Mr. Selincourt is Indiscreet
When Katherine reached home that night after doing the "backache
portage" it seemed to be the last straw to her burden of endurance
to be told that Mr. Selincourt had arrived. The loss of the supper
fish did not trouble her, for she and Phil had brought home a fine
salmon, which they had taken from an Indian woman in exchange for a
couple of small packets of hairpins, which in England might have
fetched perhaps a halfpenny each, but in that remote district were
priced at a quarter of a dollar. It was the news of the arrival
which upset her so badly. She suffered tortures while she listened
to Mrs. Burton's eager talk about the Selincourts, of Mr.
Selincourt's kindly manner, and Miss Selincourt's graceful charm.
"Hush, hush!" she kept saying. "You will excite and worry Father
with all this talk of new people."
"I don't think so," Mrs. Burton replied. "See how peaceful he is,
and how little notice he takes of anything outside. He will not
remark any difference between Mr. Selincourt and Stee Jenkin,
except that he may find the former more interesting to talk to."
But Katherine shook her head, stealing many a glance at her father
while she ate her supper, and worrying lest the name of the man he
had wronged should stir some dim memory in his clouded mind, and
bring up some ghost from the hidden past, to turn his peaceful days
into a nightmare of unrest once more. The salmon might have been
sawdust for all the taste it had for her that night, and when
supper was done she hurried through the work which could not be
left, then, pleading weariness, went off to bed quite an hour
before her usual time.
Although she went to bed she could not sleep. She heard Jervis
come in and stay talking to Mrs. Burton. She also heard him say
that he was going to take Mr. and Miss Selincourt across to
Akimiski on the following day. Then Jervis left, her father went
with slow, faltering steps to his bed, and Nellie came in, but,
thinking her sister asleep, moved softly and did not speak, for
which Katherine was mutely grateful.
It was very early on the following morning when she saw the boat
with Mr. Selincourt and Mary slipping down the river, rowed by some
of the men who had brought them up from the lakes. So it would be
a day of respite, for the Selincourts would not be back until
evening, too late to go visiting among their neighbours, and
Katherine's spirits rose immediately, because there was one more
day to be happy in.
She had to go to Fort Garry that day, and started an hour before
noon, taking Phil with her as usual, and having her boat piled high
with skins taken in barter, bags of feathers, and other marketable
products. There was a short outlet to the bay from the river, a
weedy channel leading through flat meadows of vivid green; only, to
use an Irishism, they were not meadows at all, but stretches of
swamp, in Canadian parlance a muskeg: and the unwary creature,
human or animal, that set foot thereon was speedily engulfed. Very
beautiful these stretches of rich green looked on a bright summer's
day, and Katherine exclaimed in delight as she forced the boat
through the weedy channel, which became every week more difficult
to pass.
"Oh, Phil, isn't it lovely!" she cried.
"Can't say I admire it," the boy answered grumpily. "The air down
here always seems to choke me, and it is twice as much trouble to
drive the boat through this narrow, weedy channel as it is to go
the longer way round."
"I know we shall have to cease coming this way soon, but it is
pretty, and I like it," Katherine answered, and would not admit
even to herself that her chief reason in choosing those weedy
byways, was the desire to avoid all danger of an encounter with the
Selincourts.
The voyage to Fort Garry was without incident, and the interview
with the M'Crawneys was of the usual type. Mrs. M'Crawney was
low-spirited and homesick, yearning for Ireland, for the smell of
the peat reek and the society of her neighbours.
"I shall die if I stay here much longer. It is stagnation, not
life at all; indeed, I'd sooner be dead," moaned the poor
discontented woman.
"But you have books," said Katherine, pointing to a well-filled
shelf in one corner of the room. "And if you are so lonely, why
not take some girl from an orphanage for a companion? It would be
good for the child and good for you too."
"Books are not satisfying, and I think it a great waste of time to
be always reading," Mrs. M'Crawney replied with a touch of
asperity. Her husband's love of books and willingness to spend
money upon them was always a sore point with her, only Katherine
did not know that. "And I wouldn't have a strange girl about the
house, not whatever. I never could abide having to do with other
people's children."
