MISS FOSTER'S ESCORT
On the morning after he met Helen Foster, Kermode sought a foreman with
whom he was on good terms.
"I want to quit work for a week," he said abruptly.
"Sorry; I can't give you leave, and the boss went down the line
yesterday. If you let up before you see him, it's quite likely he won't
take you back."
"If he doesn't I won't be very grieved. Throwing forty-foot rails about
all day palls on one. But what about my wages up to date?"
"That's a matter for the pay-clerk when he comes along. If you quit
without notice, he'll make trouble."
Kermode considered this; but he had about ten dollars in his pocket and
he was not of provident nature. He decided that something must be left to
chance, though the thought that he might have handled heavy rails for the
contractor's exclusive benefit was strongly distasteful. Walking across
the town, he paid a visit to Miss Foster.
"Can you ride?" he asked her.
"I haven't ridden for years."
"Perhaps you could manage a steady horse which wouldn't go faster than a
walk?" he suggested.
"Yes." Then she hesitated. "But horses are expensive, and I have very
little money left. Somehow, it seems to disappear rapidly in Canada."
"That's an annoying trick it has," Kermode laughed. "However, you had
better start for Drummond this morning, and I'll go with you."
The girl looked dubious. She knew nothing about him, but his manner and
appearance were in his favor, and her position was far from pleasant.
Mrs. Jasper, who had already presented what appeared to be an
extortionate bill, seemed by no means anxious to keep her, and it might
be a long time before she could communicate with her brother. How she was
to hold out until he came to her assistance she could not tell.
"Thank you," she said, gathering her courage; and after promising that he
would be back in an hour, Kermode went away.
He was a man who acted on impulse and, as a rule, the more unusual a
course was the better it pleased him. In spite of her lameness Miss
Foster was attractive, which, perhaps, had its effect, though he was
mainly actuated by compassion and the monotony of his track-laying task.
He did not think the settlement, in which there were very few women, was
the kind of place in which she could comfortably remain, particularly if
her means were exhausted. Presently he met the livery-stable keeper
driving in his buggy and motioned to him to pull up.
"How much will you charge for the hire of the roan, to go to Drummond?"
he asked, and the man named his charge.
"I'll give you eight dollars now and the balance when I come back."
"No sir!" replied the other firmly. "You might fix up to stay there."
"Will an order on the railroad pay-clerk satisfy you?"
"It won't. If you want the horse, you must put the money down."
"Then I can't make the deal."
The man drove on, but Kermode was not to be daunted by such a difficulty;
besides, he had noticed Jim, the hired man, dawdling about the outside of
the stable. When the buggy was out of sight, he accosted him.
"I want the roan in half an hour," he said. "I see you have Mrs. Leaver's
saddle here, and as she's away, you had better put it on. I'm going to
take the lady you saw with me to Drummond."
"S'pose you have seen the boss about it?"
"You must have noticed me talking to him," Kermode replied curtly. "Bring
the horse along to Mrs. Jasper's as soon as you're ready."
Then he returned to the hotel and wrote a note which he gave the
bar-tender, instructing him to let the proprietor of the livery-stable
have it when he came in for dinner. After this he succeeded in borrowing
a small tent, and when he had supplied himself with provisions he hurried
toward the widow's shack. The horse was already there, and when he had
strapped on the folded tent and Miss Foster's bag he helped her to mount,
and set off, carrying his blankets and stores in a pack on his back. He
showed no sign of haste and chatted gaily, though he was anxious to get
out of the town as soon as possible, because he did not know when the
stable-keeper would return.
It was a clear morning; the girl looked brighter after her night's rest,
and the fresh air brought a fine color into her face. Kermode kept her
laughing with his light chatter, but he was nevertheless glad when they
reached the shadow of the pines, where they could travel faster without
attracting attention. After half an hour's rapid walking, he left the
trail, which ran on toward Drummond for a day's journey before it stopped
at a ranch, and turned down into the valley. He thought it might be wiser
to keep to the south of the line he would be expected to take, though
this would entail the crossing of rougher country. Reaching the edge of a
stream, he stopped and regarded it with some concern. It ran fast between
great boulders and looked deep, but as there was no sign of a better
crossing he warned the girl to hold on, and led the horse in.
After a few paces he sank above his knees, and found it hard to keep his
footing and the horse's head upstream. The roan was slipping badly among
the stones and the hem of his companion's skirt was getting wet. He was
pleased to notice that she did not look unduly alarmed.
"We'll be across in another minute or two," he said as cheerfully as he
could.
She smiled at him rather dubiously and at the next step he sank deeper
and dragged the horse round as he clung to the bridle. The roan plunged
savagely and the water rippled about Kermode's waist as he struggled for
a foothold on the slippery stones. With a desperate effort he managed to
find firmer bottom and soon came out on a strip of shingle. Stopping
there for a few moments, he gathered breath while the girl looked about.
