AN INSPIRATION
More than twelve months had passed since Thurston's first visit to High
Maples, when he stood one morning gazing abstractedly down a misty
valley. Below him a small army of men toiled upon the huge earth
embankments, which, half-hidden by thin haze, divided the river from
the broad swamps behind it. But Geoffrey scarcely saw the men. He was
looking back upon the events of the past year, and was oblivious to the
present. He had made rapid progress in his profession and had won the
esteem of Julius Savine; but he felt uncertain as to how far he had
succeeded in placating Miss Savine. On some of his brief visits to
High Maples, Helen had treated him with a kindliness which sent him
away exultant. At other times, however, she appeared to avoid his
company. Presently dismissing the recollection of the girl with a
sigh, Geoffrey glanced at the strip of paper in his hand. It was a
telegraphic message from Savine, and ran:
"Want you and all the ideas you can bring along at the chalet
to-morrow. Expect deputation and interesting evening."
Savine had undertaken the drainage of the wide valley, which the rising
waters periodically turned into a morass, and had sublet to Geoffrey a
part of the work. Each of the neighboring ranchers who would benefit
by the undertaking had promised a pro-rata payment, and the Crown
authorities had conditionally granted to Savine a percentage of all the
unoccupied land he could reclaim. Previous operations had not,
however, proved successful, for the snow-fed river breached the dykes,
and the leaders of a syndicate with an opposition scheme were not only
sowing distrust among Savine's supporters, but striving to stir up
political controversy over the concession.
Geoffrey did not agree with the contractor on several important points,
but deferred to the older man's judgment. He had, however, already
made his mark, and could have obtained profitable commissions from both
mining companies and the smaller municipalities, had he desired them.
While Geoffrey was meditating, the mists began to melt before a warm
breeze from the Pacific. Sliding in filmy wisps athwart the climbing
pines, they rolled clear of the river, leaving bare two huge parallel
mounds, between which the turbid waters ran. Geoffrey, surveying the
waste of tall marsh grasses stretching back to the forest, knew that a
rich reward awaited the man who could reclaim the swamp. He was
reminded of his first venture, which was insignificant compared to this
greater one, and as suddenly as the mists had melted, the uncertainty
in his own mind concerning Savine's plan vanished too, and he saw that
the contractor was wrong. What he had done for Bransome on a minute
scale must be done here on a gigantic one. A bold man, backed with
capital, might blast a pathway for the waters through the converging
rocks of the canyon, and, without the need of costly dykes, both swamp
and the wide blue lake at the end of the valley would be left dry land.
He stood rigidly still for ten minutes while his heart beat fast. Then
he strode hurriedly towards the gap in the ranges. There was much to
do before he could obey Savine's summons.
It was towards the close of that afternoon when Julius Savine lounged
on the veranda of a wooden hotel for tourists, which was built in a
gorge of savage beauty. In spite of all that modern art could do, the
building looked raw and new, out of place among the immemorial pines
climbing towards snowy heights unsullied by the presence of man.
Helen, who sat near her father, glanced at him keenly before she said:
"You have not looked well all day. Is it the hot weather, or are you
troubled about the conference to-night?"
Savine at first made no reply. The furrows deepened on his forehead,
and Helen felt a thrill of anxiety as she watched him. She had noticed
that his shoulders were losing their squareness, and that his face had
grown thin.
"I must look worse than I feel," he declared after a little while,
"but, though there is nothing to worry about, the reclamation scheme is
a big one, and some of my rancher friends seem to have grown lukewarm
latterly. If they went over to the opposition, the plea that my
workings might damage their property, if encouraged by meddlesome
politicians, would seriously hamper me. Still, I shall certainly
convince them, and that is why I am receiving the deputation to-night.
I wish Thurston had come in earlier; I want to consult with him."
"What has happened to you?" asked Helen, laying her hand affectionately
upon his arm. "You never used to listen to anybody's opinions, and now
you are always consulting Thurston. Sometimes I fancy you ought to
give up your business before it wears you out. After all, you have not
known Thurston long."
"Perhaps so," Savine admitted, and when he looked at her Helen became
interested in an eagle, which hung poised on broad wings above the
valley. "I feel older than I used to, and may quit business when I put
this contract through. It is big enough to wind up with. If I'd known
Thurston for ages I couldn't be more sure of him. I am a little
disappointed that you don't like him."
"You go too far." Helen still concentrated her attention upon the
dusky speck against the blue. "I have no reason for disliking Mr.
Thurston; indeed, I do not dislike him and my feeling may be mere
jealousy. You give--him--most of your confidences now, and I should
hate anybody who divided you from me."
Savine lifted her little hand into his own, and patted it playfully as
he answered:
"You need never fear that. Helen, you are very like your mother as she
was thirty years ago."
