THE REACTION
The trial at Regina proved sensational. Crimes attended with violence
were not unknown in the vicinity, and cattle were now and then stolen
in the neighboring province of Alberta; but that such things as the
prosecutor's tale revealed should happen aroused wide-spread
astonishment and virtuous indignation. Nevertheless, they were proved,
for Flett had procured a number of witnesses and, what was more, had
secured their attendance.
In addition to this, other offenses were hinted at; the doings of an
organized gang of desperadoes and their accomplices were detailed, and
facts were brought to light which made the withdrawal of the Sachem
license inevitable. The defense took strong exception to this mode of
procedure, pointing out that the court was only concerned with a
specified offense, and that it was not permissible to drag in
extraneous and largely supposititious matter. During the sweltering
days the trial lasted, there were brisk encounters between the lawyers,
and several points the prosecution sought to prove were ruled
irrelevant. As a climax, came George's story, which caused a
sensation, though the close-packed assembly felt that he scarcely did
justice to his theme.
In concluding, the Crown prosecutor pointed out how rapidly the
outbreaks of turbulent lawlessness had spread. They were all, he
contended, connected with and leading up to the last outrage, of which
the men before him were accused. It was obvious that this unruliness
must be sternly stamped out before it spread farther, and if the court
agreed with him that the charge was fully proved, he must press for a
drastic and deterrent penalty.
The odds were heavily against the defense from the beginning. The
credibility of Flett's witnesses could not be assailed, and
cross-examination only threw a more favorable light upon their
character. Inside the court, and out of it as the newspapers
circulated, Grant stood revealed as a fearless citizen, with a stern
sense of his duty to the community; George, somewhat to his annoyance,
as a more romantic personage of the same description, and Hardie, who
had been brought in to prove certain points against which the defense
protested, as one who had fought and suffered in a righteous cause.
In the end, the three prisoners were convicted, and when the court
broke up the police applied for several fresh warrants, which were
issued.
As George was walking toward his hotel, he met Flett, to whom he had
not spoken since they separated in the bluff.
"I was waiting for you," said the constable. "I'm sorry we'll have to
call you up again as soon as the rustler's leg is better. He's in the
guard-room, and the boys got one of the other fellows; but we can talk
about it on the train. I'm going back to my post."
George arranged to meet him, and they were sitting in a roomy smoking
compartment as the big express sped across wide gray levels and past
vast stretches of ripening grain, when the next allusion was made to
the matter.
"I suppose you'll be sergeant shortly," George remarked.
"Corporal comes first," said Flett. "They stick to the regular
rotation."
"That's true, but they seem to use some discretion in exceptional
cases. I hardly think you'll remain a corporal."
Flett's eyes twinkled.
"I did get something that sounded like a hint. I'll confess that I
felt like whooping after it."
"You have deserved all you'll get," George declared.
They spent the night at a junction, where Flett had some business, and
it was the next evening when the local train ran into Sage Butte. The
platform was crowded and as George and Flett alighted, there was a
cheer and, somewhat to their astonishment, the reeve of the town
advanced to meet them.
"I'm here to welcome you in the name of the citizens of the Butte," he
said. "We have to request the favor of your company at supper at the
Queen's."
"It's an honor," George responded. "I'm sensible of it; but, you see,
I'm in a hurry to get back to work and I wired for a team. My harvest
should have been started a week ago."
"Don't you worry 'bout that," said the reeve. "It wasn't our wish that
you should suffer through discharging your duty, and we made a few
arrangements. Four binders have been working steady in your oats, and
if you don't like the way we have fixed things, you can alter them
to-morrow."
Then West touched George's arm.
"You'll have to come. They've got two other victims--Hardie and
Grant--and the supper's ready."
The reeve looked at him in stern rebuke.
"That isn't the way to speak of this function, Percy. If you feel like
a victim, you can drop right out."
George was touched by the man's intimation. He expressed his
satisfaction, and the whole assembly escorted him to the hotel. There
he and Grant and Hardie were seated at the top of a long table near the
reeve, who made a short opening speech.
