LOVE AND HATE.
It had been raining for a week in an incessant torrent, while the
heavy clouds hung low down the slopes of the sullen, sunless
mountains, when we struck camp in the spring-time, and loaded our
gaunt pack-ponies for the rapidly opening trail. Our road lay for
some twenty miles on the bottom of a flat, which closed in more and
more as we went east, until we were in the heart of the Gold Range.
The path was liquid mud, in which we sank to the tops of our long
boots, sometimes even leaving them embedded there; and the ponies
were nearly "sloughed down" a dozen times in the day. At the worst
places we were sometimes compelled to take off their packs, which we
carried piecemeal to firmer ground, and there loaded them again. It
had taken us but four or four and a half days to cross it on our last
trip, and now we barely reached Summit Lake in the same time.
Yet, in spite of the miserable weather and our dank and dripping
condition, in spite of the hard work and harder idleness, when wind
and rain made it almost impossible to sleep, I was happy--far happier
than I had been since the time I had so miserably failed to make
Elsie believe what I told her; for now I was going back to her with
the results of my long toil, and there was nothing to prevent my
staying near her, perhaps on a farm of my own, until she should
recognize her error at last. Yet, I thought it well to waste no
time, for though I had to a great extent got rid of my fears
concerning that wretched Matthias, still his imprisonment had but a
few more months to run, and he _might_ keep his word and his sworn
oath. I wished to win her and wear her before that time, and after
that, why, I did not care, I would do my best, and trust in
Providence, even if I trusted in vain.
I have often thought since that it was strange how much John Harmer
was in my mind, from daylight even to dark, during the sixth day of
our toilsome tramp over Eagle Pass, for his image often unaccountably
came before me, and even dispossessed the fair face of her whom I
loved. But it was so, and no time during that day should I have been
very much surprised, though perhaps a little angry, to see him come
round a bend in the trail, saying half humbly and half impudently, as
he approached me, "How do you do, Mr. Ticehurst?" I almost began to
believe after that day in second sight, clairvoyance, and all the
other mysterious things which most sensible people look upon as they
do on charlatanry and the juggling in a fair, for my presentiments
came true in such a strange way; even if it was only an accident or
mere coincidence after all. Yet I have seen many things put down as
"coincidences" which puzzled me, and wiser people than Tom Ticehurst.
We had camped in a wretchedly miserable spot, which had nothing to
recommend it beyond the fact that there really was some grass there;
for the wall of rock on our right, which both Mac and Bill considered
a protection from the wind, acted as break-winds often do, and gave
us two gales in opposite directions, instead of one. So the wind,
instead of sweeping over us and going on its way, fought and
contended over our heads, and only ceased for a moment to rush
skrieking again about our ears as it leapt on the fire and sent the
embers here and there, while the rain descended at every possible
angle. Perhaps it was on account of the fizzing of the water in the
fire, the rattle of the branches overhead, and the whistling of the
wind, that we heard no one approaching our grumbling company until
they were right upon us. I was just then half a dozen paces out in
the darkness, cutting up some wood for our fire, and as the strangers
approached the light, I let fall my ax so that it narrowly escaped
cutting off my big toe, for one of the two I saw was a boy, and that
boy John Harmer! I slouched my big hat down over my eyes, and with
some wood in my arms I approached the group and replenished the fire.
John was talking with quite a Western twang, as though he was
determined not to be taken for an Englishman.
"Rain!" he was saying; "well, you bet it's something like it! On the
lake it takes an old hand to know which is land and which is water.
Old Hank was nearly drowned in his tent the other day."
"Serve him right!" growled Bill. "But who are you, young feller?--I
never see you before, and I mostly know everybody in this country."
Harmer looked up coolly, and taking off his hat, swung it round.
"Well," he answered, "I aint what you'd call celebrated in B.C. yet,
and so you mightn't have heard of me. But if you know everybody,
perhaps you know Tom Ticehurst and can tell me where he is to be
found. For I am looking for him."
"Oh, you are, are you?" said Bill. "Then what's he been doing that
you want him so bad as to come across in this trail this weather?"
"He hasn't been doing anything that I know, pard," said Jack; "but I
know he was up here with a man named Mackintosh."
"Ah! I know him," replied Bill, "in fact, I've seen him lately. Is
Tom Ticehurst a little chap with red hair and a squint?"
"No, he isn't!" shouted Jack, as if he had been libeled instead of
me. "He's a good looking fellow, big enough to eat you."
"Oh, is he?" sneered the joker. "I tell you what, young feller, it
would take a big man to chew up Montana Bill's little finger."
Harmer burst out laughing.
"So you're Montana Bill, are you?" said he.
"I am," answered Bill as gravely as if it were a kingly title.
"Well, then, old Hank said he could eat you up without pepper or
salt. He's as mad at you as a man can be; says he's been practicing
shooting all the winter on purpose to do you up, and he puts a new
edge on his knife every morning."
"That'll do, young feller," put in Mac, seeing that Bill was getting
in a rage, and knowing that he was just the man to have a row with a
youngster. "You're a little too fast, you are. My name's
Mackintosh, if you want anyone of that name."
"Do I want you!" cried Harmer anxiously; "of course I do! Do you
know where Ticehurst is?"
"Yes," replied Mac; while I stood close beside Harmer looking down at
the fire so that he couldn't see my face--I was laughing so.
"Then where is he? Hang it! has anything happened to him that you
fellows make such a mystery about it?" he asked getting a little
alarmed, as I could tell by the tone of his voice.
"Well," replied Mac quietly, "I'll tell you. He was up in the hills
with me, and we struck it rich--got a lot of gold, we did, you bet we
did," he went on in an irritating drawl; "and then came down when the
snow flew. We had such a time getting out, young feller, and then at
last we came to the Columbia and there----"
"He was drowned?" said Harmer growing pale.
