HALLAM TRIES AGAIN
There was frost in the valley when one clear morning Alton lay partly
dressed in a big chair beside the stove at Somasco ranch. Outside the
snow lay white on the clearing, and the great pines rose above it
sombre and motionless under the sunlight that had no warmth in it,
while the peaks beyond them shone with a silvery lustre against the
cloudless blue. It was a day to set the blood stirring and rouse the
vigour of the strong, and Alton felt the effect of it as he lay
listening to the rhythmic humming of the saws. The sound spoke of
activity, and raising himself a trifle in his chair he glanced at his
partner with a faint sparkle in his eye.
"It's good to feel alive again," he said.
Seaforth's smile was somewhat forced, for he had reason for dreading
the moment when his comrade would take an interest in the affairs of
life again. There was something that Alton must know, and glancing at
his hollow face he shrank from telling him.
The struggle had been a long one, for fever had once more seized Alton
when he was apparently on the way to recovery, and there had been times
when it seemed to Seaforth that two angels kept the long night watches
with him beside his comrade's bed. One was terrible and shadowy, and
stooped lower and lower and above the scarcely breathing form; the
other bright and beautiful, an angel of tenderness and mercy, and if
Seaforth was fanciful there were excuses for him. His endurance had
been strained to the uttermost as day and night he kept his vigil,
while the humanity of the girl who watched with him had become
etherealized until her beauty was almost spiritual. The coldness had
gone out of it, and now and then it seemed to the worn-out man that a
faint reflection of a light that is not kindled in this world shone
through the pity in her eyes. That spark was all that had been
lacking, and Seaforth, who had doubted, bent his head in homage when it
came, for it appeared to him that in sloughing off her pride and
becoming wholly womanly the girl had reached out in her gentleness and
compassion towards the divine. When at last the turning had been
passed, and Alice Deringham went down with her father for a brief rest
to Vancouver, she took Seaforth's limitless respect and gratitude with
her, though it occurred to him that she had gone somewhat suddenly as
though anxious to escape from the ranch. They were, however, to return
that evening.
"I talked a good deal, Charley, when I was sick?" said Alton.
Seaforth smiled dryly. "There is no use in denying it, because you
did," he said.
Alton's face grew clouded. "I'd have bitten my tongue right through if
I'd known. There were one or two things I'd been through that would
come back to me, things one would sooner forget."
Seaforth appeared thoughtful, but evidently decided that frankness was
best. "There certainly were occasions when your recollections were
somewhat realistic."
Alton groaned, and his face was a study of consternation. "Lord, what
brutes we are," he said. "There was the trouble over the Bluebird
claim down in Washington. Did I talk about that?"
Seaforth crossed over and sat down on the arm of his comrade's chair.
His expression was somewhat whimsical, but there was a suggestion of
tenderness in his eyes, for he saw the direction in which Alton's
thoughts were tending, and that he should speak of such matters to him
betokened the closeness of the bond between them.
"I don't think you need worry about it, Harry." he said.
"No?" said Alton sternly. "Are those the things you would like a
dainty English lady who knows nothing of what we have to do now and
then to hear?"
Seaforth smiled again as he said, "Miss Deringham struck me as an
especially sensible young woman. Now you need not get savage, for I am
speaking respectfully, but I fancy that Miss Deringham knows almost as
much about the ins and outs of life as many bush ranchers of seventy.
Young women brought up as she has been in the old country not
infrequently do, and as it happened you mentioned nothing about that
last affair in the bush; while though one or two incidents were
somewhat startling, there are, I fancy, girls in the old country who
would be rather inclined to look with approval on--the type of man she
might have reason for supposing you to be. In any case, there was no
word of any other woman."
Alton drew in his breath. "No," he said simply. "Thank God, there
never was another."
Seaforth's expression perplexed his comrade, and his voice was a trifle
strained. "Yes," he said. "That is a good deal to be thankful for,
Harry."
Alton looked at him thoughtfully in silence for a space. Then he said,
"I never asked you any questions about the old country, Charley, and I
don't mean to now, but I have fancied now and then that you brought out
some trouble along with you."
Seaforth glanced down at his comrade, smiling curiously. "I may tell
you some time--but not now. You do well to be thankful, Harry, and do
you believe that any woman would think the worse of you because you cut
down the man who meant to take your life, you big, great-natured fool?"