There was a sparkle of indignation in Helen's eyes, and a suspicion of
tell-tale color in her face. She remembered that, when he first met
her mother, her father's position much resembled Thurston's, and the
girl wondered if he desired to remind her of it.
"The cars are in sight. Perhaps I had better see whether the hotel
people are ready for your guests," she remarked with indifference.
The hotel was famous for its cuisine, and the dinner which followed
was, for various reasons, a memorable one, though some of the guests
appeared distinctly puzzled by the sequence of viands and liquors.
Still, even those who, appreciating the change from leathery venison
and grindstone bread, had eaten too much at the first course, struggled
manfully with the succeeding, and good fellowship reigned until the
cloth was removed, and the party prepared to discuss business.
Savine sat at the head of the table, the gray now showing thickly in
his hair. His expression was, perhaps, too languid, for one of his
guests whispered that the daring engineer was not what he used to be.
The man glanced at Thurston, who sat, stalwart, keen, and determined of
face, beside his chief, and added, "I know which I'd sooner run up
against now; and it wouldn't be his deputy, sub-contractor, or whatever
the fellow is."
"Finding that our correspondence was using up no end of time and ink, I
figured it would be better for us to talk things over together
comfortably, and as some of you come from Vancouver, and some from
round the lake, this place appeared a convenient center," began Savine.
"Now, gentlemen, I'm ready to discuss either business or anything else
you like."
There was a murmur, and the guests looked at one another. They were a
somewhat mixed company--several speculators from the cities, two
credited with political influence; well-educated Englishmen, who had
purchased land in the hope of combining sport with cattle raising; and
wiry axemen, who lived in rough surroundings while they drove their
clearings further into the forest, field by field.
"Then I'll start right off with business," said a city man. "I bought
land up yonder and signed papers backing you. I thought there would be
a boom in the valley when you got through, but I've heard some talk
lately to the effect that the river is going to beat you, and, in any
case, you're making slow headway. What I, what we all, want to know
is, when you're going to have the undertaking completed."
Applause and a whispering followed, and another man said, "Our
sentiments exactly! Guess you've seen _The Freespeaker's_ article!"
"I have," Savine acknowledged coolly. "It suggested that I have no
intention of carrying out my agreement, that I am hoodwinking the
authorities for some indefinite purpose mysteriously connected with
maintaining our present provincial rulers in power. The thing's absurd
on the face of it, when I'm spending my money like water, and you ought
to know me better. I won't even get the comparatively insignificant
bonus until the work is finished."
Several of the listeners rapped upon the table, one or two growled
suspiciously, and a big sunburnt Englishman stood up. "We'll let the
article in question pass," he said. "It is clearly written with
personal animus. As you say, we know you better; but see here, Savine,
this is going to be a serious business for us if you fail. We've
helped you with free labor, hauled your timber in, lent you oxen, and,
in fact, done almost everything, besides giving you our bonds for a
good many dollars and signing full approval of your scheme. By doing
this we have barred ourselves from encouraging the other fellows'
plans."
After similar but less complimentary speeches had been made, Thurston,
who had been whispering to Savine, claimed attention. He cast a
searching glance round the assembly. "Any sensible man could see that
the opposition scheme is impracticable," he declared. "I am afraid
some of you have been sent here well primed."
His last remark was perhaps combatant rashness, or possibly a
premeditated attempt to force the listeners to reveal their actual
sentiments. If he wished to get at the truth, he was successful, for
several men began to speak at once, and while disjointed words
interloped his remarks, the loudest of them said:
"You can't fool us, Savine. We're poor men with a living to earn, but
we're mighty tough, and nobody walks over us with nails in their boots.
If you can't hold up that river, where are we going to be? I'd sooner
shove in the giant powder to blow them up, than stand by and see my
crops and cattle washed out when your big dykes bust."
"So would I," cried several voices, and there was a rapid cross-fire of
question and comment. "Not the men to be fooled with." "Stand by our
rights; appeal to legislation, and choke this thing right up!" "Can
you make your dykes stand water at all?" "Give the man--a fair show."
"How many years do you figure on keeping us waiting?"
Savine rose somewhat stiffly from his chair, and Thurston noted an
ominous grayness in either cheek.
"There are just two things you can do," Savine said; "appeal to your
legislators to get my grants canceled, or sit tight and trust me. For
thirty-five years I've done my share in the development of the
Dominion, and I never took a contract I didn't put through. This has
proved a tough one, but if it costs me my last dollar----"
The honest persons among the malcontents were mostly struggling men,
who, having expected the operations would bring them swift prosperity,
had been the more disappointed. Still, the speaker's sincerity
inspired returning confidence, and, when he paused, there was a measure
of sympathy for him, for he seemed haggard and ill, and was one against
many. His guests began to wonder whether they had not been too
impatient and suspicious, and one broke in apologetically, "That's
good! We're not unreasonable. But we like straight talking--what if
the dykes keep on bursting?"
