The Dawn of a New Day
Colonel Hallibut did not return to St. Thomas that night as had been his
intention. Indeed, in his great and newly found happiness he forgot that
he had cautioned Dick, his man, to come looking for him in case he did
not return within a certain time.
And then the great-hearted Bushwhackers absolutely would not let him go
so soon, now they knew him as he was.
“God bless us,” laughed the Colonel, “it’s so human of us to miss the
worth-while things that might be secured by simply reaching out for
them. Here you good people have been for years, and over there I have
been for years—lonely, God knows, and hungry for such companionship as
I am now enjoying. And to think—to think that I have not understood
until now!”
So the Colonel stayed at Big McTavish’s and all the Bushwhackers came
over in the evening to make merry, and make merry they did, for had they
not reason to be glad?
And after the neighbors had gone Big McTavish sat with Hallibut before
the fire and they talked of Gloss’s mother until the purple glow of
another spring morning bored its way through the fragrant wood-mists.
The Colonel sat with bowed head while McTavish told the story of the
brave little woman he had known in Arizona; how she had endeared the
rough cattlemen to her; how unwavering and unselfish she had been; and
finally how she had intended to come to live with his family in the new
Canadian Wild, and how they had looked for her coming in vain!
At the conclusion of his narrative the Colonel sat caressing a little
gold locket. The tears were running down his seamed cheeks.
“I used to think that God made fewer noble men and women than He did
dogs,” he said huskily, “but I don’t think that now. He made you and
your wife, McTavish. I can’t thank you for what you have done. I know my
thanks don’t count anyway. But, look here, I have always been a rich
man, and, Mac, if I were asked to choose between this new happiness I’ve
lately found and all my lands and money, d’ye know which I would
choose?”
McTavish smiled.
“Us bush-folks believe that best and most lastin’ joys are always close
to us and easy found,” he said.
Hallibut arose and paced to and fro across the room.
“McTavish,” he said abruptly, “I know the man who sent little Gloss to
you.”
Big McTavish looked up quickly.
“You do? Then, who is he?”
“Paisley told me to-night that Watson had reminded him of somebody, and
only lately did he recollect who. Paisley says that Watson’s real name
is Watts, and Watts has five thousand dollars of my sister’s money. He
stole it, McTavish; stole it from a dead mother and a helpless baby.
I’ll tell you the story.”
Hallibut seated himself and related the story which had been told him by
the Sandwich fisherman.
“What are you goin’ to do to him, Colonel?” asked McTavish after
Hallibut had finished.
The Colonel drew in his breath quickly. His eyes were on the tall,
dark-faced girl who had just entered like a breath of spring. The set
look faded from his face and the flashing eyes grew tender as he held
out his arms. She came to him and patted his face caressingly.
“I heard you speaking,” she said. “I heard what you said about Watson.
Uncle, dear, let’s forget all about Watson. Let’s just be happy now, all
of us.”
“But, child——” commenced the Colonel.
“How much am I worth to you?” she smiled, throwing her arms about his
neck.
“All the world, Gloss,” he answered.
“If he had not sent me away with Noah you would never have found me,”
she whispered.
“It’s true, it’s true,” cried Hallibut. “Strange I didn’t see it that
way before.”
“Then you won’t punish him—nor anybody, will you?” she pleaded, “—not
even Amos Broadcrook.”
“But Broadcrook burned my boat,” cried the Colonel. “It is best to put
him in jail, dear, where he can do no more harm.”
“Amos couldn’t live in jail,” said the girl, “for he’s of the woods.
He’ll die if you cage him up.”
Hallibut gathered her close to him.
“Ah, child, but you’re like your little mother,” he laughed. “She was
always pleading for the trapped and downed things, and, egad! she always
got her way with me, as you will be bound to get yours.”
“Then you’ll not punish him,” she cried gladly. “Oh, that is so good of
you!”
She darted away and Hallibut looked at Big McTavish and shook his head.
“I don’t know but that was a mistake on my part,” he said. “Those
fellows deserve punishment if ever men did. They as much as bribed
Broadcrook to burn my boat, and I guess he was after me, too. He tried
to steal dear little Gloss, and intended trying to make you good people
believe I did it, and by pretending to be in sympathy with you get
possession of the deeds of your properties.”
The door was thrown open and in sprang Boy. He was panting as from a
race.
“Hello,” exclaimed his father, “where’ve you been?”
“I stayed with Bill Paisley last night,” explained Boy. “You know we had
Amos Broadcrook locked up at his place. We fell asleep for a few minutes
and Amos got away. Somebody outside helped him—his brother Hank likely.
Anyway, he’s got clean away.”