"No, he warn't," replied Mac. "We got across all right, and stayed
all winter trapping with Bill here. And let me tell you, young man,
you mustn't trifle with Bill. He's a snorter, he is."
I could see "Damn Bill!" almost on Jack's lips, but he restrained it.
"And when the Chinook came up, and the snow began to melt a few days
back, we all got ready to cross the range--him, and Bill, and me.
That's six days ago. And a better fellow than him you never struck,
no, nor will. What do you think, pard?" he asked with a grin,
turning to me.
I grunted.
"And, young feller," Mac went on again, "if he's a pardner of yours,
or a shipmate--for I can see you're an Englishman--why, I'm glad he's
here and safe."
Then suddenly altering his tone, he turned fiercely on Harmer, who
jumped back in alarm.
"Why the thunder don't you shake hands with him? There he is
a-waitin'."
And John sprang across the fire and caught me by both hands.
"Confound it, Mr. Ticehurst, how very unkind of you!" he said, with
tears in his eyes. "I began to think you were dead." And he looked
unutterably relieved and happy, but bursting with some news, I could
see.
"Wait till supper, Jack," said I; "and then tell me. But I'm glad to
see you."
I was too, in spite of his leaving the Inlet without asking me.
As to the man with whom he came, Montana Bill knew him, and they
spent their time in bullying the absent Hank Patterson. It appeared
that Harmer had hired him to come and hunt for me as far as the
Columbia River, in order to bury me decently, as he had been firmly
convinced that I was dead, when he learnt no news of me at the
Landing.
The whole five of us sat down to beans and bacon; but I and Harmer
ate very little because he wanted to tell me something which I was
strangely loth to hear, so sure was I that it could be nothing good.
It certainly must be bad news to bring even an impulsive youngster
from the coast to the Columbia in such weather.
"Well, what is it, Harmer?" said I at last.
He hesitated a moment.
"Is it anything about her?" I asked quietly, lest the others should
overhear.
"Who? Miss F.?" he asked. I nodded, and he shook his head.
"It's no such luck," he went on; "but I am so doubtful of what I have
to tell you, although a few hours ago I was sure enough that I didn't
know how to begin. When Mat's sentence be up, Mr. Ticehurst?"
I had no need to reckon.
"The 15th of August, Jack."
He looked at me, and then bent over toward me.
"It's up already, sir."
"What, is he dead, then?"
"No, sir, but he has escaped."
And he filled his pipe while I gathered myself together. It was
dreadfully unfortunate if it were true.
"How do you know this?" I said at length,
"I saw him in New Westminster one night."
"The deuce you did! Harmer, are you sure?"
The lad looked uncomfortable, and wriggled about on his seat, which
was the old stump of a tree felled by some former occupants of our
camping ground.
"I should have been perfectly sure, if I hadn't thought he was in the
penitentiary," he said finally; "but still, I don't think I can have
mistaken his face, even though I only caught sight of it just for a
moment down in the Indian town. I was sitting in a cabin with two
other fellows and some klootchmen, and I saw him pass. There was not
much light, and he was going quick, but I jumped up and rushed out
after him. But in the rain and darkness he got away, if he thought
anyone was following him; or I missed him."
"I'm glad you did, my boy; he would have thought little of putting
his knife into you," and here I rubbed my own shoulder mechanically.
"Besides, if he had seen you, that would have helped him to track me.
But then, how in the name of thunder (as Mac says) did he come here
at all! It can't be chance. Did you look up the San Francisco
papers to see if anything was reported as to his escape?"
Harmer brightened as if glad to answer that he had done what I
considered he ought to have done.
"Yes, sir, I did; but I found nothing about it, nothing at all."
I reflected a little, and saw nothing clearly, after all, but the
imperative necessity of my getting down to the Forks. If Mat were
loose, why, I should have to be very careful, it was true; but
perhaps he might be retaken, though I did not know if a man could be
extradited for simply breaking prison. And if he came up country,
and couldn't find me, he might take it into his Oriental skull to
harm anyone I knew. The thought made me shiver.
"Did you stay at Thomson Forks, Harmer?" I asked, to try and turn the
dark current of my thoughts.
He blushed a little.
"Yes, sir, but only a day. I saw no one, though."
"What, not even Fanny?"
"No, but I wrote to her and told her I was going up the Lakes to see
what had become of you."
"That was kind of you, Jack," said I; "I mean it was kind of you to
come up here. How do you like the country, eh?"
He turned round comically, shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing.
I could see that early spring in the mountains did not please him,
especially as we were in the Wet Belt.
But if he did not like the country, I found he could stand it well,
for he was as hardy as a pack pony, and never complained, not though
we were delayed a whole day by the rain, and on our return to the
Landing had to go to Thomson Forks in Indian dugouts. When we did
arrive there it was fine at last, and the sun was shining brilliantly.
Mac, Harmer, and I were greeted in the friendliest manner at the
hotel by Dave, the bar-tender, who was resplendent with a white shirt
of the very finest get up, and diamond studs. He stood us drinks at
once.
"You're welcome to it, gentlemen, and more too. For we did think
down here that you had been lost in the snow. We never expected to
hear of you again. I think a young lady round here must have an
interest in you, Mr. Ticehurst," said he knowingly, "for only two
days ago she called me out and asked more than particularly about
you. When I told her nobody knew enough to make a line in 'Local
Items,' unless they said, 'Nothing has yet been heard,' I reckon she
was sorry."
"Who was it, Dave?" I asked carelessly "Was it Miss Fanny Fleming?"
"No, sir, it was not; it was Miss Fleming herself, and I must say
she's a daisy. The best looking girl between the Rocky Mountains and
the Pacific, gentlemen! Miss Fanny is nice--a pretty girl I will
say; but----" He stopped and winked, so that I could hardly keep
from throwing my glass at his carefully combed and oiled head. But I
was happy to think that Elsie had asked after me.
