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They sat down together on the bed in that little back room.
“It’s a common enough story, Jim. I was born in Toronto. There were four of us, my dad, my mother, my little sister Margery and myself. A happier quartette no one ever heard of. But my mother died suddenly. To my mind, she took all the fun of life with her. Dad moved us to Texas, where he became engaged in some mining or oil projects. A year after my mother’s death, he married again. I did not understand a thing about it, until he told me I had a new mother. In a fit of boyish resentment, I packed my clothes together, took my small hoard of savings, went into my little sister’s bedroom one night as she lay asleep, kissed her, cried over her, and ran away.
“Silly, Jim,––wasn’t it? But from that day to this I have not seen a relative of mine.
“I worked my way north, back into Canada, to Campbeltown, where I remembered having visited the Brenchfields as a little fellow with my mother. Brenchfield’s mother and mine had been school companions in the old days. I had had a good time on that earlier visit and the memory of it, more than anything else, prompted me to make for Campbeltown again.
“Mrs. Brenchfield showed me every kindness and made a home for me. She or her husband must have sent word to my dad, who evidently decided to let me cool my heels. He mailed me a draft for three hundred dollars and promised a further hundred dollars a month for my keep and education during the time I preferred to deny myself of the pardon and loving welcome that would await me any time I cared to return home. That was where the mistake was made. Jim, he should have insisted on my being returned home at once and when I got home he should have given me a right good hiding.
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“I indignantly returned his draft and wrote him declining all aid from one whom I, in my juvenile heroics, felt I could no longer respect as a father.
“Gee!––what fools we are sometimes! And how often have I longed and ached to hear from my dear old dad again! But I was proud, and I fear I am still a little that way.
“I was thrown into the constant companionship of Graham Brenchfield and despite our great dissimilarity in make-up and his three years’ advantage over me in age, we got on well together. He was different then.
“The Brenchfields educated me, as they did Graham. I put it all down, for a long time after, to the great goodness of their hearts, but I have had every reason to believe lately that they were secretly in receipt of that hundred dollars a month which I so dramatically declined from my dad. I feel certain now that it was my stay with the Brenchfields that so materially aided them in the education of their own, for they had little enough money in their own right for educational purposes.
“I pulled up on Graham at school and in a few years we were ready to start out to conquer the world. It was then that we decided on the Great Adventure to the Golden West, in search of fame and chiefly fortune.
“Youthful-like, we made a vow. We were to work together if we could, but, no matter what took place, we were to meet at the end of five years, pool our profits and make a fair divide.
“Brenchfield had five hundred dollars in cash. I had a similar amount coming to me from a farmer named Angus Macdonald in payment of two summers’ work I had put in on his place. Macdonald promised to send the money on to me at a certain date and, as his name and word were gold currency in and around Campbeltown, we set out on Graham Brenchfield’s five hundred.286We got to Vancouver, did odd jobs there for a bit; then Graham got something more promising to do on a cattle ranch in the Okanagan Valley and he left me clearing land in Carnaby, in the suburbs of Vancouver.
“Well, Jim,––Brenchfield had been only a few months gone, when I received letters from him urging me to send along the money I had coming from Angus Macdonald, as he had obtained a month’s option on some land in which he declared there was a positive fortune. As it turned out, Brenchfield was right in his surmise, as he seemed to be in almost everything else he touched for years following. It was ranch property, evidently right on the survey line of a new railroad. He was wildly excited over it in all his letters. Macdonald’s money was due, but it did not come to hand, so I had to keep on putting Brenchfield off and meantime I made a draft on Macdonald, putting it through the Carnaby branch of the Commercial Bank for collection. Three days before Brenchfield’s option was up he dropped in on me unexpectedly, by the first inter-urban train one morning. At that time, I was living by myself in a little rented two-roomed shack a few hundred yards outside of Carnaby.
“Graham Brenchfield raged and ranted in a terrible way, getting purple in the face in his disappointment and anger. He called Macdonald all the skin-flinting names he could think of and incidentally expressed himself of my unbusiness-like qualities. I told him what I had done, how I had written to Macdonald repeatedly, wired him and finally drawn on him; that I had called at the bank until Maguire the banker got sick at the sight of me and declared I haunted him like a damned ghost.
“I left Brenchfield that morning in my place, promising to be back by noon. I worked for two hours, then left off for fifteen minutes to run over to the bank, for287I had a hunch that there was something there. Maguire the Agent was in a nasty mood.