"Then I am afraid you will have to go lonely," Katherine answered,
feeling that it was quite beyond her powers to make any more useful
suggestion to the poor unhappy woman, whose ailment consisted more
in a discontented mind than a diseased body.
The M'Crawneys were such an ill-matched pair that it always gave
her a feeling of irritation to go there, while Peter M'Crawney
himself was too much addicted to fulsome compliments to make her
willing to face him oftener than need be. There was a cool
breeze creeping over the water as they turned back towards home,
and this tempered the heat, making rowing a pure pleasure.
"Let us go the longer way," pleaded Phil, who did not care for the
solemn stretches of green swamp on either side of the backwater.
But Katherine had been resting on her oars and looking round,
catching sight as she did so of a fishing boat, with its brown
sails set, making for the river mouth. With a fluttering of her
pulses she told herself that this was most likely the fleet boat
which had taken the new owner out to Akimiski, and was now bringing
him back. If this were the case, her little row boat and the
fisher would enter the river channel by the fish sheds side by
side. She would be hot and untidy with the vigorous exercise of
rowing, while Miss Selincourt, cool and calm, would gaze at her
with lofty disdain, regarding her merely as a rough working girl.
This was not to be endured for a moment, and, setting her hands
with a tighter grip on the oars, Katherine said decidedly: "We will
go through the swamps to-day. I want to get home as quickly as I
can, for there are so many things to see to, and a lot of booking
to do."
Phil resigned himself to the inevitable with a rather dour face,
and there was silence between them for quite ten minutes, as
Katherine, forced by the narrowness of the way, ceased rowing, and,
shipping her oars, picked up a paddle which formed part of the
boat's equipment, and commenced to paddle her way through the short
cut.
"What's that?" asked Phil sharply, jerking up his head to listen
again for a sound which would not have caught his ear at all if he
had not been so silent just then.
"I heard nothing," said Katherine, pausing in her work, but holding
the boat steady by planting her paddle in a group of rushes and
holding it fast. "What kind of sound was it, Phil?"
"Something like a fox makes when it is caught in a trap," replied
Phil. Then he cried eagerly: "There it is, and I believe it is a
man! Ahoy there! where are you, and what is wrong?"
"Help, help!" cried a voice from somewhere, only the trouble was to
know where to locate it.
"Yes, we will help you, only we can't think where you are; can't
you let us know?" called Katherine, sending her voice in a
reassuring shout over the reaches of treacherous green.
"I am here, holding on to some rushes," the voice said, and
Katherine fairly gasped with amazement to find the submerged one so
close at hand; for the patch of rushes to which she was holding the
boat was the only one anywhere near, and a little ridge of solid
ground connected it with the river bank, which was perhaps forty
yards away.
"Be careful to keep calling out now," she said, preparing to force
the boat out of its channel and into the liquid mud of the fatal
green meadow.
"Here, here, here!" said the voice, sounding now so thick and
hoarse that Katherine at once decided it must be one of the
fishermen who had risked his life on the treacherous green of the
swamp, although she wondered that anyone could have lived at Seal
Cove for a week and not known of the danger that lay in the swamps.
"Phil, where can he be?" she cried, her voice sharp now with the
terror of having a man in peril of his life at her side, and yet
being unable to help him.
"There he is; I saw the rushes move," yelled Phil. "No, not that
clump--you are looking wrong; it is the one that has got a lupin
blooming in it. Ah, I saw it move again! Keep your spirits up,
old fellow, and we will have you out in no time!"
"But how?" groaned Katherine under her breath, for no effort of
hers would move the boat a foot farther through that awful slime,
and if she got wedged she would be forced to stay there until
someone came in search. Then, remembering the horrible danger of
the man, she called out: "Please don't struggle at all, only just
keep still, and I think we can save you, for we have got rope with
us."
"So we have! My word, how fortunate!" exclaimed Phil, tugging a
big bundle of stout hempen cord from under the other things of
their miscellaneous lading.
"Get the other bundle too; I must have both," said Katherine, and,
taking the first, she made a slip knot and a loop which would
tighten to a certain extent.
"What are you going to do? You can't throw it over him from here,"
said the boy.
