THE CLIMAX
George was tired and sleepy when he reached the settlement early in the
morning, and found Flett at Hardie's house. It transpired from their
conversation that there had been a disturbance at the Sachem on the
return of a party which had driven out to the sale, and one man, who
accused a companion of depriving him of a bargain, had attacked and
badly injured him with a decanter. Flett, being sent for, had arrested
the fellow, and afterward called upon the clergyman for information
about his antecedents and character. He listened with close attention
while George told his tale; and then examined the knife he produced.
"This is about the limit!" he exclaimed. "You wouldn't have persuaded
me that the thing was possible when I was first sent into the district.
It isn't what one expects in the wheat-belt, and it certainly has to be
stopped."
"Of course," said George, with some impatience. "But wouldn't it be
wiser to consider the ways and means? At present the fellows are no
doubt pushing on for the frontier with two valuable teams and a wad of
stolen bills."
Flett smiled at him indulgently.
"This isn't a job that can be put through in a hurry. If they're
heading for the boundary--and I guess they are--they'll be in Dakota or
Montana long before any of the boys I'll wire to could come up with
them. Our authority doesn't hold on American soil."
"Is that to be the end of it?"
"Why, no," Flett answered dryly. "As I guess you have heard, they have
had trouble of this kind in Alberta for a while; and most every time
the boys were able to send back any American mavericks and beef-cattle
that were run into Canada. As the result of it, our chiefs at Regina
are pretty good friends with the sheriffs and deputies on the other
side. They're generally willing to help us where they can."
"Then you shouldn't have much difficulty in trailing your men. Suppose
a fellow turned up with four exceptionally good horses and offered them
to an American farmer or dealer, wouldn't it arouse suspicion?"
"It might," said Flett, with a meaning smile. "But the thing's not so
simple as it looks. We all know that Canadian steers and horses have
been run off and disposed of across the frontier; and now and then a
few from that side have disappeared in Canada. This points to there
being a way of getting rid of them; some mean white on a lonely holding
will take them at half-value, and pass them along. What we have to do
is to send a man over quietly to investigate, and get the sheriffs and
deputies to keep their eyes open. I'm going to beg the Regina people
to let me be that man."
"You may as well understand that it isn't the return of the horses
Grant wants so much as the conviction of the men who waylaid him."
"Then," said Flett, pointedly, "he must be mighty mad."
Hardie joined in George's laugh; but the constable went on:
"I believe we're going to get them; but it will take time--all summer,
perhaps. I've known our boys lay hands on a man they wanted, eighteen
months afterward."
"In one way, I don't think that's much to their credit," the clergyman
remarked.
Taking up the knife George had handed him, Flett pointed to some
initials scratched on the bone haft.
"Kind of foolish thing for the fellow to put his name on his tools; but
I don't know anybody those letters might stand for. Now you describe
him as clearly as you can, while I put it down."
George did as he was bidden, and added: "There were two more--one of
them looked like Langside--and I believe a fourth man, though I may be
mistaken in this. They were moving about pretty rapidly and the light
was bad."
Flett got up.
"I'll have word sent along to Regina, and then try to locate their
trail until instructions come. I want to get about it right away, but
there's this blamed fellow who knocked out his partner at the Sachem,
and it will take me most of a day's ride before I can hand him on to
Davies. It's a charge that nobody's going to worry about, and it's a
pity he couldn't have escaped. Still, that's the kind of thing that
can't happen too often."
He went out and George turned to Hardie.
"How does the matter strike you?"
"I've an idea that Flett was right in saying it was the limit. There
was a certain romance about these disturbances when they began; they
were a novelty in this part of Canada. People took them lightly, glad
of something amusing or exciting to talk about. It was through popular
indifference that the gang first gained a footing, but by degrees it
became evident that they couldn't be dislodged without a vigorous
effort. People shrank from making it; and, with Beamish backing them,
the fellows got steadily bolder and better organized. All the time,
however, they were really at the mercy of the general body of orderly
citizens. Now they have gone too far; this last affair can't be
tolerated. Instead of apathy, there'll be an outbreak of indignation;
and I expect the people who might have stopped the thing at the
beginning will denounce the police."