In the morning we got horses from Ned Conlan, and rode over to Mr.
Fleming's ranch, which was situated in a long low valley, that
terminated a mile above his house in a narrow gulch, down which the
creek came. On either side were high hills, covered on their lower
slopes with bunch grass and bull pines, and higher up with thick
scrub, that ran at last into bare rock, on the topmost peaks of which
snow lay for nine months of the year. As we approached the farm, we
saw a few of the cattle on the opposing slopes; and on the near side
of the valley were the farm-buildings and the house itself, which was
partly hidden in trees. We tied our horses to the fence, and marched
in, as we fancied, as bold as brass in appearance; but if Harmer felt
half as uncomfortable as I did, which I doubt, I am sorry for him.
The first person we saw was Fanny, and the first thing she did was to
upset her chair on the veranda on the top of a sleeping dog, who at
first howled, and then made a rush at us barking loudly.
"Down, Di!" cried Fanny. "How dare you! O Mr. Ticehurst, how glad I
am you're not dead! And you, too, Mr. Harmer, though no one said you
were! Oh, where's father, I wonder--he'll be glad, too!"
"And Elsie, will she be glad as well, Fanny?" I asked. She looked at
me slyly, and nodded.
"You'd better ask her, I think. Here comes father."
He rode up on horseback, followed by Siwash Jim, swinging the noose
of a lariat in his right hand, as though he had been after horses or
cattle.
"Oh, it's you, Tom, is it?" said Fleming, who was looking very well.
"I'm glad you're not quite so dead as I was told. And you, Harmer,
how are you? Jim, take these gentlemen's horses to the stable.
You've come to stay for dinner, of course. I shan't let you go. I
heard you did very well gold-gambling last fall. Come in!" For that
news went down the country when we went to the Landing for grub.
I followed, wondering a little whether he would have been quite so
effusive if I had done badly. But I soon forgot that when I saw
Elsie, who had just come out of her room. I thought, when I saw her,
that she was a little paler than when we had last met, though perhaps
that was due to the unaccustomed cold and the sunless winter; but she
more than ever merited the rough tribute which Dave had paid her in
Conlan's bar. She was very beautiful to them; but how much more to
me, as she came up, a little shyly, and shook hands softly, saying
that she was glad that the bad news they had heard of me was not
true. I fancied that she had thought of me often during that winter,
and perhaps had seen she had been unjust. At any rate, there was a
great difference between what she was then and what she was now.
We talked during dinner about the winter, which the three Australians
almost cursed; in fact, the father did curse it very admirably, while
Elsie hardly reproved his strong language, so much did she feel that
forty degrees below zero merited all the opprobrium that could be
cast on it. I described our gold-mining adventures and the winter's
trapping, which, by the way, had added five hundred dollars to my
other money.
I told Fleming that I was now worth, with some I still had at home,
more than five thousand dollars, and I could see it gave him
satisfaction.
"What do you think of the country now, Mr. Fleming?" I asked; "and
how long shall you stay here?"
He shook his head.
"I don't know, my boy," he answered; "I think, in spite of the cold,
we shall have to stand another winter here. This summer I must
rebuild the barns and stables; there are still a lot of cattle adrift
somewhere; and I won't sell out under a certain sum. That's
business, you know; and I have just a little about me, though I am an
old fool at times, when the girls want their own way."
"What would you advise me to do?" said I, hoping he would give me
some advice which I could flatter him by taking. "You see, when one
has so much money, it is only the correct thing to make more of it.
The question is how to do it."
"That's quite right, Ticehurst--quite right!" said he energetically.
"I'm glad you talk like that; your head's screwed on right; you will
be well in yet" (an Australian phrase for our "well off"), "I'll bet
on that. Well, you can open a store, or go lumbering, or
gold-mining, or hunting, or raise cattle, like me."
I pretended to reflect, though I nearly laughed at catching Harmer's
eye, for he knew quite well what I wanted to do.
"Yes, Mr. Fleming, you're right. That's nearly all one can do. But
as to keeping a store, you see, I've been so accustomed to an
open-air life, I don't think it would suit me. Besides, a big man
like me ought to do something else than sell trousers! As to
gold-mining, I've done that, and been lucky once, which, in such a
gambling game, is against me. And hunting or trapping--well, there's
nothing great in that. I think I should prefer cattle-raising, if I
could do it. I was brought up on a farm in England, and why
shouldn't I die on one in British Columbia, or" (and I looked at
Elsie) "in Australia?"
"Quite right, Tom," said Fanny, laughing, for she was too cute to
miss seeing what I meant.
Mr. Fleming looked at me approvingly.
"You'll die worth a lot yet, Tom Ticehurst. I like your spirit. I
was just the same once. Now, I'll tell you what. Did you ever see
George Nettlebury at the Forks?"
"No," I replied, "not that I know of."
"I dare say you have," said he; "he's mostly drunk; and Indian Alice,
who is always with him, usually has a black eye, as a gentle reminder
that she belongs to an inferior race, if she is his wife. Now, he
lives about two miles from here, over yonder" (he pointed over the
valley). "He has a house--a very dirty one now, it is true; a
stable, and a piece of meadow, fenced in, where he could raise good
hay if he would mend the fence and keep other folks' cattle out. He
told me the other day that he was sick to death of this place, and he
wants just enough to go East with, and return to his old trade of
shipbuilding. He says he will take $300 for the whole place, with
what is on it. That don't amount to much--two cows, one old steer,
and a cayuse he rides round on. If you like, we'll go over and see
him. You can buy it, and buy some more cattle, and if you have more
next winter than you can feed, I'll let you have the hay cheap. What
do you say?"
My heart leapt up, but I pretended I wanted time to think about it.
"Then let's ride over now, and you can look at the place," said he;
rising.
