THE FENCING WIRE
Next morning Carrie, getting up early because she had not slept much,
heard Jim's step in the passage outside her room. He went rather
unsteadily downstairs and a few minutes afterwards she found him
sitting on the terrace wall. He was pale and his face was cut; but he
had taken off the bandage.
"You oughtn't to be out," she said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"You were badly shaken. The doctor said we must keep you quiet."
"He probably didn't state how long, and I've been quiet all night. I
certainly got a knock; imagine my head went through the glass, but I
feel my proper self again, and don't see any reason for staying in bed."
Carrie gave it up. She knew Jim pretty well and asked where he was
going.
"I want to look at the car," he said. "I don't know why she left the
road. But how did you find me and bring me home?"
Carrie told him, and he looked thoughtful.
"I was in the ditch with the wheel on me? This accounts for my side's
feeling sore. How did you lift the car?"
"The others got into the ditch. A wheel began to slip and I thought
the weight would overpower them; but Lance Mordaunt made a tremendous
effort and held up the axle until we pulled you out."
Jim knitted his brows and looked across the lawn while he mechanically
felt for his pipe. The morning was clear with scattered clouds and the
grass was silvered by dew. The hills were sharp and belts of light and
shadow checkered the marsh. In the distance, the sea sparkled.
"If Jake or Dick had held her up, I could have understood," he said.
"It was Lance," Carrie insisted. "Why are you puzzled?"
"For one thing, I imagine he doesn't like me," Jim replied and
indicated by a gesture the old house, and the sweep of smooth pasture
and yellow stubble that rolled down the hill. "Perhaps it's not
strange. I have taken all this from him!"
"But you took it as much from Dick."
"That is so," Jim agreed. "Dick's different. He's careless; I don't
think he feels things. However, I must thank Lance." He paused and
resumed: "The boys were in the ditch and I was under the car. Who
pulled me out?"
"I did," said Carrie, blushing. "There was nobody else."
Jim took her hand. "My dear! When I needed help before, you were
about. But that ditch is four feet deep and I'm heavy."
Carrie pulled her hand from his and smiled. "You are heavy, Jim, and
it was something of a strain. However, I'll come with you, if you are
going down the hill."
"To take care of me?" said Jim, with a twinkle. "If you don't mind,
I'd sooner go alone."
He got up, and seeing that his step was firm, she let him go. It was
not a caprice that he would not take her, but when she returned to the
house she sent Jake after him.
As he went down the hill Jim thought about Mordaunt. The man was
something of a puzzle, and Jim admitted that he had, perhaps, not been
just when he accounted for his antagonism. Lance, no doubt, felt that
he ought to have got Langrigg, but he was not altogether moved by
disappointed greed. Their antagonism went deeper than that. Lance was
a conventionalist; he clung instinctively to traditions that were
getting out of date. In fact, Jim thought he would have been a very
fine country gentleman had he inherited Langrigg sixty years since.
Lance was what horse-ranchers called a throw-back; in a sense, he
belonged to an older generation.
There was another thing. Jim imagined Lance felt Evelyn's charm, and
although they were cousins, he understood cousins sometimes married,
with their relatives' approval, when the marriage would advance the
interests of the family. It was possible that he might hurt Lance
worse than by robbing him of Langrigg.
Yet Lance had held up the car for him and run some risk of being
killed. After all, this did not clash with Jim's notion of his
character. Lance might dislike the man he rescued, but he had the
instincts of an English gentleman. Then Jim stopped and looked about,
for he had reached the thorn hedge.
A belt of peat, checkered by white tufts of wild cotton, ran back from
the road, and a wire fence joined the hedge at a right angle. Some of
the posts had fallen and lengths of wire lay about. Jim looked at the
wire thoughtfully, and then went on to the spot where broken glass and
torn up soil marked the scene of the accident. Then he stopped again
and lighted his pipe. In the Canadian woods he had now and then
trusted to his rifle to supply his food, and tracking large game trains
one's observation. One must guess an animal's movements by very small
signs. A broken twig or a disturbed stone tells one much. Jim looked
for some such clew that might help him, so to speak, to reconstruct the
accident.
He remembered a sudden jolt and the front wheels skidding. They had
obviously struck something, and when he got the car straight had
skidded again the other way. The marks the tires had made indicated
this, and he examined the neighboring ground. The silverweed that
covered the peaty soil between the road and ditch was not much crushed.