“He declared there was nothing for me. I told him he hadn’t looked to see, and I waited around, whistling and shuffling my feet till he got exasperated. It was the end of the month and he was busy, so perhaps I should have been more considerate, but I was nineteen years old then and consideration did not weigh very heavily on me. Besides, I was badly in need of the money.
“He finally threatened to throw me out for the ‘kite-flier’ I evidently was. That angered me; I picked up a heavy ruler and threatened to knock his head in. At last, my eye caught sight of the postal stamp of Campbeltown on a letter among his unopened mail lying on the counter. And, sure enough, it contained Macdonald’s payment. I got the money from Maguire and left immediately, as happy as a king.
“Before going home to break the good news to Brenchfield, I returned to my job in order to tell Macaskill the foreman that I intended taking the afternoon off. When I got there, they used me to clear off some fallen timber from the right-of-way and that delayed me quite a bit. I didn’t see Macaskill, so left without saying anything in particular to anyone.
“When I got back home, Brenchfield was sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting on his hands. He had been writing on a sheet of paper. I ran over to him and clapped my hand on his back. I threw my roll of bills on the table right under his nose. He stared at the bundle stupidly, then sprang up with an oath on his lips. Jim, I can see it all again as if it had taken place ten minutes ago. I can hear him word for word as if my mind had become for the time being a recording phonograph.
“I could see at a glance that there was something very288far wrong. His eyes were bloodshot and he was deathly white.
“‘Good God!’ he cried, pushing his fingers through his hair.
“‘Graham,––whatever is the matter with you?’ I asked. ‘You surely haven’t been drinking? You’re ill.’
“He laughed.
“‘I’m all right! Nothing wrong with my health! Guess it’s my morals that have gone fluey. So you got the money? My God!––if I’d only known that.”
“He put his hand in his back pocket, drew out a bundle of bills and tossed it on the table beside mine. It was money, Jim,––money by the heap.
“‘Good heavens, man!––where did you get it?’ I cried.
“‘Ay!––you may well ask. I had to have it––you know; so I went out and got it. Stole it––or rather, borrowed it when the other fellow wasn’t looking. See that over there!’ He pointed to a basin on the wash-stand. ‘Look inside, Phil. It’s red. Look at your shirt lying in the corner there. It’s bloody too. God!––the damned stuff is still all over me. It sticks like glue. It won’t come off.’
“His voice was gradually getting louder, so I went to him and clapped my hand over his mouth. I cautioned him to be quiet. For the first time in my memory, Graham Brenchfield broke down and cried like a baby. Little wonder,––for it was his first great offence against society and law.
“I led him to a chair and sat quietly beside him until the worst of his wildness seemed to be over.
“‘Graham,––you must pull yourself together,’ I said. ‘Tell me what it is you have done. Maybe it is not so bad. Maybe we can fix it up.’
“‘Phil, I got tired waiting for you and went out289three-quarters of an hour ago,’ he replied. ‘I went over the fields to the village. I didn’t mean any wrong then. I had no thought of it. I went the back way toward the bank. The back door was open and I looked in. The banker was figuring. There was money––stacks of it. The sight of the damned stuff made me crazy. I had little hope of you getting yours. It seemed an easy way. Something gripped me and I saw nothing after that but the money. There was no one about. I crept in, and under that counter that lifts up. He never saw or heard me. I picked up something––a poker, a ruler maybe. God only knows what it was! I hit him over the head with it. It didn’t drop him. I had to hit him again and again. Then blood spurted. He fell on the floor. I grabbed as much money as I thought I needed and I came away hoping to get out from here before you got back. I was just writing to you now to tell you what I had done. I put it in the old cipher we made up together at school. I knew you’d fathom it and understand. It is on the table there.
“‘Now you’ve come back,’ he continued. ‘They’ll be after me. What am I to do, Phil? It’ll break the dad’s and mother’s hearts if the police get me for this. Honest, Phil!––I didn’t mean to. I can’t think right. You tell me what to do. You fix it up and get me away from here.’
“He was on the point of breaking down again, Jim, when I brought him up with a jerk.
“‘I can help any man but a murderer,’ I said. ‘You didn’t kill Maguire?’
“‘No, no! I swear it,’ he answered. ‘The knocks I gave him could not kill him.’
“‘Well, if he dies, Graham, I’ll have to tell. If he doesn’t, you can bank on me. Your folks have been too good to me for me to forget and we’ve been too good290friends for me to give you away. Does anybody know you are in Carnaby?’ I asked further.
“‘Not a soul,’ he said.
“‘Has anyone seen you here?’
“‘Not that I know of!’
