THE BURGLAR
George went away next morning and a few days afterwards Farnam walked
home with his wife and Agatha from a visit to a neighbor's homestead.
When they reached the edge of Farnam's orchard they stopped and looked
about. An extensive clearing had been cut out of the forest, the evening
was clear and cold, and the pines threw long blue shadows on the snow.
The young fruit trees ran back in orderly rows, and a frozen creek that
crossed the orchard was picked out in delicate shades of gray. Farnam
told Agatha that he found the creek useful for irrigation, because he
had known the apples to shrivel on the trees in a dry summer.
At the edge of the bush a group of men were at work. The thud of their
axes jarred on the quietness, and the rattle of a chain rang musically
through the shadows as a teamster threw the links across a log. His
horses stood close by, with a thin cloud of steam rising from their
bodies.
"Lumber worth sawing is getting scarce, and we'll float the best logs
down to the mill when the thaw comes," Farnam said to Agatha. "In the
meantime, we want them off the ground before we clean up the pieces the
boys have slashed. One gets at this kind of work in winter when nothing
much can be done, and I must be ready to break new soil for planting in
the spring."
"You are spending a good deal of money," Mrs. Farnam interrupted. "You
haven't been paid for the last shipments to England yet."
"Mabel's cautious," Farnam remarked to Agatha. "She's a pretty good
business woman, but doesn't understand that the more you spend on your
job the more you get. Anyhow, you ought to get more, but I admit you're
sometimes badly stung." Then he turned to his wife. "I must go up and
see the shippers in Montreal; in fact, now you have Agatha with you, I
think I'll start to-morrow."
"Very well," said Mrs. Farnam. "I hate to be left alone, particularly
when the nights are long." She indicated the teamster. "I see you have
hired another man; that's a fresh extravagance. How long have you had
him?"
"A week or two; thought I told you when he came. He's a pretty good
worker."
"You didn't tell me; I imagine you didn't want me to know! He's
certainly not what the boys call a looker and his face doesn't inspire
me with much confidence. Besides, he's lame."
Agatha glanced at the man, who came towards them, walking with a slight
limp beside his horses as they hauled the log across the snow. He had a
sullen air and did not look up as he passed.
"He is not handsome," she agreed, and asked: "Where do the men live?"
"We have fixed up this lot in the packing shed; my regular hands leave
me in winter," Farnam replied, indicating a wooden building at some
distance from the house. "However, we'll go home. There are some
accounts I must examine before I start for Montreal."
They went on, and when after supper Mrs. Farnam grumbled at being left
without a man in the house, Farnam took out an automatic pistol and
explained how it was used.
"I don't know why I bought the thing, unless it was to satisfy Mabel,"
he said to Agatha. "It's curious, but while she could handle mutinous
pupils and bluff the managers, she quakes if a door rattles on a windy
night. One's rather safer in our homestead than a Montreal hotel; but
Mabel has lived in the cities and the Wild West tradition dies hard. As
a matter of fact, there never was a Wild West in Canada." He opened the
pistol. "You put the cartridge shells in like this--"
"You can show Agatha how it works; I won't touch the thing," Mrs. Farnam
declared. "She's something of a sport, but I'm a womanly woman, except
when I teach school."
Farnam laughed. "On the whole, it might be better to leave the
cartridges out. If somebody did break in, all you need do would be to
pretend you were asleep. Everybody in the neighborhood knows where my
office is and an intelligent burglar begins at the safe. There's no
money in mine now."
After a little good-humored banter, Agatha took the pistol and Farnam
went to his office at the other end of the house. Next day he started
for Montreal, and at night Mrs. Farnam made Agatha come with her while
she examined the fastenings of the doors and windows. The house was low
and the roof of the veranda in front reached nearly to the second
floor. Nothing disturbing happened, and on the next night Agatha sat up
after Mrs. Farnam had gone to bed, reading the letters Strange had
written her from the North.
There were not many, and some were marked by a careless style that
obscured the meaning. This puzzled Agatha, who remembered that her
father had generally talked with lucid clearness. Still they helped her
to picture the life he had led in the wilds, and she read them often,
trying to follow on a map his wanderings in search of the lode. They
told her more about the country than the books she read, and she had
read a number, because the subject had a fascination. All she could
learn would be of use when she came to carry out her plans.
When she tied up the letters and looked at the clock it was later than
she thought. The room felt cold and she shivered, but sat still for a
few moments, musing. The house was quiet and she imagined Mrs. Farnam
was asleep; but it was snowing, for she heard the flakes beat upon the
window. Looking round the comfortable room, she thought of the men who
braved the rigors of winter in the frozen wilds. Thirlwell, for example,
was bearing such cold as was never felt in South Ontario.
She started, for there was a noise overhead, as if a door had been
gently opened, but next moment pulled herself together. Mabel had not
gone to sleep as she had thought, and picking up an electric torch, she
put out the lamp. When she was half way up the stairs she heard somebody
moving about, but it was not like Mabel's step. The movements seemed
cautious, and there was something awkward about them. Agatha, who wore
felt-soled slippers, stopped and listened, while her heart beat fast.
She heard nothing now, but felt alarmed, and wondered what she ought to
do. A call would probably bring an answer that would banish her fears;
but suppose it was not Mabel she had heard? There was, however, another
way of finding out, and with something of an effort she went upstairs.