Harmer would not come, so I left him with the sisters. When we
returned I was the owner of the house, stable, two cows, etc., and
George Nettlebury was fighting with Indian Alice, to whom he had
announced his intention of going East at once, and without her.
"I'm tired of this life; it's quite disgusting!" said George, as we
departed. "I'm glad you came, Mr. Ticehurst, for I'm off too quick."
As we rode back to Thomson Forks, Harmer asked pathetically what he
was to do.
"We must see, Jack," I answered kindly. "We'll get you something in
town."
"I'd rather be with you," he answered dolorously.
"Well, you can't yet, that's certain," said I. "I can't afford to
pay you wages, when there will be no more than I can get through
myself; when there is, I'll let you know. In the meantime you must
make money, Jack. There's a sawmill in town. I know the man that
runs it--Bill Custer, and I'll go and see him for you."
Jack sighed, and we rode on in silence until we reached the Forks.
After we had had supper Jack and I were standing in the barroom, not
near the stove, which was surrounded by a small crowd of men, who
smoked and chewed and chattered, but close by the door for the sake
of the fresher air, when we saw Siwash Jim ride up. After tying his
horse to the rail in front of the house, to which half a dozen other
animals in various stages of equine despondency or irritation were
already attached, he swaggered into the bar, brushing against me
rather rudely as he did so. Harmer's eyes flashed with indignation,
as if it was he who had been insulted. But I am a very peaceable
man, and don't always fight at the first chance. Besides, being so
much bigger than Jim, I could, I considered, afford to take no notice
of what an ill-conditioned little ruffian like that did when he was
probably drunk. Presently Jack spoke to me.
"That beastly fellow keeps looking at you, Mr. Ticehurst, as if he
would like to cut your throat. What's wrong with him? Is he jealous
of you, do you think?"
It was almost blasphemy to dream of such a thing, and I looked at Mr.
John Harmer so sternly that he apologized; yet I believe it must to
some extent have been that which caused the trouble that ensued
almost directly, and added afterward to the danger in which I already
stood. I turned round and looked at Jim, who returned my glance
furiously. He ordered another drink, and then another. It seemed as
if he was desirous of making himself drunk. Presently Dave, who was,
as usual, behind the bar, spoke to him.
"Going back to the ranch to-night, Jim?"
Jim struck the bar hard with his fist.
"No, I'm not! Never, unless I go to set the damned place on fire!"
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Dave, smiling, while Harmer and I
pricked up our ears.
"Ah! I had some trouble with old Fleming just now," said Jim, in a
hoarse voice of passion. "He's like the rest, wants too much; the
more one does, the more one may do. He's a dirty coyote, and his
girls are----" And the gentle-minded Jim used an epithet which made
both our ears tingle.
Jack made a spring, but I caught him by the shoulder and sent him
spinning back, and walked up alongside the men. I saw my own face in
the glass at the back of the bar; it was very white, and I could
hardly recognize it.
"Mind what you say, you infernal ruffian!" I said, in a low voice,
"or I'll break your neck for you! Don't you dare to speak about
ladies, you dog, or I'll strangle you!" He sprang back like
lightning. If he had had a six-shooter on him I think my story would
have ended here, for I had none myself. But Jim had no weapon. Yet
he was no coward, and did not "take water," or "back down," as they
say there. He steadied himself one moment, and then threw the
water-bottle at me with all his force. Though I ducked, I did not
quite escape it, for the handle caught me on the forehead near the
hair, and, in breaking, cut a gash which sent the blood down into my
left eye. But I caught hold of him before he could do anything else.
In a moment the room was in an uproar; some of the men climbed on to
the tables in order to get a view, while those outside crowded to the
door. They roared, "Leave 'em alone!" when Dave attempted to
approach, and one big fellow caught hold of Harmer and held him,
saying at the same time, as Jack told me afterward, "You stay right
here, sonny, and see 'em fight. Mebbe you'll larn something!"
I found Jim a much tougher customer than I should have imagined,
although I might have handled him more easily if I had not been for
the time blind in one eye. But he was like a bunch of muscle; his
arms, though slender, were as tough and hard as his stock-whip
handle, and his quickness was surprising. He struck me once or twice
as we grappled, and then we fell, rolling over and over, and
scattering the onlookers, as we went, until we came against the legs
of the table, which gave way and sent three men to the floor with a
shock that shook the house. Finally, Jim got his hand in my hair and
tried to gouge out my eyes. Fortunately, it was not long enough for
him to get a good hold, but when I felt his thumbs feeling for my
eyes, all the strength and rage I ever had seemed to come to me, and
I rose suddenly with him clinging to me. For a moment we swayed
about, and then I caught his throat, pushed him at arm's length from
me, and, catching hold of his belt, I threw him right over my head.
I was standing with my back to the door, and he went through it, fell
on the sidewalk, and rolled off into the road, where he lay
insensible.
"Very good!" said Dave; "very well done indeed! Pick him up, some of
you fellows, and see if he's dead. The son of a gun, I'll make him
pay for that bottle, and for the table! Come, have a drink, Mr.
Ticehurst. You look rather warm."
I should think I did, besides being smothered with blood and dust. I
was glad to accept his invitation.
"Is he dead?" I asked of Harmer, who came in just then.
"Not he," said Jack, "he's coming to already, but I guess he'll fight
no more for a few days. That must have been a sickener. By Jove!
how strong you must be--he went out of the door like a stone out of a
sling. Lucky he didn't hit the post." And Harmer chuckled loudly,
and then went off with me to wash away the blood, and bandage the cut
in my forehead.
When I left town in the morning I heard that Jim was still in bed and
likely to stay there for some time. And Harmer, who was going to
work with Bill Custer, promised to let me know if he heard anything
which was of importance to me.
