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PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN
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[Illustration: "IT SEEMED PRUDENT TO PLACE AS LONG A DISTANCE AS POSSIBLE
BETWEEN THEM AND THE SETTLEMENT"--Page 158]
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PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN
BY
HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF
THE LONG PORTAGE,
RANCHING FOR SYLVIA,
WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE, ETC.
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR BY
W. HERBERT DUNTON
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS :: NEW YORK
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND UNDER THE TITLE, "THE WASTREL"
August, 1913
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. JERNYNGHAM'S HAPPY THOUGHT 1
II. MURIEL SEES THE WEST 12
III. JERNYNGHAM MAKES A DECISION 23
IV. MURIEL FEELS REGRET 35
V. THE MYSTERY OF THE MUSKEG 45
VI. A DEAL IN LAND 57
VII. THE SEARCH 67
VIII. A DAY ON THE PRAIRIE 79
IX. PRESCOTT MAKES A PROMISE 92
X. A NEW CLUE 102
XI. A REVELATION 113
XII. PRESCOTT'S FLIGHT 123
XIII. THE CONSTRUCTION CAMP 131
XIV. ON THE TRAIL 141
XV. MISS FOSTER'S ESCORT 153
XVI. THE MISSIONARY'S ALLY 168
XVII. THE PASSAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS 183
XVIII. DEFEAT 195
XIX. PRESCOTT'S RETURN 206
XX. MURIEL RELIEVES HER MIND 216
XXI. WANDLE TAKES PRECAUTIONS 227
XXII. JERNYNGHAM MAKES A DISCOVERY 237
XXIII. A NIGHT RIDE 249
XXIV. MURIEL PROVES OBDURATE 261
XXV. A WOMAN'S INFLUENCE 272
XXVI. PRESCOTT MAKES INQUIRIES 284
XXVII. STARTLING NEWS 296
XXVIII. THE END OF THE PURSUIT 306
XXIX. JERNYNGHAM BREAKS DOWN 318
XXX. PRESCOTT'S VINDICATION 332
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PRESCOTT, OF SASKATCHEWAN
CHAPTER I
JERNYNGHAM'S HAPPY THOUGHT
The air was cooling down toward evening at Sebastian, where an
unpicturesque collection of wooden houses stand upon a branch line on the
Canadian prairie. The place is not attractive during the earlier portion
of the short northern summer, when for the greater part of every week it
lies sweltering in heat, in spite of the strong west winds that drive
dust-clouds through its rutted streets. As a rule, during the remaining
day or two the temperature sharply falls, thunder crashes between
downpours of heavy rain, and the wet plank sidewalks provide a
badly-needed refuge from the cement-like "gumbo" mire.
The day, however, had been cloudless and unusually hot. Prescott had
driven in from his wheat farm at some distance from the settlement, and
he now walked toward the hotel. He was twenty-eight years old, of average
height and rather spare figure; his face, which had been deeply bronzed
by frost and sun, was what is called open, his gray eyes were clear and
steady, the set of his lips and mould of chin firm. He looked honest and
good-natured, but one who could, when necessary, sturdily hold his own.
His attire was simple: a wide gray hat, a saffron-colored shirt with
flannel collar, and a light tweed suit, something the worse for wear.
As he passed along the sidewalk he looked about. The small, frame houses
were destitute of paint and any pretense of beauty, a number of them had
raised, square fronts which hid the shingled roofs; but beyond the end of
the street there was the prairie stretching back to the horizon. In the
foreground it was a sweep of fading green and pale ocher; farther off it
was tinged with gray and purple; and where it cut the glow of green and
pink on the skyline a long birch bluff ran in a cold blue smear. To the
left of the opening rose three grain elevators: huge wooden towers with
their tops narrowed in and devices of stars and flour-bags painted on
them. At their feet ran the railroad track, encumbered with a string of
freight-cars; a tall water-tank, a grimy stage for unloading coal, and a
small office shack marked the station.
