A DAY IN SEPTEMBER
A September day in Alberta. There is no other day to be compared to
it in any other month or in any other land. Other lands have their
September days, and Alberta has days in other months, but the
combination of September day in Alberta is sui generis. The foothill
country with plain, and hill, and valley, and mighty mountain, laced
with stream, and river, and lake; the over-arching sheet of blue with
cloud shapes wandering and wistful, the kindly sun pouring its genial
sheen of yellow and gold over the face of the earth below, purple in
the mountains and gold and pearly grey, and all swimming in air blown
through the mountain gorges and over forests of pine, tingling with
ozone and reaching the heart and going to the head like new wine--these
things go with a September day in Alberta.
And like new wine the air seemed to Jack Romayne as the Packard like a
swallow skimmed along the undulating prairie trail, smooth, resilient,
of all the roads in the world for motor cars the best. For that day at
least and in that motor car life seemed good to Jack Romayne. Not many
such days would be his, and he meant to take all it gave regardless of
cost. His sister's proposal to call at the Gwynnes' house he would have
rejected could he have found a reasonable excuse. The invitation to
the Gwynne girls to accompany them on their shoot he resented also,
and still more deeply he resented the arrangement of the party that set
Kathleen next to him, a close fit in the back seat of the car. But at
the first feeling of her warm soft body wedged closely against him,
all emotions fled except one of pulsating joy. And this, with the air
rushing at them from the western mountains, wrought in him the reckless
resolve to take what the gods offered no matter what might follow. As he
listened to the chatter about him he yielded to the intoxication of his
love for this fair slim girl pressing soft against his arm and shoulder.
He allowed his fancy to play with surmises as to what would happen
should he turn to her and say, “Dear girl, do you know how fair you are,
how entrancingly lovely? Do you know I am madly in love with you, and
that I can hardly refrain from putting this arm, against which you so
quietly lean your warm soft body, about you?” He looked boldly at the
red curves of her lips and allowed himself to riot in the imagination of
how deliciously they would yield to his pressed against them. “My God!”
he cried aloud, “to think of it.”
The two ladies turned their astonished eyes upon him. “What is it, Jack?
Wait, Tom. Have you lost something?”
“Yes, that is, I never had it. No, go on, Tom, it cannot be helped now.
Go on, please do. What a day it is!” he continued. “'What a time we are
having,' as Miss Nora would say.”
“Yes, what a time!” exclaimed Nora, turning her face toward them. “Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt, I think I must tell you that your husband is making love
to me so that I am quite losing my head.”
“Poor things,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “How could either of you help
it?”
“Why is it that all the nice men are married?” inquired Nora.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Nora,” said Jack in a pained voice.
“I mean--why--I'm afraid I can't fix that up, can I?” she said,
appealing to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Certainly you can. What you really mean is, why do all married men
become so nice?” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Oh, thank you, the answer is so obvious. Do you know, I feel wild
to-day.”
“And so do I,” replied Kathleen, suddenly waking to life. “It is the
wonderful air, or the motor, perhaps.”
“Me, too,” exclaimed Jack Romayne, looking straight at her, “only with
me it is not the air, nor the motor.”
“What then!” said Kathleen with a swift, shy look at him.
“'The heart knoweth its own bitterness and a stranger intermeddleth not
with its joy.'”
“That's the Bible, I know,” said Kathleen, “and it really means 'mind
your own business.'”
“No, no, not that exactly,” protested Jack, “rather that there are
things in the heart too deep if not for tears most certainly for words.
You can guess what I mean, Miss Kathleen,” said Jack, trying to get her
eyes.
“Oh, yes,” said the girl, “there are things that we cannot trust to
words, no, not for all the world.”
“I know what you are thinking of,” replied Jack. “Let me guess.”
“No, no, you must not, indeed,” she replied quickly. “Look, isn't that
the mine? What a crowd of people! Do look.”
Out in the valley before them they could see a procession of teams and
men weaving rhythmic figures about what was discovered to be upon a
nearer view a roadway which was being constructed to cross a little
coolee so as to give access to the black hole on the hillside beyond
which was the coal mine. In the noise and bustle of the work the motor
came to a stop unobserved behind a long wooden structure which Nora
diagnosed as the “grub shack.”
“In your English speech, Mr. Romayne, the dining room of the camp. He is
certainly a hustler,” exclaimed Nora, gazing upon the scene before them.
“Who?” inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Ernest Switzer,” said Nora, unable to keep the grudge out of her voice.
