FARMERS IN COUNCIL
Nearly three weeks had slipped by since Leland met the outlaws, and his
horses were missing still, when he sat in council at Prospect with a few
of his scattered neighbours one bitter night. The big room was as bare
and comfortless as it had been in his bachelor days, though there were
cases at the railroad station whose contents would have transformed it,
had he troubled to haul them in. Leland was somewhat grim of face, for
the past few weeks had not been pleasant ones to him.
The breach between him and his wife was still as wide as ever, and he
felt it the more keenly because, since the night of their frankness, she
had shown no sign of anger. Instead, she had treated him with a civility
that was hard to bear, and had professed herself content with all the
arrangements at Prospect as they were. Leland was too proud a man to
make advances which he felt would be repelled, and decided bitterly
that, since nothing he could do would please her, the comforts she did
not seem to care about might stay where they were until they rotted. Her
own rooms, at least, were furnished and fitted luxuriously, in so far
as he had been able to contrive it, and, since she spent most of her
time in them, the one in which his mother had lived was good enough for
him. Still, all this reacted upon his temper, and, on the night when he
had his neighbours there, he was feeling the strain.
There were four of them, men who toiled early and late, and had a stake
in the country, and they were all aware that others would probably be
influenced by what they did. They listened to him gravely, sitting about
the crackling stove with a box of cigars on the little table in front of
them. There was nothing to drink, however, since, for several reasons,
including the enactments of the legislature, strong green tea is the
beverage most usually to be met with on the prairies, and of that they
had just had their fill at supper. There was silence until one of them
turned to the rest with a twinkle in his eyes.
"I'm with Charley Leland in most of what he says," he said. "The law's
necessary, as you find out when you have lived, as I have, in a country
where there isn't any. Still, after all, the enforcing of it is the
business of the legislature, and the most they do for us is to worry us
for statistics and fine us for not ploughing unnecessary fire-guards.
Then there are two or three of us on this prairie who aren't fond of
tea, and, as things are, we generally know where to get a little
Monongahela or Bourbon when we want it. I guess it would give a kind of
tone to this _soiree_ if we had some of it now."
There was approving laughter until another man spoke.
"That's quite right, just as far as it goes," he said. "Give me a
chance of a square kick at the Scott Act, and I'll kick--like a mule. In
the meanwhile, there it is, and you have to figure if breaking it is
worth while. When you begin making exceptions, it's quite hard to stop.
Now, I don't want to go round with a pistol strapped on to me, and,
while we stand by the law, it isn't necessary. So long as I know that
the crops I raise are mine and nobody can take them from me, I can do
without my whisky. That's why I'm with Charley Leland in this thing, and
you have to remember it's quite a big one."
"It is," said a third speaker. "Here we are, a few scattered farmers
with stables and granaries that will burn, and horses that can be run
across the frontier. Behind us stand Sergeant Grier and his four
troopers, while, if we back up Leland, we have a tolerably extensive
organisation against us, and the men who belong to it aren't going to
stick at anything. If we are willing to live and let live, what do we
stand to lose? A horse borrowed now and then, an odd steer killed,
perhaps, an unbranded beast or two missing. Well, I guess it might work
out cheaper than the other thing."
There was silence for a moment or two, and then a young man looked up
languidly. He had come out four or five years before from Montreal.
"There is hard sense in all we have heard, but I think Leland's point of
view is nearest the Academic one," he said. "Every honest man has a duty
to the State, and it is certainly going to cost him more than he gains
if he won't discharge it. There are probably more honest men than rogues
everywhere, and yet one usually sees the rogues uppermost, for this
reason: the honest man won't worry so long as they don't rob him, and
his neighbour can't make a fight alone. Nobody is anxious to face the
first blow for the benefit of the rest, and so the rogue gets bolder,
until he becomes intolerable. Then the honest man stirs himself, and the
rogues go down, though it causes ever so much more trouble than it would
have done if the thing had been undertaken earlier. I'll give you an
example. Begbie hung a man in British Columbia, the first one who wanted
it, and there was order at once. Coleman and his vigilantes, who were
scarcely quick enough, had to hang them by the dozen in California. Now
we come to the question: How bad have things got to be before you think
it worth while to do anything?"
It was evident that he had made an impression. He had shown them the
dangers of toleration; and they were men who, while they did little
rashly, believed in the greatness of their country. They looked at
Leland, who turned to them with a little grim smile.
"They have gone quite far enough for me," he said. "I'm going to move
now. The one thing I want to ask is, who is going to stand in with me?"
The man who had last spoken glanced at the rest. "I think you can count
upon the four of us."