Alton sighed. "Well," he said very slowly, "perhaps it is better over,
because that and other things would have to be told; but though I had
only an axe against his pistol I can't get that man's face out of my
memory."
Seaforth's face was somewhat awry just then. "You can tell your story
without a blush--if you think it necessary, but I have not the courage
to tell mine--and the silence may cost me very dear," he said.
Alton seemed a trifle bewildered. "When you can I'll listen, but
there's nothing you could tell me would make any difference between you
and me."
Seaforth laughed mirthlessly. "I'm glad of that, but it wasn't you I
was thinking of just then," he said. "Still it seems to me that we are
both a little off our balance this morning, and may be sorry for it
afterwards."
Alton rose up and moved somewhat stiffly towards the window, where he
leaned against the log casing, looking out greedily upon the sunlit
valley. Then he limped back to the table and rested both hands upon it.
"I figure it's because I haven't used it, but this leg doesn't feel the
same as it used to," he said. "Did it strike you that I walked kind of
stiffly?"
Seaforth knew that the moment he feared had come, but he felt his
courage fail him and turned his head aside. "I was not watching you,"
he said.
Alton, who appeared a trifle perturbed, sat down, and glanced at the
partly finished meal upon the table disgustedly. "Tell them to take
those things away, and bring me something a man can eat. Then I want
my long boots and the nicest clothes I have."
"They will not be much use to you. You're not going out for another
week, anyway."
Alton laughed a little. "Well," he said, "we'll see. Bring me a good
solid piece of venison, and take those things away."
He made an ample meal, dressed himself with wholly unusual
fastidiousness, and when Seaforth left him for a few moments strode out
of the room. One leg felt very stiff and he clutched the balustrade a
moment when he came to the head of a short stairway, then stiffened
himself, and, putting all the weight he could on the limb that was
least useful, stepped forward resolutely to descend it. His knee bent
suddenly under him, he clutched at the rails, and missed them, reeled
and lost his balance, and there was a crash as Seaforth sprang out of
his room. He was in time to see his comrade rise and lean against the
logs at the foot of the stairway very white and grim in face, and
shivered a little as he went down.
"What's the meaning of this, Charley ?" said Alton with an ominous
quietness. "I just put my weight on my left foot--and down I came."
Again Seaforth shrank from his task. "You were warned not to try to
walk much for a week or two."
"Pshaw!" said Alton with sudden fierceness. "There's more than that."
Seaforth laid his hand compassionately upon his comrade's shoulder.
"It had to come sooner or later--and I was afraid to tell you before.
You will never walk quite as well as you used to, Harry."
Alton clutched the balustrade, and a greyness crept into his face.
"I," he said very slowly, "a cripple--all my life!"
Seaforth said nothing, and there was a silence for almost a minute
until Alton slowly straightened himself. "Well," he said quietly,
"there is no use kicking--but this was to have been the best day of my
life."
Seaforth understood him and saw his opportunity. "I don't think that
will make any difference, Harry."
Alton seemed to choke down a groan. "I had so little before," he said.
Again Seaforth laid his hand upon his shoulder, "Shake yourself
together, Harry. After all, I don't think it is the things that one
can offer which count," he said. "Let me help you back."
Alton resolutely shook off his grasp, and moved very slowly and stiffly
towards the living-room. "No," he said. "I'm not going back there any
more. Get me a big black cigar, Charley--and then go right away."
Seaforth did as he was bidden, for there were many things which
demanded his attention, but he glanced at his comrade as he went out,
and the sight of the gaunt figure sitting very grim and straight in a
chair by the window would return long afterwards to his memory.
"He takes it badly--and a little while ago I should have thought he was
right," he said.
It was several hours later when Seaforth returned to the house, and
found Mrs. Margery in a state of consternation.
"Where's Harry?" he said.
"'Way down to the settlement," said the woman. "Okanagan was fool
enough to hoist him on a horse, and though I talked half-an-hour solid
I couldn't stop him."
Seaforth smiled dryly. "I scarcely think you could. Harry is himself
again. What has taken him to the settlement, anyway?"