“‘Quick then,’ I cried. ‘Take this money Angus Macdonald sent. It’s ours. There are five hundred dollars. That’s all you need to meet your present obligations. Leave the blood money where it is. I’ll put it in an envelope and some time late to-night I’ll drop it, unaddressed, into the bank letter-box. They’ll never guess what has happened, and, if Maguire recovers and they get their money back, no one––no one but you, Graham––will be any the worse for it.’
“This was one time that Brenchfield allowed himself to be advised and led.
“‘Here,––take the back way,’ I went on, ‘the way you came, through the timber. Walk till you get to Newtown, then drop on to a Vancouver car and in. Then up the main line by to-night’s train, and lie quiet.’
“Brenchfield stopped at the door and offered me his hand.
“‘You won’t hold a grudge against me for this?’ he asked.
“‘Never a grudge!’ I said.
“‘You won’t let it interfere with our plans for the future, Phil?’
“‘No,––for you’ll have learned your lesson.’
“‘And we’re still partners?’
“I wasn’t quite so sure about that part of it, but a look in Brenchfield’s face made me relent.
“‘Partners,––yes, Graham,––if you still wish it,’ I said.
“‘Wish it,––sure I wish it, Phil.’
“‘Right-o.’
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“‘And whatever happens between you and me, in five years’ time we’ll pool everything we have, as we promised, and make a fair divide?’
“‘Yes, yes!––all right! For heaven’s sake get away quickly. You’re wasting precious time, and time with you is everything. One can never tell.’
“‘When will you come up to the Okanagan?’ he asked next.
“‘Just as soon as this blows over and I get squared away. Maybe in three weeks’ time––not later than a month.’
“We shook hands and I watched him as he hurried away across the fields.”
Phil stopped and looked into space.
“Go on, go on, man,” exclaimed Jim, his face tense.
“After that, the first thing that caught my eye was Brenchfield’s note on the table. I had the key to it in my mind, so it was easy enough to decipher. You have it Jim, word for word:––
“‘Dear Phil,I have gone back to Vernock. I have borrowed the money I needed and I fear I have hurt the banker in the borrowing. Forgive me, but there was no other way out. Whatever you hear, keep silent. Join me as soon as you can. Burn this.Graham Brenchfield.’”
“‘Dear Phil,
I have gone back to Vernock. I have borrowed the money I needed and I fear I have hurt the banker in the borrowing. Forgive me, but there was no other way out. Whatever you hear, keep silent. Join me as soon as you can. Burn this.
Graham Brenchfield.’”
“Pretty damning stuff, Jim, even if it is in cipher. Well, the last I remember of that note was crumpling it up till it was a mere nothing at all. I must have tossed it away unconsciously and it got lodged in the toe of my gum boot, although I always felt certain within myself till now that I had burned it along with every other scrap of paper I could find in the shack coming from Brenchfield. My next job was to cover up all other traces he292had left behind. There was the basin of discolored water on the wash-stand. I threw the water out at the back door and scoured the basin. I next put the stolen money in a large blue envelope and thrust it between my trunk and the wall, out of sight until I should be able to get rid of it through the bank letter-box when night came. I thought I was through then, when I found my dirty shirt in the corner––the twin of the one I was then wearing. It was smeared with blood-stains. Evidently Graham had used that first on his hands, and the water afterwards. I held up the tell-tale garment between my fingers, intending to set it ablaze in the stove. I changed my mind, for shirts were shirts in those days and somewhat scarce. I decided to give it a thorough washing instead. Somewhere, I had heard that hot water would not remove blood-stains, so I emptied some cold water into the basin and got my soap ready to begin. I was just in the act of dipping the shirt into the water when the screen door rattled and three men stepped into the kitchen. My heart jumped, for one of them was Jim Renfrew, Carnaby’s Police Chief. The other two I guessed as plain-clothes men from Vancouver.
“‘Sorry to disturb you, Ralston,––but we want you at the Station for a few minutes. You don’t mind coming, eh!’ asked Renfrew.
“‘What do you want me for?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, come and see!’ said the Chief. ‘Just want to ask you something about something! We won’t eat you.’
“Two of them laid hands on me and before I knew just exactly how it happened, cold metal snapped over my wrists and held me secure. The stained shirt was snatched out of my hand. I turned angrily, but a wrench of the handcuffs pulled me up.
“‘Cut that out now! Come along quiet! Shut your293trap, and say nothing you might be sorry for later. Come on!’
“One of the plain-clothes men remained behind, while the other and the Chief took me through the town to the local jail.