“It is only a week since I was up here and during that time he has
actually made this village, the streets, the sidewalks--and if that is
not actually a system of water pipes.”
“Some hustler, as you say, Miss Nora, eh, what?” said Tom.
“Wonderful,” replied Nora; “he is wonderful.”
Jack glanced at the girl beside him. It seemed to him that it needed
no mind-reader to interpret the look of pride, yes and of love, in the
wonderful blue-grey eyes. Sick as from a heavy blow he turned away from
her; the flicker of hope that his brother-in-law's words had kindled
in his heart died out and left him cold. He was too late; why try to
deceive himself any longer? The only thing to do was to pull out and
leave this place where every day brought him intolerable pain. But today
he would get all he could, to-day he would love her and win such poor
scraps as he could from her eyes, her smiles, her words.
“Glorious view that,” he said, touching her arm and sweeping his hand
toward the mountains.
She started at his touch, a faint colour coming into her face. “How
wonderful!” she breathed. “I love them. They bring me my best thoughts.”
Before he could reply there came from behind the grub shack a torrent of
abusive speech florid with profane language and other adornment and in a
voice thick with rage.
“That's him,” said Nora. “Some one is getting it.” The satisfaction
in her voice and look were in sharp contrast to the look of dismay and
shame that covered the burning face of her sister. From English the
voice passed into German, apparently no less vigorous or threatening.
“That's better,” said Nora with a wicked glance at Romayne. “You see he
is talking to some one of his own people. They understand that. There
are a lot of Germans from the Settlement, Freiberg, you know.”
As she spoke Switzer emerged from behind the shack, driving before him
a cringing creature evidently in abject terror of him. “Get back to your
gang and carry out your orders, or you will get your time.” He caught
sight of the car and stopped abruptly, and, waving his hand imperiously
to the workman, strode up to the party, followed by a mild-looking man
in spectacles.
“Came to see how you are getting on, Switzer, eh, what?” said Tom.
“Getting on,” he replied in a loud voice, raising his hat in salutation.
“How can one get on with a lot of stupid fools who cannot carry out
instructions and dare to substitute their own ideas for commands. They
need discipline. If I had my way they would get it, too. But in this
country there is no such thing as discipline.” He made no attempt to
apologise for his outrageous outburst, was probably conscious of no need
of apology.
“This is your foreman, I think?” said Nora, who alone of the party
seemed to be able to deal with the situation.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Steinberg,” said Switzer, presenting the spectacled man.
“You are too busy to show us anything this afternoon?” said Nora
sweetly.
“Yes, much too busy,” said Switzer, gruffly. “I have no time for
anything but work these days.”
“You cannot come along for a little shoot?” she said, innocently. Nora
was evidently enjoying herself.
“Shoot!” cried Switzer in a kind of contemptuous fury. “Shoot, with
these dogs, these cattle, tramping around here when they need some
one every minute to drive them. Shoot! No, no. I am not a gentleman of
leisure.”
The distress upon Kathleen's face was painfully apparent. Jack was in no
hurry to bring relief. Like Nora he was enjoying himself as well. It was
Tom who brought about the diversion.
“Well, we must go on, Switzer. Coming over to see you one of these days
and go over the plant. Treasurer's got to know something about it, eh,
what?”
Switzer started and looked at him in surprise. “Treasurer, who? Are you
to be treasurer of the company? Who says so? Mr. Gwynne did not ask--did
not tell me about it.”
“Ah, sorry--premature announcement, eh?” said Tom. “Well, good-bye. All
set.”
The Packard gave forth sundry growls and snorts and glided away down the
trail.
Nora was much excited. “What's this about the treasurership?” she
demanded. “Are you really to be treasurer, Mr. Waring-Gaunt? I am
awfully glad. You know this whole mine was getting terribly Switzery.
Isn't he awful? He just terrifies me. I know he will undertake to run me
one of these days.”
“Then trouble, eh, what?” said Waring-Gaunt, pleasantly.
After a short run the motor pulled up at a wheat field in which the
shocks were still standing and which lay contiguous to a poplar bluff.
“Good chicken country, eh?” said Tom, slipping out of the car quietly.
“Nora, you come with me. Quiet now. Off to the left, eh, what? You
handle Sweeper, Jack.”
“I'll drive the car,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “Go on with Jack,
Kathleen.”
“Come on, Miss Kathleen, you take the gun, and I'll look after the dog.
Let me have the whistle, Tom.”