They were in the bottom of a deep gorge filled with the sound of running
water and sweet resinous scents. Here the torrent flashed in bright
sunshine; there it flowed, streaked with foam, through dim shadow, while
somber pines towered above it. There was no sound or sign of human life;
they had entered the gates of the wilderness.
"Where do we go next?" the girl asked.
"Up this slope," said Kermode. "Then among the pines, across the hills,
and high plains, into a lonely land. I don't suppose we'll see a house
until we get to Drummond."
"Do you know the way?"
"I don't," Kermode said cheerfully. "I've never been here before, but I'm
accustomed to traveling about the prairie, where trails are scarce. You
don't look daunted."
There was a hint of pleasurable excitement in his companion's laugh.
"Oh," she replied, "adventures appeal to me, and I've never met with any.
For three years since my brother left, I've led a life of drudgery; and
before that, half the pleasures I might have had were denied me by an
accident."
Recognizing a kindred nature, Kermode looked sympathetic. She was
evidently alluding to her lameness, which must prove a heavy handicap to
a girl of the active, sanguine temperament he thought she possessed.
"In a way, it was a great adventure for you to come out here alone over
the new road," he said.
"I thought so last night," she confessed with a smile. "When I reached
the settlement and found I could get no farther, I was really scared.
Now, however, all my fears have gone. I suppose it's the sunshine and
this glorious air."
"Well, we had better get on. I'm afraid you'll have to walk a while."
She let him lift her down, with no sign of prudishness or coquetry, and
he led the horse uphill while she followed. Her attitude pleased him,
because he had no desire for philandering, although he was content to act
as protector and guide. Still, while he adapted his pace to the girl's he
thought about her. Her rather shabby attire and scanty baggage hinted
that she had not been used to affluence; but she showed signs of
possessing a vigorous, well-trained mind, and he decided that she must
have been a teacher.
When they reached the top of the ascent, she mounted and they went on
among scattered clumps of pines and across a tableland as fast as he
could travel, because it seemed prudent to place as long a distance as
possible between them and the settlement. He had left the place with a
valuable horse and saddle which he had not paid for, and he was very
dubious whether the livery-stable keeper would be satisfied with the
promises he had left. Accordingly he only stopped for half an hour at
noon; and evening was near when he helped the girl down and picketed the
horse beside a small birch bluff, and set up the tent.
"There are provisions in my pack and you might lay out supper, but I
don't think we'll make a fire to-night," he said. "I'll be back in about
half an hour; I want to see what lies beyond the top of yonder ridge."
She let him go, and he climbed between slender birches to the summit of a
long rise, where he lay down and lighted his pipe. From his lofty
position he commanded a wide sweep of country--hills whose higher slopes
were still bathed in warm light, valleys filled with cool blue shadow,
straggling ranks of somber pines. The air was sharp and wonderfully
bracing; the wilderness, across which he could wander where he would,
lured him on. Irresponsible and impatient of restraint, as he was, he
delighted in the openness and solitude. For all that, he concentrated his
gaze on one particular strip of bare hillside. At its foot ran the gorge
they had crossed, but it had now grown narrow and precipitous, a deep
chasm wrapped in shadow. He did not think a horse could be led down into
it, which was consoling, because if any pursuit had been attempted, it
would follow the opposite side, near which a trail ran.
After a while his vigilance was rewarded, and he smiled when three very
small figures of mounted men appeared on the hillslope. They were going
back disappointed, and he did not think he had much to fear from them.
Wages were high about the settlement, where everybody was busy, and the
liveryman would, no doubt, find the search too costly to persist in. When
the horsemen had vanished, he returned to the camp, and Miss Foster
glanced at him keenly.
"Supper's quite ready; you have been some time," she said. "What did you
see from the top?"
"Mountains, woods and valleys. They were well worth looking at in the
sunset light."
"And what else? As you live in this country, you didn't go up for the
view."
Kermode saw that she was suspicious, and thought her too intelligent to
be put off with an excuse.
"I'll admit that I wasn't greatly surprised to see three men a long way
off. They were riding back to the settlement and I dare say they were
angry as well as tired."
"Ah!" she said. "You wouldn't light a fire, though you have a package of
tea here and there's a spring near-by. You thought it wouldn't be
prudent?"
"I did think something of the kind; but won't you begin your supper? What
shall I hand you?"
"Wait a little. You haven't told me very much yet." Then her eyes
sparkled with amusement. "Mr. Kermode, I'd better say that my brother
will be responsible for the expenses of this journey. I suppose you
haven't paid for the horse?"
"It's unfortunately true. The trouble was that your brother lives a long
way off, and you led me to believe that your money was running out."
"I have," she said calmly, "fifty cents left."
Kermode began on a sandwich she handed him.