“It was some little time before I grasped the awful seriousness of my position and began to realise how events which I had never thought of might possibly involve me in this affair at the bank. I was totally ignorant of how much the police knew; that was the straining and nerve-racking part.
“The following morning I was brought before the local magistrate, charged with attempted murder and robbery, and was immediately committed for trial to the Assizes. And that evening, handcuffed between two policemen, I was transferred to the Provincial Prison at Ukalla, to await trial.
“God alone knows what I suffered during all that dreadful time, Jim, but I had made up my mind that it was my duty to take the blame on myself, for Brenchfield would never have committed the crime had I fulfilled my share of the bargain at the outset and put my money in when it was due. I thought of the goodness of the Brenchfields, of all they had done for me, of what it would mean to them if Graham were convicted. I only dreamed of a few months’ imprisonment at the outset, so I decided I would keep my mouth shut.
“During all the time I remained awaiting trial, no one visited me but a parson and an exasperated lawyer who had been appointed to defend me, but who could get nothing out of me.
“I was tried. I refused to speak, and in so doing, I hadn’t the ghost of a chance for liberty.
“Macaskill the foreman swore that I had been absent from my work for a time on the morning of the assault;294I had been expecting money which hadn’t arrived and I seemed badly in need of it.
“Doctor Rutledge of Carnaby had stopped at the door of the bank that morning and had seen me inside. He had heard Maguire and I in dispute and had heard further my threat to crack Maguire over the head with the very ruler with which the assault had been committed.
“Maguire, swathed in bandages but apparently little the worse, recounted our dispute. He swore that I had committed the assault on him, as it had happened just after he had paid over the money to me and turned back to his work.
“Chief Renfrew and his two detectives had caught me, red-handed, in my shack, washing my blood-stained shirt––a shirt similar to the one I was wearing at the time of my arrest. They even found the entire proceeds of the theft in a blue envelope behind my trunk; although they had to admit having been unable to trace the additional five hundred dollars which Maguire stated he had given to me.
“It was great stuff, Jim. Circumstantially damning as could be. They gave me five years in hell for my share in it, also a nice long harangue from the judge about behaving myself when I came out.”
During this long, clear-cut, passionless recital, Jim Langford had sat beside Phil, glooming into space, his face like chiselled grey granite.
“My God!” he exclaimed at last and only his lips moved.
“Yes, Jim,––and Graham Brenchfield sat among the spectators all through the trial, heard me sentenced, rose and went out into his merry world without as much as a twitch of his eyelid for Phil Ralston.
“Ah, well! it’s over and done with. But can you blame me, Jimmy, for a little bitterness in my heart295against that fine gentleman for his cowardice and treachery?”
“Blame you,” exclaimed Jim, passionately. “Great God! if he had done this with me, Phil, I would have schemed and plotted till I succeeded in getting him away to some lonely shack, then I would have tied him up and cut little pieces out of him every day till there was nothing left of him but his sense of pain and his throbbing black heart.”
Phil laughed, rose and stretched himself.
“That’s just the penny-dreadful part of you talking, Jim; the Captain Mayne Plunkett. You know quite well you wouldn’t do anything of the kind.”
But Jim was in no mood for flippancy.
“Sit down!” he commanded. “Now that you have told me so much, tell me everything. We are in this together now and I want to know what has passed between you and that scum since you came up here.”
“You know the most of it; there isn’t much more to tell,” said Phil, but obedient to his friend’s wishes, he sat down again and starting in with his first meeting, as a fugitive, with Eileen Pederstone, he told of all the attempts that Brenchfield had made on his life, of his wild schemes and endeavours to recover this very paper that lay on the counterpane beside them, the existence of which Phil had been unaware but had bluffed and double-bluffed at in order to keep Brenchfield in his place. Right down to what had taken place that afternoon in the forge––not a detail did Phil miss out––and last of all, he confided to Jim the great longing in his heart that had been with him since first he had met Eileen Pederstone, and the hope that some day, after he had honestly achieved, he might be privileged to tell her what his feelings were toward her.
“If you are not altogether an idiot,” answered Jim296bluntly, “you will tell her the very next time you meet her. Does the lassie know that you were jailed for something you didn’t do?”
“No,––I––I didn’t tell her that. But she is aware that we met some time in the past:––that there is some kind of secret between Brenchfield and me.”
“Are you going to have that two-faced hypocrite arrested?” asked Jim.
“No, siree!”
“And why not, pray?”
Phil gave Jim all his reasons “why not,” and, despite Jim’s cajolings and threatenings, he remained obdurate on the point.
