and dismissed Iredale.
“Mother wants to see you, Mr. Iredale; something about Hervey.”
“I will go to her at once.” And the owner of Lonely Ranch passed out of the room.
The moment the door closed behind him the girl turned anxiously to her lover.
“What is it, Leslie dear? You are not angry with me still?”
The man laughed mirthlessly.
“Angry? No, child. I wonder if I––no, better not. It’s time to be off. Give me a kiss, and I’ll say good-night.”
98CHAPTER VIILESLIE GREY FULFILS HIS DESTINY
It was early morning. Early even for the staff of the Rodney House Hotel. And Leslie Grey was about to breakfast. The solitary waitress the hotel boasted was laying the tables for the eight-o’clock meal. The room had not yet assumed the spick-and-span appearance which it would wear later on. There was a suggestion of last night’s supper about the atmosphere; and the girl, too, who moved swiftly here and there arranging the tables, was still clad in her early morning, frowsy print dress, and her hair showed signs of having been hastily adjusted without the aid of a looking-glass. A sight of her suggested an abrupt rising at the latest possible moment.
From the kitchen beyond a savoury odour of steak and coffee penetrated the green baize swing-door which stood at one end of the room.
“Is that steak nearly ready?” asked Grey irritably, as the girl flicked some crumbs from the opposite end of his table on to the floor, with that deft flourish of a dirty napkin which waitresses usually obtain.
She paused in her work, and her hand went up consciously to the screws of paper which adorned her front hair.
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“Yessir, it’ll be along right now.”
Then she continued to flick the table in other directions.
“I ordered breakfast for six o’clock. This is the slackest place I ever knew. I shall talk to Morton and see if things can’t be altered. Just go and rouse that cook up. I’ve got to make Leonville before two.”
The girl gave a final angry flick at an imaginary crumb and flounced off in the direction of the kitchen. The next moment her shrill voice was heard addressing the cook.
“Mr. Grey wants his breakfast––sharp, Molly. Dish it up. If it ain’t done it’s his look-out. There’s no pleasing some folks. I s’pose Mr. Chillingwood’ll be along d’rectly. Better put something on for him or there’ll be a row. What’s that––steak? That ain’t no good for Mr. Robb. He wants pork chops. He never eats anything else for breakfast. Says he’s used to pork.”
The girl returned to the breakfast room bearing Grey’s steak and some potatoes. Coffee followed quickly, and the officer attacked his victuals hungrily. Then Robb Chillingwood appeared.
Leslie Grey was about to rate the girl for her remarks to the cook, but Robb interrupted him.
“Well, how does the bridegroom feel?” he asked cheerily.
“Shut up!”
“What’s the matter? Cranky on your wedding morning?” pursued the town clerk irrepressibly.
“I wish to goodness you’d keep your mouth shut. Why don’t you go and proclaim my affairs from the100steps of your beastly Town Hall?” Grey glanced meaningly in the direction of the waitress standing in open-mouthed astonishment beside one of the tables.
Robb laughed and his eyes twinkled mischievously. He turned sharply on the girl.
“Why, didn’t you know that Mr. Grey was going to be married to-day?” he asked, with assumed solemnity. “Well, I’m blessed,” as the girl shook her head and giggled. “You neglect your duty, Nellie, my girl. What are you here for but to ‘sling hash’ and learn all the gossip and scandal concerning the boarders? Yes, Mr. Grey is going to get married to-day, and I––I am to be his best man. Now be off, and fetch my ‘mutton’––which is pork.”
The girl ran off to do as she was bid, and also to convey the news to her friends in the kitchen. Robb sat down beside his companion and chuckled softly as he gazed at Grey’s ill-humoured face, and listened to the shrieks of laughter which were borne on the atmosphere of cooking from beyond the baize door.
Grey choked down his indignation. For once he understood that protest would not serve him. Everything about his marriage had been kept quiet in Ainsley up till now, not because there was any need for it, but Robb had acceded to his expressed wishes. The latter, however, felt himself in no way bound to keep silence on this, the eventful day. Robb attacked some toast as a preliminary, while the other devoured his steak. Then Grey looked up from his plate. His face had cleared; his ill-humour had been replaced by a look of keen earnestness.
“It’s a beastly nuisance that this is my wedding day,” he began. “Yes, I mean it,” as Robb looked101up in horrified astonishment. “I don’t mean anything derogatory to anybody. I just state an obvious fact. You would understand if you knew all.”
“But, damn it, man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for saying such a thing. You are marrying one of the best and sweetest girls in Southern Manitoba, and yet––why, it’s enough to choke a man off his feed.” Chillingwood was angry.
“Don’t be a fool. You haven’t many brains, I know, but use the few you possess now, and listen to me. A week ago, yes; a week hence, yes. But for the next three days I have some dangerous work on hand that must be done. Work of my department.”