"Business first, and then the supper, boys," he said. "Corporal Flett
can't come; his bosses wouldn't approve of it; but I'll see it put in
the Sentinel that he was asked, and we won't mind if that has some
effect on them. There's another thing--out of deference to Mr. Hardie
and the change in opinion he has ably led--you'll only get tea and
coffee at this entertainment. Those who haven't signed his book, must
hold out until it's over."
An excellent meal had been finished when he got up again, with three
illuminated strips of parchment in his hand.
"I'll be brief, but there's something to be said. Our guests have set
us an example which won't be lost. They saw the danger of letting
things drift; one of them warned us plainly, although to do so needed
grit, and some of us rounded on him, and if the others didn't talk, it
was because that wasn't their end of the job. They knew their duty to
the country and they did it, though it cost them something. We owe it
to them that the police have smashed the rustler gang, and that from
now on no small homesteader can be bluffed or tempted into doing what's
sure to bring him into trouble, and no man with a big farm need fear to
let his cattle run. What's more, instead of a haunt of toughs and
hobos, we're going to have a quiet and prosperous town. I'm now proud
that it's my duty to hand our guests the assurance of our grateful
appreciation. Corporal Flett's will be sent on to him."
He handed them the parchments, and George felt inclined to blush as he
glanced at the decorated words of eulogy; while a half-ironical twinkle
crept into Grant's eyes. Then Hardie rose to reply, and faltered once
or twice with a sob of emotion in his voice, for the testimonial had a
deeper significance to him than it had to the others. His audience,
however, encouraged him, and there was a roar of applause when he sat
down. Soon after that the gathering broke up.
George went to the parlor, which served as writing-room, and found
Flora there. She smiled as she noticed the end of the parchment
sticking out of his pocket.
"I dare say you're relieved that the ceremony's over," she said.
"It was a little trying," George confessed. "I was badly afraid I'd
have to make a speech, but luckily we had Hardie, who was equal to the
task."
"After all, you needn't be ashamed of the testimonial. I really think
you deserved it, and I suppose I must congratulate you on the fortunate
end of your dramatic adventures."
George stood looking at her. He was somewhat puzzled, for there was a
hint of light mockery in her voice.
"I'll excuse you if you feel that it requires an effort," he said.
"Oh, you have had so much applause that mine can hardly count."
"You ought to know that it's my friends' good opinion I really value."
Flora changed the subject.
"You will be driving out in the morning?"
"I'm starting as soon as Edgar has the team ready. There's a good moon
and I must get to work the first thing to-morrow."
The girl's face hardened.
"You seem desperately anxious about your crop."
"I think that's natural. There's a good deal to be done and I've lost
some time. I came in to write a note before I see what Edgar's doing."
"Then I mustn't disturb you, and it's time I went over to Mrs.
Nelson's--she expects me to stay the night. I was merely waiting for a
word with my father." She stopped George, who had meant to accompany
her. "No, you needn't come--it's only a few blocks away. Get your
note written."
Seeing that she did not desire his escort, George let her go; but he
frowned as he sat down and took out some paper. Soon afterward Edgar
came in, and they drove off in a few more minutes.
"Did you see Miss Grant?" Edgar asked when they were jolting down the
rutted trail.
"I did," George said shortly.
"You seem disturbed about it."
"I was a little perplexed," George owned. "There was something that
struck me as different in her manner. It may have been imagination,
but I felt she wasn't exactly pleased with me. I can't understand how
I have offended her."
"No," said Edgar. "It would have been remarkable if you had done so.
I suppose you told her you couldn't rest until you got to work at the
harvest?"
"I believe I said something of the kind. What has that to do with it?"
"It isn't very obvious. Perhaps she felt tired or moody; it has been a
blazing hot day. There's every sign of its being the same to-morrow.
I suppose you'll make a start after breakfast?"
"I'll make a start as soon as it's daylight," George told him.
He kept his word, and for the next few weeks toiled with determined
energy among the tall white oats and the coppery ears of wheat. It was
fiercely hot, but from sunrise until the light failed, the plodding
teams and clinking binders moved round the lessening squares of grain,
and ranks of splendid sheaves lengthened fast behind them. The nights
were getting sharp, the dawns were cold and clear, and George rose each
morning, aching in every limb, but with a keen sense of satisfaction.
