A WOMAN'S INFLUENCE
Muriel found it needful to wait several days for an opportunity for
speaking to Prescott. It did not seem advisable to visit his house again,
and she was at a loss for a means of meeting him when she overheard
Leslie tell his wife that he would ask Prescott, who was going to
Sebastian the next morning, to bring out some stores they required. The
next day Muriel borrowed a team and, contenting herself with an
intimation that she was going for a long drive, set off for the
settlement. It would be time enough to confess her object if her sister
taxed her with it, and there were one or two purchases she really wished
to make.
She had never gone so far alone, though she had occasionally driven to an
outlying farm, and the expedition had in it the zest of adventure.
Moreover, she was boldly going to undertake a very unusual task in
showing Prescott what he ought to do. So far, she had been an interested
spectator of the drama of life, but now she would participate in it,
exercising such powers as she possessed, and the thought was additionally
fascinating because among her intimate friends she could not pick out a
man who owed much to a woman's guidance. Her sister had some mental
gifts, but Harry Colston, disregarding her in a good-humored but dogged
fashion, did what he thought best; while the idea of Jernyngham's
deferring to Gertrude was frankly ridiculous. Neither man had much
ability; indeed, it was, as a rule, the dullest men who were most
convinced of their superior sense. Prescott far surpassed them in
intellect; but she pulled herself up. She was not going to dwell on
Prescott's virtues unduly, and she had not convinced him yet.
The team gave her no trouble, the trail was good, and reaching Sebastian
safely, she spent some time in a drygoods store, and afterward went to
the hotel, where supper was being served. She would not have waited for
it, only that she had seen nothing of Prescott, and she had the excuse
that the team must have a rest. On entering the big dining-room she was
inclined to regret that meals can rarely be had in private in the West,
although, by the favor of a waitress, she succeeded in obtaining a small
table to herself. There were only two women present, clerks in the store,
she believed, but the room was nearly filled with men. Among them were
ranchers with faces darkened by the glare of the snow, some of them
wearing shabby coats from which the fur was coming off, though the room
was warm; a few railroad hands who laid sooty mittens on the table; the
smart station-agent; a number of storekeepers and clerks. Now and then
boisterous laughter rang out, and one group indulged in rather pointed
banter, while the way that several of them used their knives and forks
left much to be desired; but nobody regarded the girl with marked
attention. For all that, she was sensible of some relief when Prescott
came in and moved toward her table.
"May I take this place?" he asked.
"Of course," she said.
After speaking to a waitress, he inquired whether Colston or her sister
were at the hotel.
"No; I drove in alone."
She saw his surprise, which suggested that her task might prove more
difficult than she had imagined.
"Well," he said, "the trail's pretty good and there's a moon to-night;
but didn't you hesitate about getting supper here by yourself?"
"Not very much; there was really no reason why I should hesitate."
"That's true. But you had your doubts?"
"They were foolish," Muriel told him. "Why are you so curious?"
"I'm interested." He indicated the room and its occupants. "These people,
their manners, and surroundings are typical of the New West."
"Do you feel that you ought to defend them?"
"Oh, no! They don't need it. They have their faults and their virtues,
and neither are mean. They've the makings of a big nation and they're
doing great work to-day. However, you had certainly no cause for
uneasiness; there's not a man in the place who would have shown you the
least disrespect."
"After all," Muriel contended, "they're not your people. You came from
Montreal; your ideas and habits are more like ours than theirs."
"They're mine by adoption; I've thrown in my lot with them." He fixed his
eyes on her. "Do you know the secret of making colonization a success? In
a way, it's a hard truth, but it's this--there must be no looking back.
The old ties must be cut loose once for all; a man must think of the land
in which he prospers as his home; it's not a square deal to run back with
the money he has made in it. He must grow up with the rising nation he
becomes a member of."
"Yes," Muriel conceded slowly; "I think that is so. But it's harder for a
woman."
"And yet have you seen any one who looked unhappy?"
"No," she admitted with thoughtful candor. "The few I have got to know
seem to have an importance that perhaps is not very common at home. For
instance, I heard Leslie giving his wife his reasons for thinking of
buying some Hereford cattle, and his respect for her opinion impressed
me."
Prescott smiled.
"If I were going to sell those beasts, I'd rather make the deal with her
husband."
Then he changed the subject and they talked in a lighter vein until the
room began to empty and a waitress came to collect the plates.
"Don't they close this place as soon as supper is finished?" Muriel
asked, trying to overcome her diffidence. "Where can I have a word or two
with you? I was afraid that somebody might overhear us here."
"The parlor would be best," he answered in some surprise. "The boys
prefer the downstairs room and the bar. I'll tell the man about my horse,
and then I'll be there."
Muriel found the few minutes she had to wait trying, but she gathered her
courage when he joined her.
"Sit down," she said with an air of decision. "I'd better begin at once,
and the thing is serious. What have you done to clear yourself, since I
last saw you?"
