"Don't be long. Be very careful. If we lost you we'd simply lie down
and die."
"Easy!" he said uncomfortably.
Linda glanced at the others. "Why should I hide it now?" she said.
"I'm proud of you. They know now why I chose a man like you, a real
man."
Jack had the feeling that additional turns of rope were being taken
around his body. He blushed and scowled together. "Linda! for
heaven's sake!" he burst out. Under his breath, "Wait until I pull you
out of this before you begin to talk." He turned and fled.
A word of sympathy may be dropped here for Vassall and Ferrie. It is
hard to have to stand by while your rival has the opportunity to save
the lives of all and sundry, including your own, just because he is in
his own element and you are out of yours. And then to be publicly
scorned by the girl in the case--for that is what Linda's speech
amounted to. Linda had no mercy for men; that is why, if you look into
it far enough, she was bound to suffer on her own account. It was much
to their credit that the two men took it generously.
It was four hours before they saw Jack again. They had reached the
rendezvous some time before, and Humpy had built a fire on the shore of
the creek, around which they sat in silence, trying not to look as
hungry as they felt, and trying to conceal the common anxiety that
gnawed at each breast: "What will we do if he doesn't come!"
But at last his hail came over the hill, and Jack himself came running
and sliding down the grassy slope, covered with feathers it appeared.
They sprang up with glad cries. Never did man receive a more heartfelt
welcome. They were like his hungry children waiting to be fed and
cheered. It is sweet to be so necessary to one's fellow-beings, but
indeed it was a startling transformation. At one bound Jack had risen
in their estimation from a disgraced felon to the saviour and preserver
of them all. Jack felt this, and it was his revenge.
He kissed Linda--he had to--and flung his burdens down. "Prairie
chicken," he said. "Sorry to keep you waiting so long, but I hated to
come in until I had got one all round, and I couldn't take any chances.
They're too expensive, anyway; a shell apiece and two misses.
To-morrow I'll try to bring in something more substantial."
Thus they dined off roasted prairie chicken and saskatoon berries,
strictly after Nature's first intention without artificial aids. And
when one wanted a drink he had to scoop it out of the creek in his
hand. It was remarkable how easy all this came to them, even to a
lieutenant-governor when he was hungry and thirsty.
The night was harder. Jack built a sort of lean-to, or wind-break, of
poplar, with a long fire close across in front. The heat was partly
reflected down by the sloping roof, and in this pleasant oven they lay
in a row on heaped spruce boughs. The men arranged to take turns in
keeping up the fire throughout the night. But the ground was cold, and
there was not much sleep to be had. Jack sat up and told cheerful
yarns of worse nights that he had managed to live through.
At sun-up he was away again. An hour's patient waiting at the edge of
a berry thicket two miles up the coulee brought him what he sought, a
young black bear. He brought the hams into camp. The women looked
askance at his prizes, and elected to breakfast off berries alone. But
baked in its hide in a pit with hot stones the meat was not to be
despised, and after a few miles on the trail they were all glad to
share it.
All that day Jack convoyed his little company slowly, with many a rest
beside the trail. They had about twenty miles to cover. Alone, Jack
would have made it in five hours, but he saw that it would be a great
feat for some of the others if they got through at all that day. In
spite of what he could do, in the middle of the afternoon Linda gave
out, and Sir Bryson was on his last legs. The indefatigable Jack then
contrived a litter out of two poplar poles thrust through three
buttoned coats, and Linda and her father took turns in riding the rest
of the way.
Jack was considerably embarrassed by Sir Bryson's attitude toward him
during this day. The little gentleman, as has been said, was much
chastened. He was quiet; he issued no orders, nor uttered complaints,
and was unaffectedly grateful for whatever was done for him. Here was
a change indeed! Whenever Jack approached him his confusion became
visible and acute. At the same time he often sought Jack out, and
began conversations which petered out to nothing. Manifestly he had
something on his mind that his tongue balked at uttering.
It came out at last. During one of the rests they were all sitting in
the grass, Jack among the others, busily intent upon cleaning the
precious "cannon" with a sleeve of his shirt that he had sacrificed to
the purpose. Sir Bryson suddenly moved closer to him.
"Young man," he began, and his lofty tone could not hide the genuine
feeling, "they tell me you saved my life yesterday. I don't remember
much about it myself."
Jack looked up, alarmed and frowning. "That's all right," he said
hurriedly. "Everybody did what he could."
"And Linda and Mrs. Worsley too," Sir Bryson went on. "It was very
gallantly done."
"Vassall would have done it, only I was nearer," Jack said gruffly.
"Please don't say anything more. It makes me feel like a fool!"
"It must be spoken of," Sir Bryson persisted. "But it's difficult--I
hardly know----"
Jack did not perceive the exact nature of the old gentleman's
difficulty. He got up. "It was all in the day's work," he said
awkwardly. "You don't need to feel that it changes the situation at
all."
Sir Bryson rose too. All tousled, creased and bedraggled as he was,
the little governor was never more truly dignified. "You do not
understand me," he said. "I--I am very grateful. Moreover, I am sorry
for things I said. I desire to acknowledge it here before our friends
who were present when I said them."
Jack looked away in acute embarrassment. "Very handsomely said, Sir
Bryson," he muttered.
This ended the incident for the present. The air was much cleared by
it. However, it gave rise to something it was necessary for Jack to
unburden himself of. He waited until he could get Sir Bryson away from
the others.
"Sir Bryson," he said doggedly. "I wanted to tell you that I
understand my being useful to you doesn't clear my name, doesn't make
me any more a desirable suitor for your daughter."
Sir Bryson made a deprecating gesture.
"Under the circumstances," Jack continued, "I don't want her any more
than you want me. It is agreed between Miss Linda and I that we are to
have nothing to do with each other until I succeed in clearing myself."
They shook hands on it. Later Vassall and Baldwin Ferrie took
opportunity to follow in the lead of their master and ask to shake
Jack's hand. For the rest of the day Jack moved in an atmosphere warm
with their gratitude and admiration. It was not unpleasant in itself
of course, but somehow he felt as if everything that happened tended to
tighten little by little the coils in which he found himself. Mile by
mile as they neared the end of the journey, and the obstacles
retreated, his spirits went down. He was elevated into Sir Bryson's
good graces, but not into his own. This was his ingenious difficulty:
that the girl he didn't want was attached as a rider to the good name
he had to have.
At the day's close he led his bedraggled and dead weary little company
stumbling down the hill to the river bank opposite Fort Cheever.
There, a fire built on the shore, with its mounting pillar of smoke,
soon brought over Davy in a dugout to investigate. Great was the boy's
astonishment at the sight of them.
Jack burned with a question that he desired to ask him, but he could
not bring his tongue to form Mary's name. His heart began to beat fast
as they approached the other shore. He wondered if he would see her.
He hoped not, he told himself, and all the while desiring it as a
desert traveller longs for water.