When Stannard reached the settlements he was again examined by the
police. He knew where frankness paid and was frank, but he owed
something to trooper Simpson's narrative and something to his personal
charm. A magistrate ordered him to pay a rather heavy fine and give up
the big-horn heads, and then let him go, but Stannard doubted if the
police were altogether satisfied. The officer who examined him was
remarkably keen.
On the evening Stannard returned to the hotel, Laura and Dillon occupied
chairs at the table on the terrace. Electric lights burned on the
veranda, for the days got short, but the sunset was not altogether gone.
Dillon saw Laura's face in profile against the fading reflections. She
looked away from him to the north, where pines and rocks and snow were
all deep, soft blue. Her arm was on the table, her body was partly
turned, and Dillon thought her strangely beautiful. All the same, he
wanted her to look round.
"You are quiet," he remarked.
"I'm thinking about Jimmy in the wilds. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Dillon declared. "When Jimmy was around the hotel, I had
no use for the fellow; now he's in the mountains, I'm bothered about
him. Somehow one likes Jimmy, and if I knew how I could help, I'd
start."
Laura turned her head and gave him a curious glance.
"Why do you like Jimmy? He's English and you're frankly American."
"That is so. To begin with, I've no pick on Jimmy because he loved you;
if he had not loved you, I'd have known his blood wasn't red. Then,
although he's English, in a sense he's our type. He's sincere; we are
sincere, you know, and perhaps, from your point of view, we don't use
much reserve. You can move us and when we're moved we talk and get busy.
Well, Jimmy's like that; he's marked by something generously human, but
I doubt if he got it at London clubs. Maybe it's his inheritance from
the folks who built the cotton mill."
Laura said nothing. She doubted if Frank's willingness to state his
grounds for liking Jimmy altogether accounted for his rather unusual
effort. Indeed, she imagined he labored to get a light on a subject that
puzzled him.
"Well," he resumed, "to know Deering went after Jimmy is some comfort.
If Jimmy gets up against it in the rocks, Deering will see him through."
"Your trust in Deering is remarkable!"
"He's a white man," said Dillon with a smile. "To be his friend cost me
high, but now I've cut out bets and cards, I'd sooner he'd got my money
than another. You see, I got something back. The fellow's big."
Laura was annoyed. She wanted to feel Deering was her antagonist and had
exploited Frank's trust. The trouble was, she could not altogether do
so, but she dared not admit that Stannard shared his guilt and perhaps
his reward. To chastise Deering, so to speak, exculpated her father.
"He is certainly muscular, and rather gross," she remarked.
"He's flesh and blood. I doubt if you quite get us yet. In the West, we
haven't cultivated out rude emotions; we like a fellow who plunges at an
obstacle, sweats and laughs, and sometimes gets mad. We're up against
savage Nature and our job is a man's first job, to satisfy human needs.
Well, you know my father; he's a pretty good Western type. When he
started in, his food was frugal and his clothes were overalls. Now he's
moving forests, and architects come to study the office block he built;
but if things go wrong in the woods, his superintendents know he can use
their talk and handle a cant-pole. His power springs from the primitive
streak."
"We'll let it go," said Laura, and indicated the long rows of pines
melting into the gloom. "Dark now comes soon."
"Before long the frost will come and in the mountains the cold is pretty
fierce. On Puget Sound the soft Chinook blows and the white Olympians
stand between you and the winds from the Rockies. The old man's keen
for me to bring you back. What about our starting?"
Laura blushed, for she had agreed to marry Dillon soon, but she said,
"My father cannot go yet. So long as Jimmy is in the mountains and the
warden cannot tell his story, I think he will remain in Canada. Perhaps
he ought to remain."
"Oh, well; you can reckon on Mr. Stannard's taking the proper line,"
Dillon agreed rather moodily. "You feel the thing's mechanical. Mr.
Stannard is like that."
"Mechanical?" said Laura, lifting her brows.