His searching glance filled her with misgivings; without being subtle, he
was by no means dull, and he must be curious about her motive in asking
him. To her relief, however, he confined himself to the point she had
raised.
"Nothing. I don't see what can be done."
"Then are you content to remain suspected?"
"No; I'm not content! But as I seem to be helpless, the fools who can
only judge by appearances and the others who are quick to think the worst
of me must believe what they like. Anyway, their opinion doesn't count
for much."
"How can people judge except by appearances?" Muriel argued. "Besides, do
you divide everybody you know into those two classes?"
He looked hard at her and, to her annoyance, she grew confused.
"No," he said slowly; "that would be very wrong--I was too quick. There
are a few with generous minds who haven't turned against me and I'm very
grateful."
"It might have been enough if you had said they had sense; but don't you
feel you owe them something? Is it fair to keep silence and do nothing
while they fight your battle?"
"Are there people who are doing so?"
"Yes," Muriel answered steadily. "You oughtn't to doubt it. You're
wronging your friends."
His expression betokened a strong effort at self-control.
"Well," he said, "it seems I have a duty to them, but how I'm to get
about it is more than I know."
"Have you thought of telling the police about your journey to British
Columbia and what you learned about Cyril Jernyngham?"
"I'm afraid they wouldn't believe me. Then there's the trouble that the
man I followed called himself Kermode."
"Never mind. Tell them; tell everybody you know."
"It would be useless," Prescott said doggedly.
"You're wrong," Muriel persisted. "When a thing is talked about enough,
people begin to believe it. Besides, it would give your supporters an
argument against the doubtful. I'm afraid they need one after the finding
of the clothes."
"The clothes? What clothes?"
Muriel's faith in Prescott had never been shaken, but his surprise caused
her keen satisfaction, and she told him all she knew about Jernyngham's
discovery.
"Still, I don't see what finding them there could signify," he said when
she had finished.
"Then you don't know that a day or two after Cyril Jernyngham
disappeared, a man dressed in clothes like those found, sold some land of
his at a place called Navarino?"
Prescott started.
"It's the first I've heard of it. There's some villainy here; the things
must have been hidden near my house with the object of strengthening
suspicion against me!"
"Of course! But you can't think that Jernyngham had a hand in it?"
"Oh, no! The man is trying to ruin me, but that kind of meanness isn't in
his line. Perhaps I'd better say that I never had clothes like those and
that I sold no land of Cyril's."
"Mr. Prescott," Muriel murmured shyly, "it isn't necessary to tell me
this; I never doubted it."
"Thank you," he answered shortly, but there was trouble in his voice and
the girl thought she knew what his reticence cost.
"Well," she said, "you will tell other people this and go to see Corporal
Curtis? You agreed that women have some power here, and, even if you're
not convinced, you will do what I ask because I wish it?"
"You have my promise."
He walked toward the window and stood looking out for a moment or two
before he turned to her again.
"Don't you think you had better start for home? The moon looks hazy. May
I drive out with you?"
Muriel had shrunk from the long journey in the dark, and she readily
agreed.
"I'll tell them to bring your team round," he said, moving toward the
door. "Get off as soon as you're ready, and I'll come along when I've
collected a few things I bought."
The girl let him go, appreciating his consideration, for she guessed his
thoughts. He was under suspicion and would give the tatlers in the town
nothing on which to base conjectures. It hurt her pride, however, to
admit that such precautions had better be taken.
Leaving the hotel, she found the trail smooth when she had crossed the
track, but after she passed the last of the fences the waste looked very
dreary. The moon was dimmed by thin, driving clouds, and the deep silence
grew depressing; the loneliness weighed on her, and she began to listen
eagerly for the beat of hoofs. For a time she heard nothing and she had
grown angry with Prescott for delaying when a measured drumming stole out
of the distance and her feeling of cheerfulness and security returned.
Its significance was not lost on her: she was learning to depend on the
man, to long for his society. Then, for no obvious reason, she urged the
team and kept ahead for a while. When he came up with an explanation
about a missing package, she laughed half-mockingly, and on the whole
felt glad that the narrowness of the trail, which compelled him to
follow, made conversation difficult.
An hour after she left the settlement the moon was hidden and fine snow
began to fall. It grew thicker, gradually covering the trail, until
Muriel had some difficulty in distinguishing it. The sleigh was running
heavily, and after a while Prescott told her to stop.
"I'll go ahead, and then you can follow my buggy," he said. "There won't
be much snow."
Muriel felt that there was quite enough to have made her very anxious had
she been alone, but when he passed and took his place in front she drove
on in confidence. She remembered that this was not a new feeling. He was
a man who could be trusted; one felt safe with him. Now and then she
could hardly see the buggy and she was glad of his cheery laugh and the
somewhat inconsequent remarks he flung back to her when the haze of
driving flakes grew thicker. So far as she could see, the trail now
differed in nothing from the rest of the wilderness, but he held on
without hesitation, and she felt no surprise when once or twice a belt of
trees she remembered loomed up. They made better progress when the snow
ceased, and at length Prescott stopped his horse and she saw a faint
blink of light some distance off.