“Ah, dirty work, I suppose, or there’d be no ‘must’ or ‘danger’ about it.”
Grey shrugged.
“Call it what you like. Since you’ve left the service I notice you look at things differently,” he said. “Anyway, it’s good enough for me to be determined to see it through in spite of my wedding. Damn it, there’s always some obstacle or other cropping up at inopportune moments in my life. However––I wish I knew whether I could still trust you to do something for me. It would simplify matters considerably.”
Robb looked serious. He might not be possessed of many brains, as Grey had suggested––although Grey’s opinions were generally warped––but he thought well before he replied. And when he spoke he showed considerable decision and foresight.
“You can trust me all right enough if the matter is clean and honest. I’ll do nothing dirty for you or anybody else. I’ve seen too much.”
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“Oh, it’s clean enough. I don’t dirty my hands with dishonest dealings. I simply do my duty.”
“But your sense of duty is an exaggerated one––peculiar. I notice that it takes the form of any practices which you consider will advance your personal interests.”
“It so happens that my ‘personal interests’ are synonymous with the interests of those I serve. But all I require is the delivery of a letter in Winnipeg, at a certain time on a given date. I can’t trust the post for a very particular reason, and as for the telegraph, that wouldn’t answer my purpose. I could employ a messenger, but that would not do either––a disinterested messenger could be got at. You, I know, couldn’t be––er––influenced. If you fail me, then I must do it myself, which means that I must leave my bride shortly after the ceremony to-day, and not return to her until Friday, more than two days hence. That’s how the matter stands. I will pay all your expenses and give you a substantial present to boot. Just for delivering a letter to the chief of police in Winnipeg. I will go and write it at once if you consent.”
Robb shook his head doubtfully.
“I must know more than that. First, I must know, in confidence of course, the object of that letter. And, secondly, who is to be the victim of your machinations. Without these particulars you can count me ‘out.’ I’ll be no party to anything I might afterwards have cause to regret.”
“That settles it then,” replied Grey resentfully. “I can’t reveal the name of my ‘victim,’ as you so graphically put it. You happen to know him, I103believe, and are on a friendly footing with him.” He finished up with a callous laugh.
Robb’s eyes shone wickedly.
“By Jove, Grey, you’ve sunk pretty low in your efforts to regain your lost position. I always knew that you hadn’t a particle of feeling in your whole body for any one but yourself, but I didn’t think you’d treat me to a taste of your rotten ways. Were it not for the sake of Alice Gordon’s chum, the girl you are going to marry, I wouldn’t be your best man. You have become utterly impossible, and, after to-day’s event, I wash my hands of you. Damn it, you’re a skunk!”
Grey laughed loudly, but there was no mirth in his hilarity. It was a heartless, nervous laugh.
“Easy, Robb, don’t get on your high horse,” he said presently. Then he became silent, and a sigh escaped him. “I had to make the suggestion,” he went on, after a while. “You are the only man I dared to trust. Confound it, if you must have it, I’m sorry!” The apology came out with a jerk; it seemed to have been literally wrung from him. “Try and forget it, Robb,” he went on, more quietly, “we’ve known each other for so many years.”
Robb was slightly mollified, but he was not likely to forget his companion’s proposition. He changed the subject.
“Talking of Winnipeg, you know I was up there on business the other day. I had a bit of a shock while I was walking about the depôt waiting for the train to start.”
“Oh.” Grey was not paying much attention; he was absorbed in his own thoughts.
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“Yes,” Robb went on. “You remember Mr. Zachary Smith?”
His companion looked up with a violent start.
“Well, I guess. What of him? I’m not likely to forget him easily. There is just one desire I have in life which dwarfs all others to insignificance, and that is to stand face to face with Mr. Zachary Smith,” Grey finished up significantly.
“Ah! So I should suppose,” Robb went on. “Those are my feelings to a nicety. But I didn’t quite realize my desire, and, besides, I wasn’t sure, anyhow. A man appeared, just for one moment, at the booking-office door as I happened to pass it. He stared at me, and I caught his eye. Then he beat a retreat before I had called his face to mind––you see, his appearance was quite changed. A moment later I remembered him, or thought I did, and gave chase. But I had lost him, couldn’t discover a trace of him, and nearly lost the train into the bargain. Mind, I am not positive of the fellow’s identity, but I’d gamble a few dollars on the matter, anyway.”
“Lord! I’d have missed fifty trains rather than have lost sight of him. Just our luck,” Grey exclaimed violently.
“Well, if he’s in the district, we’ll come across him again. Perhaps you will have the next chance.” Robb pushed his chair back.
“I hope so.”