"And I've three or four dollars. You see our difficulty needed a drastic
remedy."
"But you were at work on the railroad. I understand wages are high."
"That's so; but it's some time since the pay car came along."
"But you will get what is due you, when you go back?"
"Have another sandwich," said Kermode. "You have made them very well."
Then seeing that she meant to have an answer, he added: "I'm not going
back."
A little color crept into her face as she looked at him. Kermode had for
a time led a dissipated life, but there had been a change during the last
few months. He had practised abstinence, and in new surroundings found it
easier than he had expected; severe labor had healed and hardened him.
His brown skin was clear, his pale-blue eyes were bright and steady, his
figure was spare and finely lined.
"So," she said, "you sacrificed your wages to assist a stranger?"
He made her a whimsical bow.
"I'd like to think we'll be better acquainted before we part."
"But what will you do now?"
"Oh," he responded lightly, "that's hardly worth talking about. I'll
strike something. So long as you're pretty active there's generally work
to be had, and when it grows monotonous you pull out and go on again."
Miss Foster mused.
"After all," she said, "life must have a good deal to offer a strong man
with the ability to make the most of things. He can set off, when he
likes, in search of new and interesting experiences."
"It has its drawbacks now and then," declared Kermode, smiling. "Anyway,
you needn't imagine you're shut off from everything of the kind. You took
a big risk and faced a startling change when you came out here."
"So I felt. Though I had misgivings, the thought of it drew me."
"I understand. You have courage, the greatest gift, and you felt
circumscribed at home. No doubt, the love of adventure isn't confined to
one sex. It's a longing many of us can't overcome; but it doesn't seem to
meet with general sympathy, and it's apt to get one into difficulties."
"Yes," Miss Foster assented with some bitterness; "particularly a woman."
After that, she went on with her meal while dusk crept up about the
lonely camp. The sky was pale green in the west and the hills stood out
against it, black and calm; not a breath of wind was stirring and it was
very still, except that out of the distance came the murmur of falling
water. When the air grew damper, Kermode brought her a blanket which she
wrapped about her shoulders and they talked on for an hour in a casual
manner. Then he got up.
"You will be quite safe in the tent," he said. "I've found a comfortable
berth in the wood. We'll get off as soon as it's light to-morrow."
He disappeared into the shadows and she noticed that he had left her the
two blankets he had brought from the settlement. She hesitated about
taking them both, but decided not to call him back. A little later she
entered the tent, while Kermode scraped out a hollow in a bank of fallen
leaves and went to sleep.
The grass was white with frost when Miss Foster left the tent in the
morning, but a fire of branches crackled cheerfully near-by and Kermode
was busy with a frying-pan. A light cloud of smoke rose into the still,
cold air, and day was breaking on the eastern horizon.
"This looks pretty good," he said, taking out a greasy cake and several
strips of pork. "If you will make the tea, I'll water the horse."
He was back in a few minutes. His companion enjoyed the simple meal, and
when it was finished they resumed the march. During most of the day their
pathway led over high, treeless ridges which lay in bright sunshine,
though a delicate haze dimmed the encircling hills. Then they dipped to a
valley where they had trouble among the timber and the girl was forced to
dismount. The winter gales had swept the forest and great pines lay piled
in belts of tangled ruin, through which Kermode found it difficult to
lead the horse, while as they floundered over branches and through
crackling brush his companion's limp grew more pronounced. Afterward
there were several rapid creeks to be forded, and Kermode was wet and
Miss Foster very tired when they camped at sunset, in a grove of spruce.
Little was said during the evening meal and soon after it was over the
girl sought her tent, while Kermode found a resting-place among the
withered sprays at the foot of a tree.
They spent the next morning toiling up a long ascent, and from its summit
a prospect of majestic beauty burst upon them. The great peaks had grown
nearer, the air was clear, and the girl sat, rapt, in the saddle, gazing
at the vast snow-fields that glittered with ethereal brilliance, very
high up against a cloudless sky. Then the wonderful blue coloring of the
shadows streaking the white slopes caught her glance, and she found it
unutterably lovely. Kermode, however, had an eye for other things and
carefully searched the wide valley that stretched away beneath them.
"What are you looking for?" the girl asked at length.
"Smoke; I thought I saw a faint streak, but it has gone. I suppose you
didn't notice it?"
"Oh no!" she told him with a smile. "I'm afraid I shouldn't have noticed
such a commonplace thing, even if it had been very plain."
He made a sign of comprehension.
"Then what have you seen?" he asked.
"Unapproachable, stainless whiteness, touched with an unearthly glory
that daunts the mind!" Then her expression changed. "But the sight is too
overpowering to talk about. I would have been more useful had I looked
for smoke, as that would mean a house."
Kermode nodded.