"That's Leslie's," he said. "Shall I drive to the house with you?"
"No, that isn't needful, thank you."
"Then I'll wait until I see the door open. I'll look up Curtis in the
morning."
Muriel turned off toward the farm, where she found Colston and her sister
disturbed by her absence.
"Where have you been?" Mrs. Colston asked. "You have frightened us. Harry
would have driven out to look for you if he had known which way to go."
"I went to the settlement. I bought the things we spoke about, and I met
Mr. Prescott, who brought me home." Muriel spoke in a tone that
discouraged further questions. "Now I'm very cold, Harry, you might shake
the snow from those furs."
She left them soon afterward, pleading fatigue, and went to sleep,
feeling satisfied with what she had done and knowing that Prescott would
keep his promise.
Her confidence was justified, for on the following day he drove over to
the police post and found Curtis alone.
"I've come to tell you something and I'll ask you to let me get through
before you begin to talk," he said.
Curtis showed no surprise and indicated a chair.
"Sit there and go ahead."
He listened with close attention while Prescott described his journey and
recounted all that he had learned about Kermode.
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Curtis asked.
"I couldn't imagine that you would believe it."
"Then what makes you think I'll believe it now?"
"To be honest, I don't care whether you do or not."
Curtis sat silent a few moments.
"What you have told me amounts to this," he then summed up: "you have
heard of a man who seems to look like Cyril Jernyngham."
"It's as much to the purpose that he acts like him. I've told you all I
learned about his doings and you can judge for yourself. You knew the
man."
"So do you," said Curtis pointedly.
Prescott smiled.
"Leave it at that. I want you to find out whether I'm correct or not. You
made some inquiries along the new line?"
"We didn't go far west," Curtis admitted. "There were difficulties, and
we couldn't see much reason for the search. It was quite clear to me that
Jernyngham was knocked out near the muskeg." He looked hard at Prescott.
"It isn't easy to change that opinion."
"It seems your duty to test it. Even if the thing costs some trouble,
can't you instruct your people in Alberta to find out whether a man
called Kermode worked in any of the construction camps, and if they're
satisfied that he answers Jernyngham's description, to have him followed
up in British Columbia?"
"There's a point you haven't got hold of," Curtis replied. "When you
struck a camp, asking after your partner, the boys were ready to talk to
you; but it's quite different when a trooper comes along. I wouldn't have
much use for anything they told him."
Prescott realized the truth of this. Traveling on foot in search of a
working comrade, he had been received by the railroad hands as one of
themselves; but he knew that men with checkered careers which would not
bear investigation found refuge among the toilers on the new lines, and
that even those who had nothing to fear would consider reticence becoming
when questioned by the police. The only excuse for loquacity would be the
sending of an inquisitive constable on a fruitless expedition.
"Then can't you try the bosses?" he asked.
"I guess they're not likely to have found out much about the man, and the
boys wouldn't tell them. However, I'll send up a report and see what can
be done."
"Thanks," said Prescott, and then asked bluntly: "What do you make of the
brown clothes?"
"So you heard they were found!" said Curtis with some dryness. "I haven't
done figuring on the matter yet."
"I don't suppose I'd help you by saying that they don't belong to me."
Curtis looked at him thoughtfully but made no answer for a while. Then:
"Did you ever see anybody wearing a suit like that?" he asked.
"Well," Prescott answered, "I believe I once did, but I can't think who
it was. I've been trying hard to remember all day and it may come back."
He got up and Curtis walked to the door with him.
"Frost's keeping pretty keen," he remarked.
Prescott drove away, and the corporal was smoking near the stove when
Stanton came in.
"You look as if you'd been studying the Jernyngham case," he said. "I'll
allow it's enough to get on your nerves."
"Prescott's been here," replied Curtis. "He's heard those blamed clothes
were found, and that's going to make us trouble. We've had Jernyngham
interfering and mussing up the tracks, and now Prescott's getting ready
to butt in. I expect he'll be off to Navarino very soon, and we can't
stop him unless we arrest him, which I'm not ready to do."
"Did he tell you he was going?"
"It wasn't needed; I've been figuring out the thing."
"Well," remarked Stanton with a thoughtful air, "he wouldn't let that
land agent see him if he'd been guilty."
Curtis reserved his opinion.
"You're getting smart," he said with a grin. "Still, you don't want to
hustle."
"Hustle?" Stanton rejoined scornfully. "Jernyngham was killed last summer
and we haven't corralled anybody yet!"
"That's so," Curtis assented tranquilly, "I've heard of the boys getting
the right man nearly two years afterward."