“Well,” exclaimed Langford at last, “you’re positively thesentimentalestass I ever met. But maybe after all you are right. Brenchfield has had this thing eating at his liver like a cancer for six years now and the longer it eats the worse he’ll suffer. He is on the down-grade right now, or else I am sadly mistaken. He is up to the ears in it with the worst crooks in the Valley:––cattle rustlers, warehouse looters, horse thieves, jail birds, bootleggers and half-breeds. Some of these fellows some day are going to get sore with him. Oh, you may be sure his sins are going to find him out;––and the higher he goes the farther he will have to fall.
“It certainly will be one hell of a crash when it comes, and Jimmy Langford hopes to be there with bells on at the funeral of Mayor Brenchfield and his hoggish ambitions.”
Phil crumpled up the paper in his palm.
“Here!” cried Jim. “What are you doing that for?”
Phil smiled a little sadly.
“I suppose you will be putting it in the stove next?”
“I guess so!”
“Well, you’d better guess again. It is just like the297crazy thing you would try to do in one of your soft moments. Give it to me! I’ll take mighty good care of it. It is all that may lie between your guilt or innocence some day, even if it is after Brenchfield is dead and gone to his well-earned reward. A whole lot hinges on that little bit of paper. It has got to be kept good and secure. Come on, softy,––hand it over!”
“If I do, will you promise never to use it in any way unless I consent, or unless I am not in a position to give you either my assent or dissent?”
“Yes!––I promise that.”
“There you are then.” Phil handed it to Langford, who opened a pocket in his belt and put it carefully inside.
“Guess we might have a bite of supper now,––eh, what!”
They drew in to the table; and that Christmas Eve supper was almost hilarious, for now there was no shadow between, and it meant an intense relief to both.
When the supper was nearing its end, Ah Sing, accompanied by two of his faithful feline devil-chasers, came in. He seemed somewhat sadder and more bland than usual.
“What’s the matter, Sing?” queried Jim.
“Oh,––me plenty mad,––me feel heap swear.”
He sat down very disconsolately, and the cats took immediate advantage of the shining moment by rubbing and purring pleasantly round and against their master’s legs.
“Tell us about it then. We savvy, Sing.”
“Oh,––my wifee––you know––she allee way live China. She make me angly. My fliend in China he send me photoglaph Chinee girlie. Me want get another wifee,––see!”
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Sing handed over a picture of a typical country Chinese maid.
“Gee!––she’s a fine looker,––isn’t she, Phil?” exclaimed Jim with a wink, handing it over for Phil to examine.
“You bet she is!” conceded Phil.
Sing did not seem to enthuse.
“Oh, may be! Not too bad! Not velly muchee good! She thirteen year old. Her father he want me pay two hundled and fifty dollar for me catch her. I no likee velly much. I catch another. See! That one, she fourteen;––she cost four hundled dollar.”
The second picture was that of a decidedly prettier girl with a much more refined appearance than the first.
“Oh, she best. Sure thing!” said Jim.
“Yes,––she pletty good.”
“You catch her, Sing?”
Sing shook his head ruefully.
“No!––I no catch her. Make me heap swear. I save up four hundled dollar; I send allee money my wifee. I tell her buy that one for me,––see!
“She send me letter. I get him to-day. She tell me she get money, but she no buy other wifee for me. She buy house and ten acres land. Next time I go China, I tell her ‘Damn!’––see. I plenty heap swear.”
“I think she was a darned good judge,” remarked Phil, as he and Jim laughed loudly.
But Ah Sing could not see the joke nor could he grasp wherein came his wife’s good wisdom.
“What l’matter, you laugh?” he said. “Chinaman first wifee, she boss;––second wifee she do allee work. I catchee second wifee help my first wifee––see!”
“Pshaw! That’s all right for a bluff, Sing, but it won’t go down,” cried Phil. “Come on;––cheer up, and have a drink! This is Christmas time.”
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“What you got?” asked Sing, brightening,––“Scotchee whisky?”
“No siree! This is none of your sheebeens,” replied Phil.
“You catchem sam souey?” returned Sing, his voice high and piping. “Sam souey pletty good.”
“No sam souey,––you tough nut! Here!”
Phil handed the Chinaman a bottle of lemonade. Sing’s face fell.
“Ah,––no good! He cleam soda.”
“Well––what’s the matter with it? I suppose you want something with a kick in it.”
“Kick? No savvy kick! Allee same, cleam soda you pullem cork––plup––whee––phizz––he jump out all over and he run allee way down stair before you catchem.