On my way out to my new property I met its late owner and his Indian
wife in their ricketty wagon, drawn by the horse I had not thought
worth buying. Nettlebury was more than half drunk, although it was
early in the morning, and when he saw me coming he rose up, waved his
hand to me, bellowed, "I'm a-goin' East, I am!" and, falling over the
seat backward, disappeared from view. Alice reached out her hand and
helped her husband to regain his former position. I came up
alongside and reined in my horse.
He looked at me.
"Been fightin' already, hev you; or did you get chucked off? More
likely you got chucked--it takes an American to ride these cay uses!"
said he half scornfully.
"No," said I, "I wasn't chucked, and I have been fighting. Did you
hear why Siwash Jim left Fleming!"
"No, not exactly," he returned; "but he was sassy with Miss Elsie,
and--oh, I dunno--but you hev been fightin', eh? Did you lick
him--and who was it?"
"The man himself, Mr. Nettlebury," said I--"Jim; and I reckon I did
whip him."
He laughed.
"Good on you, old man! He's been wanting it this long while past;
but look out he don't put a knife in your ribs. Now then," said he
ferociously, turning to his wife, "why don't you drive on? Here,
catch hold!" and giving her the reins, he lifted his hand to strike
her. But just then the old horse started up, he fell over the seat
again, and lay there on a pile of sacking. I hardly thought he would
get East with his money, and I was right, for I hired him to work for
me soon afterward.
When I came to the Flemings' there was no one about but the old man.
"Busy!" said he, "you may bet I'm busy. I sent that black ruffian
off yesterday, and I've got no one to help me. What's the matter
with your head?"
When I told him, he laughed heartily, and then shook my hand.
"I'm glad you thrashed him, Tom," said he; "I'd have done it myself
yesterday if I had been ten years younger. When Elsie wanted him to
get some water, he growled and said all klootchmen, as he calls
'em--women, you know--were alike, Indian or white, and no good. I
told him to get out. Is he badly hurt?"
"Not very," I answered.
"I hoped he was," said the old man. "It's a pity you didn't break
his neck! I would as soon trust a black snake! Are you going over
yonder?"
"I guess so," I answered; "I must get the place cleaned up a
bit--it's like a pigsty, or what they call a hog-pen in this country,"
"Well, I guess it is," he replied; "but come over in the evening, if
you like."
I thanked him and rode off, happy in one thing at least--I was near
Elsie. I felt as if Harmer's suspicions about Mat were a mere
chimera, and that the lad in some excitement had mistaken the dark
face of some harmless Indian for that of the revengeful Malay. And
as to Siwash Jim, why, I shrugged my shoulders; I did not suppose he
was so murderously inclined as Nettlebury imagined. It would be hard
lines on me to have two men so ill disposed toward me, through no
fault of my own, as to wish to kill me.
I went back to the Flemings' after a hard day's work, in which I
burnt, or otherwise disposed of, an almost unparalleled collection of
rubbish, including old crockery and bottles, dirty shirts and
worn-out boots, which had been accumulating indoors and out for some
ten years. After being nearly smothered, I was glad to go down to
the creek and take a bath in the clear, cold water which ran into the
main watercourse issuing, some two miles away, from the Black Cañon
at the back of the valley, concerning which Fleming had once spoken
to me. That evening at his ranch was the pleasantest I ever spent in
my life up to that time, in spite of the black cloud which hung over
me, for Fanny was as bright and happy as a bird, while Elsie, who
seemed to have come to her senses, spoke almost freely, displaying no
more disinclination to me, even apparently, than might naturally be
set down to her instinctive modesty, and her knowledge that I was
courting her, and desired to be received as her lover.
I spoke to her late that evening when Fleming went out to throw down
the night's hay to his horses. For Fanny vanished discreetly at the
same moment, and continued to make just enough noise in the kitchen
to assure us she was there, while it was not sufficient to drown even
the softest conversation. Good girl she was, and is--I love her yet,
though--well, perhaps I had better leave that unsaid at present.
"Elsie," I said, when we were alone, "do you remember what I said
when we parted on the steamer?"
She cast her eyes down, but did not answer.
"I think you do, Elsie," I went on; "I said I should never forget.
Do you think I have? Don't you know why I left my ship, why I came
to this country, why I went mining, and why I have worked so hard and
patiently for long, long months without seeing you? Answer me; do
you know why?"
She hesitated a moment, lifted up her blue eyes, dropped them at the
sight of the passion in mine, and said gently, "I suppose so, Mr.
Ticehurst."
"Yes, you know, Elsie; it was that I might be near you, that I might
get rich enough to be able to claim you. How fortunate I have been
in that! But am I fortunate in other things, too, Elsie? Will you
answer me that, Elsie?"
I approached her, but she held up her hand.
"Stay, Mr. Ticehurst!--if I must speak. I may have judged you
wrongly, but I am not wholly sure that I have. If I have not, I
should only be preparing misery for myself and for you, if I answered
your questions as you would have me. I want time, and I must have
it, or some other assurance; for how can I wholly trust you when you
will not speak as you might do?"
Ah! how could I? But this was far better than I had expected--far
better.
"Elsie," I answered quietly, "I am ready to give you time, all the
time you need to prove me, and my love for you, though there is no
need. My heart is yours, and yours only, ever from the time I saw
you. I have never even wavered in my faith and hope. But I do not
care so long as I may be near you--so long as I may see you
sometimes, and speak to you. For without you I shall be wretched,
and would be glad even if that wretched Malay were to kill me, as he
threatened."
I thought I was cunning to bring in Matthias, and indeed she lifted
her eyes then. But she showed no signs of fear for me. Perhaps she
looked at me, saying to herself there was no need of such a strong
man being afraid of such a visionary danger. She spoke after a
little silence.
"Then let it be so, Mr. Ticehurst. If what you say be true, there at
least is nothing for you to fear."
She looked at me straight then with her glorious blue eyes, and I
would have given worlds to catch her in my arms and press her to my
heart. She went on:
"And if you never give me cause, why--" She was silent, but held out
her hand.