Prescott, however, did not notice much of this; he was more interested in
the signs of conflict on the persons of the men he met. Some looked as if
they had been violently rolled in the dust; others wore torn jackets; and
the faces of several were disfigured by bruises. Empty bottles, which
make handy clubs, were suggestively scattered about the road. All this
was unusual, but Prescott supposed some allowance must be made for the
fact that it was the anniversary of the famous victory of the Boyne.
Moreover, there was a community of foreign immigrants, mixed with some
Irishmen and French Canadians, but all professing the Romish faith,
engaged in some railroad work not far away.
In front of the hotel ran a veranda supported on wooden pillars, and a
row of chairs was set out on the match-strewn sidewalk beneath it. Most
of them were occupied by after-supper loungers, and several of the men
bore scars. Prescott stopped and lighted his pipe.
"Things seem to have been pretty lively here," he remarked. "I came in to
see the implement man and found he couldn't talk straight, with half his
teeth knocked out. It's lucky the Northwest troopers have stopped your
carrying pistols."
One of the men laughed.
"We've had a great day, sure. Quite a few of the Dagos had knives, and
Jernyngham had a sword. Guess he'd be in trouble now, only it wasn't one
you could cut with."
"How did he get the sword?"
"It was King Billy's," explained another man. "Fellow who was acting him
got knocked out with a bottle in his eye. Jernyngham got up on the horse
instead and led the last charge, when we whipped them across the track."
"Where's the Protestant Old Guard now?"
"Some of it's in Clayton's surgery; rest's gone home. When it looked as
if the stores would be wrecked, Reeve Marvin butted in. Telephoned the
railroad boss to send up gravel cars for his boys; told the other crowd
he'd bring the troopers in if they didn't quit. Ordered all strangers off
on the West-bound, and now we're simmering down."
"Where's Jernyngham?"
The man jerked his hand toward the hotel.
"In his room, a bit the worse for wear. Mrs. Jernyngham's nursing him."
Pushing open the wire-mesh mosquito door, Prescott entered the building.
Its interior was shadowy and filled with cigar smoke; flies buzzed
everywhere, and the smell of warm resinous boards pervaded the rank
atmosphere. The place was destitute of floor covering or drapery, and the
passage Prescott walked down was sloppy with soap and water from a row of
wash-basins, near which hung one small wet towel. Ascending the stairs,
he entered a little and very scantily furnished room with walls of
uncovered pine. It contained a bed with a ragged quilt and a couple of
plain wooden chairs, in one of which a man leaned back. He was about
thirty years old and he roughly resembled Prescott, only that his face,
which was a rather handsome one, bore the stamp of indulgence. His
forehead was covered by a dirty bandage, there was dust on his clothes,
and Prescott thought he was not quite sober. In the other chair sat a
young woman with fine dark eyes and glossy black hair, whose appearance
would have been prepossessing had it not been spoiled by her
slatternliness and cheap finery. She smiled at the visitor as he walked
in.
"If you'd come sooner, we might have kep' him out o' trouble," she said.
"He got away from me when things begun to hum."
Her slight accent suggested the French Canadian strain, though Prescott
imagined that there was a trace of Indian blood in her. Her manners were
unfinished, her character was primitive, but Prescott thought she was as
good a consort as Jernyngham deserved. The latter had a small wheat farm
lying back on the prairie, but his erratic temperament prevented his
successfully working it. Prescott was not a censorious person, and he had
a liking and some pity for the man.
"Well," he said, in answer to the woman's remark, "that was certainly
foolish of him. But what had he to do with the row, anyway?"
"Have a drink, and I'll try to explain," said Jernyngham. "A big cool
drink might clear my head, and I feel it needs it."
"You kin have soda, but nothin' else!" the woman broke in. "I'll send it
up; and now that I kin leave you, I'm goin' to the store." She turned to
Prescott. "Nothin' but soda; and see he don't git out!"
She left them and Jernyngham laughed.
"Ellice's a good sort; I sometimes wonder how she puts up with me.
Anyhow, I'm glad you came, because I'm in what might be called a
dilemma."
