For a time Jimmy was not disturbed at the ranch. On the high rocks the
frost was keen, but in the deep valley a gentle wind from the Pacific
melted the snow. Jimmy dared not order sawed lumber, but Jardine got him
a door and windows and the house was warm. Sometimes he went shooting
and sometimes he went to Kelshope. Jardine was friendly, but when the
rancher had gone to look after his stock Jimmy was resigned. To sit by
the fire and talk to Margaret was a delightful occupation.
At the beginning he had remarked her beauty, but now he knew beauty was
not all her charm. Margaret was clever; she saw his point of view, and
when she did not agree her argument was logical and keen. Then she was
proud and fearless, and he sensed in her something primitive. Margaret
was his sort and sprang from stock like his. Yet he felt her physical
charm. Her eyes were sea-blue, and in the firelight her hair was like
red California gold. She had a bushman's balance, and her unconscious
pose was Greek. Although she was frank, with something of a great lady's
frankness, Jimmy soon knew her fastidious.
But for his part in the shooting accident, his satisfaction would have
been complete. It looked as if the police had resolved to leave him
alone, and Deering had made one or two excursions to the cities, but
Jimmy doubted. He knew the Royal North-West do not forget. Moreover,
somebody shot Douglas, and on the whole he thought he had done so.
Sometimes he wondered whether he ought to go to Kelshope, but all the
same he went.
When Deering was at Calgary, Margaret one afternoon rode home from the
station as fast as possible. At the ranch she took down the load of
groceries but left the horse tied to a post. Jardine was by the fire and
had pulled off his boot. In the morning he had cut his foot with his ax.
He gave Margaret a keen glance and saw she had ridden fast.
"Weel?" he said. "Is something bothering ye?"
"Two troopers and their horses came in on the freight train. I expect
they're looking for Mr. Leyland."
"Ah," said Jardine. "Somebody has given the lad away."
"Bob," said Margaret and her eyes sparkled.
Jardine knitted his brows. "Maybe, but I dinna ken; Bob hasna been
around for long. Did the troopers saddle up?"
"When I left, they were cinching on their camp truck. I thought they'd
soon start. Mr. Leyland can't come down the valley and Deering's not
with him. Where is he to go?"
"If he could make Green Lake, Peter would put him on the Mission
trail."
"He cannot make Green Lake," Margaret rejoined. "He doesn't know the
bench country and must start in the dark."
"Jimmy must start soon. If he stays, the troopers will get him," Jardine
agreed, and indicated his cut foot. "Somebody must warn the lad, but I
canna gang."
Margaret tried to brace up, for she had not reckoned on her father's
lameness. The strange thing was, Jardine had walked some distance to
round up his cattle. She must, however, weigh this again. Speed was
important and Jimmy was her friend; in fact, she had begun to think him
her lover.
"You could ride the cayuse and carry the packs. If Mr. Leyland was not
loaded he could make a good pace."
"The cayuse wouldna carry a weight like mine across the bench belt and
Green Lake's a two-days' hike. I canna walk; I doubt if I could get on
my boot," Jardine replied, and added with philosophical resignation:
"It's a pity o' the lad! I expect the police are noo on the ranch trail,
but I dinna see how we can help."
Margaret clenched her hands. Somebody must warn Jimmy and her father
declared he could not. She looked at him hard and knew he could not be
moved. He gave her an apologetic glance and began to fill his pipe, as
if the thing was done with. Yet it was not done with. Margaret saw,
rather vaguely because she refused to think about it, all her going to
warn Jimmy implied, since if her help was to be useful, she must go
with him to Green Lake. For a few moments she hesitated, but she was
generous and her pluck was good. Then she turned to Jardine, who had
begun to smoke.
"The police shall not get Mr. Leyland. I will go."
"Verra weel," said Jardine. "If ye mean to gang, ye had better start.
Ye'll need to take some food; I'll get the saddle bag."