I took it, pressed it, and would have raised it to my lips, only she
drew it gently away. But I went to rest happy that night. Give her
cause!--indeed, what cause could I give her? That is what I asked
myself, without knowing what was coming, without feeling my
ignorance, my blindness, and my helplessness in the strange web of
fate and fated crime which was being woven around me--without being
conscious, as an animal is in the prairie, of that storm, so ready to
burst on my head, whose first faint clouds had risen on the horizon
of my life, even before I had seen her, in the very hour that I had
joined the _Vancouver_ under my own brother's command. I went to
sleep, wondering vaguely what had become of him. But we are blind,
all of us, and see nothing until the curtain rises on act after act;
being ignorant still, whether the end shall be sweet or bitter to us,
whether it shall justify our smiles in happiness, or our tears in
some bitter tragedy.
For two days I worked in and about my house, putting things in some
order, and on the third I rode over to the Flemings' early in the
morning, as it had been arranged that I was to go out with Mr.
Fleming to look after some cattle of his, which a neighbor had
complained of. I never felt in better spirits than when I rode over
the short two miles which separated us, for the morning was calm and
bright, with a touch of that glorious freshness known only among
mountains or on high plateaus lifted up from the common level of the
under world. I even sang softly to myself, for the black cloud of
doubt, which but a few days ago had obscured all my light, was driven
away by a new dawning of hope, and I was content and without fear. I
shouted cheerfully for Fleming as I rode up, and he came to the door
with his whip over his arm, followed by the two girls. I alighted,
and shook hands all round.
"Then you are ready, Mr. Fleming?" I asked.
"When I have put the saddle on the black horse," he replied, as he
went toward the stable, leaving me standing there, for I was little
inclined to offer to assist him while Elsie remained outside the
house. Fanny was quite as mischievous as ever, and whether her
sister had told her anything of what had passed between us two days
before or not, she was evidently conscious that the relations between
Elsie and myself had somehow altered for the better.
"How do you find yourself these days, Tom?" she asked, with a merry
twinkle in her eye.
"Very well, Fanny," I answered. "Thanks for your inquiry."
"Does the climate suit you, then? Or is it the surroundings?"
"Both, my dear girl, as long as the sun shines on us!" I replied,
laughing, while Elsie turned away with a smile.
Fanny almost winked at me, and then looked up the road toward Thomson
Forks, which ran close by the ranch and led toward an Indian
settlement on the Lake about ten miles away.
"There's someone coming," she said, "and he's in a hurry. Isn't he
galloping, Mr. Ticehurst?"
I looked up the road and saw somebody who certainly was coming down
the long slope from the crest of the hill with more than reasonable
rapidity. I looked, and then turned away carelessly. What was the
horseman to me? I leant against the post of the veranda, which some
former occupant of the house had ornamented by whittling with his
knife, until it was almost too thin to do its duty, and began to
speak to Fanny again, when I saw her blush and start.
"Why, Mr. Ticehurst," she said, "it's Mr. Harmer!"
Then the horseman was something to me, after all. For what but some
urgent need would bring Jack, who was entirely ignorant of horses and
riding, at that breakneck gallop over the mountain road? My
carelessness went suddenly, and I felt my heart begin to beat with
unaccustomed violence. I turned pale, I know, as I watched him
coming nearer. I was quite unconscious that Elsie had rejoined her
sister, and stood behind me.
Harmer came closer and closer, and when he saw us waved his hat. In
a moment he was at the gate, while I stood still at the house, and
did not move to go toward him. He alighted, opened the gate, and,
with his bridle over his aim, came up to us. He said good-morning to
the girls hurriedly, and turned to me.
"You must come to Thomson Forks directly, Mr. Ticehurst!" he said,
gasping, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "Something's happened,
I don't know what, and I can't tell; but she wants to see you at
once, and sent me off to fetch you--and so I came, and, oh! how sore
I am," and he wriggled suggestively, and in a way that would have
been comic under other circumstances.
I caught hold of his arm.
"What do you mean," I roared, "you young fool? What's happened, and
who wants to see me? Who's _she_?"
He looked up in astonishment.
"Why, didn't I say Mrs. Ticehurst, of course?"
I let him go and fell against the post, making it crack as I did so.
I looked at Elsie, and she was white and stern. But she did not
avoid my eye.
"Well, what is it--what's happened?" I said at last.
"I don't know, I tell you, sir," said he almost piteously; "all I
know is that I was sent for to the sawmill by Dave, and when I came I
saw Mrs. Ticehurst; and she's dressed in black, sir, and she looked
dreadfully bad, and she just shook hands with me, and told me to
fetch you at once. And when I asked what for, she just stamped, sir,
and told me to go. And so I came, and that's all!"
Surely it was enough. Much as I liked her, I would rather have met
Mat or the very devil in the way than had this happen now, when
things were going so well with me. And in black?--good God! had
anything happened to my brother? I turned white, I know, and almost
fell.
"You had better go at once, Tom," laid Fanny, who held me by the arm.
I turned, I hardly know why, to her sister. Her face was very pale,
but her eyes glittered, and she looked like marble. I know my own
asked hers a question, but I got no response. I turned away toward
my horse, and then she spoke.
"Mr. Ticehurst, let me speak to you one moment. Fanny, go and talk
to Mr. Harmer."
And Fanny and I both obeyed her like children.
She looked at me straight.
"How could I prove you, Mr. Ticehurst," she said, in a low voice,
"was what I asked the other night. Now the means are in my power.
What are you going to do?"
"I am going to the Forks," I said, in bewilderment. Her eyes
flashed, and she looked at me scornfully.
"Then go, but don't ever speak to me again! Go!"
And she turned away. I caught her arm.
"Don't be unjust, Elsie!--don't be cruelly unjust!" I cried. What a
fool I was; I knew she loved me, and yet I asked her not to be cruel
and unjust. Can a woman or a man in love be anything else?