They had not gone ten yards from the car when the setter stood rigid on
point. “Steady, old boy,” said Jack. “Move up quickly, Miss Kathleen. Is
your gun ready? Sure it's off safe?”
“All right,” said the girl, walking steadily on the dog.
Bang! Bang! went Nora's gun. Two birds soared safely aloft. Bang! Bang!
went Kathleen's gun. “Double, by jove! Steady, Sweeper!” Again the
dog stood on point. Swiftly Jack loaded the gun. “Here you are, Miss
Kathleen. You will get another,” he said. “There are more here.” As he
spoke a bird flew up at his right. Bang! went Kathleen's gun. “Another,
good work.” Bang! went Nora's gun to the left. “Look out, here he
comes,” cried Jack, as Nora's bird came careening across their front. It
was a long shot. Once more Kathleen fired. The bird tumbled in the air
and fell with a thump right at their feet.
Sweeper, released from his point, went bounding joyfully over the
stubble. Jack rushed up toward the girl, and taking her hand in both of
his, shook it warmly. “Oh, splendid, partner, splendid, great shooting!”
“Oh, it was easy. Sweeper had them fast,” said Kathleen. “And that last
shot was just awfully good luck.”
“Good luck! Good Lord! it was anything but luck. It was great shooting.
Well, come along. Oh, we're going to have a glorious day, aren't we,
partner?” And catching hold of her arm, he gave her a friendly little
shake.
“Yes,” she cried, responding frankly to his mood, “we will. Let's have a
good day.”
“Where did you learn to shoot?” inquired Jack.
“Nora and I have always carried guns in the season,” replied Kathleen,
“even when we were going to school. You see, Larry hates shooting. We
loved it and at times were glad to get them--the birds, I mean. We did
not do it just for sport.”
“Can your sister shoot as well as you?”
“Hardly, I think. She pulls too quickly, you see, but when she steadies
down she will shoot better than I.”
“You are a wonder,” said Jack enthusiastically.
“Oh, not a wonder,” said the girl.
“Wait till I get the birds back to the car,” he cried.
“He-l-l-o,” cried his sister as he came running. “What, four of them?”
“Four,” he answered. “By jove, she's a wonder, isn't she. She really
bowls me over.”
“Nonsense,” said his sister in a low voice. “She's just a fine girl with
a steady hand and a quick eye, and,” she added as Jack turned away from
her, “a true heart.”
“A true heart,” Jack muttered to himself, “and given to that confounded
bully of a German. If it had been any other man--but we have got one day
at least.” Resolutely he brushed away the thoughts that maddened him
as he ran to Kathleen's side. Meantime, Tom and Nora had gone circling
around toward the left with Sweeper ranging widely before them.
“Let's beat round this bluff,” suggested Kathleen. “They may not have
left the trees yet.”
Together they strolled away through the stubble, the girl moving with
an easy grace that spoke of balanced physical strength, and with an
eagerness that indicated the keen hunter's spirit. The bluff brought no
result.
“That bluff promised chickens if ever a bluff did,” said Kathleen in a
disappointed voice. “We'll get them further down, and then again in the
stubble.”
“Cheer-o,” cried Jack. “The day is fine and we are having a ripping
time, at least I am.”
“And I, too,” cried the girl. “I love this, the open fields,--and the
sport, too.”
“And good company,” said Jack boldly.
“Yes, good company, of course,” she said with a quick, friendly glance.
“And you ARE good company to-day.”
“To-day?”
“Yes. Sometimes, you know, you are rather--I don't know what to say--but
queer, as if you did not like--people, or were carrying some terrible
secret,” she added with a little laugh.
“Secret? I am, but not for long. I am going to tell you the secret. Do
you want to hear it now?”
The note of desperation in his voice startled the girl. “Oh, no,” she
cried hurriedly. “Where have we got to? There are no birds in this open
prairie here. We must get back to the stubble.”
“You are not interested in my secret, then?” said Jack. “But I am going
to tell you all the same, Kathleen.”
“Oh, please don't,” she replied in a distressed voice. “We are having
such a splendid time, and besides we are after birds, aren't we? And
there are the others,” she added, pointing across the stubble field,
“and Sweeper is on point again. Oh, let's run.” She started forward
quickly, her foot caught in a tangle of vetch vine and she pitched
heavily forward. Jack sprang to catch her. A shot crashed at their ears.
The girl lay prone.
“My God, Kathleen, are you hurt?” said Jack.
“No, no, not a bit, but awfully scared,” she panted. Then she shrieked,
“Oh, oh, oh, Jack, you are wounded, you are bleeding!”