Then there was consternation, for Savine collapsed into his chair,
after he had said, "Mr. Thurston will tell you. Remember he acts for
me." To Geoffrey he whispered, "I don't feel well. Help me out, and
then go back to them."
"Sit still. Stand back! You have done rather too much already,"
Geoffrey declared, turning fiercely upon the men, who hurried forward,
one with a water decanter, and another with a wine glass.
The guests fell back before Thurston, as he led Savine, who leaned
heavily upon him, from the banquet room. As they entered a broad hall
Helen and her aunt passed along the veranda upon which it opened.
"They must not know; keep them out!" gasped the contractor. "Get me
some brandy and ring for the steward--quick. You have got to go back
and convince those fellows, Thurston. Good Lord!--this is agony."
Savine sank into a chair. His twitching face was livid, and great
beads of moisture gathered upon his forehead. Thurston pressed a
button, then strode swiftly towards the door hoping that Helen, who
passed outside with a laugh upon her lips, might be spared the sight of
her father's suffering. But Mrs. Savine, gazing in through a long
window, started as she exclaimed, "Helen, your father's very sick! Run
along and bring me the elixir out of my valise."
Helen turned towards the window, and Geoffrey, who groaned inwardly,
placed himself so that she could not see. There was a rustle of
skirts, and swift, light footsteps approached.
"What is the matter? Why do you stand there? Let me pass at once!"
cried Helen in a voice trembling with fear.
"Please wait a few moments," answered Geoffrey, standing between the
suffering man and his daughter. "Your father will be better directly,
and you must not excite him."
There was no mistaking the color in Helen's face now. If her eyes were
anxious the crimson in her cheeks and on her forehead was that of
anger. Geoffrey felt compassionate, but he was still determined to
spare her.
"For your father's sake and your own, don't go to him just yet, Miss
Savine," he pleaded, but, with little fingers whose grip felt steely,
the girl wrenched away his detaining arm.
"Is there no limit to your interference or presumption?" she asked,
sweeping past him to fall with a low cry beside the big chair upon
which her father was reclining. The cry pierced to Thurston's heart.
Helen had seen little of either sickness or tragedy. Savine sat still
as if he did not see her, his face contracted into a ghastly grin of
pain. The attendant who came to them deftly aided Geoffrey to force a
little cordial between the sufferer's teeth. Savine made no sign.
Forgetting her indignation in her terror Helen glanced at Geoffrey in
vague question, but he merely raised his hand with a restraining
gesture.
"We had better get him onto a sofa, sir," whispered the attendant,
presently. "Not very heavy. Perhaps you and I could manage." It was
when he was being lifted that Savine first showed signs of
intelligence. He glanced at Geoffrey and attempted to beckon towards
the room they had left. When he seemed slightly better, Thurston said:
"I am going, sir. Stay here a few minutes, and then call somebody,
waiter. I cannot stay any longer."
Savine made an approving gesture, but Helen said with fear and evident
surprise, "You will not leave us now, Mr. Thurston?"
"I must," answered Geoffrey, restraining an intense longing to stay
since she desired it, but loyal to his master's charge. "I believe
your father is recovering, and it is his especial wish. I can do
nothing, and he needs only quiet."
Helen said nothing further. She began to chafe her father's hand,
while Thurston went back, pale and grim, to the head of the long table.
"Mr. Savine was seized by a passing faintness, but is recovering," he
said. "Nevertheless, he may not be able to return, and, as I am
interested with him in the drainage scheme he has appointed me his
deputy. Therefore, in brief answer to your questions, I would say that
if either of us lives you shall have good oat fields instead of swamp
grass and muskeg. It is a solemn promise--we intend to redeem it."
"I want to ask just two questions," announced a sun-bronzed man, in
picturesque jacket of fringed deerskin. "Who are the--we; and how are
you going to build dykes strong enough to stand the river when the
lake's full of melting snow and sends the water down roaring under a
twenty-foot head?"
The speaker had touched the one weak spot in Savine's scheme, but
Geoffrey rose to the occasion, and there was a wondering hush when he
said, "In answer to the first question--Julius Savine and I are the
'we.' Secondly, we will, if necessary, obliterate the lake. It can be
done."
The boldness of the answer from a comparatively unknown man held the
listeners still, until there were further questions and finally, amid
acclamation, one of the party said:
"Then it's a bargain, and we'll back you solid through thick and thin.
