THE INHERITANCE
The rain lasted several days and saved the crops: the wheat, although
somewhat damaged, was ripening fast.
As Lance drove home from one of his mysterious absences from the Grange,
he looked out over the rippling fields with a sense of thankfulness in
his boyish heart. Harding was not to be ruined after all! The rain had
saved his fortune; and in Lance's pocket there was a paper that would
clear his name.
Beatrice met him on the steps, but he brushed past her with a smile and
hurried to his father's study, where he knew he would find the Colonel.
"I've been away several times, and now I must tell you why, sir," he
said. "You will remember that I've declared my belief in Harding all
along."
"I've no doubt he feels properly grateful," Mowbray remarked.
"I'm grateful to him. And now I have some satisfaction in being able to
prove his innocence. Read this."
He gave his father a note, and Mowbray read it aloud:
"'_I hereby declare that Craig Harding of Allenwood is a stranger to me.
I met him for the first and only time at the Rideau Hotel, Winnipeg,
and I regret that I then claimed his acquaintance._'"
"It sounds conclusive. I see it's signed 'Coral Stanton, clairvoyante.'
May I ask how you came to meet this lady and get the document?"
"Both things needed some tact, sir," Lance answered with a grin.
"So I should imagine. Rather a delicate business for one so young. You
must have seen that your motives were liable to be misunderstood."
Lance colored.
"I had to take the risk. As a matter of fact, things threatened to
become embarrassing at first. However, I got the statement."
"What did you give for it?"
"A hundred dollars; what Miss Stanton was promised."
"Then she was hired to act a part? But what made her willing to betray
her employers?"
"They deserved it," Lance answered in a curious tone. "It seems she got
into difficulties with the police and had to leave the town; the
clairvoyante business was only a blind, and somebody was robbed after
gambling at her rooms. The men who made the plot took a shabby advantage
of the situation."
"Do you know their names?"
"Yes," said Lance, hesitatingly. "If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather not
mention them."
Mowbray looked at him keenly, and then made a sign of stern agreement.
"Perhaps that's best." He was silent for a few moments, grappling with
this new pain that seared him to the heart. So Gerald had sunk to this!
"Leave the paper here, and send Beatrice to me," he said slowly.
Lance was glad to escape. He found Beatrice with her mother, and she and
Mrs. Mowbray went at once to the Colonel's study.
"Your brother took some trouble to get this for you," Mowbray said,
handing her the statement, which she read in silence.
"I will thank Lance; but this note really makes no difference," she
declared.
"That's hard to understand."
"I had Craig's word. If I had doubted him, would I have believed this
woman? But there's another matter I want to speak of. Craig didn't want
me to, but he gave me permission."
Taking out the photographs Harding had shown her, she handed them to
Mowbray. Mrs. Mowbray, looking over his shoulder, uttered an
exclamation. The Colonel, too, was startled.
"That's Ash Garth, with Janet Harding on the steps! Where did you get
them? What does it mean?"
Instead of answering, the girl glanced at her mother.
"I think it's quite plain," Mrs. Mowbray said. "Beatrice is engaged to
Basil Harding's son."
"Why was I not told before?" Mowbray asked excitedly. "He's as well born
as you are! Can't you see how it alters things?"
"Craig declares it makes no difference--and I'm beginning to agree with
him."
"That's absurd!" Mowbray exclaimed. "False pride; mistaken sentiment! We
know the advantage of springing from a good stock. Now I understand why
I sometimes felt a curious sympathy with Harding, even when I hated his
opinions."
"You gave us no reason to suspect it," Beatrice answered with a smile.
"Do you know his father's history?"
"Yes; but I don't know that I ought to tell it without his son's
permission."
"Then we'll wait," said Beatrice. "Craig will be here soon."
Harding came in a few minutes afterward, and Mowbray, giving him a
friendly greeting, handed him the letter Lance had brought, and the
photographs.
"Your father was a comrade of mine," the Colonel said. "We were both
stationed at an outpost in Northern India."
"Then you may be able to tell me something about his early life,"
replied Harding quietly. "It's a subject he never spoke of."
"I can do so. Are you willing that Beatrice and her mother should hear?"
"Yes; I don't wish to hide anything from them."
"Very well. Your father was an infantry captain and well thought of in
his regiment. His worst faults were a quick temper and a rash
impulsiveness, but he suffered for them. Before coming to India, he
married beneath him, a girl of some beauty but no education. His
relatives strongly opposed the match, and there was a quarrel with them.
