PORTENTS OF CHANGE
The moon was above the horizon when Kenwyne pulled up his horse to a
walk opposite Allenwood Grange. The view from this point always appealed
to the artist in Kenwyne. The level plain was broken here by steep,
sandy rises crowned with jack-pines and clumps of poplar, and a shallow
lake reached out into the open from their feet. A short distance back
from its shore, the Grange stood on a gentle slope, with a grove of
birches that hid the stables and outbuildings straggling up the hill
behind.
As Kenwyne saw it in the moonlight across the glittering water, the
house was picturesque. In the center rose a square, unpretentious
building of notched logs; but from this ship-lap additions, showing
architectural taste, stretched out in many wings, so that, from a
distance, the homestead with its wooded back-ground had something of the
look of an old English manor house. It was this which made the colonists
of Allenwood regard it with affection. Now it was well lighted, and the
yellow glow from its windows shone cheerfully across the lake.
The foundations of the place had been laid in unsettled times, after the
Hudson Bay fur-traders had relinquished their control of the trackless
West, but before the Dominion Government had established its authority.
The farmers were then spreading cautiously across the Manitoban plain,
in some fear of the Metis half-breeds, and it was considered a bold
adventure when the builder of the Grange pushed far out into the
prairies of the Assiniboine. He had his troubles, but he made his
holding good, and sold it to Colonel Mowbray, who founded the Allenwood
settlement.
On the whole, the colony had succeeded, but Kenwyne saw that it might
become an anachronism in changing times. He had noted the advance of the
hard-bitten homesteaders who were settling wherever the soil was good,
and who were marked by sternly utilitarian methods and democratic ideas.
Before long Allenwood must cast off its aristocratic traditions and
compete with these newcomers; but Kenwyne feared that its founder was
not the man to change.
As he rode slowly past the lake, a man came toward him with a gun and a
brace of prairie-chickens.
"Hello, Ralph!" he said. "Have you forgotten that it's council night?"
"I'm not likely to forget after the rebuke I got for missing the last
meeting," Kenwyne replied. "Do you happen to know what kind of temper
the Colonel is in, Broadwood?"
"My opinion is that it might be better. Gerald Mowbray has turned up
again, and I've noticed that the old man is less serene than usual when
his son's about. In fact, as we have to bear the consequences, I wish
the fellow would stay away."
While Broadwood and Kenwyne were discussing him on the hillside, Colonel
Mowbray sat in his study at the Grange, talking to the elder of his two
sons. The room was small and plainly furnished, with a map of the
territory on the matchboarded wall, a plain table on which lay a few
bundles of neatly docketed papers, and a stove in one corner.
Account-books filled a shelf, and beneath there was a row of
pigeonholes. The room had an air of austere simplicity with which
Colonel Mowbray's appearance harmonized.
He was tall, but spare of flesh, with an erect carriage and an
autocratic expression. His hair was gray, his eyes were dark and keen,
and his mouth was unusually firm; but the hollowness of his face and the
lines on his forehead showed advancing age. He was a man of some
ability, with simple tastes, certain unchangeable convictions, and a
fiery temper. Leaving the army with a grievance which he never spoke
about, and being of too restless a character to stay at home, he had
founded Allenwood for the purpose of settling young Englishmen upon the
land. He demanded that they be well born, have means enough to make a
fair start, and that their character should bear strict investigation.
Though the two latter conditions were not invariably complied with, his
scheme had prospered. Mowbray was generous, and had taken the sons of
several old friends who did not possess the capital required; while the
discipline he enforced had curbed the wayward. For the most part, the
settlers regarded him with affection as well as respect; but he had
failed most signally with his own son, who now stood rather awkwardly
before him.
After serving for a year or two in India as an engineer lieutenant,
Gerald Mowbray met with an accident which forced him to leave the army.
He made an unsuccessful start on another career, and had of late been
engaged upon a Government survey of the rugged forest-belt which runs
west to the confines of the Manitoban plain. He was a handsome,
dark-complexioned man, but looked slacker and less capable than his
father.
"I think five hundred pounds would clear me," he said in an apologetic
tone. "If I could pay off these fellows, it would be a great relief, and
I'd faithfully promise to keep clear of debt in future."
"It seems to me I've heard something of the kind on previous occasions,"
Mowbray returned dryly. "There's a weak strain in you, Gerald, though I
don't know where you got it. I suppose a thousand pounds would be
better?"
Gerald's eyes grew eager; but the next moment his face fell, for he knew
his father's methods, and saw his ironical smile.
"Well," he said cautiously, "I could straighten things out if I had five
hundred."
"With what you got from your mother!"
Gerald winced. His mother never refused him, even though he knew that it
often meant sacrifice on her part.
"To save our name," Mowbray said sternly, "and for that reason only, I
am going to let you have three hundred pounds. But I warn you, it's the
last you'll get. You may as well know that it is hard to spare this."
Gerald looked his surprise.
