THE PLUNGE
Supper was over at the Farnam homestead and Agatha enjoyed the cool of
the evening on the veranda with her hosts and George. The school had
closed for the holidays, and George had arrived as the meal from which
they had just got up was served. Although he had not stated his object
yet, Agatha knew why he had come and shrank from the vigorous protest
she expected him to make. In the meantime, she had something else to
think about and listened for the noise of wheels.
Farnam's hired man had driven across to the settlement in the afternoon
and she wondered, rather anxiously, whether he would bring her a
telegram. She had written to Thirlwell, telling him when she would be
ready to begin her search for the ore, and now waited his reply. Her
letter might take some time to reach him, and she must allow for his
messenger's journey to the railroad from the mine; but she knew she
would feel restless until the answer came.
The evening was calm, the air was fresher than in the city, and she
found the quiet soothing. A field of timothy grass near the house
rippled languidly, the dark heads rising stiffly upright when the faint
breeze dropped. Sometimes there was a movement among the tall blades and
feathery plumes of the Indian corn, and then the rustle stopped and
everything was still. Beyond the zig-zag fence, the fruit trees ran
back in rows that converged and melted into a blurred mass at the edge
of the bush. The narrow landscape had no prominent feature. It was
smooth and calm, and Agatha found it rested her eyes and brain. She
wanted to be tranquil, but must shortly rouse herself when Mrs. Farnam
and George began their joint attack. George had an ominously determined
look, and she knew Mabel would give him her support.
"Why didn't you come and stop with us? Florence expected you," he said
by and by.
Agatha saw he was feeling for an opening, and since it was hard to put
him off, answered with a smile: "You are a persistent fellow, and I'm
not fond of argument. I wanted to be quiet."
"You mean you were afraid I'd get after you about your crank notion of
finding the old man's lode? As you haven't talked about it for some
time, I'd begun to hope you had given that folly up. Are you going?"
"Some time; I may go very soon. Perhaps I shall know to-night."
"Then I'll wait," George said grimly. "If you get a message from the
miner fellow, I may have some remarks to make!"
Farnam began to talk about the fruit crop, and it was half an hour later
when Agatha heard a rattle of wheels. Then a rig lurched along the
uneven road in a cloud of dust and soon after it vanished among the
trees Farnam's hired man walked up to the veranda.
"A wire for Miss Strange! There was no mail," he said.
Agatha's nerve tingled as she opened the envelope, and then the restless
feeling left her and she felt very calm. The telegram was from
Thirlwell, who stated where he would meet her and that the sum she named
would be enough. This was a relief, because she had insisted that the
journey should be made at her cost and traveling is expensive in the
wilds.
One needed tents, clothes, and prospecting tools; canoes must be bought
and experienced _voyageurs_ engaged, since the craft and stores would
have to be carried across rugged divides. Agatha had for a long time
practised stern economy, doubting if her savings would cover the
expense, and now when she had met all demands she would have very few
dollars left. This did not matter; the money would go round, and she
felt recklessly satisfied. After a moment or two she gave the telegram
to George.
"I start in three days!"
George said nothing, although his face got red, and Agatha studied him
with sympathetic amusement. It was obvious that he was using some
self-control while he mustered his forces for an attack. He had begun to
get fat and looked rather aggressively prosperous. In fact, George was a
typical business man and it was ridiculous to think he could understand.
"But what about your clothes?" Mrs. Farnam asked. "You must have a
special outfit for the bush."
"They're all bought! Before I left Toronto I ordered what I would need
to be got ready and properly packed. The things will be sent as soon as
the people get my telegram. You see, I've been thinking about my outfit.
One can't take much when it must be carried across the portages."