"After a time Basil was ordered to a station where there was some
European society and his wife was out of her element there. The other
women of the post objected to her, and openly insulted her. Basil had
one quarrel after another on her behalf, and finally, after an unusually
stormy scene with the artillery major, Basil sent in his papers.
"His relatives refused to receive him, they cut off his allowance; but
he clung to his wife until she died a couple years later. Then he came
to Canada and vanished.
"His mother died; and one by one the others followed--all except Basil
Morel, his mother's brother."
"Ah!" Beatrice interrupted.
The Colonel glanced at her a moment, and then went on:
"Morel had a very strong affection for Basil--he was his namesake and
only nephew. Feeling that they had been too hard on him, Morel traced
Basil in Canada, wrote him a long letter, and enclosed a draft for a
thousand pounds, as part of back allowances. Basil wrote a brief and
bitter note in answer, then deposited the money in a Winnipeg bank, to
be given to his son after his death, on condition that the son never
question where it came from. This son was by the second wife; there were
no children by the first.
"Well, Basil died; the bank reported to Morel that the money had been
paid to the son; and then--the old man, living alone at Ash Garth, was
getting very lonely; he had time to brood over the injustice done Basil,
and, before he died, he wanted to make it up to Basil's son. But the son
had completely disappeared. He had left Dakota and gone to Manitoba;
from there all trace of him had vanished. Morel is now a broken old man;
but, because Basil and I were comrades, he confides many things to me,
and I know that deep down in his heart there is still a hope that he
will live long enough to find Basil's son."
The Colonel's voice was husky, and he paused a moment before he said:
"With your permission, Mr. Harding, I should like to send him a cable."
Harding nodded assent.
Beatrice was crying softly.
"Now I understand why Mr. Morel always looked so sad when I talked of
the prairie," she said brokenly. "Mother, you must have known!" she
added as an afterthought.
"Yes, but I didn't feel that it was my secret, dear," Mrs. Mowbray
answered gently.
At the Colonel's request, Harding told them of his early life; and then
he and Beatrice drove across the prairie to tell the story to Hester.
Beatrice felt that it was the girl's right to know.
Harvest came, and although the crop was lighter than he had hoped,
Harding saw that he would have a satisfactory margin. It was not so with
most of his neighbors, and when the strain of forced effort slackened,
and the smoke of the thrasher no longer streaked the stubble, there were
anxious hearts at Allenwood. Even the buoyant courage of the younger men
began to sink; hitherto they had carelessly borne their private
troubles, but now they felt that the settlement was in danger. Those who
had never taken thought before asked what must be done, and nobody could
tell them. Harding and his friends had a surprise to spring on their
neighbors, and on Davies as well, but they waited until the time was
ripe.
Then one evening Mowbray rode over to Kenwyne's homestead.
"You and Broadwood have opposed me, but I have never doubted your
sincerity," he said. "In fact, since Brand has gone, I feel I'd rather
trust you and Harding than the boys who have given me their thoughtless
support. We are threatened with grave trouble."
"We must try to justify your belief in us, sir," said Kenwyne. "What is
the trouble?"
"Carlyon, Webster, and Shepstone came to me, and confessed that they
have mortgaged their farms. To make things worse, I have a letter from
the man in Winnipeg they borrowed from, informing me that he would seize
Gerald's land unless a large sum is paid. You must see that this means
disaster to Allenwood."
Mowbray looked harassed and worn, and Kenwyne felt sorry for him.
"I suggest that you let the fellow produce his mortgages and receive him
at a council meeting. The matter's of interest to everybody."
"Then you have some scheme?" Mowbray asked eagerly.
"As it's far-reaching, we'd rather put it before the council. I'm half
afraid we can't expect your approval until you know everything; but you
should be able to command a majority if we don't convince you."
"I can do nothing to save the settlement," Mowbray said with dignity;
"and I dare not refuse to let others try, even if their ways are not
mine. We'll leave it at that. I'll call the meeting."
It was a calm, clear evening when all the Allenwood settlers assembled
in the hall at the Grange. The days were getting shorter, and a lamp or
two was lighted; but, outside, the last of the sunset glowed in a red
band along the prairie's rim. Mowbray sat at the head of the table;
Harding, Broadwood, Kenwyne, and Lance were close together; the rest
scattered about the spacious room, some half hidden in the shadow, some
where the partial illumination touched them. All were silent and
expectant; they felt it would prove a memorable night for Allenwood.