He had, as he remembered, not gone far on that side before he, for a
moment, recovered control of the car. The real trouble began when it
swerved again and ran across the road. Something had caught the wheels
and interfered with the steering.
Jim looked for a big stone, but could find none; besides, it was
improbable that he had hit the stone twice, and sitting down by the
overturned car he thoughtfully finished his pipe. The car must be got
out of the ditch, but this was not important, and he dwelt upon the
fencing wire; he had a hazy notion that the obstacle he had struck was
flexible. By and by he heard a step, and Jake came up.
"I don't know if you ought to be about," the latter said. "It will be
an awkward job to get the car into the road."
"I'm not bothering about the car," Jim replied. "I want to find out
why she ran into the ditch."
"You don't know, then?"
Jim indicated the wheel-marks and told Jake about the skidding. "She
went off at an angle and I couldn't pull her round," he concluded.
"Do you expect to find the steering-gear broken?"
"Not unless it broke after she skidded."
Jake gave him a keen glance. "I begin to see! Well, people sometimes
find trouble coming to them when they won't leave things alone. But
what kind of a clew do you expect to get?"
"A mark on a thorn trunk; we'll look for one," said Jim. "Suppose you
take the other side!"
He walked a few yards along the ditch, examining the bottom of the
trunks, and presently stopped and put his foot on the other bank. Then
he beckoned Jake and indicated a few scratches on the bark of a thorn.
The rough stem was tufted with dry moss and for an inch or two this was
crushed.
"I reckon something has been fastened to this tree," he said. "If we
can find another mark on the opposite row, I'll be satisfied."
They went across and after a few moments Jake said, "Here it is!"
Jim studied the mark and nodded. "Very well! I think we'll get into
the field and look at the old fence wire. I want a piece seven or
eight yards long."
After pulling about the wire that lay in the grass, they found a piece.
One end was bent into a rough hook, and although the other was nearly
straight Jim noted a spot where the galvanizing was cracked.
"It has been bent here twice," he said. "Pulled over into a hook and
then pulled back. You can see how the zinc has flaked."
They sat down on a bank and Jake remarked: "I think you ought to be
satisfied. But what are you going to do about it?"
"Lie low and watch out. That's all in the meantime. I want the man
who fixed the wire across the road to give himself away."
"Don't you know who he is?"
"I think I know. It's not quite enough."
"Perhaps it's not," Jake agreed. "You want to be able to show other
folks he did the thing? The trouble is, he may try again!"
"Then it will be my fault if he gets me. I've had fair warning."
"Your nerve is pretty good; I knew this before," Jake remarked. "Well,
I suppose nothing's to be said about it until you have some proof? Now
we'll go back to breakfast."
They returned to Langrigg, and after breakfast Jim went to the marsh,
where the men he had engaged were at work. Soon after he had gone, a
car from Dryholm came up the drive and Carrie met Bernard Dearham on
the steps.
"I came to ask how Jim is. Lance told me about the accident," he said.
"I expect you won't let me see him yet?"
"You might see him if you crossed the marsh. He is getting busy
there," Carrie replied.
"But he was unconscious when Lance left."
Carrie smiled. "Yes. He got up at seven o'clock this morning and went
out. That's the kind of man he is!"
"Then we needn't be disturbed about him," Bernard replied and indicated
a stone bench in the sun. "I cannot walk far and there is no road
across the marsh. Can you spare a few minutes to talk to me?"
"Why, of course," said Carrie, and Bernard waited until she sat down.
Although he thought she knew his importance, she was not anxious to
please him; but she did not assert her independence. The girl had an
ease of manner he approved and, if she remained at Langrigg, would soon
acquire the touch of polish she needed. But he pulled himself up. In
the meantime, he was going too fast.
"I understand you nursed Jim once before," he said. "Did you not use
your authority to keep him in the house this morning?"
"I did not," Carrie replied, with a twinkle. "Looks as if you didn't
know Jim yet! Besides, if you have some authority, you don't want to
strain it."
"That is no doubt true," Bernard agreed. None of his relations had so
far disputed his firm rule, but he knew when it was prudent not to
exercise his power. "You are a philosopher," he went on. "It is
sometimes an advantage to use a light hand."
"Jim can be led."
Bernard bowed. "I imagine you have led him where he ought to go."
"I wonder!" said Carrie, with thoughtful frankness. "The trouble is, I
don't know much and only understand simple things. Still, perhaps, I
did lead him in the woods. The right way was generally plain there.