As this was not a novelty to his companion, Prescott made no comment, and
by and by two tumblers containing iced liquid were brought in. Jernyngham
drained his thirstily and looked up with a grin.
"It isn't exhilarating, but it's cool," he said. "Now, however, you're
curious about my honorable scars--I got them from a bottle. It broke, you
see, but there's some satisfaction in remembering that I knocked out the
other fellow with the flat of the Immortal William's sword."
"You'll get worse hurt some day," Prescott rebuked him severely.
"It's possible, but you're wandering from the point. I'm trying to
remember what led me into the fray in the incongruous company of certain
Hardshell Baptists, Ontario Methodists, and Belfast Presbyterians. As a
young man, my sympathies were with the advanced Anglicans, perhaps
because my people were sternly Evangelical. Then the whole thing's
unreasonable--what have I to do, for instance, with the Protestant
succession?"
"It isn't very plain," said Prescott. "Still, everybody knows what kind
of fool you are."
"I live," declared Jernyngham. "You steady, industrious fellows grow. The
row began at the ball-game--disputed base, I think--and our lot had got
badly whipped at the first round when I stood on the veranda and sang
them, 'No Surrender.' That was enough for the Ulster boys, and three or
four of them go a long way in this kind of scrimmage."
Prescott had no sympathy with Jernyngham's vagaries, but one could not be
angry with him: the man was irresponsible. In a few moments, however,
Jernyngham's face grew graver.
"Jack," he resumed, "I'm in a hole. Never troubled to ask for my letters
until late in the afternoon, and now I don't know what to do unless you
can help me."
"You had better tell me what the trouble is."
"To make you understand, I'll have to go back some time. Everybody round
this place knows what I am now, but I believe I was rather a promising
youngster before I left the old country, a bit of a rebel though, and
inclined to kick against the ultra-conventional. In fact, I think honesty
was my ruin, Jack; I kicked openly."
"Is there any other way? I can't see that there's much use in kicking
unless the opposition feels it."
"Don't interrupt," scowled Jernyngham. "This is rather deep for you, but
I'll try to explain. If you want to get on in the old country, you must
conform to the standard; though you can do what you like at times and
places where people of your proper circle aren't supposed to see you. I
didn't recognize the benefits of the system then--and I suffered for it."
He paused with a curious, half-tender look in his face.
"There was a girl, Jack, good as they're made, I still believe, though
not in our station. Well, I meant to marry her--thought I was strong
enough to defy the system--and she, not knowing what manner of life I was
meant for, was fond of me."
"What manner of life were you meant for?"
Jernyngham laughed harshly.
"The Bar, for a beginning; I'd got my degree. The House later--there was
strong family influence--to assist in propagating the Imperial idea.
Strikes one as amusing, Jack."
Prescott thought his companion would not have spoken so freely had he
been wholly sober, but he had long noticed the purity of the man's
intonation and the refinement that occasionally showed in his manners.
"You're making quite a tale of it," he said.
"Well," resumed Jernyngham, "I didn't know what I was up against; the
system broke me. When the stress came, I hadn't nerve enough to hold out,
and for that I've been punished. My sister--she meant well--got hold of
the girl, persuaded her to give me up--for my sake, Jack. Wouldn't see
me, sent back my letters, and I came to Canada, beaten."
He paused.
"There's a reason why you must try to realize my father and sister. He's
unflinchingly upright, conventional to a degree; Gertrude's a feebler
copy, as just, but perhaps not quite so hard. Well, I've never written to
either, but I've heard from friends and the conclusion seems to be that
as I've never asked for money I must have reformed. There's a desire for
a reconciliation; my father's getting old, and I believe, in their
reserved way, they were fond of me. Don't be impatient; I'm coming to the
point at last. I'd a letter to-day from Colston--though the man's a
relative, I haven't seen him since I left school. He and his wife are
passing through on their way to British Columbia and the idea seems to be
that he should see me and report."