Each day's work added to the store of money he would shortly hand to
Sylvia. He saw little of Flora, but when they met by chance, as
happened once or twice, he was still conscious of something subtly
unfamiliar in her manner. He felt they were no longer on the old
confidential footing; a stronger barrier of reserve had risen between
them.
Before the last sheaves were stacked, the days were growing cool. The
fresh western breezes had died away, and a faint ethereal haze and a
deep stillness had fallen upon the prairie. It was rudely broken when
the thrashers arrived and from early morning the clatter of the engine
filled the air with sound. Loaded wagons crashed through the stubble,
the voices of dusty men mingled with the rustle of the sheaves, and a
long trail of sooty smoke stained the soft blue of the sky.
This work was finished in turn, and day by day the wagons, loaded high
with bags of grain, rolled slowly across the broad white levels toward
the elevators. Many a tense effort was needed to get them to their
destination, for the trails were dry and loose; but markets were
strong, and George had decided to haul in all the big crop. Sometimes,
though the nights were frosty, he slept beside his jaded team in the
shelter of a bluff; sometimes he spent a day he grudged laying straw on
a road; rest for more than three or four hours was unknown to him, and
meals were snatched at irregular intervals when matters of more
importance were less pressing. For all that, he was uniformly
cheerful; the work brought him the greatest pleasure he had known, and
he had grown fond of the wide, open land, in which he had once looked
forward to dwelling with misgivings. The freedom of its vast spaces,
its clear air and its bright sunshine, appealed to him, and he began to
realize that he would be sorry to leave it, which he must shortly do.
Sylvia, it was a pity, could not live in western Canada.
At length, on a frosty evening, he saw the last load vanish into the
dusty elevator, and a curious feeling of regret crept over him. It was
very doubtful if he would haul in another harvest, and he wondered
whether the time would now and then hang heavily on his hands in
England. There was a roar of machinery above him in the tail building
that cut sharply against the sky; below, long rows of wagons stood
waiting their turn, and the voices of the teamsters, bantering one
another, struck cheerfully on his ears. Side-track and little station
were bathed in dazzling electric glare, two locomotives were pushing in
wheat cars, and lights had begun to glimmer in the wooden houses of the
Butte, though all round there was the vast sweep of prairie.
There was a touch of rawness in the picture, a hint of incompleteness,
with a promise of much to come. Sage Butte was, perhaps, a trifle
barbarous; but its crude frame buildings would some day give place to
more imposing piles of concrete and steel. Its inhabitants were
passing through a transition stage, showing signs at times of the
primitive strain, but, as a rule, reaching out eagerly toward what was
new and better. They would make swift progress, and even now he liked
the strenuous, optimistic, and somewhat rugged life they led; he
reflected that he would find things different in sheltered England.
After giving Grierson a few instructions, George turned away. His work
was done; instead of driving home through the sharp cold of the night,
he was to spend it comfortably at the hotel.
A week later, he and West drove over to the Grant homestead and found
only its owner in the general-room. Grant listened with a rather
curious expression when George told him that he was starting for
England the following day; and then they quietly talked over the
arrangements that had been made for carrying on the farm until Edgar's
return, for George's future movements were uncertain. Edgar, however,
was sensible of a constraint in the farmer's manner, which was
presently felt by George, and the conversation was languishing when
Flora came in. Shortly afterward George said that they must go and
Flora strolled toward the fence with him while the team was being
harnessed.
"So you are leaving us to-morrow and may not come back?" she said, in
an indifferent tone.
"I can't tell what I shall do until I get to England."
Flora glanced at him with a composure that cost her an effort. She
supposed his decision would turn upon Mrs. Marston's attitude, but she
knew Sylvia well, and had a suspicion that there was a disappointment
in store for Lansing. Edgar had explained that he was not rich, and he
was not the kind of man Sylvia was likely to regard with favor.
"Well," she said lightly, "when I came in, you really didn't look as
cheerful as one might have expected. Are you sorry you are going away?"
"It's a good deal harder than I thought. The prairie seems to have got
hold of me; I have good friends here."
"Haven't you plenty in England?"
"Acquaintances; only a few friends. I can't help regretting those I
must leave behind. In fact"--he spoke impulsively, expressing a
thought that had haunted him--"it would be a relief if I knew I should
come back again."