“And where do you suppose he has gone?” asked Hallibut.
“Across the border likely,” returned Boy. “We’re goin’ after him, sir,
and we’ve got to start right now, ’cause the creek’s risin’ and gettin’
dangerous. In half an hour we can’t get across.”
Hallibut looked at Big McTavish, then he turned to Boy.
“Do you think he’ll go across the line?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then, let the poor beggar go. I’ve promised Gloss that I won’t
prosecute him.”
Boy whistled.
“Well——” he commenced, then turned abruptly away.
He was glad, glad, glad. He did not know why, nor care why. He could not
bear to think of anything of the bush-world being shut up without a
chance of escape. He passed outside and Hallibut followed him.
“Boy,” said the big man, “I guess you think me an old fool, don’t you?”
He went over and laid his hand affectionately on the young man’s arm.
“I guess I’m getting old and rather childish, Boy. I’ve just received
one of God’s great gifts, and there is nothing much in my old heart this
spring morning but joy—joy I’ve had to do without for many weary years.
Well, Boy, you know how the old trees of the bush lean when they’ve
lived their full years. You know how they topple and sag. You have seen
them do it, haven’t you? But sometimes a strong young sapling props them
up and they go on living and throwing out their leaves—but they’re not
standing alone.”
His arm slipped about Boy’s shoulders.
“Boy,” he said huskily, “I need a prop. I want to hang on because I’ve
just found real happiness. But I’m sagging, lad; I’m just an old tree.”
Boy turned and grasped the Colonel’s hand. He felt a tear splash down
and his throat tightened and burned.
“I guess I understand,” he said softly. “I’ve growed deep into—all
this, and there’s always a saplin’ you can lean on if you care to.”
He sprang away down the path toward the log-barn and the Colonel watched
him, a deep glow in his heart.
From the kitchen came the savory smell of frying bacon and Gloss’s happy
voice singing an old-fashioned song.
When they all sat down to breakfast, Big McTavish bowed his head and
asked God’s blessing on his bounty in these words:
“We thank thee for feedin’ us, O God. We thank thee for thy many
mercies, and we thank thee greatly for the sunshine after the darkness.”
And Granny from her end of the table added a fervent “Amen.”
After breakfast the Colonel drew Big McTavish aside and held a whispered
controversy with him. Then he turned to the “little ma,” and, holding
her hand in both of his, said:
“There is no reward that earth can give you great enough for what you
and yours have done for me and mine, but the great reward awaits you
all. I have received a great and wonderous blessing,” stroking the brown
curls of the tall girl beside him, “ah, so great a blessing! I am going
now, but I will come back soon, very soon, again.”
He turned, his eyes blinking, and glanced about the room at the others.
“God bless you all,” he said heartily, and strode outside, followed by
Big McTavish and Boy.
Coming up the path was a tired, dripping horse, bestrode by a weary,
dripping rider.
“Dick,” murmured the Colonel. “Of course, I might have known that he
would come searching for me.
“Why, lad,” he called, “you’re a bigger ninny than I thought you. You’re
half drowned.”
Boy ran forward and helped support the man as he dismounted.
“What’s wrong, Dick, lad?” asked Hallibut, catching sight of the new
arrival’s face.
Dick fumbled in one of his pockets.
“’Ere’s a letter, sir. I found it tacked to a tree houtside the lawn,
sir.”
Hallibut took the letter. It was a dirty, crumpled thing, and scrawled
across it were the words “Kenul Halbut.”
“Listen,” said the Colonel, “it’s from Amos Broadcrook. This is what he
says:
“‘i intnted to git even with Smyth an Watson but they had skiped
fer the stats but i have burnt the stor an hope you will be
plesed i am goin away an haint ever comin back dont you put your
dorgs onter me i be goin to live strate
‘amos broadcrook.’”
The men exchanged glances.
“Did he do it, Dick?” asked the Colonel.
“Yes, sir, the place was in hashes as I passed.”
“So endeth the——” began Hallibut, but he was abruptly checked by a
wet, bedraggled something that hurled itself against him with a low
whine of joy.
“Old Zip,” cried the Colonel, “you poor, crippled old devil, Zip.
Where—how——”
He staggered back, wiping the wet kiss from his cheek, and tears of
laughter stood in his eyes.
“’E jist wouldn’t stay ’ome, sir,” stammered Dick. “’E chewed three good
tie-reins clean through, sir, t’ git t’ you; ’e did, sir.”
Then the Colonel said a most extraordinary thing.
“He’d crawl through hell for me, boys, that old dog. And he’s come
to-day because we’ve always shared our joys and sorrows together. Come
and meet little Gloss, Zip.”