“It was he, right enough,” Robb went on meditatively, his cheery face puckered into an expression of perplexity. “He was well dressed, too, in the garb of an ordinary citizen, and looked quite clean and respectable. His face had filled out; but it was his105eyes that fixed me. You remember those two great, deep-sunken, cow-eyes of his–––” Robb broke off as he saw Grey start. “Why, what’s up?”
Grey shook himself; then he gazed straight before him. Nor did he heed his companion’s question. A strongly-marked pucker appeared between his eyebrows, and a look of uncertainty was upon his face. Robb again urged him.
“You haven’t seen him?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Grey.
“What do you mean?”
“I have just remembered something. I came across a––stranger the other day. He was wrapped in furs, and I could only see his eyes. But those eyes were distinctly familiar––‘cow’-eyes, I think you said. I was struck with their appearance at the time, but couldn’t just realize where I had seen eyes like ’em before.” Then he went on reflectively: “But no, it couldn’t have been he. Ah–––” He broke off and glanced in the direction of the window as the jangle of sleigh-bells sounded outside. “Here’s our cutter. Come on.”
Robb rose from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his trousers. There came the sound of voices from the other side of the door.
“Some of the boys,” said Robb, with a meaning smile. “It’s early for ’em.”
“I believe this is your doing,” said Grey sulkily.
Robb nodded in the direction of the window. “You’ve got a team. This is no ‘one-horsed’ affair.”
The door opened suddenly and two men entered.
“Oh, here he is,” said one, Charlie Trellis, the106postmaster, with a laugh. “Congratulate you, Grey, my friend. Double harness, eh? Tame you down, my boy. Good thing, marriage––for taming a man.”
“You’re not looking your best,” said the other, Jack Broad, the telegraph operator. “Why, man, you look as though you were going to your own funeral. Buck up! Come and have a ‘Collins’; brace you up for the ordeal.”
“Go to the devil, both of you,” said Grey ungraciously. “I don’t swill eye-openers all day like you, Jack Broad. Got something else to do.”
“So it seems. But cheer up, man,” replied Broad imperturbably, “it’s not as bad as having a tooth drawn.”
“Nor half as unpleasant as a funeral,” put in Trellis, with a grin.
Grey turned to Robb.
“Come on,” he said abruptly. “Let’s get. I shall say things in a minute if I stay here.”
“That ’ud be something new for you,” called out Broad, as the two men left the room.
The door closed on his remark and he turned to his companion.
“I’m sorry for the poor girl,” he went on. “The most can-tankerous pig I ever ran up against––is Grey.”
“Yes,” agreed the other; “I can’t think how a decent fellow like Robb Chillingwood can chum up with him. He’s a surly clown––only fit for such countries as the Yukon, where he comes from. He’s not particularly clever either. Yes,” turning to the waitress, “the usual. How would you like to be the bride?”
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The girl shook her head.
“No, thanks. I like candy.”
“Ah, not vinegar.”
“Nor––nor––pigs.”
Broad turned to the grey-headed postmaster with a loud guffaw.
“She seems to have sized Grey up pretty slick.”
Outside in the hall the two men donned their furs and over-shoes. Fortunately for Grey’s peace of mind there was no one else about. The bar-tender was sweeping the office out, but he did not pause in his work. Outside the front door the livery-stable man was holding the horses. Grey took his seat to drive, and wrapped the robes well about him. It was a bitterly cold morning. Robb was just about to climb in beside him when a ginger-headed man clad in a pea-jacket came running from the direction of the Town Hall. He waved one arm vigorously, clutching in his hand a piece of paper. Robb saw him first.
“Something for me, as sure as a gun. Hold on, Grey,” he said. “It’s Sutton, the sheriff. I wonder what’s up?”
The ginger-headed man came up breathlessly.
“Thought I was going to miss you, Chillingwood. A message from the Mayor. ‘Doc’ Ridley sends word that the United States marshal has got that horse-thief, Le Mar, over the other side. You’ll have to make out the papers for bringing him over. I’ve got to go and fetch him at once.”
“But, hang it, man, I can’t do them now,” exclaimed Robb.
“He’s on leave of absence,” put in Grey.
“Can’t be helped. I’m sorry,” said the sheriff.
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“It’s business, you know. Besides, it won’t take you more than an hour. I must get across to Verdon before noon or it’ll be too late to get the papers ‘backed’ there. Come on, man; you can get another cutter and follow Grey up in an hour. You won’t lose much time.”
“Yes, and who’s going to pay the damage?” said Robb, relinquishing his hold on the cutter’s rail.
The sheriff shrugged his shoulders.
“You’ll have to stay,” he said conclusively.
“I suppose so. Grey, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” replied Grey coldly. “It’s not your fault. Well, good-bye. Don’t bother to follow me up.”