George nodded.
"That's my idea. What's our part?"
"I think it's to assist in the reaction. Your story's a striking one.
We had better get it into a newspaper as soon as possible. I suppose
it would be correct to say that Grant was cruelly beaten?"
"His face is blue from jaw to temple. They knocked him nearly
senseless with the butt of a whip, while he was lying, helpless, on the
ground."
"And your horse was badly wounded?"
"I wish it weren't true; there's a gash about eight inches long. If it
will assist the cause, you can say the stab was meant for me."
"Well," said Hardie, "I think it will make a moving tale. I'm afraid,
however, I'll have to lay some stress upon the single-handed rescue."
George looked dubious.
"I'd rather you left that out."
"We must impress the matter on people's thoughts, make it command
attention; a little diplomacy is allowable now and then," said Hardie,
smiling. "Since you don't mind getting yourself into trouble, I don't
see why you should object to being held up to admiration, and it's in
an excellent cause. Now, however, I'll order breakfast for you, and
then you had better get some sleep."
During the afternoon, George set off for home, and he was plowing for
the summer fallow a week later when Flora Grant rode up to him.
"I suppose you have got your mail and have seen what the _Sentinel_
says about you?" she asked mischievously.
George looked uncomfortable, but he laughed.
"Yes," he confessed. "It seemed to afford Edgar some amusement."
"Who's responsible for that flattering column? It doesn't read like
the work of the regular staff."
"I'm afraid that I am, to some extent, though Hardie's the actual
culprit. The fact is, he thought the course was necessary."
"Well, I suspected something of the kind; so did my father. It was a
wise move, and I think it will have its effect."
George made no comment and she sat silent a moment or two while he
watched her with appreciation. She was well-mounted on a beautiful,
carefully-groomed horse; the simple skirt and bodice of pale gray
emphasized the pure tinting of her face and hands and the warm glow of
her hair, in which the fierce sunshine forced up strong coppery gleams.
Her lips formed a patch of crimson, there was a red band on her wide
Stetson hat, and her eyes shone a deep blue as she looked down at
George, who stood in the sandy furrow leaning against the heavy plow.
He was dressed in old overalls that had faded with dust and sun to the
indefinite color of the soil, but they displayed the fine lines of a
firmly knit and muscular figure. His face was deeply bronzed, but a
glow of sanguine red shone through its duskier coloring. Behind them
both ran a broad sweep of stubble, steeped in strong ochre, relieved by
brighter lemon hues where the light blazed on it.
"Though I couldn't resist the temptation to tease you, I quite agree
with the _Sentinel_," she resumed. "It really was a very gallant
rescue, and I suppose you know I recognize my debt to you. I was a
little too startled to speak about it when you brought my father home,
and you went away so fast."
"The fellows were afraid of being identified; they bolted as soon as
they saw me."
"One didn't," Flora pointed out. "A knife-thrust, like the one you
avoided, or a pistol-shot would have obviated any risk they ran. But
of course you hate to be thanked."
"No," George replied impulsively; "not by you."
"I wonder," she said with an amused air, "why you should make an
exception of me?"
"I suppose it lessens my sense of obligation. I feel I've done some
little thing to pay you back."
"I'm not sure that was very happily expressed. Is it painful to feel
that you owe anything to your neighbors?"
George flushed.
"That wasn't what I meant. Do you think it's quite fair to lay traps
for me, when you can count on my falling into them?" He turned and
pointed to the great stretch of grain that clothed the soil with vivid
green. "Look at your work. Last fall, all that plowing was strewn
with a wrecked and mangled crop; now it's sown with wheat that will
stand the drought. I was feeling nearly desperate, wondering how I was
to master the sandy waste, when you came to the rescue and my troubles
melted like the dust in summer rain. They couldn't stand before you;
you banished them."
She looked at him rather curiously, and, George thought, with some
cause, for he was a little astonished at his outbreak. This was not
the kind of language that was most natural to him.
