GEORGE FEELS GRATEFUL
When George returned from Winnipeg, Edgar took him to the granary.
"You may as well look at the seed Grant sent you, and then you'll be
able to thank him for it," he said. "It's in here; I turned out the
common northern stuff you bought to make room."
"Why didn't you put it into the empty place in the barn?" George asked.
"I wasn't sure it would go in; there's rather a lot of it," Edgar
explained, with a smile.
George entered the granary and stopped, astonished, when he saw the
great pile of bags.
"Is all of that the new seed?" he asked incredulously.
"Every bag," said Edgar, watching him.
George's face reddened. He was stirred by mixed emotions: relief,
gratitude, and a feeling of confusion he could not analyze.
"Grant must have sent the whole carload!" he broke out.
"As a matter of fact, he sent most of it. Grierson and I hauled it in;
and a tough job we had of it."
"And you took it all, without protesting or sending me word?"
"Yes," said Edgar coolly; "that's precisely what I did. You need the
stuff; Grant meant you to have it, and I didn't want to offend him."
"I suppose you have some idea what that seed is worth?"
"I dare say I could guess. Our people at home once experimented with
some American seed potatoes at three shillings each. But aren't you
putting the matter on a rather low plane?"
George sat down and felt for his pipe.
"I feel that you have played a trick on me. If you had only let me
know, I could have objected."
"Just so; that's why I kept quiet," Edgar laughed. "The seed's here
and you ought to be thankful. Anyway, Grant won't take it back."
"What have I done that I should get this favor?" George said half aloud.
"That's so characteristic!" Edgar exclaimed. "Why must you always be
doing things? Do you imagine that whatever one receives is the result
of so much exertion?"
"I don't feel the least interest in such quibbles."
"I can't believe it," Edgar rejoined. "You're more at home when you
have a fence to put up, or a strip of new land to break." Then he
dropped his bantering tone. "There's nothing to be distressed about.
Grant has been pretty generous, and I think he and Flora need thanking."
"That's true; they've made me feel half ashamed. I never expected
this."
"In my opinion, the sensation's quite unnecessary. You have given a
few people a lift in your time, and I've an optimistic notion that
actions of the kind recoil on one, even though it's a different person
who makes you some return."
"I wish you would stop talking!" George exclaimed impatiently.
Edgar mentally compared Flora Grant with Sylvia, in whom he
disbelieved, and found it hard to restrain himself. It was, he felt, a
great misfortune that George could not be made to see.
"Oh, well!" he acquiesced. "I could say a good deal more, if I thought
it would do any good, but as that doesn't seem likely I'll dry up."
"That's a comfort," George said shortly.
He left the granary in a thoughtful mood, and on the following evening
drove over to the Grant homestead. Its owner was busy somewhere
outside when he reached it, but Flora received him and he sat down with
satisfaction to talk to her. It had become a pleasure to visit the
Grants; he felt at home in their house. The absence of all ceremony,
the simple Canadian life, had a growing attraction for him. One could
get to know these people, which was a different thing from merely
meeting them, and George thought this was to some extent the effect of
their surroundings. He had always been conscious of a closer and more
intimate contact with his friends upon the mountain-side or the banks
of some salmon river than he had ever experienced in a club or
drawing-room. For all that, Flora sometimes slightly puzzled him. She
was free from the affectations and restraints of artificial
conventionality, but there was a reserve about her which he failed to
penetrate. He wondered what lay behind it and had a curious feeling
that Edgar either guessed or knew.
"Did you enjoy your visit to Winnipeg?" she asked.
"It was a pleasant change and I got through my business satisfactorily.
Of course, I didn't go for amusement."
Flora laughed.
"So I supposed; you're growing more Canadian every day. But you meant
to make a visit to England, which couldn't have had any connection with
business, last winter, didn't you?"
George's face grew serious. He had, she thought, not got over his
disappointment.
"Yes," he said. "But there was nothing to be done here then."
"So the things that should be done invariably come first with you?"
"In this case--I mean as far as they concern the farm--it's necessary."