“Damn!” ejaculated the good-hearted Robb, as the cutter moved away.
“Going to get married, ain’t he?” said the sheriff shortly, as Grey departed.
“Yes.” And the two men walked off in the direction of Chillingwood’s office.
And Grey drove off to his wedding alone. He was denied even the support of the only man who, out of sheer good-heartedness, would have accompanied him. The life of a man is more surely influenced by the peculiarities of his own disposition than anything else. When a man takes to himself a wife, it is naturally a time for the well-wishes of his friends. This man set out alone. Not one God-speed went with him. And yet he was not disturbed by the lack of sympathy. He looked at life from an uncommon standpoint, measuring its scope for the attainment of happiness by his own capacity for doing, not by any association with his kind. He was one of those men109who need no friendship from his fellows, preferring rather to be without it. Thus he considered he was freer to follow his own methods of life. Position was his goal––position in the walk of life he had chosen. Could he not attain this solely by his own exertions, then he would do without it.
The crisp, morning air smote his cheeks with the sting of a whip-lash as he drove down the bush-lined trail which led from the Rodney House to the railway depôt. It was necessary for him to cross the track at this point before he would find himself upon the prairie road to the Leonville school-house, at which place the ceremony was to be performed. The “gush” of the horses’ nostrils sounded refreshingly in his ears as the animals fairly danced over the smooth, icy trail. The sleigh-bells jangled with a confused clashing of sounds in response to the gait of the eager beasts. But Grey thought little of these things. He thought little of anything just now but his intended despoiling of the owner of Lonely Ranch. All other matters were quite subsidiary to his one chief object.
Once out in the open, the horses settled down into their long-distance stride. Here the trail was not so good as in the precincts of the village. The snow was deeper and softer. Now and then the horses’ hoofs would break through the frozen crust and sink well above the fetlocks into the under-snow.
Now the thick bush, which surrounded the village, gave place to a sparser covering of scattered bluffs, and the grey-white aspect of the country became apparent. The trail was well marked as far as the eye could reach––two great furrows ploughed by the passage of horses and the runners of the farmers’110heavy “double-bobs.” Besides this, the colour was different. There was a strong suggestion of earthiness about the trail which was not to be observed upon the rolling snow-fields of the surrounding prairie.
The air was still though keen, and the morning sun had already risen well above the mist of grey clouds which still hovered above the eastern horizon. There was a striking solemnity over all. It was the morning promise of a fair day, and soon the dazzling sunshine upon the snow would become blinding to eyes unused to the winter prairie.
But Grey was no tenderfoot. Such things had no terrors for him. His half-closed eyes faced the glare of light defiantly. It is only the inexperienced who gaze across the snow-bound earth, at such a time, with wide-open eyes.
The bluffs became scarcer as mile after mile was covered by the long, raking strides of the hardy horses. Occasionally Grey was forced to pull off the trail into the deep snow to allow the heavy-laden hay-rack of some farmer to pass, or a box-sleigh, weighted down with sacks of grain, toiling on its way to the Ainsley elevator. These inconveniences were the rule of the road, the lighter always giving way to the heavier conveyance.
Ten miles from Ainsley and the wide open sea of snow proclaimed the prairie in its due form. Not a tree in sight, not a rock, not a hill to break the awful monotony. Just one vast rolling expanse of snow gleaming beneath the dazzling rays of a now warming sun. A hungry coyote and his mate prowling in search of food at a distance of half-a-mile looked111large by reason of their isolation. An occasional covey of prairie chicken, noisily winging their way to a far-distant bluff, might well be startling both to horses and driver. A dark ribbon-like flight of ducks or geese, high up in the heavens, speeding from the south to be early in the field when the sodden prairie should be open, was something to distract the attention of even the most pre-occupied. But Grey was oblivious to everything except the trail beneath him, the gait of his team, and his scheme for advancement. The sun mounted higher, and the time passed rapidly to the traveller. And, as the record of mileage rose, the face of the snow-clad earth began again to change its appearance. The undulations of the prairie assumed vaster proportions. The waves rose to the size of hills, and the gentle hollows sank deeper until they declined into gaping valleys. Here and there trees and small clumps of leafless bush dotted the view. A house or two, with barn looming largely in the rear, and spidery fencing, stretching in rectangular directions, suggested homesteads; the barking of dogs––life. These signs of habitation continued, and became now more frequent, and now, again, more rare. The hills increased in size and the bush thickened. Noon saw the traveller in an “up-and-down” country intersected by icebound streams and snow-laden hollows. The timber became more heavy, great pine trees dominating the more stunted growths, and darkening the outlook by reason of their more generous vegetation. On the eastern extremity of this belt of country stood the school-house of Leonville; beyond that the undulating prairie again on to Loon Dyke Farm.