He crossed the floor and Margaret remarked that for a few steps he went
lightly, as if his foot did not hurt. Then he limped, and when he got to
the door he stopped and leaned against the post. All the same, it was
not important and Margaret began to pack some food and clothes. Ten
minutes afterwards, she untied the horse and gave Jardine her hand.
"Good-bye," she said in a quiet voice. "I don't know when I shall get
back."
Jardine held the stirrup, she seized the bridle, set her mouth and
started the horse. When she vanished in the woods Jardine went back to
the house, rested his foot on a chair, and knitted his brows. He saw he
ran some risk, but he knew his daughter and thought he knew Jimmy. Jimmy
was a white man; Jardine, so to speak, bet all he had on that.
Some time afterwards, Jimmy, cooking his supper, heard a horse's feet
and went to the door. He smiled, because he thought he knew the horse;
but Margaret was obviously riding fast and snapping branches indicated
that she had cut out a bend of the trail. When she got down her color
was high and the horse's coat was white.
"Roll up your blanket and put the sling on your rifle," she said. "Then
I'll help you pack some food."
Jimmy studied her with surprise. Her look was resolute, but he got a
hint of embarrassment. Then he saw a light.
"Ah!" he said. "The police are on my track?"
"Two troopers are riding up the valley. They may stop at Kelshope for a
few minutes. Where do you keep your groceries!"
Jimmy opened a box, and Margaret picked out a number of articles. "Now
make a pack, because you must start at once for my cousin's at Green
Lake. I expect Peter will help you south."
"But I don't know the trail, and it will soon be dark."
"Make your pack! The police will arrive in a few minutes," Margaret
rejoined impatiently and turned her head. "There is not a trail. I am
going with you."
"No!" said Jimmy with some embarrassment. "You're kind, of course, but
you ought to see---- If you start me off, I expect I can find my way."
Margaret turned and fronted him. The blood came to her skin and her look
was strained.
"You can't find the way and I can't go back. The police know I'm not at
the ranch, and if I start for home, I'll meet them in the valley. But we
mustn't talk. We must get off."
Jimmy leaned against the table and frowned. Although his heart beat, he
hesitated. He knew Margaret's pluck and he loved her, but she must not
pay for her rash generosity. One must think for the girl one loved.
"Suppose the police do know you warned me? It's awkward, but perhaps
that's all. Anyhow, I'll go down and meet them. Since I expect I shot
warden Douglas, I must bear the consequences."
"Oh, but you are obstinate!" Margaret exclaimed and used Stannard's
argument. "It looks as if one of your party meant to shoot Douglas and
the police have not caught the man. They must catch somebody and they'll
try to fix the shooting on you. To join the chain-gang would be
horrible."
"The thing has not much charm," Jimmy agreed and was rather surprised by
his coolness, but he was cool. "I don't know much about the police code,
but I rather think they'd stop at----"
He heard a noise and Margaret turned.
"I put up the rails," she said in a sharp voice.
Jimmy went to the window and saw a mounted policeman pull down the
slip-rails at the fence and ride through the gap. Then he heard a quick
step and looked round. Margaret had got his rifle. The butt was at her
shoulder and the barrel rested against the doorpost. Jimmy saw her face
in profile; her mouth was set tight, her glance was fixed and hard. He
jumped for the door, but struck a chair and the collision stopped him.
The rifle jerked and a little smoke floated about the girl.
When Jimmy reached the door he saw the policeman's horse stumble. The
trooper leaned back, tried to pull his foot from the stirrup, and fell
with the animal. Jimmy thought it rolled on him, but after a few moments
he crawled away from its hoofs. The horse was quiet and the man got up.
His movements were awkward and he looked dully at the house.
Margaret pushed Jimmy back and put the rifle to her shoulder. A sharp
report rolled across the clearing, twigs fell from a quivering pine
branch, and the trooper vanished in the woods. Jimmy's hands shook, but
his relief was keen.
"I expect his rifle's in the bucket under the horse and the horse is
dead," Margaret remarked. "I was forced to shoot."