Mrs. Farnam's room was on the landing, and Agatha turned the handle
cautiously. The door would not open, and it was obvious that Mabel had
locked herself in. Then the latch slipped back with a jar that sounded
horribly loud, and she waited, trembling and trying to keep calm. Since
Mabel had not heard the noise, it was plain that she was asleep and
somebody else was in the house. Still Mabel, if awakened, would not be
of much help, and remembering that the pistol was in her room, Agatha
went down the passage.
The passage was very cold, a curtain swayed in an icy draught, and she
found the door of her room open. Stopping for a moment, she thought
there was somebody inside. This, however, might be a trick of her
imagination, and although she wanted to steal away, she knew that if she
did so she would lose her self-respect and the confidence she would need
for her journey to the North. She must brave real dangers in the wilds
and live among rude men. Besides, the pistol was on a table near the
door.
Somebody moved as she went in, for there was a rustle and a board
cracked, but her hand touched the pistol and she turned on the powerful
electric torch. As the beam of light swept across the room she saw that
the drawer of a small writing-table had been pulled out. Then the beam
passed on and touched a man kneeling beside her open trunk. The clothes
she had not unpacked were scattered on the floor, as if the man had been
looking for something, and a lantern stood near his hand. She thought he
had just put it out, since she noted a smell of oil.
Now she had found the intruder, she was less afraid than angry that he
had pulled about her clothes with his coarse, dirty hands. She knew him,
for he was the teamster she had seen in the orchard. The beam that
picked him out, however, left the rest of the room in gloom, and it was
hard to hold the torch steady.
"Light your lantern, but don't move from where you are," she said. "I
have a pistol."
He did as he was told, using an old-fashioned sulphur match that smelt
disagreeably but made no noise. The light spread and showed her standing
with the pistol in her hand, but when she risked a glance about, nothing
seemed to have been disturbed except the writing-table and her trunk.
"Now you may get up, but don't be rash," she said quietly and was glad
to feel she could control her voice.
He got up and waited, watching her sullenly.
"What have you taken?" she asked.
"Nothing! There was nothing worth taking!"
Agatha forced a mocking smile. "Worn clothes won't sell for much and I
have no jewelry." Then she raised the pistol. "Don't move! I mean you to
keep still."
He stood motionless, with a kind of dull resignation, although she
thought she had noted a curious shrinking when she spoke, as if
something in her voice had disturbed him.
"I don't know what to do with you," she resumed. "No doubt you knew Mr.
Farnam is away, but the pistol magazine is full. To begin with, you had
better empty your pockets. Pull them inside out!"
He obeyed and dropped a pipe, a tobacco tin, and two or three silver
coins.
"Those are mine; I've corralled nothing of yours."
"So it seems!" Agatha rejoined. "For all that, you can leave the things
there. How did you get in?"
"Over the veranda roof. You hadn't fixed the shutter in the middle."
Agatha pondered for a few moments. The fellow did not look afraid, but
seemed to recognize that the advantage was with her. This was lucky,
because she could not keep it up long and wanted to get rid of him.
"Well," she said, "I think you had better go out by the window you
opened. Walk down the passage in front of me and don't try to turn
round."
He did so until he reached the window, which opened to the side. The
hinges were in good order and made no noise when he pushed back the
frame.
"Get out," said Agatha. "I'll shoot if you stop."
He climbed quietly over the ledge, his lantern flickered and went out,
and next moment Agatha saw nothing but the driving snow. Then she closed
the window and fastened the shutter in frantic haste, and afterwards
leaned against the wall, trembling and breathing hard. Still the man had
gone and she thought he would not come back. Pulling herself together
she returned to her room.
Although she had driven the man away, she locked the door, and when she
had lighted the lamp sat down to recover her calm. There was no use in
wakening Mrs. Farnam, and by and by she began to look about. The papers
in the writing-table had been thrown upon the floor; her trunk was empty
and the clothes it had held were scattered. The man had obviously been
searching for something, and this was curious, because one would not
expect to find jewelry in a writing-table, and a bureau with three or
four drawers had not been opened. Then she noticed her father's letters
lying in a bundle on the table, and put them back in the trunk from
which she had recently taken them. After this, she re-packed her
clothes, and sitting down again tried to remember all that had happened.
There was something puzzling about the adventure. To begin with, she
could not see why the man had come to her room and what he expected to
get. A clever thief would have gone to Farnam's office. Then she thought
he was not a coward; he had given way because he was cool enough to see
that he was in her power and resistance would lead to his getting shot.
Yet he had seemed to shrink when he heard her voice. She reflected with
faint amusement that her voice was not harsh, and she had studied its
control as part of her training when she began to teach. The little
tricks of tone and gesture one used to overawe young girls would not
frighten a man. For all that, when she first spoke there was a hint of
fear in his furtive eyes.
Agatha let this go, and pondered her own feelings and the part she had
played. She had, of course, been frightened, but had preserved her
judgment and seen that she could control the situation so long as she
kept cool. The man had not a pistol, and she could have fired three or
four shots before he could seize her; but he might have tried to seize
her had she not shown that she was ready to shoot. It looked as if she
had the nerve and confidence to face a crisis, which was satisfactory,
since she would need these qualities when she traveled through the
wilds. She had, however, long trained herself for this object; in fact,
as far as possible, she made her life a preparation for the adventurous
journey. Then she remembered her brother's warning and wondered whether
it was justified. There was, perhaps, a danger of her dwelling too much
upon the lode. She must not let it possess her mind and make her deaf to
other claims. One ought to keep a proper balance. In the meantime, she
was tired, and feeling limp with the reaction from the strain. She got
up and shortly afterwards went to bed.