"Phil, can you be very brave, darling, and walk across on the
oars?" Katherine asked, a sob catching in her throat. "I will slip
this other rope round you; then, if you slip in, I can drag you
out."
"I'll go," said Phil, alert and ready. Then he kicked off his
boots, which were stout--and every ounce mattered when one took to
walking on muskegs; but as his clothing consisted of only a flannel
shirt and serge knickerbockers there were no clothes for him to
shed.
Katherine slipped one loop of rope over his shoulders, put the
other looped rope into his hand, then laid an oar on the mud.
"Now, go; the rushes will hold you when you get there," she said
sharply.
With light, cautious movements Phil stepped out on to the oar,
balancing himself like a tightrope dancer, and because he was so
small and light he passed in safety where a heavier person would
have been quickly submerged.
Katherine stood up in the boat paying out both coils of rope. Her
face was ghastly white, and her heart was beating to suffocation.
She had not felt like this that day when she ventured her life on
the ice to save Jervis Ferrars in the flood. But that had been her
own danger, this was her brother's, and therein lay the difference.
"Landed!" cried Phil, in a quavering tone of triumph, as he planted
his bare feet firmly in the rushes, which, happily, were so matted
together that they would not let him through. Then he stooped, and
Katherine heard him talking to the poor wretch caught in the mud
beyond. "Now, let me slip this over your arm. That's right; we've
got you safe enough, and they are English ropes, strong enough to
pull a carthorse out of a bear pit. You mustn't struggle, though,
however much you feel like it."
"Phil, can you reach the oar?" Katherine cried, her voice hoarse,
for she could hardly endure the strain of the waiting.
"Yes," said the boy, stooping now and touching the perilous bridge
which had carried him to the comparative safety of the clump of
rushes.
"Then lay it across the clump, and well under the man's hands; keep
it as firm as you can for him, while I haul on the rope. Now
then----!"
With all her strength Katherine hauled at the rope. She was
sitting now with her feet braced against the thwarts, and with
every muscle tense she strained and strained until the perspiration
streamed down her face, and the hot air of the swamp as it rose up
seemed to choke her.
[Illustration: With all her strength Katherine hauled at the rope.]
"Hooray, he's coming!" yelled Phil, and Katherine, who had been
almost fainting, gathered her courage for yet another effort.
Phil was helping now, but, best of all, the poor victim of the
muskeg was doing his share also, and at the end of a quarter of an
hour of pulling, tugging, and straining he was on his knees in the
clump of rushes beside Phil, and Katherine was able to rest her
bleeding hands and plan the next stage of that perilous journey.
But a few moments of rest that poor mud-coated wretch must have
before taking any more risks, so she said cheerfully: "Now, stay as
you are for five or ten minutes, just to get your strength back a
little, and I will shift my cargo to accommodate you, for you will
need a reserved seat, I fancy. Phil, take your handkerchief and
wipe the poor man's face. I'm afraid it is rather a dirty one.
Your handkerchiefs are never fit to be seen, but it is better than
nothing."
Phil took a grimy blue-and-yellow cotton rag from the pocket of his
serge nether garments, and proceeded to wipe the rescued man's face
with as much force and energy as if he had been polishing tin pans
with a view to making them shine.
"Softly, softly! How would you like to have your own face rubbed
in that fashion?" admonished Katherine; and then, finishing her
preparations, she stood up in the boat in readiness to help the
poor man through his last stage to safety. "Please throw me that
oar," she said.
Phil took up the oar, and pitched it with great dexterity, so that
it fell close to the boat.
Katherine picked it up, making a little grimace of disgust at its
filthiness; then, wiping the worst of the mud off on the nearest
clump of rushes, she proceeded to lash both oars together with the
other end of the rope that was tied to Phil.
"Are you ready?" she asked sharply, for the man still knelt gasping
and panting, and seemed to have no power to help himself.
Aided by Phil he rose slowly to his feet, then said in a hoarse
voice: "I don't think I can walk that bridge."
"You will have to do it, or stay where you are until we can row
round to Seal Cove to bring assistance for you. Even then it may
be hours before help can reach you, for the fishermen are all out
to-day, and Mr. Ferrars is away also, as he has had to go to
Akimiski to-day with Mr. Selincourt and his daughter."