There was a murmur of concurrence, and Leland smiled. "As a matter of
fact, I did so already, and asked Sergeant Grier to ride across and meet
you to-night. He should be here any minute now. In the meanwhile I want
to say that I've been riding up and down the country lately, and have
reasons for supposing there's a big load of whisky to be run during the
next few days."
As they talked over this news, there was a knocking at the outer door,
and a grizzled man who wore what had once been a very smart cavalry
uniform was shown into the room. He sat down and listened with grave
attention to what Leland had to say. Then he looked up quietly.
"I have to thank you, gentlemen, and I'll swear you in," he said. "From
what I can figure, it must be Ned Johnston's gang, and they're about the
hardest of the crowd. I haven't much fault to find with Mr. Leland's
programme except on a point or two."
They discussed it for an hour, and, when all was arranged, one of them
laughed as he laid his hand on Leland's shoulder. "I guess you're doing
the right thing," he said. "Still, in one way, it's a little curious
that it's you."
"Why?"
"Well," said the other man drily, "if I had just been married to a woman
like Mrs. Leland, I figure I mightn't have been so willing to put myself
in the way of a bullet. I'd have let somebody else make the first move
and stayed at home with her."
Leland's face grew a trifle hard, as he forced a laugh. "I scarcely
think marriage has made any great change in me, or that it's likely to
do so."
Then his guests drove away, but the man to whom he had spoken remembered
the look in Leland's face.
"Now I wonder what Charley meant by that," he said, getting into his
sleigh.
Leland in the meanwhile had flung himself down into a chair beside the
stove, and was lying there moodily with an unlighted pipe in his hand,
when his wife came in. It was evident that he did not notice her, and
she had misgivings as she noticed the weariness in his attitude. After
all, he was her husband, and he looked very lonely in the big bare room.
She sat down beside him and touched his arm. "Your friends have gone?"
she said.
The man looked up sharply, and she saw the little glow in his eyes,
which, however, faded out of them again.
"Yes," he said. "I hope we did not disturb you."
"You were suspiciously quiet. What were you plotting together?"
"Nothing," said Leland. "That is, nothing you would probably care to
hear about."
Carrie felt repulsed, though she would not show it. She had meant to be
amiable, and she was a somewhat determined young woman, so she tried
again.
"Isn't it a little lonely here?" she said. "Why did you not come up to
me? I have scarcely seen you the last few days."
Leland's smile was not exactly reassuring. "I don't want to trouble you
too often. Besides, I have been out in the frost since early morning,
and feel a little tired and drowsy. One naturally doesn't care to appear
to any more disadvantage than is necessary."
Carrie's lips and brows straightened portentously. "Were you afraid I
might point it out to you, or do you wish to make it evident to
everybody that you are purposely keeping out of my way?"
"I suppose I should have thought of that, but it's a thing that never
occurred to me. Still, you asked me another question, and, though
perhaps it's weak of me, I can't help giving you an answer."
He stopped a moment and pointed round the desolate room, while the girl
realised its dreariness as she saw the dry white ears on the walls
quiver in the icy draughts and heard the wailing of a bitter wind
outside the birch-log walls.
"Do you suppose--this--is what I bargained for when I asked you to marry
me? You took the trouble not long ago to point out very plainly what you
thought of me, and I think you meant every word of it. It was rather a
bitter draught, but perhaps your point of view was a natural one. I am
not the kind of man you have been accustomed to. In fact, there are very
few points on which I resemble your father or Jimmy."
"Ah," said Carrie, "that was not meant to be conciliatory. It rather
emphasises the distinction you mention. Still, I think you had not
finished."
"Not quite. When you are willing to take me as I am, without prejudice,
and give me a chance of winning your liking, you will not find me
backward. Until then, I have a little too much self-respect to support
you in pretending to be the dutiful wife because you think it becoming.
Your contempt was honest, anyway."
Carrie rose with a little languid gesture. "I wonder how long this
exceptionally pleasant state of affairs could be expected to continue?"
"Until you change your mind, or one of us is dead. If you get tired of
it in the meanwhile, you can always go back to the Old Country for a few
months or so."
"It is really a little difficult to understand what could have induced
you to marry me."
Leland looked at her with a little grim smile. "I believe I gave you my
reasons on another occasion. It would be rather more to the purpose to
ask why you were content with them?"
The girl's cheeks burned, but she turned from him languidly. "You almost
tempt me to tell you," she said. "Still, perhaps I have already let my
candour carry me too far."