"How can I stay away?" I asked passionately, "when my brother's wife
sends for me? And she is in black--poor Will must be dead!"
If he was dead, then Helen was free. I saw that and so did Elsie,
and it hardened her more than ever, for she did not answer.
"Look then, Elsie, I am going, and you say I shall not speak to you
again. You are cruel, very cruel--but I love you! And you shall
speak to me--aye, and one day ask my pardon for doubting me. But
even for you I cannot refuse this request of my own
sister-in-law--who is ill, alone, in sorrow and trouble, in a strange
land. For the present, good-by!"
I turned away, took my horse from the fence, and rode off rapidly,
without thinking of Harmer, or of Fleming, who was standing in
amazement at his stable, as I saw when I opened the swing-gate. And
if Harmer had come up at a gallop, I went at one, until my horse was
covered with sweat, and the foam, flying from his champed bit, hung
about my knees like sea-foam that did not easily melt. In half an
hour I was at Conlan's door, and was received by Dave. In two
minutes I stood in Helen's presence.
When I saw her last she had that rich red complexion which showed the
pure color of the blood through a delicate skin; her eyes were
piercing and perhaps a little hard, and her figure was full and
beautiful. She had always rejoiced, too, in bright colors, such as
an Oriental might have chosen, and their richness had suited her
striking appearance. But now she was woefully altered, and I barely
knew her. The color had deserted her cheeks, which were wan and
hollow; her eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles, and her
bust had fallen in until she looked like the ghost of her former
self, a ghost that was but a mere vague memory of her whom I had
first known in Melbourne.
Her dress, too, was black, which I knew she hated, and in which she
looked even less like herself. Her voice, when she spoke, no longer
rang out with assurance, but faltered ever and again with the tears
that rose to her eyes and checked her utterance.
I took her hand, full of pity for her, and dread of what she had to
tell me, for it must be something dreadful which had changed her so
much and brought her so far.
"What is it, Helen?" I said, in a low voice.
"What did I come for, you mean, Tom?" she asked, though desiring no
answer. "I came for your sake--and not for Will's. I thought you
might never get a letter, and I wanted to see you once again. Ah!
how much I desired that. Tom, you are in danger!" she spoke that
suddenly--"in danger every moment! For that man who threatened your
life----"
I nodded, sucking my dry lips, for I knew what she meant, and I was
only afraid of what else she had to tell me.
"That man has escaped, and has not been caught. O Tom, be
careful--be careful! If you were to die, too----"
"What do you mean, Helen?" I asked, though I knew full well what she
meant. She looked at me.
"Can't you think? Yes, you can perhaps partly; but not all--not all
the horror of it. Tom, Will is dead! And not only that, but he was
murdered in San Francisco!"
I staggered, and sat down staring at her. She went on in a curiously
constrained voice.
"Yes; the very first night we came ashore, and in our hotel! He was
intoxicated, and came in late, and I wouldn't have him in my room. I
made them put him in the next, and I heard him shouting out of his
window over the veranda soon afterward, and then I fell asleep. And
in the morning I found him--I myself found him dead in bed, struck
right through with a stab in the heart. And he was robbed, too.
Tom, it nearly killed me, it was so horrible--oh, it was horrible! I
didn't know what to do. I was going to send for you, and then I read
in the paper about Mat having escaped two days before, so I came away
at once."
She ceased and sobbed violently; and I kept silence. God alone knows
what was in my heart, and how it came there; but for a moment--yes,
and for more than that--I suspected her, his wife, of my brother's
murder! I was blind enough, I suppose, and so was she; but then so
many times in life we wonder suddenly at our want of sight when the
truth comes out. I remembered she had once said she hated him, and
could kill him. And besides, she loved me. I shivered and was still
silent. She looked up and caught my eye, which, I knew, was full of
doubt. She rose up suddenly, came to me, fell on her knees, and
cried:
"No, no, Tom--not that! For God's sake, don't look at me so!"
And I knew she saw my very heart, and I was ashamed of myself. I
lifted her up and put her on a chair. Heavens! how light she was to
what she had been, for her soul had wasted her body away like a
strong wind fanning a fire.
"Poor Will!" I said at last, and then I asked if she had remained for
the inquest. No, she had not, she answered. I started at her reply.
If I could think what I had, what might others not do? For her to
disappear like that after the murder of her husband was enough to
make people believe her guilty of the crime, and I wondered that she
had not been prevented from leaving. But on questioning her further,
I learnt that the police suspected a certain man who was a frequenter
of that very hotel; and, after the manner of their kind, had got him
in custody, and were devoting all their attention to proving him
guilty of the crime, whether there were _prima facie_ proofs or not.
Still, it seemed bitter that poor Will should be left to strangers
while his wife came to see me; and though she had done it to save me,
as she thought, yet, after all, the danger was hardly such as to
warrant her acting as she had done. But I was not the person to
blame her. She had done it, poor woman, because she yet loved me, as
I knew even then. But I saw, too, that it was love without hope; and
even if it had not been, she must have learnt that I was near to
Elsie; and that I was "courting old Fleming's gal" was the common
talk whenever my name was mentioned. I tried to convince myself that
she had most likely ceased to think of me, and I preferred to believe
it was only the daily and hourly irritation of poor Will's conduct
which had driven her to compare me with him to his disadvantage.
Well, whatever his faults were, they had been bitterly expiated; as,
indeed, such faults as his usually are. It does not require
statistics to convince anyone who has seen much of the world that
most of the trouble in it comes directly from drink.