"His taking the proper line's mechanical. He doesn't bother about it. In
the West, his correctness is somehow exotic."
"If my father is exotic, I expect I am exotic."
"Sure! You are like a bird of paradise or a flower from the tropics. We
are a rude lot of hustlers and your grace and beauty carry us away."
"You're romantic, but sometimes you're rather nice," Laura remarked with
a smile. "All the same, if my father resolves to remain in Canada, it is
not a mechanical resolve but because he feels he ought."
"I expect that is so," Dillon agreed, and lighted a cigarette.
He thought Stannard ought to stay, and since he meant to do so, to doubt
him was not logical; yet Dillon did doubt. For one thing, the fellow was
Jimmy's friend, but when Jimmy started for the rocks Deering, not the
other, went after him. Then Stannard's narrative was puzzling. Jimmy had
run away and his going indicated that he was accountable for the
warden's getting shot. If Jimmy imagined he had shot at a deer, he ought
to have stayed. Moreover, Bob had run away, and if he had hit the
warden, it was obvious that Jimmy had not. Stannard's tale was not
plausible, and since Stannard was clever Dillon imagined he had not told
all he knew.
But Dillon began to see his vague antagonism had another foundation. He
was frankly Western and Stannard's type was new, although some people in
down-East cities cultivated his qualities. On the Pacific slope, men
were highly-strung, optimistic, and rather boyishly keen. They plunged
into big risky undertakings, sweated, and fought. In fact, where Nature
was not yet conquered, their part was protagonist. Dillon owned that he
himself was loafing, but he had not loafed long and would soon return to
his proper occupation.
Stannard had not an occupation and Dillon thought the grounds for his
distrust were there. Moreover, he had not a bank-roll, although he lived
extravagantly and indulged his fastidiousness. His habit was to strike
exactly the proper note, but sometimes its monotonous accuracy jarred.
Fastidious cultivation was for women. Yet Stannard was not at all
womanly; Dillon began to sense in him a hard, calculating vein. For all
that, he must not exaggerate, and Laura was not like her father.
"You could of course join my folk, although Mr. Stannard would sooner
wait," he said.
"I think not. My father planned the excursion to the mountains and led
the party. Until people are satisfied about the shooting accident, I
must not go to your house."
"Now you are ridiculous!" Dillon declared.
"All the same, I will not go," said Laura firmly.
"Then, I'm going to stay with you. I'd like to stay, but if Jimmy wants
me, I'm his man."
"I don't expect Jimmy will need you. Father imagines he's a long way off
and will soon reach the plains," said Laura and began to talk about
something else.
Jimmy was not steering for the plains; he had, in fact, known for some
time that he could not get there. The morning after Deering joined him
was calm and cold. The sun touched the high rocks and in places a pine
branch sparkled with dew, but a thousand feet below the camp the mist
was like a level floor. One could not see the valley, and the turmoil of
a river came up with a faint hoarse throb as if from a long way off.
Jimmy's fatigue and gloom were gone; he felt fresh and to see Deering
fry pork was comforting. He got a rather frugal breakfast and lighted
his pipe.
"What are our plans for to-day?" he asked.
"We must try to get a deer. Fresh venison's most as tough as rawhide,
but, if you put the roasted meat in a bag with salt, after a week or two
you can eat the stuff. How many cartridges have you got?"
"Six," said Jimmy and Deering smiled.
"You started for the plains with six shells! Well, I've got a box of
twenty-five, but somebody has taken out ten or twelve. Looks as if we
want to shoot straight. The pork won't hold up long."
"Where do we go when we have got a deer?"
"I reckon we'll go north," said Deering thoughtfully. "They talk about
new railroads, but so far the only line of communication between the
Rockies and the sea is the C. P. R. track. The settlements follow the
line, and when you pull out of the narrow belt you're in the wilderness.
The police will, no doubt, reckon on your trying to make Vancouver.
We'll stop in the wilds and let them watch the railroad until they get
tired."