She went out of the big room quietly and naturally, but, when she
reached her own apartment, she clenched her hands passionately. Though
she was very angry, she had to realise that the man's attitude under the
circumstances was by no means astonishing. She had also exactly what she
had wished for, since it was clear that he would make no embarrassing
advances now; and yet her courage almost failed her as she looked
forward to an indefinite continuance of their present relations. He had
said that, unless she made it, there could be no change until one of
them was dead.
It was the next day, and she had seen nothing of Leland, when she met
Gallwey, with whom she had become friendly.
The young man, she saw, was quite willing to constitute himself her
devoted servant. At the same time, she felt the sincerity of his
attachment for her husband, and drew from it a comfortable sense of
security.
"Of course, you have heard the news?" he said. "I don't know if I'm
presuming, or if it's kind to admit anything that might distress you,
but it would be a relief to me if you could persuade Charley to be
careful. I'm not quite sure he realises what he has undertaken."
Carrie had, of course, heard nothing, though she naturally refused to
admit it. She also realised the irony of the fact that everybody except
herself seemed attached to her husband. They were then standing in the
big general room; but, after she had sat down and smilingly pointed the
young man to a place near her, ten minutes of judiciously directed
conversation left her with a tolerably clear notion of the state of
affairs. She was also sensible of an illogical feeling of dismay and
apprehension.
"But why does he do it?" she asked.
Gallwey looked thoughtful. "Well," he said, "somebody will have to take
the thing up eventually, and, when there is anything unpleasant but
necessary, Charley is usually there to do it. I almost fancy he can't
help it. As they say in this country, that is the kind of man he is.
Still, under the circumstances, I really think he ought to let the
others take an equal risk, and it might be advisable for you to impress
it upon him."
"You believe that what I said would have any influence?" asked Carrie,
with a curious little smile.
"Of course!" and Gallwey gazed at her reproachfully. "Surely that ought
to be evident."
"Well," said the girl, with a trace of languidness, "I have to thank you
for warning me, and I will do what I can, though I am not very certain
it will have any great effect on him."
Gallwey left her a few minutes later. Carrie, who was now very
thoughtful, saw nothing of her husband that night or during most of the
next day. He came in and asked for supper a little before dusk, and,
when he had eaten it, carefully went over the lock and magazine action
of a forty-four Marlin rifle. Then he put on his furs and girt himself
with a bandolier. On reaching the outer door, he heard a swift patter of
footsteps on the neighbouring stairs. As Carrie came up to him he stood
still, with the blue rifle-barrel gleaming over his shoulder, looking
like a giant in his shaggy coat. She was dressed, as he noticed,
unusually prettily, and, although he set his lips, the little sparkle
crept into his eyes. As it faded, the bronzed face, barely visible
beneath the fur cap, became once more impassive.
The girl walked steadily up to him, and laid a hand upon his arm.
"You have given me a good deal, but I scarcely think I have asked you
for anything yet. I want you to run no risk that isn't necessary
to-night," she said.
Leland started, but again he put a constraint upon himself.
"So you know?" he said.
"Of course! Did you think, when everybody else knew, you could keep it
from me? Still, that isn't what I asked you. I want you to be careful."
Leland looked at her, and though she saw the blood creep slowly into his
face, his restraint was also evident.
"Did you say that because you believed it was the correct thing, madam?"
he asked.
Carrie flushed, but the man, shaking her hand off his arm, laid his big
mittened one upon her shoulder, and, holding her away from him, looked
down on her gravely.
"You will try to forgive me that. It was a trifle brutal," he said, and
his voice sank. "Still, to be quite honest, I could scarcely think that
any risk I ran could cause you very much anxiety."
Carrie said nothing, for, with that steady gaze upon her, she could not
pretend, even if her pride would have permitted her; and Leland smiled a
trifle wistfully. His face was almost gentle now.
"Well," he said, "you needn't force yourself to say it would, if it
hurts you, and I daresay it was kindness that prompted you to try.
Still, you see, I should want a good deal, and anything you didn't mean
wouldn't satisfy me. After all, it would make things easier for you if I
didn't come back again."
The girl shivered. "You surely can't believe I would think of that?"
"No," and Leland made a little gesture, which was expressive of
weariness; "it was your sense of fitness that turned you against me."
He let his hand fall from her shoulder. "After all, my dear, I am sorry
for you."
"And yourself?"
"It is a little rough on me, but that can't be helped. Somehow or other
I guess I can bear it."
Then he stooped, and, taking one of her hands, held it between both of
his before he turned and flung open the door.
Carrie saw him for a moment, a tall, black figure silhouetted against
the cold blue, and then he had vanished into the night.