"After all, this is a hard country and we're a rather primitive people."
"You're reliable! Staunch friends, determined enemies; and even among
the latter I found a kind of sporting feeling which made it a little
easier for one to forget one's injuries." He glanced at the prairie
which stretched away, white and silent, in the clear evening light.
"It's irrational in a way, but I'd be glad to feel I was going to work
as usual to-morrow."
"I suppose you could do so, if you really wanted to," Flora suggested.
George turned and looked fixedly at her, while a mad idea crept into
his mind. She was very alluring; he thought he knew her nature, which
was altogether wholesome, and it flashed upon him that many of the
excellent qualities she possessed were lacking in Sylvia. Then he
loyally drove out the temptation, wondering that it had assailed him,
though he was still clearly conscious of his companion's attractiveness.
"No," he said in a somewhat strained voice; "I hardly think that's
possible. I must go back."
Flora smiled, though it was difficult. She half believed she could
shake the man's devotion to her rival, but she was too proud to try.
If he came to her, he must come willingly, and not because she had
exerted her utmost power to draw him.
"Well," she responded, "one could consider the reluctant way you spoke
the last few words as flattering. I suppose it's a compliment to
Canada?"
He failed to understand the light touch of mocking amusement in her
tone; it had not dawned on him that this was her defense.
"It's a compliment to the Canadians, though my appreciation can't be
worth very much. But I don't feel in a mood to joke. In fact, there's
a feeling of depression abroad to-night; even your father seems
affected. I'd expected a pleasant talk with him, but we were very
dull."
"What made you think he was less cheerful than usual?" Flora cast a
quick and rather startled glance at him.
"I don't know, but something seemed wrong. Edgar's the only one who
looks undisturbed, and if he talks much going home, he'll get on my
nerves."
"It's hardly fair to blame him for a depression that's your fault,"
said Flora. "You deserve to feel it, since you will go away."
Then Edgar came up with the wagon and George took Flora's hands.
"I shall think of you often," he told her. "It will always be with
pleasure. Now and then you might, perhaps, spare a thought for me."
"I think I can promise that," Flora replied quietly.
Then he shook hands with Grant and got into the wagon. Edgar cracked
the whip and the team plunged forward. With a violent jolting and a
rattle of wheels they left the farm behind and drove out on to the
prairie. Flora stood watching them for a while; and then walked back
to the house in the gathering dusk with her face set hard and a pain at
her heart.
Grant was sitting on the stoop, filling his pipe, but when she joined
him he paused in his occupation and pointed toward the plain. The
wagon was scarcely discernible, but a rhythmic beat of hoofs still came
back through the stillness.
"I like that man, but he's a blamed fool," he remarked.
Strong bitterness was mingled with the regret in his voice, and Flora
started. She was glad that the light was too dim for him to see her
clearly.
"I wonder what makes you say that?"
"For one thing, he might have done well here." Flora suspected that her
father was not expressing all he had meant. "He's the kind of man we
want; and now he's going back to fool his life away, slouching round
playing games and talking to idle people, in the old country. Guess
some girl over there has got a hold on him." Then his indignation
flamed out unchecked. "I never could stand those Percy women, anyway;
saw a bunch of them, all dress and airs, when I was last in Winnipeg.
One was standing outside a ticket-office at Portage, studying the
people through an eyeglass on an ivory stick, as if they were some
strange savages, and making remarks about them to her friends, though I
guess there isn't a young woman in the city with nerve enough to wear
the clothes she had on. It makes a sensible man mighty tired to hear
those creatures talk."
Flora laughed, rather drearily, though she guessed with some uneasiness
the cause of her father's outbreak. It appeared injudicious to offer
him any encouragement.
"After all, one must be fair," she said. "I met some very nice people
in the old country."
He turned to her abruptly.
"Do you know who has taken Lansing back?" he asked.
"I believe, from something West said, it is Mrs. Marston."
"That trash!" Grant's sharp cry expressed incredulity. "The man can't
have any sense! He's going to be sorry all the time if he gets her."
Then he knocked out his pipe, as if he were too indignant to smoke, and
went into the house.