He looked down at his hand. It was dripping blood. “Oh, oh,” she moaned,
covering her face with her hands. Then springing to her feet, she caught
up his hand in hers.
“It is nothing at all,” he said. “I feel nothing. Only a bit of skin.
See,” he cried, lifting his arm up. “There's nothing to it. No broken
bones.”
“Let me see, Jack--Mr. Romayne,” she said with white lips.
“Say 'Jack,'” he begged.
“Let me take off your coat--Jack, then. I know a little about this. I
have done something at it in Winnipeg.”
Together they removed the coat. The shirt sleeve was hanging in a
tangled, bloody mass from the arm.
“Awful!” groaned Kathleen. “Sit down.”
“Oh, nonsense, it is not serious.”
“Sit down, Jack, dear,” she entreated, clasping her hands about his
sound arm.
“Say it again,” said Jack.
“Oh, Jack, won't you sit down, please?”
“Say it again,” he commanded sternly.
“Oh, Jack, dear, please sit down,” she cried in a pitiful voice.
He sat down, then lay back reclining on his arm. “Now your knife, Jack,”
she said, feeling hurriedly through his pockets.
“Here you are,” he said, handing her the knife, biting his lips the
while and fighting back a feeling of faintness.
Quickly slipping behind him, she whipped off her white petticoat and
tore it into strips. Then cutting the bloody shirt sleeve, she laid bare
the arm. The wound was superficial. The shot had torn a wide gash little
deeper than the skin from wrist to shoulder, with here and there a bite
into the flesh. Swiftly, deftly, with fingers that never fumbled, she
bandaged the arm, putting in little pads where the blood seemed to be
pumping freely.
“That's fine,” said Jack. “You are a brick, Kathleen. I think--I
will--just lie down--a bit. I feel--rather rotten.” As he spoke he
caught hold of her arm to steady himself. She caught him in her arms and
eased him down upon the stubble. With eyes closed and a face that looked
like death he lay quite still.
“Jack,” she cried aloud in her terror. “Don't faint. You must not
faint.”
But white and ghastly he lay unconscious, the blood still welling right
through the bandages on his wounded arm. She knew that in some way
she must stop the bleeding. Swiftly she undid the bandages and found a
pumping artery in the forearm. “What is it that they do?” she said to
herself. Then she remembered. Making a tourniquet, she applied it to the
upper arm. Then rolling up a bloody bandage into a pad, she laid it upon
the pumping artery and bound it firmly down into place. Then flexing the
forearm hard upon it, she bandaged all securely again. Still the wounded
man lay unconscious. The girl was terrified. She placed her hand over
his heart. It was beating but very faintly. In the agony and terror of
the moment as in a flash of light her heart stood suddenly wide open to
her, and the thing that for the past months had lain hidden within her
deeper than her consciousness, a secret joy and pain, leaped strong
and full into the open, and she knew that this man who lay bleeding and
ghastly before her was dearer to her than her own life. The sudden rush
of this consciousness sweeping like a flood over her soul broke down and
carried away the barrier of her maidenly reserve. Leaning over him in a
passion of self-abandonment, she breathed, “Oh, Jack, dear, dear Jack.”
As he lay there white and still, into her love there came a maternal
tender yearning of pity. She lifted his head in her arm, and murmured
brokenly, “Oh, my love, my dear love.” She kissed him on his white lips.
At the touch of her lips Jack opened his eyes, gazed at her for a
moment, then with dawning recognition, he said with a faint smile,
“Do--it--again.”
“Oh, you heard,” she cried, the red blood flooding face and neck, “but I
don't care, only don't go off again. You will not, Jack, you must not.”
“No--I won't,” he said. “It's rotten--of me--to act--like this
and--scare you--to death. Give me--a little--time. I will be--all
right.”
“If they would only come! If I could only do something!”
“You're all right--Kathleen. Just be--patient with me--a bit. I am
feeling--better every minute.”
For a few moments he lay quiet. Then with a little smile he looked up
at her again and said, “I would go off again just to hear you say those
words once more.”
“Oh, please don't,” she entreated, hiding her face.
“Forgive me, Kathleen, I am a beast. Forget it. I am feeling all right.
I believe I could sit up.”
“No, no, no,” she cried. “Lie a little longer.”
She laid his head down, ran a hundred yards to the wheat field,
returning with two sheeves, and made a support for his head and
shoulders. “That is better,” she said.
“Good work,” he said. “Now I am going to be fit for anything in a few
moments. But,” he added, “you look rather badly, as if you might faint
yourself.”