“Feed’m chicken cleam soda. No good Chinaman!”
“Yes,––you slit eyed Mongolian! That reminds me,” exclaimed Jim, his mouth half-full of apple-pie. “Talking about chickens,––what you do with all our chickens?”
“Chickens? No savvy!” innocently commented Sing, as he replaited and tied the black silk cords at the end of his pig-tail.
“You savvy all right,––you son-of-a-gun!
“Phil,––when we came here there were thirty-six chickens in our pen. We’ve had two to eat ourselves. I counted only fourteen there to-day. That’s twenty chickens gone somewhere.”
Ah Sing still shook his head.
“I know, I savvy!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Coyote catchem!”
“Coyote hell!” shouted Jim.
“Ya,––you bet! Coyote hell evely night. You hear’m?”
“Sure we hear them. The darned brutes howl and300laugh and keep us off our sleep every night the moon is up.”
“Well!––coyote catchem,” was all Sing would say.
“Yes!––and I suppose coyote leave bones in the garbage heap at your back door? Look here, Sing!––next time Chinese coyote take any more chicken, I fill him up buck shot out of that gun. No more chicken for you,––see!”
“All light!” conciliated the wily Chinaman, rising to go now that the discussion had come a bit too near home for his comfort. “I tell you quick next time coyote come––you fill him belly buck shot, heap plenty.”
Two hours later, when the moon came up, the coyotes certainly provided entertainment. They howled and laughed, taunting an old terrier dog which belonged to the ranch and had neither the speed nor the inclination to try its mettle against its vicious enemies. It growled and barked a-plenty, but the coyotes sensed their safety and ventured the closer and yelped the louder in sheer deviltry.
Jim and Phil got down their guns, in the hope of bagging at least one of the brutes, but before they got outside, a wild frightened squawking and a tremendous to-do of fluttering told its own story. They raced round, but by the time they got to the rear of the house the squawking was quite a bit away, and the moon, ere it shot behind a cloud, showed two distant, shadowy forms scurrying quickly over the hill with their kill.
Phil fired a shot, but it did not seem to take any effect.
“I guess we put too much blame on poor old Sing after all,” said Jim, “but I could have sworn he was meddling with these hens. I never knew the chink yet that could resist a chicken coop. He’s even worse than the nigger is for that.
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“I can hear music down at Sing’s now; let us go quietly along and see what he is up to.”
They went on to Sing’s shack and peeped cautiously in at the window.
The Chinaman was sitting in a chair before his stove, scraping away on a Chinese fiddle, bringing the most unearthly cat-calls from the thing and singing to himself in a thin falsetto voice.
“He’s nothing if he is not musical,” remarked Jim.
Suddenly Sing stopped and laid down his fiddle. He rose, opened the oven door and brought out two beautifully roasted chickens, laid the pan down on top of the stove and rubbed his hands in pleasant anticipation.
“Well I’ll be darned!” whispered Jim.
“And we blamed it on the coyotes,” answered Phil. “Let us go in and scare the daylights out of him.”
For a moment Jim seemed inclined to follow Phil’s suggestion, but he relented.
“Och!––what’s the good? The poor deevil hasna a body to make frien’s o’, nor a thing to do to keep himsel’ out o’ mischief. Besides it is Christmas Eve. Let us bide in the spirit o’ it and leave the poor heathen to enjoy himsel’ for this once.
“Come on up hame to our virtuous cots!”
302CHAPTER XXIA Maiden, a Lover and a Heathen Chinee
Next morning, while inspecting the ravaged chicken coop and endeavouring to follow the trail of the light-footed coyotes, Jim and Phil discovered a trickle of blood here and there on the snow on top of the knoll, telling them that Phil’s flying shot had come much nearer its billet than they had at first surmised.
“By jove!––what do you think of that, Philly, my boy? You pinked one of those brutes after all. What do you say to following up a bit?”
Sing had promised to look after the cooking of the Christmas dinner, so, as there was nothing in particular for them to do for the next few hours, Phil readily agreed. They went back for their rifles, muffled themselves up a bit more and donned their heavy boots.