Prescott made a sign of understanding. Jernyngham, stamped with
dissipation and injured in a brawl, and his small homestead where
everything was in disorder and out of repair, were hardly likely to
create a favorable impression on his English relatives. Besides, there
was Mrs. Jernyngham. The effect of her appearance and conversation might
be disastrous.
"Now," continued Jernyngham, "you see how I'm fixed. I haven't much to
thank my people for, but I want to spare them a shock. If it would make
things easier for them, I don't mind their thinking better of me than I
deserve."
His companion pondered this. It was crudely put, but it showed a rather
fine consideration, Prescott thought, for the people who were in part
responsible for the man's downfall; perhaps, too, a certain sense of
shame and contrition. Jernyngham's desire could not be found fault with.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Jernyngham with a reckless laugh. "You'll do all that's
needed; I mean to leave my friends to you. Strikes me as a brilliant
idea, though not exactly novel; made a number of excellent comedies. Did
you ever see 'Charley's Aunt'?"
Prescott frowned.
"I don't deal."
"Think! You're not unlike me and we're about the same age; Colston,
hasn't seen me for fourteen years; his wife never!"
"No," objected Prescott. "It can't be done!"
"It's hardly good form to remind you of it, Jack, but there was a time
when we took a grading contract on the line and you got into trouble
close in front of the ballast train."
Prescott's determined expression changed.
"Yes," he conceded; "it gives you a pull on me--I can't go back on that."
He spread out his hands. "Well, if you insist."
"For the old man's sake," said Jernyngham. "I want you to take the
Colstons out to your place and entertain them for a day or two; they
won't stay long. They're coming in by the West-bound this evening."
"Then," exclaimed Prescott, "they'll be here in half an hour, if the
train's on time! If there are any points you can give me about your
family history, you had better be quick!"
"In the first place, I was rather a wild youngster, with an original turn
of mind and was supposed to be a bit of a rake, though that wasn't
correct--my eccentricities were harmless then. Your word 'maverick'
describes me pretty well: I didn't belong to the herd; I wouldn't be
rounded up with the others and let them put the brand on. That's no doubt
why they credited me with vices I didn't possess." Jernyngham laughed.
"Still, you mustn't overdo the thing; you want delicately to convey the
idea that you're now reformed. The part requires some skill; it's a pity
you're not smarter. Jack. But let me think----"
He went into a few details about his family, and then Prescott left him
and, after giving an order to have his team ready, proceeded to the
station. It was getting dark, but the western sky was still a sheet of
wonderful pale green, against which the tall elevators stood out black
and sharp. The head-lamp of a freight locomotive flooded track and
station with a dazzling electric glare, the rails that ran straight and
level across the waste gleaming far back in the silvery radiance. This
helped Prescott to overcome his repugnance to his task, as he remembered
another summer night when he had attempted to hurry his team across the
track before a ballast train came up. Startled by the blaze of the
head-lamp and the scream of the whistle, one of the horses plunged and
kicked; a wheel of the wagon, sinking in the loose ballast, skidded
against a tie; and Prescott stood between the rails, struggling to
extricate the beasts, while the great locomotive rushed down on them.
There was a vein of stubborn tenacity in him and it looked as if he and
the horses would perish together when Jernyngham came running to the
rescue. How they escaped neither of them could afterward remember, but a
moment later they stood beside the track while the train went banging by,
covering them with dust and fragments of gravel. Prescott admitted that
he owed Jernyngham something for that.
Nevertheless there was no doubt that the part he had undertaken to play
would be difficult. He could see its humorous side, but he had not been a
prodigal; indeed he was by temperament and habit steady-going and
industrious. The son of a small business man in Montreal, he had after an
excellent education abandoned city life and gone west, where he had
prospered by frugality and hard work. He was by no means rich, but he was
content and inclined to be optimistic about the future.
When he reached the station, he found that the usual crowd of loungers
had gathered to watch the train come in. Lighting his pipe, he walked up
and down the low platform, wondering uneasily how he would get through
the next few days. Jernyngham, he felt, had placed him in a singularly
embarrassing position.