The woman glanced at him contemptuously. "All men are fools," said
she. "He went to meet that girl from the old country, and find out his
mistake."
Seaforth said nothing, but went out in haste and saddled a horse, for
although it had been apparent to him that there was no affection wasted
between Alice Deringham and Mrs. Margery, her words had left him with a
vague uneasiness.
In the meantime Alton dropped very stiffly from the saddle in front of
Horton's hotel, and, limping up the stairway, found the man who kept it
upon the verandah.
"Glad to see you coming round, Harry; but you're looking very white,
and walking kind of stiff," he said.
"Yes," said Alton dryly. "I shall probably walk just that way all my
life."
Horton made no attempt to condole with him. He knew Alton tolerably
well, and felt that any sympathy he could offer would be inadequate.
"Well," he said, "here's a letter Thomson brought you in from the
railroad."
Alton tore open the envelope, and read the message with a faint relief,
for it was from Deringham, and stated that an affair of business would
prevent him returning to Somasco for some little time. Then he
remembered that to delay a question which must be asked would but
prolong the suspense.
"I'm going through to the railroad, but the ride has shaken me, and
I'll lie down and sleep a while," he said.
"Well," said Horton, "you know best, but you look a long way more fit
to be sitting beside the stove up there at the ranch. That was a
tolerably bad accident you had?"
Alton glanced at him sharply, but his voice was indifferent as he
answered. "Oh, yes, I came to grief bringing in a deer, and lay out in
the frost a good while before they found me. Have you had many
strangers round here?"
Horton nodded. "The bush is just full of them--looking for timber
rights and prospecting round the Crown lands--Hallam's friends, I
think. There was one of them seemed kind of anxious about you lately."
Alton's eyes grew a trifle keener, but he was shaken and weary, and
made a little gesture which seemed to indicate that he would ask
questions later.
"You'll give the horse a light feed, and let me know when supper's on,"
he said.
It was dark when he mounted with Horton's assistance, and the horse
plunged once or twice. Then it started at a gallop, and Alton had some
difficulty in pulling it up, for the snow was beaten down and the trail
was good. He had not been gone half-an-hour when Seaforth, whose horse
was smoking, swung himself down before the hotel.
"Where's Harry?" he said.
"On the trail," said Horton. "I wanted to keep him, but he lit out a
little while ago, and borrowed a rifle. What he wanted it for I don't
know, but he wouldn't be lonely, anyway. One of the boys who was
staying here pulled out for the railroad just before him."
"Did you know the man?" asked Seaforth with unusual sharpness.
"No," said Horton. "He was timber-righting, but I'd a kind of fancy
I'd once seen somebody very like him working round Somasco."
Seaforth said nothing further, but swung himself into the saddle and
rode off at a gallop. He had been unsettled all day, and now it was
with vague apprehensions he sent his heels home and shook the bridle.
In the meantime Alton was riding almost as fast, though the saddle
galled him and he was stiff and aching. His senses also grew a trifle
lethargic under the frost, but he knew there would be little rest for
him until he reached Vancouver, and strove to shake off his weakness.
The horse was, however, unusually restive, and would at times break
into a gallop in spite of him where the trail was level, but Alton, who
fancied there was something troubling the beast, was more than a little
dubious of his ability to mount again if he got out of the saddle.
Until that day he had not ventured outside the ranch.
The shadowy pines flitted by him, here and there the moon shone down,
and the drumming of hoofs rang muffled by the snow through a great
silence which was curiously emphasized when twice a wolf howled.
Still, plunging and snorting now and then, the beast held pluckily on
while the miles melted behind them, and midnight was past when Alton,
turning, half-asleep, in his saddle, fancied he heard somebody riding
behind him. For a moment his fingers tightened on the bridle, but his
hearing was dulled by weakness and the numbing cold, and pressing his
heels home he rode on into the darkness.
It would probably have occurred to him at any other time that the beast
responded with suspicious readiness, but his perceptions were not of
the clearest just then, which was unfortunate, because the trail led
downwards steeply through black darkness along the edge of a ravine.
The rain had also washed parts of it away, and no ray of moonlight
pierced the vaulted roof of cedar-sprays. The drumming of hoofs rolled
along it, there was a hoarse growling far down in the darkness below,
and Alton strove to rouse himself, knowing that a stumble might result
in a plunge down the declivity. He could dimly see the great trunks
stream past him on the one hand, but there was only a gulf of shadow on
the other.