"I thought----"
Mowbray interrupted him.
"My affairs are not so prosperous as they seem; but I rely on you not to
mention the fact. Now you may go. But, remember--there's to be no more
money thrown away!"
When Gerald closed the door, Mowbray took down one of his account-books,
and sat still for a long time studying it. He had never been rich, but
he had had enough, and as the settlement grew up he had felt justified
in selling to newcomers, at moderate prices, land which he had got as a
free grant. Now, however, the land was nearly all taken up. For a time
he bred cattle, but this had scarcely paid; then the development of the
milling industry and the building of elevators rendered wheat-growing
possible, and though the grain had to be hauled a long way, Mowbray made
a small profit. Prices, however, were falling, and land nearer the
railroad was coming into cultivation.
With a gloomy air, Mowbray closed the book and went down to preside over
the council which was held periodically and, as a rule, ended in an
evening of social amusement.
The hall was large and square, with matchboarded walls and a pointed
roof. In an open hearth a log fire burned cheerily, although two large
windows were opened wide to let in the September air. Bunches of wheat
and oats of unusual growth hung upon the walls, suggesting the settlers'
occupation; but it was significant that the grain was surmounted by a
row of the heads of prairie antelope, as well as moose and caribou from
the North. They were farmers at Allenwood, but they were sportsmen
first.
About a dozen men were sitting round a table when Mowbray entered, but
they rose and waited until he took his place. They varied in age from
twenty to forty, and in their easy manners and natural grace one
recognized the stamp of birth. Evening dress was not the rule at
Allenwood, and while some wore white shirts and city clothes, others
were attired picturesquely in red-laced blue vests and fringed deerskin.
Their brown faces and athletic figures indicated a healthy life in the
open, but they had too gallant and careless an air for toilers.
A few suggestions for the improvement of the trails were made and
discussed; and then Mowbray turned to Kenwyne, who had spent the
afternoon looking for suitable logs for the bridge-stringers.
"Did you and Lance find anything?" Mowbray asked.
Kenwyne was waiting for this opening to make what he felt was an
important announcement.
"We went to the bluff," he said. "What we found was two homesteaders
cutting down all the best trees."
"Homesteaders!"
Mowbray frowned and the others looked interested.
"You warned them off, of course!"
"Lance did. But one of the fellows retorted that the timber was his."
"Impossible!" Mowbray said sharply. "The nearest preemption is six miles
off--and that's too close!"
"It appears that the man has just bought the section on our western
range-line. He referred me to the land register, if I had any doubt. I'm
afraid you must take it for granted, sir, that we are going to have
neighbors."
"Never!" Mowbray brought his fist down on the table with a resounding
blow. "We may not be able to turn out these intruders, but I decline to
consider them neighbors of ours." He turned to the others. "You must
see that this is disturbing news. We came here to live in accordance
with the best English traditions, and although we had to put up with
some hardships, there were compensations--abundant sport, space, and
freedom. In a sense, the country was ours, with its wood and water, as
far as we cared to ride. Now every homestead that is built restricts
what we have regarded, with some justice, as our rights. We took heavy
risks in settling here when people believed it was economically
impossible to farm at Allenwood."
There was a murmur of approval.
"These fellows will put an end to our running range horses and cattle,"
one man said. "If many of them come into the district, we may have to
put down the coyote hounds, and ask permission before we course a
jack-rabbit. Then they could make us divert our trails to the road
reserves."
"Something of that kind may happen," Kenwyne interposed. "But the fellow
I met seemed inclined to be friendly. Said he'd let our trail stand and
we might cut what wood we wanted, provided we get his permission."
Mowbray drew himself up haughtily.
"Although you recognize the lesser drawbacks," he said, "I'm afraid you
miss the most important point. I must remind you that this settlement
was founded to enable a certain stamp of Englishmen to enjoy a life that
was becoming more difficult without large means at home. A man with
simple tastes could find healthy occupation out of doors, keep a good
horse, and get as much shooting as he wanted. So long as his farming
covered, or nearly covered, his expenses, that was all that was
required. We have not discouraged the making of money, but I must
frankly say that this was not our object. Now I see threats of change.
We may be brought into contact, and perhaps into opposition, with men
whose motives are different. Their coming here has to me a sinister
meaning."
"Allenwood has been a success," said Broadwood; "one can't deny it--but
I think we owe a good deal to our having settled in a new and
undeveloped country. The experiment turned out well because we got the
land cheap and wheat was dear. Now I foresee a sharp fall in prices, and
it seems to me that we may have to revise our methods to suit the times.
In future, we may find it difficult to live upon our farms unless we
work them properly. I'm afraid we can't stand still while Canada moves
on--and I'm not sure that it's a great misfortune."
"Do you admire modern methods?" somebody asked. "If you do, you'd better
study what things are coming to in America and England. There is not a
hired man at Allenwood who is not on first-rate terms with his master;
do you want to under-pay and over-drive them or, on the other hand, to
have them making impossible demands, and playing the mischief by a
harvest strike? I agree with our respected leader that we don't want to
change."