There was contempt in Katherine's tone now, and she meant it to be
so. If the man had a scrap of courage in him, she must fan it into
active life, but if he were a poltroon, pure and simple, then she
must do the best she could and leave the result.
To her delight, however, he lifted his head with an angry jerk. "I
will come, of course, but I shall sink in and you will have to pull
me out again," he said.
"Oh, you won't sink very far, and I have you well roped!" she said
cheerfully. "But if you are able to spare him, let Phil dance
across first, then he will be here to help me to pull if need be."
"Go along, boy, I will follow," said the man, and Katherine saw him
breathing deep and hard as Phil bounded lightly across, reaching
the boat without any mishap.
"Now is your turn; be quick!" she cried authoritatively, but her
heart seemed to fairly stop beating as the poor man took his first
step forward and reeled on the sinking oars. "Quick!" she
screamed, giving a sharp tug at the cord, which seemed to rouse
him, for then he came on sharply enough.
Katherine, standing up in the boat, put out her hands to steady him
when he came within reaching distance, and tried not to show how
she shrank from his exceeding filthiness.
"There," she said soothingly, as he sank in a limp heap in the seat
she had cleared for him, "you are safe now, and you will soon get
over the fright."
"Thank you!" he murmured, but seemed incapable of further speech,
and sat silent while they dragged up the bridge of oars, which had
sunk out of sight.
"It was lucky you tied them together," said Phil, when the oars
were dragged up and the handles cleansed on the rushes.
"Yes, if I had not thought of doing that we might have whistled for
our oars," said Katherine, with a laugh that had a nervous ring.
The man sitting in the boat was, so far as she could see, a
stranger, although he was so liberally coated with mud that it was
exceedingly difficult to make any guesses about his identity, so
there was nothing to account for the trembling which seized upon
her as she looked at him. It was a hard struggle getting the boat
back into the channel, and her hands were so sore with hauling on
the rope that it was positive torture to use the paddle. The sun
was pouring down with scorching brilliancy, and the flies gathered
in black swarms about her face and head as she worked her way into
the main channel again. Arriving there, she leaned forward and
spoke to the man, who sat silent and apparently dazed in the stern
of the boat.
"Are you staying at Seal Cove, and at whose house?" she asked
gently, feeling exceedingly pitiful for the poor fellow, who must
have lost his life if she had not chosen to bring her boat through
the weedy back channel that afternoon.
"No, I have a house at Roaring Water Portage; my name is
Selincourt," he answered.
The paddle which Katherine was stowing in the boat dropped from her
hands with a clatter, and there was positive terror in her eyes as
she gasped: "You are Mr. Selincourt, _the_ Mr. Selincourt?"
"I suppose so; I certainly don't know any other," he said, smiling
a little, which had a grotesque effect, for the mud with which his
face was so liberally smeared had dried stiff in the sunshine, and
the smiling made it crack like a painted mask which has been
doubled up.
"But I thought you had gone to Akimiski?" Katherine said, her
astonishment still so great that she would hardly have believed
even now that the stranger was telling the truth, had it not been
for the trembling which was upon her now that she found herself
face to face with the man whom her father had so seriously wronged
away back in the past.
"I should have been much wiser if I had gone," said Mr. Selincourt.
"But at the last moment I decided to stay and survey the land on
both sides of the river. I am sending back some of the boatmen
with mails to-morrow, and it seemed essential that I should be able
to write definitely to my agent in Montreal about land which I
might wish to purchase. Then I got Stee Jenkin to put me across
the river, and I wandered along the shore, then back along the
river bank until I reached these beautiful green meadows, as I
thought them. But when I started to walk across I began to sink, so
slowly at first that I hardly realized what was wrong."
"That is because the mud is firmer near the bank," said Katherine.
"Right out in the centre it will not bear a duck."
"I should have been under long before, only when I saw what was
coming I sat down, so sank more slowly. But it was horrible,
horrible!" he exclaimed, with a violent shudder.
"Don't think about it more than you can help, and we shall not be
long in getting you home," she said; then bent to her oars and
tried to forget how sorely her blistered hands were hurting her.