Suddenly a flash of light sprang up almost under the horse's feet. The
beast flung its head up, and next moment they were flying at a gallop
down the winding and almost precipitous trail. Alton's strength had
not returned to him, and he set his lips, realizing the uselessness of
it as he shifted his numbed hands on the bridle. Twice the horse
stumbled, but picked up its stride again, and the man had almost
commenced to hope they might reach the foot of the declivity when it
stumbled once more, struck a young fir, and reeled downwards from the
trail.
It all happened in a moment, but there was just time enough for Alton
to clear his feet from his stirrups, and though he was never quite sure
what next he did he found himself sitting in the snow, shaken and dazed
by his fall, while the horse rolled downwards through the shadows
beneath him. He heard the brushwood crackle, and then a curiously
sickening thud as though something soft had fallen from a height upon a
rock. After that there was an oppressive silence save for a faint
drumming that grew louder down the trail.
Alton unslung the rifle which still hung behind him, and crawled behind
a big hemlock that grew out of the slope. He could hear nothing but
the increasing thud of hoofs for a while, and then there was a sound
that suggested stealthy footsteps in the darkness up the trail. Alton
crouched very still and waited, but the footsteps came no nearer, and
then pitching up the rifle fired in their direction at a venture. The
sound ceased suddenly, and while the great trunks flung back the
concussion it was evident that the rider was coming on at a furious
gallop, and Alton rising sent out a hoarse cry, "Pull him before you
come to the edge of the dip!"
The beat of hoofs sank into silence, and a shout came down. "Hallo.
Is that you, Harry?"
"Yes," said Alton. "Lead your beast down."
It was five minutes later when Seaforth found him leaning against a
tree with the rifle in his hand.
"What was the shooting for, and where's your horse?" said he.
Alton appeared to laugh softly and venomously, and his voice jarred
upon the listener. "Down there, and stone dead. The last drop's most
of a hundred feet," he said.
"But how did he get there?" and Seaforth felt a little chill strike
through him.
Alton grasped his arm, and his voice was harsher still. "This is the
second time."
"Good Lord!" said Seaforth, who understood him, huskily.
"Well," said Alton, "I think the thing's quite plain. If we could get
down to the poor beast I figure we'd find something that had no
business there under the girth or saddle. The rest is simpler--a
little coal oil or giant powder, and--just at the turning yonder--a
lariat across the trail. That man knows his business, Charley."
"Good Lord!" said Seaforth once more. "It's devilish, Harry. You're
not going to tell anybody, and repeat the mistake you made?"
"Yes," said Alton grimly. "That's just what I figure on doing."
"But," and Seaforth's horror was evident, "he may try again. There are
more than the Somasco ranchers who would be sorry if--he was
successful--Harry."
Alton laughed, but the grating cachination sent a shiver through his
companion. "Yes," he said, "I think he will, and that's why I'm
waiting. He may give himself away the third time, and then it will be
either him or me."
Seaforth stood silent for almost a minute. "If you would only listen
to me--but of course you will not. Can't you see that you are in the
way of somebody who stands behind that man?"
"Yes," and Alton's smile was now quietly grim. "It don't take much
genius to figure out that. Before I'm through I'll know just who he
is, and all about him."
Once more Seaforth was silent a space. Then he spoke very slowly.
"Are you sure you're wise?"
Alton gripped his comrade's arm so that he winced with pain. "It's the
second time you've asked me that," he said. "There will not be room
for you and me in this province if you ask it me again."
Seaforth shook his grasp off. "You are my partner, Harry, and the only
friend I have. God send you safe through with it. Now, is there any
use in looking for the fellow with the lariat?"
"No," said Alton in his usual voice. "There isn't. He would have been
waiting up there ready to whip the thing away, and by this time he has
doubled back down the trail. If you met a man riding along quietly
what could you do to him?"
"It's devilish," said Seaforth, as a fit of impotent anger shook him.
"Oh, yes," said Alton languidly. "Still, there isn't much use in
slinging names, and I'm kind of tired. Help me up into your saddle,
and lead the beast by the bridle. We'll head for Gordon's."