Isn't that so, gentlemen? If the opposition try to make legal trouble,
as the holders of the cleared land likely to be affected we've got the
strongest pull. We came here doubting; you have convinced us."
"I hardly think you will regret it," Geoffrey assured them. "Now, as I
must see to Mr. Savine, you will excuse me."
Savine lay breathing heavily when Geoffrey rejoined him, but he
demanded what had happened, and nodded approval when told. Then
Geoffrey withdrew, beckoning to Helen, who rose and followed him.
"This is no time for useless recrimination, or I would ask how you
could leave one who has been a generous friend, helpless and
suffering," the girl said reproachfully. "My father is evidently
seriously ill, and you are the only person I can turn to, for the hotel
manager tells me there is no doctor within miles of us. So in my
distress I must stoop to ask you, for his sake, what I can do?"
"Will you believe not only that I sympathize, but that I would gladly
have given all I possess to save you from this shock?" Thurston began,
but Helen cut him short by an impatient wave of the hand, and stood
close beside him with distress and displeasure in her eyes.
"All that is outside the question--what can we do?" she asked
imploringly.
"Only one thing," answered Geoffrey. "Bring up the best doctor in
Vancouver by special train. I'm going now to hold up the fast freight.
Gather your courage. I will be back soon after daylight with skilled
assistance."
He went out before the girl could answer, and, comforted, Helen hurried
back to her father's side. Whatever his failings might be, Thurston
was at least a man to depend upon when there was need of action.
There was a little platform near the hotel where trains might be
flagged for the benefit of passengers, but the office was locked.
Thurston, who knew that shortly a freight train would pass, broke in
the window, borrowed a lantern, lighted it, and hurried up the track
which here wound round a curve through the forest and over a trestle.
It is not pleasant to cross a lofty trestle bridge on foot in broad
daylight, for one must step from sleeper to sleeper over wide spaces
with empty air beneath, and, as the ties are just wide enough to carry
the single pair of rails, it would mean death to meet a train.
Geoffrey nevertheless pressed on fast, the light of the blinking
lantern dazzling his eyes and rendering it more difficult to judge the
distances between the ties--until he halted for breath a moment in the
center of the bridge. White mist and the roar of hurrying water rose
out of the chasm beneath, but another sound broke through the noise of
the swift stream. Geoffrey hear the vibratory rattle of freight cars
racing down the valley, and he went on again at a reckless run, leaping
across black gulfs of shadow.
The sound had gained in volume when he reached firm earth and ran
swiftly towards the end of the curve, from which, down a long
declivity, the engineer could see his lantern. Panting, he held the
light aloft as a great fan-shaped blaze of radiance came flaming like a
comet down the track.
Soon he could dimly discern the shape of two huge mountain engines,
while the rails trembled beside him, and a wall of rock flung back the
din of whirring wheels. The fast freight had started from the head of
Atlantic navigation at Montreal, and would not stop until the huge cars
rolled alongside the Empress liner at Vancouver, for part of their
burden was being hurried West from England around half the world to
China and the East again. The track led down-grade, and the engineers,
who had nursed the great machines up the long climb to the summit, were
now racing them down hill.
Waving the lantern Geoffrey stood with a foot on one of the rails and
every sense intent, until the first engine's cow-catcher was almost
upon him. Then he leaped for his life and stood half-blinded amid
whirling ballast and a rushing wind, as, veiled in thick dust, the
great box cars clanged by. He was savage with dismay, for it seemed
that the engineer had not seen his signal; then his heart bounded, a
shrill hoot from two whistles was followed by the screaming of brakes.
When he came up with the standing train at the end of the trestle, one
engineer, leaning down from the rail of the cab, said:
"I saw your light away back, but was too busy trying to stop without
smashing something to answer. Say, has the trestle caved in, or what
in the name of thunder is holding us up?"
"The trestle is all right," answered Geoffrey, climbing into the cab.
"I held you up, and I'm going on with you to bring out a doctor to my
partner, who is dangerously ill."
The engineer's comments were indignant and sulphurous, while the big
fireman turned back his shirt sleeves as if preparing to chastise the
man rash enough to interfere with express freight traffic. Geoffrey,
reaching for a shovel, said:
"When we get there, I'll go with you to your superintendent at
Vancouver; but, if either of you try to put me off or to call
assistance, I'll make good use of this. I tell you it's a question of
life and death, and two at least of your directors are good friends of
the man I want to help. They wouldn't thank you for destroying his
last chance. Meantime you're wasting precious moments. Start the
train."
"Hold fast!" commanded the grizzled engineer, opening the throttle.
"When she's under way, I'll talk to you, and unless you satisfy me, by
the time we reach Vancouver there won't be much of you left for the
police to take charge of."
Then the two locomotives started the long cars on their inter-ocean
race again.