There was a rattle of wheels outside, and soon afterward Davies was
shown in. He was smartly dressed in well-cut city clothes, and his
aggressive, self-conscious air contrasted with the easy grace of the
brown-faced men in shooting jackets and fringed deerskin.
"I came here expecting a private interview," he said to Mowbray. "I do
not understand why I'm asked to meet these gentlemen, most of whom I
have not the pleasure of knowing."
"I cannot tell what you expected," Mowbray answered haughtily. "Your
business is, however, of interest to us all, and to state it now will
save some time, because nothing can be done until our council is
informed of it."
Davies' glance wandered round the room, as if in search of somebody, but
he did not notice Harding, who was in the shadow.
"Very well," he said, undoing a bundle of documents. "I hold mortgages
on land and property belonging to Gerald Mowbray, Carlyon, Webster, and
Shepstone." He read out particulars of the sums lent and interest due,
and then put the papers on the table. "You are at liberty to examine
them."
Carlyon turned to Mowbray, with a flushed face.
"They can't be contested, sir. Speaking for the others, as well as
myself, I must say that we feel our position, and are very sorry that we
have brought this trouble upon you and our friends."
Harding moved forward and picked up the mortgages, and Davies showed his
surprise. After examining the documents carefully, Harding passed them
to Broadwood, who looked over them in a silence that was accentuated by
the rattle of a loose blind as puffs of wind swept into the room.
"All right," Broadwood said, and handed a sheet of paper to each of the
debtors.
"Will you agree to these terms? Yes or no?" he asked.
One of the young men laughed hoarsely, as if from unexpected relief;
another made a glad sign of assent; and Carlyon's eyes were bright as he
turned to Broadwood.
"Agree?" he exclaimed. "We never hoped for such a chance as this!"
Broadwood put one of the papers in front of Mowbray.
"They consent, sir. We'd like your sanction."
"I cannot give it unreservedly. But as I cannot suggest anything better,
I must not refuse." Mowbray addressed Davies. "As the farms were
mortgaged against the provisions of our settlement covenant, I believe
your claim might be disputed, but I won't urge that point. The money was
borrowed and must be paid."
"With your permission, sir!" Harding took the big inkstand and placed it
before Davies. "Write a formal discharge for these debts, and I'll give
you a check."
Davies' face was hot with baffled fury, but he asked in a sneering tone:
"Will the bank make it good?"
"Here's their letter," said Harding dryly.
Davies glanced at the letter, and threw it down. Then he pulled himself
together.
"It seems," he said to Mowbray, "that you have made some arrangement to
finance these gentlemen, and they have agreed; but Mr. Gerald Mowbray
owes a much larger sum, and I have his word that he is unable to pay. He
left the matter in my hands, and before going any further I should like
to suggest that we might arrive at some understanding----"
Mowbray cut him short.
"We can make no terms with you, if that is what is meant. My son owes
you money; you must take what you are entitled to."
"But the debt is his. He must decide."
"He has decided," Harding said quietly. "Here's a telegram from him,
answering a letter of mine which he probably got after you left. He
agrees to transfer the mortgaged property to his father and another, on
terms that don't concern you. Read it."
"Ah!" cried Davies, hoarse with anger. "Mowbray has gone back on me. I
was a fool to trust him!"
Colonel Mowbray flushed, but did not answer, and Harding turned to
Davies.
"This has nothing to do with our business. Write your receipts,
including Gerald Mowbray's debt, and take your money."
Davies did so, and carefully examined the check Harding gave him. Then
he got up and made Mowbray an ironical bow. One of the men opened the
door, and he went out surlily.
There was a general movement and a murmur throughout the room,
expressing relief and a slackening of tension.
"It's a satisfaction to see the last of the fellow," one man said,
voicing the feelings of all. "The settlement has escaped a danger; but
we must be careful not to let it fall into another. May I inquire about
the agreement which Mr. Harding has made with our friends?"
Harding explained that they were to farm their land under his
instructions, paying a moderate rate of interest. A fixed sum was to be
set aside every year to redeem the loan, so that in time the debtors
would again acquire possession, and any surplus would belong to them.
"Mr. Harding's position is now very strong," the man contended. "He can,
if he wishes, dictate to the rest of us, and I think we ought to know
his plans and how he expects to profit."
There was deep silence when Harding got upon his feet and glanced round
the room. A few of the men were obviously suspicious, and one or two
hostile, but some looked willing to give him fair play and some quietly
confident in him.