"I wonder," she said, "why you should take so much for granted--I mean
in holding me accountable?"
"It's obvious," George declared. "I understand your father; he's a
very generous friend, but the idea of sending me the seed didn't occur
to him in the first place; though I haven't the least doubt that he was
glad to act on it."
"Ah!" said Flora, "it looks as if you had been acquiring some
penetration; you were not so explicit the last time you insisted on
thanking me. Who can have been teaching you? It seems, however, that
I'm still incomprehensible."
George considered. It would be undesirable to explain that his
enlightenment had come from Edgar, and he wanted to express what he
felt.
"No," he said, in answer to her last remark; "not altogether; but I've
sometimes felt that there's a barrier of reserve in you, beyond which
it's hard to get."
"Do you think it would be worth while to make the attempt? Suppose you
succeeded and found there was nothing on the other side?"
He made a sign of negation, and she watched him with some interest; the
man was trying to thrash out his ideas.
"That couldn't happen," he declared gravely. "Somehow you make one
feel there is much in you that wants discovery, but that one will learn
it by and by. After all, it's only the shallow people you never really
get to know."
"It would seem an easy task, on the face of it."
"As a matter of fact, it isn't. They have a way of enveloping
themselves in an air of importance and mystery, and when they don't do
so, they're casual and inconsequent. One likes people with, so to
speak, some continuity of character. By degrees one gets to know how
they'll act and it gives one a sense of reliance." He paused and
added, diffidently: "Anything you did would be wise and generous."
"By degrees?" smiled Flora. "So it's slowly, by patient sapping, the
barriers go down! One could imagine that such things might be
violently stormed. But you're not rash, are you, or often in a hurry?
However, it's time I was getting home."
She waved her hand and rode away, and George, getting into the saddle,
started his team, and thought about her while he listened to the
crackling of the stubble going down beneath the hoofs, and the soft
thud of thrown-back soil as the lengthening rows of clods broke away
from the gleaming shares. What she might have meant by her last remark
he could not tell, though so far as it concerned him, he was ready to
admit that he was addicted to steady plodding. Then his thoughts took
a wider range, and he began to make comparisons. Flora was not
characterized by Sylvia's fastidious refinement; she was more virile
and yet more reposeful. Sylvia's activities spread bustle around her;
she required much assistance and everybody in her neighborhood was
usually impressed into her service, though their combined efforts often
led to nothing. Flora's work was done silently; the results were most
apparent.
Still, the charm Sylvia exerted was always obvious; a thing to rejoice
in and be thankful for. Flora had not the same effect on one, though
he suspected there was a depth of tenderness in her, behind the
barrier. It struck him as a pity that she showed no signs of interest
in West, who of late seemed to have been attracted by the pretty
daughter of a storekeeper at the settlement; but, after all, the lad
was hardly old or serious enough for Flora. There was, however, nobody
else in the district who was nearly good enough for her; and George
felt glad that she was reserved and critical. It would be disagreeable
to contemplate her yielding to any suitor unless he were a man of
exceptional merit.
Then he laughed and called to his horses. He was thinking about
matters that did not concern him; his work was to drive the long furrow
for Sylvia's benefit, and he found pleasure in it. Bright sunshine
smote the burnished clods; scattered, white-edged clouds drove across
the sky of dazzling blue, flinging down cool gray shadows that sped
athwart the stubble; young wheat, wavy lines of bluff, and wide-spread
prairie were steeped in glowing color. The man rejoiced in the rush of
the breeze; the play of straining muscles swelling and sinking on the
bodies of the team before him was pleasant to watch; he felt at home in
the sun and wind, which, tempered as they often were by gentle rain,
were staunchly assisting him. By and by, all the foreground of the
picture he gazed upon would be covered with the coppery ears of wheat.
He had once shrunk from returning to Canada; but now, through all the
stress of cold and heat, he was growing fond of the new land. What was
more, he felt the power to work at such a task as he was now engaged in
to be a privilege.