"Ah!" said Jimmy hoarsely. "I thought you had hit the man!"
Margaret's pose was stiff, as if she braced herself, but she smiled.
"He knows I shoot straight. Until his partner comes and helps him get
his rifle, he'll stop in the woods."
"But perhaps the other's not far off."
"He's at the ranch," said Margaret "He'd stop to see if you were about
and try to find out something from father. Father would keep him as long
as possible----" She stopped and turning her head resumed: "But the
first fellow knows a woman shot his horse. When I put up the rifle, he
was riding for the door."
"I expect that is so," said Jimmy. "After all, you must go to your
cousin's. Let's start!"
Margaret said nothing. When Jimmy brought her horse she got up and he
ran by her stirrup. For a time she went up the valley, and then turning
back obliquely through thin timber, pushed up a steep hill. Near the top
she stopped and Jimmy got his breath and looked down across the trees.
Dusk was falling and all was very quiet. Gloom had invaded the clearing,
but he saw a small dark object he knew was the policeman's horse. A thin
plume of smoke went up from his house; his fire was burning, and he
wondered when it would burn again. For a few moments he was moved by a
strange melancholy, and then his heart beat.
"I hate to go away. If you were not with me, I think I'd stay and risk
it all," he said. "I was happy at the ranch; in fact, I soon began to
see I hadn't known real happiness before. At the beginning I was
puzzled, but now I can account for it. You were at Kelshope----"
"Not long since you didn't want me to go with you," Margaret remarked.
"Oh, well," said Jimmy with some awkwardness, "you hadn't yet shot the
policeman's horse."
Margaret said nothing and he seized the bridle, pulled 'round the
cayuse, and forced her to look down.
"Will you marry me at the Mission, Margaret?"
She met his glance and hers was proud. "I think not, Jimmy. You are a
white man and mean to take the proper line. But I will not marry you
because I stopped the trooper."
Jimmy threw back his head and she liked his frank, scornful laugh. "Now,
you're altogether ridiculous! Your stopping the fellow does not account
for my wanting to marry you. Soon after I got to work at the ranch I
knew I loved you, but I went to the mountains with Stannard and the
trouble began. So long as the police were hunting for me I dared not
urge you."
"But now you urge me? It looks as if your scruples had vanished!"
Jimmy let go the bridle and bent his head. "I suppose it does look like
that. All the same, I love you."
Margaret leaned down and touched him gently. "You keep your rules, and
your rules are good. Perhaps it's strange, but I think a woman will
break conventions where a man will not. Still, you see, I'm proud----"
"You are very hard," Jimmy rejoined. "Yet you ran some risk to warn me.
I know your pluck, but if you had not loved me, I think you'd have
stayed at Kelshope."
"We'll let it go," said Margaret in a quiet voice. "There's another
thing; ranching is a game for you, but it's my proper work. Yours is at
the cotton mill. You're rich and your wife must be clever and
cultivated."
"I haven't known a girl with talents, grace and beauty like yours,"
Jimmy declared. "Then I'm not rich yet, the police are on my track, and
I may soon be a prisoner----" He looked up and added in a dreary voice:
"I admit it's not much of an argument for your marrying me."
Margaret smiled "Perhaps you were not logical, but we'll talk about it
again, when we get to Green Lake. You mustn't talk now. I don't know if
the trooper would stop long at the ranch, and we must cross the hill
before the moon is up."
She started her horse and they pushed on. An hour afterwards the moon
rose from behind a broken range, and silver light touched the stiff dark
pines. The high peaks sparkled; a glacier glimmered in the rocks, and
the mists curling up from the valley were faintly luminous. Jimmy smelt
sweet resinous smells and heard a distant river throb. The landscape was
strangely beautiful, but its beauty was austere. All was keen, and cold,
and bracing, and Jimmy, walking by Margaret's bridle, thought her charm
was the charm of the stern and quiet North.