George frowned savagely. "You ought to know my sister, Mrs. Farnam! When
she undertakes a job she leaves nothing to chance, and I guess she's
had it all fixed some time since." He turned to Agatha. "I've got to
relieve my feelings, if I do nothing else! Well, I suppose you
understand what this adventure means? Unless you get back before the new
term begins, you'll lose your post, and you take steep chances of
ruining your health. You're not used to sleeping on wet ground and going
without food. Then you'll have to live with half-tamed _voyageurs_ and
perhaps help them track the canoes. They'll upset you in the rapids and
the bush will tear your clothes. I hate to think of my sister going
about, draggled and ragged, with a bunch of strange men. But that, while
bad enough, is certainly not the worst!"
He stopped to get his breath and then resumed: "You won't find the lode,
and you'll come back feeling sick and sore. If they keep you on at the
school, you won't want to teach; you'll think of nothing but saving all
you can and pulling out again. You're like father, and when he took the
lone trail the blamed foolishness got such a grip of him that he never
broke loose. Well, you'll lose your job and the next you get; in fact,
you'll come to hate any work that keeps you from the North. But a girl
can't let herself down until she turns into a hobo. It's frankly
unthinkable. Pull up and cut out the crazy program before it ruins you!"
"It's too late," said Agatha. "I knew what I might have to pay when I
resolved to go."
"I wonder whether you do know. There's something George hasn't
mentioned," Mrs. Farnam remarked. "I don't think I'm prudish, but you
can't keep your adventure secret, and school managers are censorious
people. Have you thought what it may mean if they hear about your
traveling through the woods with a man who's not a relative and a band
of wild half-breeds?"
"Yes," said Agatha, coloring, "I have thought of that."
"But it didn't count?"
"It counted for much," said Agatha, in a rather strained voice.
George clenched his fist. "If you're turned out, people will talk. I'll
engage to stop the men, but the women are dangerous and I can't get
after them. For my sake, drop your fool plan!"
"I can't. I know the risks, but I must go on."
"Well," said George with a gesture of helpless indignation, "I allow I'm
beaten and there's not much comfort in feeling I've done my duty! I
didn't expect you'd bother about my views when I began. Looks as if we
gave young women a dangerous freedom."
"Women have won their freedom; you didn't give it," Mrs. Farnam
rejoined, and then turned to Agatha. "After all, something depends on
the man's character. You haven't told us much about Mr. Thirlwell!"
Agatha did not reply and George said grudgingly: "In a sense, the
fellow's all right. I made some inquiries and must admit that I was
satisfied with what I learned."
"You both take it for granted that Agatha will not locate the vein,"
Farnam interposed. "Since Thirlwell manages a mine, he must know
something about prospecting, and if he reckons the chances are pretty
good--"
"Mr. Thirlwell does not really believe I will find the ore," Agatha
said with incautious frankness.
George laughed ironically and Farnam looked surprised, while his wife
asked: "Then why is he going?"
Agatha felt embarrassed. "I don't know--He made me promise I would let
him come. I think prospecting has a charm for miners--"
She stopped as she saw Mrs. Farnam's smile, but it was some relief to
note that George did not seem to remark her hesitation.
"Well," he said, "your statement's, so to speak, the climax! The only
person who knows anything about the matter thinks you won't find the
vein! The blamed proposition's ridiculous from the beginning." He got up
and filled his pipe with an unsteady hand. "I'm too mad to sit still.
Guess I'll walk round the orchard and take a smoke."
Farnam presently went after him, and Mrs. Farnam put her hand on
Agatha's arm.
"My dear, you have pluck, but you have chosen a hard road and given your
friends a jar. But we are your friends; don't forget that!"
Agatha smiled gratefully, though she found it difficult. "I didn't
really choose. Sometimes I was afraid; but I knew I had to go."
"Very well," said Mrs. Farnam. "We won't talk about it. Tell me about
your clothes."
Next day George left the homestead and Agatha walked across the orchard
with him while Farnam harnessed his team. When a rattle of wheels warned
them that the rig was coming George stopped and said, "This trip will
cost you something and your pay's not high. How much do you reckon to
have left when you get back?"
"About ten dollars," Agatha answered with a twinkle.