I was in a strange situation as I sat reflecting. I suppose strict
duty required me to go to San Francisco, and yet Will would be buried
before I could get there. Then what was I to do with his widow? She
could not stay there, I could not allow it, nor did I think she
desired it. Still she was not fit to travel in her state of nervous
exhaustion; indeed, it was a marvel that she had been able to come so
far, even under the stimulus of such unwonted excitement. I could
not go away with her even for a part of the return journey, for I
felt Elsie would be harder and harder to manage the more she knew I
saw of Helen. I ended by coming to the conclusion that she must stay
at the Forks for a while, and that I must go back and try to have an
explanation with Elsie. Helen bowed her head in acquiescence when I
told her what she had better do, for the poor woman was utterly
broken down, and ready to lean on any arm that was offered her; and
she, who had been so strong in her own will, was at last content to
be advised like an obedient child. I left her with Mrs. Conlan, to
whom I told as much as I thought desirable, and, kissing her on the
forehead, I took my horse and rode slowly toward home.
As I left the town I saw Siwash Jim sitting on the sidewalk, and he
looked at me with a face full of diabolical hatred. When I got to
the crest of the hill above the town I turned in the saddle, and saw
him still gazing after me.
When half-way home I met Harmer, who was riding even slower than I,
and sitting as gingerly in the saddle as if he were very
uncomfortable, as I had no doubt he was.
"Well, Mr. Ticehurst," said he eagerly, when we came near, "what was
it?"
I told him, and he looked puzzled.
"Well," he remarked at last, "it seems to me I must have been
mistaken after all, and that I didn't see Mat when I thought I did.
Let me see, when did he escape?"
I reckoned it up, and it was only twelve days ago, for Helen had
taken nine days coming from San Francisco, according to what she told
me.
"Then it is impossible for me to have seen him in New Westminster,"
said Harmer. "But it is very strange that I should have imagined I
did see him, and that he did escape after all."
Then I told him of my brother's death.
"Why, Mr. Ticehurst," he exclaimed, "Matthias must have done it
himself! He must--don't you see he must?"
The thought had not entered into my head.
"No," said I; "I don't see it at all. There's a man in custody for
it now, and it is hardly likely Mat would stay in San Francisco, if
he escaped, for two days. Besides, it is even less likely that he
would fall across my brother the very first evening he came ashore."
Harmer shook his head obstinately.
"We shall see, sir--we shall see. You know he didn't like Captain
Ticehurst much better than you. Then, you say he was robbed of his
papers. Was your address among them, do you think?"
I started, for Jack's suspicion seemed possible after all. The
thing, looked more likely than it had done at first sight. And yet
it was only my cowardice that made me think so. I shook my head, but
answered "yes" to his question.
"Then pray, Mr. Ticehurst, be careful," said Jack earnestly, "and
carry your revolver always. Besides, that fellow Jim is about again.
You hardly hurt him at all; he must be made of iron, and I heard last
night he threatened to have your life."
"Threatened men live long, Jack," said I. "I am not scared of him.
That's only talk and blow. I don't care much if Mat doesn't get on
my track. He would be dangerous. Did you see Miss Fleming before
you left?" I said, turning the conversation.
He shook his head. She had gone to her room, and remained there when
I went away.
"Well, Harmer, I shall be in town the day after to-morrow," I said at
last, "and if anything happens, you can send me word; and go and see
Mrs. Ticehurst meanwhile."
"I will do that," said he, "but to-morrow morning I have to go up the
lake to the logging camp, and don't know when I shall be back.
That's what Custer said this morning, when I asked him to let me come
over here."
"Very well, it won't matter, I dare say," I answered. "Take care of
yourself, Jack."
"Oh, Mr. Ticehurst," said he, turning round in the saddle, and
wincing as he did so, "it is you who must be careful! Pray, do be
very careful!"
I nodded, shook hands, and rode on.
When I came to the Flemings', Fanny was at the big gate, and she
asked a question by her eyes before we got close enough to speak.
"Yes, Fanny," said I, "it was serious." And then I told her what had
occurred. She held out her hand and pressed mine sympathetically.
"I am so sorry, Tom," was all she said; but she said it so kindly
that her voice almost brought the tears to my eyes.
"Has Elsie spoken to you since I went, Fanny?" I asked, as we walked
down to the house together, while my horse followed with his head
hanging down.
"I haven't even seen her, Tom," she replied; "the door was locked,
and when I knocked she told me to go away, which, as it's my room
too, was not very polite."
In spite of my love for Elsie, I felt somewhat bitter against her
injustice to me, and I was glad to see that I made her suffer a
little on her part. I know I have said very little about my own
feelings, for I don't care somehow to put down all that I felt, any
more than I like to tell any stranger all that is near my heart; but
I did feel strongly and deeply, and to see her, who was with me by
day and night as the object of my fondest hope, so unjust, was enough
to make me bitter. I wished to reproach her, for I was not a
child--a boy, to be fooled with like this.
"Go and ask her to see me, Fanny, please," I said rather sternly, as
I stood outside the door. "And don't tell her anything of what I
told you, either of Will or Matthias."
Fanny started.
"You never said anything of Matthias!" she cried.
"Didn't I, Fanny? Well, then, I will. He has escaped from prison,
and I suppose he is after me by this. But don't tell Elsie. Just
say I want to see her."
In a few moments she came back, with tears in her eyes.
"She won't, Tom! She is in an obstinate fit, I know. And though she
is crying her eyes out--the spiteful cat!--she won't come. I know
her. She just told me to go away. What shall I do?" she asked.
"Nothing, Fanny," I answered; "you can tell her what you like. Will
you be so cruel to your lover, little Fanny?"
She looked up saucily.
"I don't know, Tom; I shall see when I have one"--and she laughed.
"What about Jack Harmer, then?"
"Well, you see," and she looked down, "he's very young." She wasn't
more than seventeen herself, and looked younger. "And, besides, I
don't care for anybody but Elsie and father and you, Tom."
"Very well, Fanny," said I; "give me a kiss from Elsie, and make her
give it you back."
"I will, Tom," she said quite simply, and, kissing her, I rode off
quietly across the flat to my solitary home.