"To begin with, I expect no direct profit from Allenwood," he said. "The
advantage I shall gain will be the keeping down of my working expenses
by your cooperation. With better trails we'll need fewer teams to bring
out supplies and haul in our grain; and we can avoid using two
half-empty wagons when one will take both loads. We can buy and sell on
joint lines, saving all round, and can use the latest and biggest
machines. Singly, we cannot afford them; combined, we can buy and, what
is more, keep the implements employed. But we can work out details
later. You have reached a turning-point to-night. Those of you with
private means, if there are any such, may continue to farm as a pastime,
but for the man who must live by his farming, it is serious work. There
is a time of low prices before us that will weed out the slack; but with
care and effort we can hold out until the flood of prosperity which is
coming sweeps our difficulties away. We must perfect our methods, fall
in with modern practise, and study economy. That I have now some power
here is true; I ask your help, and value it, but if needful I can do
without it. I and several more are going on, working together on the
best plan we can find, as we have begun."
A murmur of applause greeted the close of the speech, for Harding's
blunt candor had gained him the respect of his antagonists and
strengthened the loyalty of his friends.
Then Mowbray leaned forward, holding up his hand.
"We have heard Mr. Harding's intentions declared with the
straightforwardness one expects from him; and it must be clear to all
that he has freed Allenwood from a peril." He paused, and his voice was
strained as he resumed: "For a while we prospered here, and I like to
think I led you well; but the times began to change without our
recognizing it. I cannot change, but you must, for you are young; the
future lies before you. I am old, and I feel my age to-night. The
burden of rule gets heavy; I want to lay it down. You must choose
another leader who understands these times, and I think you see where a
wise choice lies."
For a moment nobody spoke, and then a unanimous cry of protest broke
out. It rang with feeling, and when it died away man after man urged
Mowbray to keep control.
He listened with a faint smile.
"I am honored by this mark of confidence," he said quietly. "But if I
consent, you must give me the helper I need, and you must follow him
with the loyalty you have always shown me. To some extent we shall
counterbalance extremes in each other, which may be for the good of all,
because I have much to learn from the present, and my helper something
from the past. I could not ask you to obey an outsider, but the man I
choose will soon become a member of my family. I nominate Mr. Harding,
who has saved the settlement."
There were cries of agreement that swelled into a storm of satisfaction,
and Harding said a few words in a voice that shook. This was a turn of
affairs he had not expected, and he was moved by Mowbray's confidence
and the number of friends he had made.
Then the council broke up, and when the last had gone Mowbray joined his
wife on the veranda, where he sat looking with tired eyes toward the
pale red glow on the skyline left by the setting sun. The prairie was
formless and shadowy, but darkness had not quite closed in.
"I feel that all this is symbolical, my dear," he said. "My day is over,
but the night has not yet come. Though it will not be by the way I
would have chosen, I may still see Allenwood safe and prosperous."
Mrs. Mowbray took his hand caressingly.
"You have led the boys well, and taught them much; they will not forget
it. You never shrank from a sacrifice that was for their good--and I
know the cost of the one you have made to-night."
"I knew I could trust to your sympathy; you haven't failed me yet," he
said gently. "I wonder why Gerald broke away from the rascal at last. I
may be wrong, but I'd like to believe that when the time came he found
he could not betray his friends; that his heart spoke, and a trace of
the honor we tried to teach him awoke to life."
"I think you're right," Mrs. Mowbray answered. "I am sure there is hope
for him."
Then she turned and her eyes rested on the dark figures of Beatrice and
Harding, who had left the house and were walking slowly across the
plain. Moving side by side, with love and confidence in their hearts,
they looked toward the east, where the dawn would rise.
THE END
JOHN FOX, JR'S.
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Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the
original edition have been corrected.
In Chapter II, "might become an anachorism" was changed to "might become
an anachronism".
In Chapter X, a comma was changed to a period after "a council meeting
at the Grange", and a period was changed to a comma after "If all the
rest stand out".
In Chapter XVIII, a comma was changed to a period after "He was a big,
gaunt man".
In Chapter XX, a missing quotation mark was added after "I'm obeying the
call."
In Chapter XXV, a missing period was added after "in keeping with the
life I've led".
In Chapter XXVI, "brought him spurred him rather to action" was changed
to "brought him--spurred him rather--to action".
In addition, numerous spelling and punctuation errors were corrected in
the advertisements at the back of the book.