It was a glorious morning when they set out from the ranch. A fresh fall of snow the night before had already been crusted over by the cold north wind which so often tore in through the rifts in the hills at that time of the year, squeezing the thermometer almost to disappearing point at twenty-five to thirty below. The sun’s brightness looked eternal. The sky was never so blue. Great fleecy clouds rolled and frolicked in well-nigh human abandon. Almost everywhere, when looking upward, the eyes rested against snow-white hills with their black reaching spars of sparse fir trees; while below and stretching away for miles––winding and twisting between the hills––the flat, solidly-frozen Kalamalka Lake, with its fresh,303white coating, caught the sun’s rays and threw them back in a defiant and blinding dazzle. At intervals, in unexpected places and along the shore line, smoke curled up cheerily from the snug little homes of the neighbouring ranchers and settlers.
As the two men trudged along, with the old terrier dog at their heels, the frozen air crackled in their nostrils. They smoked their pipes, however, and threw out their chests in sheer joy of living, for a winter’s day, such as this was, did not freeze young blood, but rather sent it sparkling and effervescing like ten-year-old champagne.
They followed the red stains on the snow and finally came to a spot in a gulley where the coyote evidently had disposed of its steal, for feathers lay about in gory profusion. They continued through the thicket, where they lost all track of further blood-stains. To add to their worries, the old terrier disappeared.
“He must have got scared and beat it for home,” said Phil.
“Looks like it! I guess we should follow his lead, for Mister Coyote seems to have got pretty well away.”
“Let us go down toward the lake then and home along the shore line. It is easier travelling that way.”
They went down the incline together, digging with their heels at times to stop them up, and slipping in fifteen feet lengths at other times. When they neared the bottom they heard a loud yelp, as of a dog suddenly hit by a missile of some kind. They looked out in the direction of the lake and away in the middle of it, half a mile from shore, their eyes sighted two dark objects rolling over and over each other.
A yelp, sharper than the first, came again.
“By jingo!” shouted Jim, “what do you know about that? It’s our supposed yellow-livered terrier. He’s got304the coyote. Come on! The brute will have him eaten alive.”
They plunged down the remainder of the hill, through another thicket of pines, along the shore and out on to the lake. The ice was several feet thick and as solid as the land itself. Time and again both Phil and Jim stepped up in order to try a shot, but it was impossible to get one in without endangering the life of the plucky old dog.
They slid and scurried along, full speed––while the terrier seemed to be hanging on gamely to the coyote, or else the coyote had such a hold on the terrier that the latter was unable to shake it. They continued to roll over and over in a whirling bundle of fur.
“Better try a shot anyway, Phil,” cried Jim in desperation. “You are surer with the gun than I am. The dog is all in and it looks as if it didn’t really matter now which you hit anyway.”
Phil threw the gun to his shoulder, took almost careless aim and fired. It was a long shot and a difficult one for even an expert.
For a moment, it looked as if the bullet had gone wide. The next moment it could be seen that something had been hit, but it was hard to tell what. Then out of the scurry and whirl, the old terrier was observed to get on top.
“Good boy!” cried Jim. “You got the right one!”
As they came up on the scene of the fight, they found their dog mauled almost to ribbons, but he was still clinging gamely and worrying at the throat of the dead coyote.
Jim spoke a word of praise to that remnant of a dog and separated it from its late antagonist.
The excitement over, it wagged its stump of a tail, staggered for a little, trembled, then lay down on the ice with a little whimper, in absolute exhaustion.
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The coyote was a huge brute of its kind and its coat was in perfect condition.
Phil’s shot of the previous night had passed through a fleshy part of its hind quarters, without breaking any bones on its journey, but the coyote had evidently bled almost to death before the terrier got at it. This alone accounted for its inability to beat the old dog at the very first turn of the encounter. The shot which killed it had gone clean through its eye and out behind its ear.
Jim got out his knife and started in to skin the animal, while Phil did what he could in the matter of lending first aid to the wounded terrier.
On glancing casually along the surface of the ice, then away toward their ranch, Phil noticed a vehicle drawn up at the front door.
“Jim,––there’s a rig of some kind at our door. Looks as if we had visitors!”
“Now who the Dickens can it be?” queried Jim, scratching his head as he knelt beside the carcass of the coyote. “It’s a sleigh. Christmas Day and nobody to welcome them! Phil, you beat it back. I’ll finish this job and follow after you with the dog. He won’t be able to go fast and it is no use both of us waiting.”
“All right!”
“Whoever they are, keep them till I come.”
“Sure!”
And off Phil went at a run.
When he was about a quarter of a mile from the house, he saw Ah Sing amble round from the far side of the house and go in at the front door. This had hardly taken place, when he heard the scream of a woman in fear. A flying figure darted out and down the trail, up which Phil was now hurrying from the beach. He failed at first to make out who the figure was. It was followed closely by the Chinaman, crying out his incoherent Chinese306jibberish and broken English, and, despite his years and apparent shuffling gait, he was bear-like in his agility and gained at every step on the woman he was pursuing. She turned her head in fear, and seeing how close to her he was she screamed again, then collapsed in a heap.