"We have stores enough for another meal or two and had better get on. I
believe I've kept pretty near the line I was told to take, but I'd be
glad to see the first ranch in the Drummond district by supper time."
They went down into the valley, struggling through belts of timber and
clumps of brush, until they reached a broad expanse of grass broken by
small bluffs. After camping for a meal, they pushed on steadily while the
girl grappled with a growing fatigue, until the white peaks faded into
dusky blue and the waste grew shadowy. Kermode had seen no sign of life
and he was getting anxious when, as they approached a bluff, he pulled up
the horse.
"Listen!" he exclaimed. "I think I heard something!"
There was silence for a moment or two, and then he caught a soft drumming
and a rattle that might have been made by wheels.
"Yes," he said. "It's a team and wagon."
The sound grew plainer, and when Kermode shouted, an answer came out of
the gathering darkness. Then a moving shape appeared from behind the
bluff, and a minute or two later the newcomer pulled up his team.
"Well," he said, "what do you want?"
"Tom!" cried the girl excitedly.
The man sprang down, and Kermode needed no explanation. After his
companion had dismounted and run forward, he stood quietly holding the
horse, until she beckoned him.
"This is Mr. Kermode, who brought me here," she said. "My brother, Tom
Foster."
"Indebted to you," responded the man. "I was driving home when you
shouted; my place is about six miles off. If you'll follow, I'll take my
sister in the wagon."
Kermode thought it better that she should explain the reason for their
journey, and he got into the saddle and contented himself with keeping
the vehicle in sight until it stopped at a wooden house that stood near a
sod stable and rude log barn. When he entered the dwelling after putting
up the horse, the lamp was lighted and the stove burning. He saw that
Foster was a young man with a good-humored brown face.
"I understand that I owe you more than I thought at first," he said.
"Helen seems to have been pretty awkwardly situated when you appeared on
the scene. Sit down and smoke while I get supper."
They talked gaily during the meal.
"Is there any means of sending back the horse I brought?" Kermode asked
after a while.
"I've been thinking about that," Foster replied.
"I have a neighbor who is going east on business. He'll strike the new
line where you left it, and he'll be glad to have the horse."
Then they talked about other matters, but when the men sat smoking some
time later, Foster said cordially:
"You'll stay here a while?"
Kermode said that he would remain a few days.
"Where will you make for then?" his host asked. "There's nothing doing
round here except a little cattle-raising."
"For the mountains, I think. I hear the railroad people are busy in the
passes; but I'll try to strike something softer than handling rails."
"I can fix that," Foster declared. "They've been advertising for haulage
tenders--there are a lot of piles and building logs they want brought in.
Now I've two good horses I've not much use for and I'd be glad to let you
have them. You could bring them back when the frost stops work."
"Thanks," said Kermode. "What's your idea of shares?"
The rancher declared that he did not expect a share, but when Kermode
insisted, they arrived at a satisfactory understanding, and soon after
Helen appeared the party broke up.
Kermode spent three or four pleasant days with his new friends, and when
he left the ranch one morning, leading two strong horses, Helen Foster
walked with him some distance up the valley. She had not known him long
enough to recognize his failings, which were plentiful, but his virtues
were obvious, and she knew that she would miss him.
"So you are going out on the trail again," she said. "Where will it lead
you?"
"That," he answered with a gay laugh, "is more than I can tell. No doubt,
to fresh adventures and strange experiences."
"But you know your first stopping-place, the railroad camp. When you have
finished your work there, you could come here again and rest a while."
"No," he said, more gravely; "I'll send your brother his horses, but I
don't think I'll come back. It's nice to feel that we have been pretty
good friends, but it might spoil any pleasant impression I'm leaving if
you saw too much of me. Besides, I'm a wanderer; the long trail beckons."
"It runs through swamps and many rough places into the lonely wilds.
Aren't you afraid of weariness?"
Kermode smiled, falling into her mood.
"You may remember that there are compensations," he said; "glimpses of
glory on the untrodden heights. It's true that one never gets there, but
they lead one on."
"But you can see them from the valley."
"No; the farmer's eyes are fixed on the furrow; he must follow the plow.
His crop and his stock are nearer him; he cannot see past them. The
wanderer's mind is free."
"When you had that glimpse of glory, you turned away and looked for
household smoke."
"There you have me," he laughed. "Inconsistent, wasn't it? But we're only
human: one needs rest and food."
Helen changed the subject.
"Well," she declared, "I'm grateful; and if it's any comfort, you won't
be forgotten."
He stopped the restive horses.
"That's good to hear," he told her. "But the ground is rough ahead and
you have come some way."
"Good-by," she said, and gave him her hand.
He held it for a moment, and then, getting into the saddle, turned and
swung off his hat. After that he rode on into the waste, leading one
horse; and Helen Foster watched him for a while before she went back,
slowly and thoughtfully, to the ranch.