Flora considered his answer, studying him quietly, though she had some
sewing in her hands. Supposing, as she had once thought, there was
some English girl he had longed to see, he could have made the journey
later, when his crop had been sown, even though this entailed some
neglect of minor operations that required his care. He received, as
she had learned with interest, few English letters, so there was nobody
to whom he wrote regularly; and yet his disappointment when forced to
abandon his visit had obviously been keen. There was, Flora thought, a
mystery here.
"After all," she said, "the feeling you have indicated is pretty common
in the Canadian wheat-belt."
"Then why should you expect me to be an exception? As a matter of
fact, I'm at least as anxious as my neighbors to be successful. That's
partly why I've come over to-night." His voice grew deeper and softer
as he continued. "I want to thank you and your father for your
surprising generosity."
"Surprising?" responded Flora lightly, though she was stirred by the
signs of feeling he displayed. "Do you know you're not altogether
complimentary?"
He smiled.
"You'll forgive the slip; when one feels strongly, it's difficult to
choose one's words. Anyway, to get that seed, and so much of it, is an
immense relief. I'm deeply grateful; the more so because your action
was so spontaneous. I haven't a shadow of a claim on you."
Flora put down her sewing and looked at him directly.
"I don't think you ought to say that--do you wish to be considered a
stranger?"
"No," George declared impulsively. "It's the last thing I want.
Still, you see--"
She was pleased with his eagerness, but she checked him.
"Then, as you have a gift of making friends, you must take the
consequences."
"I didn't know I had the gift. My real friends aren't plentiful."
"If you begin to count, you may find them more numerous than you think."
"Those I have made in Canada head the list."
The girl felt a thrill of satisfaction. This was not a compliment; he
had spoken from his heart.
"After all, I don't see why you should insist on thanking me as well as
my father, who really sent you the seed." She paused. "You didn't do
so on the last occasion; I mean at the time when it was promised to
you."
This was correct, and George was conscious of some embarrassment.
"Well," he said firmly, "I think I'm justified."
Flora could not contradict him, and she was glad he felt as he did.
She liked his way of sticking to the point; indeed, she was sensible of
a strong liking for the man.
During the next minute or two her father came in. He cut short
George's thanks, and then took out his pipe.
"I was in at the Butte yesterday," he said. "The police have got the
men who knocked Farren out, and Flett says they mean to press for a
smart penalty. It's about time they made an example of somebody. When
I was in, I fixed it up to turn Langside off his holding."
Flora looked up with interest.
"But how had you the power?" George asked.
"The man owes me four hundred dollars for a horse and some second-hand
implements I let him have nearly three years ago."
"But he has broken a big strip of his land; it's worth a good deal more
than you lent him."
"Just so. He owes everybody money round the Butte. I saw Taunton of
the store and the implement man and told them Langside had to quit."
"You seem to have found them willing to agree."
Grant broke into a grim smile.
"What I say to those men goes. Then I've got security; they know I
could pull Langside down."
George looked at Flora and was slightly surprised at her acquiescent
manner.
"It sounds a little harsh; a good harvest might have set him straight,"
he said. "However, I suppose you have a reason for what you're doing."
"That's so. Langside's the kind of man I've no use for; he takes no
interest in his place. After he has put in half a crop, he goes off
and spends his time doing a little railroad work and slouching round
the saloons along the line."
"It doesn't seem sufficient to justify your ruining him."
"I've got a little more against the man. Has it struck you that
somebody round here, who knows the trails and the farmers' movements,
is standing in with the liquor boys."
A light broke in upon George. Now that the matter had been put before
him, he could recollect a number of points that seemed to prove the
fanner right. When cattle had been killed, their owners had been
absent; horses had disappeared at a time which prevented the discovery
of their loss from being promptly made. It looked as if the offenses
could only have been committed with the connivance of somebody in the
neighborhood who had supplied their perpetrators with information.
"I believe you've got at the truth," he replied. "Still, it must be
largely a matter of suspicion."
Grant leaned forward on the table and his face grew stern.