But at Langrigg----"
"You're sometimes puzzled?" Bernard suggested. "Well, we are all
puzzled now and then, and perhaps to trust your instincts is a good
plan. This, however, is not advice I would give to everybody."
Carrie said nothing. She liked Bernard and was not afraid of him. He
talked to her with the politeness of the old school and when he looked
amused she thought his amusement was good-humored.
"Jim was under the car when you got to the spot, I think," he resumed.
"You had some trouble to lift it."
"Lance really lifted the car at the dangerous moment, though the others
helped. He saw the wheel was slipping; they were all in the ditch."
"Then who pulled Jim out?"
"I did," said Carrie, with a touch of embarrassment.
Bernard pondered. Lance had not told him about this and it was
possible he had an object for not doing so.
"Well," he said, "I expect Jim has had other accidents; as you
remarked, he is that kind of man. Did he get hurt when you were with
him in the woods?"
"He took some chances now and then, but he did not get hurt much."
"Although he came near it? I heard something about your going to his
rescue one night with a gun."
Carrie blushed and Bernard fixed his eyes on her face as he went on:
"Did you mean to use the gun?"
She lifted her head, her mouth went hard, and her glance got steady.
"Yes. If I'd thought the other fellow could reach Jim with his ax, I
would have shot him!"
Bernard nodded. "Sometimes the primitive plan is the only plan. One
can see that you have pluck enough to meet a crisis. But I have kept
you and have some other calls."
He got up and when she went with him down the steps gave her his hand.
"May I come back another day?"
"Of course, but unless he knows you're coming, Jim will be occupied at
the marsh."
"I won't mind if Jim is occupied."
"Then come when you like," said Carrie, smiling. "I think you mean to
be nice."
In the meantime, Jim had got to work and under his superintendence a
gang of men piled barrowsful of peat soil on the wreck of the dabbin.
By noon a bank had advanced across the piles of broken clay and a cut
that was to make a new channel for the creek began to open. Once or
twice Jake imagined an indistinct figure lurked among some clumps of
gorse, as if watching the work, but he was not certain and said nothing.
Jim and he did not go home for lunch and when the men stopped at noon
found a sheltered hollow and opened a basket of food Jim had sent for.
The day was bright, but a cold wind flecked the advancing tide with
foam and swept the empty flats. Dry reeds rustled in the creek and a
flock of circling plover gleamed against a cloud that trailed its
shadow across the marsh. For all that, the sun was warm in the corner
where they ate their lunch.
"Did Shanks send you notice that he had gone to the cottage?" Jake
asked presently.
"He told the teamster to come for his truck. I expect he thought this
enough."
"Wouldn't own up that he'd given in!" Jake remarked. "The fellow's a
blamed obstinate old tough. I wonder whether he felt curious if you
were hurt."
"I reckon he knew," said Jim. "However, I thought this morning there
was somebody about----"
He stopped abruptly, and Jake heard a step. They were quiet for a few
moments, and then Tom Shanks came round a corner of the bank and stood
looking at them. Jim's face was cut and rather white, but the stains
on his clothes indicated that he had been working among wet soil. Jake
gave Shanks a keen glance and thought he looked surprised, as if he had
not expected to see Jim there.
"Do you want a job?" the latter asked.
"I want nowt fra you. You can give your job to them as will ca' you
maister," Shanks rejoined and went off.
"A sullen hog!" Jake remarked. "I'd like to know when he or the old
man moved the wire."
"So would I. It's rather important," said Jim. "If he was hanging
about and came for the thing as soon as the car took the ditch, he
probably saw me under the wheel and meant to leave me there. How long
were you in making the spot after you heard the smash?"
"Perhaps five minutes. Mordaunt's car was at the steps and we jumped
on board while he started her."
"If you had lost much time, I imagine you'd have found me dead."
"Then why did you offer Shanks a job?"
Jim smiled. "In order to have him where he could be watched. A fellow
like that is dangerous when he's out of sight."
"Shanks and his son are bad men," Jake agreed. "We have sand-baggers
and gun-men in Canada, but they get after you for money and their
methods are up to date. Shanks' savageness is half-instinctive, like
the Indian's. I can't, so to speak, locate him; he goes too far back."
Jim got up. "It's not important just now. Tell the teamster to bring
his horses and we'll get busy."