“I? What difference does it make how I look? I am quite right. If they
would only come! I know what I will do,” she cried. “Where are your
cartridges?” She loaded the gun and fired in quick succession half a
dozen shots. “I think I see them,” she exclaimed, “but I am not sure
that they heard me.” Again she fired several shots.
“Don't worry about it,” said Jack, into whose face the colour was
beginning to come back. “They are sure to look us up. Just sit down,
won't you please, beside me here? There, that's good,” he continued,
taking her hand. “Kathleen,” he cried, “I think you know my secret.”
“Oh, no, no, please don't,” she implored, withdrawing her hand and
hiding her face from him. “Please don't be hard on me. I really do not
know what I am doing and I am feeling dreadfully.”
“You have reason to feel so, Kathleen. You have been splendidly brave,
and I give you my word I am not going to worry you.”
“Oh, thank you; you are so good, and I love you for it,” she cried in a
passion of gratitude. “You understand, don't you?”
“I think I do,” he said. “By the way, do you know I think I could
smoke.”
“Oh, splendid!” she cried, and, springing up, she searched through
his coat pockets, found pipe, pouch, matches, and soon he had his pipe
going. “There, that looks more like living,” said Kathleen, laughing
somewhat hysterically. “Oh, you did frighten me!” Again the red flush
came into her face and she turned away from him.
“There they are coming. Sure enough, they are coming,” she cried with a
sob in her voice.
“Steady, Kathleen,” said Jack quietly. “You won't blow up now, will you?
You have been so splendid! Can you hold on?”
She drew a deep breath, stood for a minute or two in perfect silence,
and then she said, “I can and I will. I am quite right now.”
Of course they exclaimed and stared and even wept a bit--at least the
ladies did--but Jack's pipe helped out amazingly, and, indeed, he had
recovered sufficient strength to walk unhelped to the car. And while
Tom sent the Packard humming along the smooth, resilient road he kept up
with Nora and his sister a rapid fire of breezy conversation till they
reached their own door. It was half an hour before Tom could bring
the doctor, during which time they discussed the accident in all its
bearings and from every point of view.
“I am glad it was not I who was with you,” declared Nora. “I cannot
stand blood, and I certainly should have fainted, and what would you
have done then?”
“Not you,” declared Jack. “That sort of thing does not go with your
stock. God knows what would have happened to me if I had had a silly
fool with me, for the blood was pumping out all over me. But, thank God,
I had a woman with a brave heart and clever hands.”
When the doctor came, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt went in to assist him, but when
the ghastly bloody spectacle lay bare to her eyes she found herself grow
weak and hurried to the kitchen where the others were.
“Oh, I am so silly,” she said, “but I am afraid I cannot stand the sight
of it.”
Kathleen sprang at once to her feet. “Is there no one there?” she
demanded with a touch of impatience in her voice, and passed quickly
into the room, where she stayed while the doctor snipped off the frayed
patches of skin and flesh and tied up the broken arteries, giving aid
with quick fingers and steady hands till all was over.
“You have done this sort of thing before, Miss Gwynne?” said the doctor.
“No, never,” she replied.
“Well, you certainly are a brick,” he said, turning admiring eyes upon
her. He was a young man and unmarried. “But this is a little too much
for you.” From a decanter which stood on a side table he poured out a
little spirits. “Drink this,” he said.
“No, thank you, Doctor, I am quite right,” said Kathleen, quietly
picking up the bloody debris and dropping them into a basin which she
carried into the other room. “He is all right now,” she said to Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt, who took the basin from her, exclaiming,
“My poor dear, you are awfully white. I am ashamed of myself. Now you
must lie down at once.”
“No, please, I shall go home, I think. Where is Nora?”
“Nora has gone home. You won't lie down a little? Then Tom shall take
you in the car. You are perfectly splendid. I did not think you had it
in you.”
“Oh, don't, don't,” cried the girl, a quick rush of tears coming to her
eyes. “I must go, I must go. Oh, I feel terrible. I don't know what I
have done. Let me go home.” She almost pushed Mrs. Waring-Gaunt from her
and went out of the house and found Tom standing by the car smoking.
“Take her home, Tom,” said his wife. “She needs rest.”
“Come along, Kathleen; rest--well, rather. Get in beside me here. Feel
rather rotten, eh, what? Fine bit of work, good soldier--no, don't
talk--monologue indicated.” And monologue it was till he delivered her,
pale, weary and spent, to her mother.