"But tell us about these intruders," Mowbray said to Kenwyne. "What sort
of men are they?"
"Well, first of all, they're workers; there's no mistaking that. And I'd
judge that they came from the States--Dakota, perhaps."
"That is to say, they're hustlers!" a lad broke in. "Couldn't we buy
them out before they get started, sir?"
"It would cost us something to buy a section, and we would have to work
part of it to pay the new taxes. Then the fellows would probably find
out that it was an easy way of getting a good price; and we couldn't
keep on buying them out. We have all the land we want, and must be
careful whom we allow to join us."
"I think we should try to keep an open mind," Kenwyne suggested. "It
might pay us to watch the men and see what they can teach us. Sooner or
later we shall have to improve our farming, and we may as well begin it
gradually. After all, it's something to gather two bushels of wheat
where only one grew."
Mowbray looked at him sternly.
"I'm sorry to see you and Broadwood taking this line, Ralph; but I've
long suspected that your views were not quite sound. Frankly, I'm afraid
of the thin end of the wedge." He turned to the others. "You will
understand that there can be no compromise. We shall continue to live as
English gentlemen and have nothing to do with the grasping commercialism
that is getting a dangerous hold on the older countries. I will do my
best to keep Allenwood free from it while I have the power."
"Whatever my private opinions are, I think you know you can rely on my
loyal support in all you do for the good of the settlement, sir,"
Kenwyne replied. "Now that we have the matter before us, it might be
well if you told us how we are to treat these Americans. We're bound to
meet them."
"I cannot suggest discourtesy, since it would be foreign to your
character and against our traditions; but I do not wish you to become
intimate with them."
When the meeting broke up an hour later, Broadwood walked home with
Kenwyne. It was a small and unpretentious house that perched on the
hillside beyond the lake, but the room the men entered was comfortably
furnished. A few photographs of officers in uniform, the football team
of a famous public school, and the crew of an Oxford racing boat, hung
on the pine-board walls.
"We must have a talk," said Kenwyne. "I feel that these fellows'
settling here is important; it's bound to make a difference. I know the
type; one can't ignore them. They'll have to be reckoned with, as
friends or enemies."
"In spite of the Colonel's opinion, I believe their influence will be
for good. What Allenwood needs most is waking up." Broadwood laughed.
"It's curious that we should agree on this. Of course, my marriage is
supposed to account for my perversion; but one can understand Mowbray's
painful surprise at you. Your views ought to be sound."
"What is a sound view?"
"At Allenwood, it's a view that agrees with Mowbray's."
"Let's be serious," Kenwyne replied. "There's something to be said for
his contention, after all. We have got along pretty well so far."
"Yes; but the settlement has never been self-supporting. Mowbray got the
land for nothing and sold it in parcels, as he was entitled to do,
spending part of the price on improvements from which we all benefit.
Then a number of the boys got drafts from home when they lost a crop.
We have been living on capital instead of on revenue; but the time is
coming when this must stop. Our people at home can't keep on financing
us, and the land is nearly all taken up."
"Well, what follows?"
"Allenwood will shortly have to earn its living," Broadwood answered,
laughing. "This will be a shock to some of our friends, but even with
wheat going down the thing shouldn't prove insuperably difficult."
"We may have wheat at less than a dollar. Look at the quantity of good
land that's available, and the character of the men who're coming in.
They'll live on revenue, in dug-outs and fifty-dollar shacks, and all
they don't spend on food will go into new teams and implements. They
don't expect an easy time, and won't get it, but we'll have to meet
their competition. Personally, I don't think that's impossible. I
believe we're their equals in brain and muscle."
"We used to think we were superior," Broadwood smiled. "Our conservative
sentiments will be our greatest difficulty."
"I'm afraid we'll have to get rid of them."
"Mowbray will never throw his traditions overboard."
"No. I see trouble ahead," said Kenwyne.
"It's an awkward situation, I'll admit. Instead of Mowbray's leading us,
we'll have to carry him along, so to speak, without his knowing it. As
he's not a fool, the thing may need more tact than we're capable of. For
all that, he must remain leader."
"Of course," said Kenwyne simply. "He made Allenwood. We must stick to
him."
Long after Broadwood had gone, Kenwyne stood at the door of his house,
looking out over the lake. There was no wind, and the prairie was very
silent. Stretching back in the moonlight to the horizon, its loneliness
was impressive; but Kenwyne was not deceived. He knew that the tide of
population and progress had already passed its boundaries and was
flowing fast up every channel, following the railroad, the rivers, and
the fur-traders' trails. It would wash away the old landmarks and
undermine every barrier that Mowbray could raise. Kenwyne wondered what
would happen when Allenwood was surrounded by the flood. After all, it
depended upon the settlers whether the inundation proved destructive or
fertilizing.