"But if they find I haven't gone to Vancouver, won't they try the bush?"
"Look at Stannard's map," said Deering, with a smile. "Note the row of
ranges and valleys running north and south. But the big ridges and
furrows are not even; they're broken by high bench country and cut up by
cross-spurs. Pretty awkward ground to search for two fellows' tracks!
Our trouble's not to hide, but to get supplies. All the food they use in
British Columbia comes in by the C. P. R."
Jimmy studied the map and agreed. Moreover, he was young and the wilds
called. To plunge into the great desolation was something of an
adventure and Deering claimed to know the bush.
"What about your hired man? Did you trust the fellow?" Deering resumed.
"I had no grounds to doubt him," Jimmy replied in a thoughtful voice.
"Bob was rather inscrutable and didn't attract me, but he could chop and
this was all I wanted."
"So far as you can calculate, he hadn't a pick on you?"
"Not at all. I think he was satisfied with his pay, and since I
generally let him plan the work we did not dispute. All the same,
sometimes I imagined he gave me a queer moody look."
"Do you think he was, in any sense, Stannard's man?"
"Certainly not," said Jimmy, with some surprise. "Anyhow, I don't see--"
"I don't see," Deering admitted. "I'm looking for a light, but don't get
much yet. Well, when you have smoked your pipe we'll hit the trail."
They got off a few minutes afterwards, and at noon reached the bottom of
the hill. A high spur blocked the valley behind them, and the echoes of
small avalanches rolled across the rocks. Deering declared the sliding
snow would cover their tracks at the neck, but their line was to some
extent obvious, and until they could break it, they must push on as fast
as possible.
To push on fast was hard. Fallen trees and tangled brush blocked the
gaps in the rows of trunks, but by and by Jimmy, looking through an
opening, saw the woods shine with reflected light. The trees were like
silver trees; they sparkled as if touched by frost, and for a few
moments Jimmy was puzzled. Then he said, "Rampikes?"
Deering nodded. "A big burn! I expect it has cleared some ground for
us."
A short distance farther on, the brushwood vanished. Underfoot was a
soft carpet of ashes from which the trunks rose like columns. Their
branches were gone and the smooth, round logs reflected the light. For a
time to get free from entangling vines and thorns was a relief, but the
ash was soft and when one disturbed it, went up in clouds. The black
dust stuck to Jimmy's hot skin and he labored across the clogging stuff.
Then the desolation began to react on him. The birds were gone and the
feathery ash was not broken by the tracks of animals. It was obvious
they would not find a deer. All was dead, and but for the noise of
falling water the silence was daunting. At length Jimmy stopped and
leaned against a trunk.
"Come off!" said Deering. "Sit down, if you like, although I'd sooner
keep on my feet. You don't want to lean against a rampike."
Jimmy was tired and sat in the ashes.
"How do the fires start?" he asked.
"It's puzzling. The forestry people claim they're not spontaneous,"
Deering replied. "Around the settlements, a fire sometimes starts from a
burned slashing and the police get after the homesteader. All the same,
you hit _brules_ in country the Indians and prospectors leave alone.
Anyhow, I guess we're lucky because there's not much wind, and while our
luck is good we'll push along."
They set off and some time afterwards the roar of an avalanche broke the
brooding calm. The noise swelled and rolled about the valley, as if
great rocks were coming down, and then Jimmy heard a near, sharp crash.
He jumped mechanically, and looking back, saw a pillar of dust float up
like smoke from a blasting shot. In the dust, a big rampike slanted,
broke, and plunged. Another went and Deering pushed Jimmy.
"We'll pull out!" he shouted and they began to run.
When Jimmy stopped to get his breath the echoes had died away and all
was quiet, but he felt he had had enough of the burned forest. After
studying the rocks and gravel on the hillside he turned to Deering.
"You talked about breaking our line, and I expect we could get over the
spur in front," he said. "Let's try."