"You'll remember what Flett said about our system of justice sometimes
breaking down. In this matter, I'm the jury, and I've thought the
thing over for the last six months, weighing up all that could be said
for Langside, though it isn't much. What's more, I've talked to the
man and watched him; giving him every chance. He has had his trial and
he has to go; there's no appeal."
George could imagine the thoroughness with which his host had
undertaken his task. Grant would be just, deciding nothing without the
closest test. George felt that the man he meant to punish must be
guilty. For all that, he looked at Flora.
"Have you been consulted?" he asked.
"I understood," said Flora. "And I agreed."
Her face was as hard as her father's and George was puzzled.
"I should have thought you would have been inclined to mercy."
Flora colored a little, but she looked at him steadily.
"Langside deserves the punishment he has so far escaped. He's guilty
of what my father thinks, but there's another offense that I'm afraid
will never be brought home to him."
George admired her courage as he remembered a very unpleasant story he
had heard about a pretty waitress at the settlement. As a matter of
fact, he had doubted it.
"Flora went to see the girl at Regina. They found her there pretty
near dying," Grant explained quietly.
Recollecting a scene outside the Sachem, when Flora had accompanied
Mrs. Nelson, George realized that he had rather overlooked one side of
her character. She could face unpleasant things and strive to put them
right, and she could be sternly just without shrinking when occasion
demanded it. This, however, was not an aspect of hers that struck one
forcibly; he had generally seen her compassionate, cheerful, and
considerate. Then he told himself that there was no reason why he
should take any interest in Flora Grant's qualities.
"I suppose Langside will be sold up," he said.
"Open auction, though I guess there won't be much bidding. Folks round
here don't know the man as I do, but they've good reason to believe the
money will go to his creditors, and there'll be nothing left for him."
"The foreclosure won't meet with general favor," George said pointedly.
"That doesn't count. It strikes one as curious that people should be
ready to sympathize with the slouch who lets his place go to ruin out
of laziness, and never think of the storekeepers' just claim on the
money he's wasted. Anyway, there's nothing to stop people from
bidding; but, in case they hold off, we have fixed up how we'll divide
the property."
It was obvious to George that the position of Grant's associates was
unassailable. If any friends of Langside's attempted to run prices up,
they would only put the money into his creditor's pockets; if, as
seemed more probable, they discouraged the bidding, the creditors would
secure his possessions at a low figure and recoup themselves by selling
later at the proper value. George realized that Grant had carefully
thought out his plans.
"I don't think you have left him any way of escape," he said.
"No," replied Grant; "we have got him tight. You had better come along
to the auction--you'll get notice of it--and see how the thing goes."
George said that he would do so, and shortly afterward drove away. On
reaching home he told Edgar what he had heard, and the lad listened
with a thoughtful expression.
"One can't doubt that Grant knows what he's doing, but I'm not sure
he's wise," he said. "Though Langside's a regular slacker, he has a
good many friends, and as a rule nobody has much sympathy with exacting
creditors. Then it's bound to come out that it was Grant who set the
other fellows after Langside; and if he buys up much of the property at
a low figure, the thing will look suspicious."
"I tried to point that out."
"And found you had wasted words? Grant would see it before you did,
and it wouldn't have the least effect on him. You wouldn't expect that
man to yield to popular opinion. Still, the thing will make trouble,
though I shall not be sorry if it forces on a crisis."
George nodded.
"I'm getting tired of these continual petty worries, and keeping a
ceaseless lookout. I want to hit back."
"You'll no doubt get your chance. What about Miss Grant's attitude?"
"She agreed with her father completely; I was a little surprised."
"That was quite uncalled for," said Edgar with a smile. "It looks as
if you didn't know the girl yet. These Westerners are a pretty grim
people."
George frowned at this, though he felt that there was some truth in
what his companion said. On the whole, he was of the same mind as
Grant; there were situations in which one must fearlessly take a
drastic course.
"The sooner the trouble begins, the sooner it will be over," he said.
"One has now and then to run the risk of getting hurt."