Ah Sing stooped over her, looking down, still muttering and shaking his fists angrily, but evidently in a quandary. He did not notice the oncomer until he was almost by his side. Phil tossed his gun from him, caught the Chinaman by the neck with his two hands, lifted him off his feet and nearly shook his greasy head off in the process. He then got him by the collar in one hand and the loose pants in the other, raised him sheer over his head and hurled him ten feet away, against the foot of an apple tree where he crashed and lay in stupid semi-consciousness.
Of all the unexpected persons to Phil, the young lady who lay on the ground was Eileen Pederstone. He raised her gently in his arms and carried her up the pathway through the orchard and back into the house. He set her on a camp cot and fetched her a glass of water. And it was not long before she sat up. But the dread of something was still upon her. She was pale and she trembled spasmodically.
She clung to Phil’s arm, keeping close to him as they sat on the edge of the cot, as if afraid that his presence were not quite the substantial reality it seemed.
He tried his best to soothe her and to get her to explain what had happened, but she did not answer him. He patted her back, he put his arm about her. He pushed her hair up from her eyes. But she sat and trembled, and would not be comforted.
She had a large towel pinned about her waist, and from the broom which lay on the floor near the door it307looked to Phil as if she had been sweeping out the place when the Chinaman had entered.
“But you must tell me what happened!” said Phil. “Did you say or do anything to Sing to make him angry?”
“Oh, I don’t know! I have no idea!” returned Eileen at last brokenly. “He––he––when I came––there was no one here.––I started in to sweep up.––I was sweeping at the door when he came in suddenly––he frightened me.––I must have swept some of the dust over him, for he ran right into the broom.––He swore at me and started to jibber.––He caught me by the arm.––He swore again.––I––I struggled free and ran out––and––and he followed me––shouting he would––he would kill me.”
Phil’s brows wrinkled in perplexity, for he could not make the thing out at all.
Ah Sing he knew for a peculiar individual and a wily one, with considerable standing among the other Orientals in the neighbourhood, but he had always heard of him as being meek and docile enough with those for whom he worked and, like most Chinamen, had a wholesome respect for the power of the white man’s law. That he should suddenly break out in this outrageous way, for no apparent cause, was beyond Phil’s comprehension.
Quietly and without speaking further, Phil and Eileen sat together, then tears of relief came to Eileen. Her shuddering ceased. She gazed up at Phil timidly and, as she gazed, she must have noticed the anxiety and yearning in his eyes for she laid her head on his breast and wept quietly. Phil did not try to stop her tears. He sat there, smoothing her glossy brown hair with his big hand and talking soothingly to her the while.
At last her sobbing spent itself and she slowly raised her head and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. Phil caught her face in both his hands and gazed searchingly into it for a while. Helplessly, Eileen braved his308look and, when a faint trembling smile played about the corners of her mouth, Phil drew her face close to his and his lips touched hers.
Eileen blushed, and jumped up suddenly with a cry of alarm. She rushed over to the stove and lifted up the lid of a pot, the contents of which were bubbling over.
“Come on, boy!” she cried with a strange tone of possession in her voice which set Phil’s heart jumping, “help me get dinner out. Big, lanky, fail-me-never Jim will be here pretty soon.”
They had hardly put the finishing touches to the table, when Langford ran in. He seemed to have sensed something wrong before he got inside, for his face wore an anxious look.
“Merry Christmas, Eileen! Awfully glad you came out to see us. Hullo!––what has been wrong? I saw you, and Phil, and Sing in a mix-up and I hurried along. What was the trouble, Phil? Has Sing been playing any monkey-doodle business?”
“It was nothing at all! Hurry and get a wash up, Jim! Dinner’s ready,” smiled Eileen. “We’ll tell you all you want to know when we are having something to eat.”
They sat down to a pleasant little meal, but, somehow, the earlier proceedings had cast a damper over the usual gaiety of the trio and their conversation for once was desultory and of a serious nature.
Phil explained as best he could what had taken place between Eileen and Sing. Eileen could throw no further light on Phil’s story. But Jim did not seem to require any, for a look of perfect understanding showed in his big, gaunt, honest face.
“Do you know, Eileen,––you could not have heaped a worse insult on Sing than you did,” he remarked.
“But I didn’t say a word, Jim!”
“No!––but you demonstrated on him with that broom.”