"I knew you had grit. But I want you to understand! I wouldn't give you
five cents to help you find the lode, but you'll go broke on ten dollars
long before your next pay's due. Better take this; it may help you out."
Agatha took the envelope, but as she began to open it the rig stopped at
the gate, and George put his hand on her shoulder.
"We mustn't keep Farnam; wait until I've gone," he said and kissed her.
"I'm not going to wish you good luck, but if you have trouble with the
school people when you get back, come along and stop with Florence. I'll
interview the managers, and, if needful, find you another job."
He hurried off, and when the rattle of wheels died away Agatha opened
the envelope and found a check for a hundred dollars. She felt moved,
but smiled. The gift was generous, but the way he had made it was very
like George.
Three days afterwards, Farnam and his wife drove her to the railroad and
she felt a pang at leaving them when the cars rolled in. The excitement
of starting, however, helped her over an awkward few minutes, and she
found a girl on the train who wanted to talk. Besides, it was evening,
and after an hour or two the colored porter lighted the lamps and told
her her berth was ready. She slept well, for it was too late to give way
to misgivings now, and soon after she rose next morning the train
stopped at the station where she must get down.
The conductor threw her baggage out upon the line. The locomotive bell
tolled, the cars went on, and Agatha's heart sank as she glanced about.
It was early morning and thin mist drifted among the pines. There was no
platform, but a small wooden shack with an iron roof stood beside the
rails, which ran into the forest a hundred yards off. The agent, after
gruffly asking for her checks, vanished into his office and banged the
door. There was nobody else about, and the place was very quiet except
for the murmur of running water.
A narrow clearing, strewn with ashes and dotted by blackened stumps, ran
along the track, and at its end were three or four shabby frame houses.
A rudely painted board on one stated that the building was the
Strathcona Hotel. Agatha felt very forlorn. Except for a week or two
with Thirlwell, and once with a band of merry companions at a summer
camp she had not seen the rugged bush, and now it daunted her. She was
not going on a pleasure excursion, from which she could return when she
liked, but to push far into the lonely wilds. She had done with
civilization until she came back; it could not help her when she left
the railroad. She must live and struggle with savage Nature as the
prospectors and half-breeds did. But this was not all; she had, perhaps,
cut herself off from other things than the comfort and security that
civilization offered.
Mabel Farnam's warning was, no doubt, justified. It was possible that
the school managers would dismiss her and she would be unable to get
another scholastic post. She might have to give up her occupation and
although she disliked business earn a frugal living as a clerk. Her face
got hot as she remembered Mabel's statement that her rashness had given
her friends a jar; but in one sense Mabel was wrong. She had not been
rash; she knew she could trust Thirlwell and the men he hired. There was
nothing to fear from them. Still she had made a bold plunge that might
cost her much, and now the reaction had begun she felt slack and
dispirited. The plunge, however, was made; she must carry out what she
had undertaken, and it was foolish to indulge her doubts. She tried to
pull herself together and in a few minutes a man led a team out of the
hotel stable.
He leisurely harnessed the lean horses to a very dirty wagon and then
drove them across the clearing to the track, where he stopped in front
of Agatha's baggage. She noted that his skin was very brown and he had
coarse black hair. The overalls he wore were very ragged.
"Mees Strange?" he said. "Dat your truck?"
Agatha said it was, and jumping down he threw her bag and some rough
wooden boxes into the wagon. Then he climbed back up the wheel and held
out his hand.
"_Montez. Allons, en route!_"
Agatha got up with some trouble and when she sat down on a board that
crossed the vehicle he cracked his whip and the wagon, rocking wildly,
rolled away among the stumps and plunged into a narrow trail chopped out
of the bush.
"Eet is long way; we mak' breakfast by and by," he said. "Thirlwell wait
at portage. We arrive to-night, _si tout va bien_."
Agatha said nothing, but felt somewhat comforted as they jolted along
the uneven trail.