fix you," was Ranger's rejoinder.
"I am extremely grateful for your kind reception, and courteous
treatment, of a perfect stranger, as well as for your further promise
and all that it implies; but unless I can be made of some use by you I
shall certainly object to becoming a burden here."
"We shall not let you be that," said Ranger. "To-morrow morning I am
going to drive into the railway station, which is some fifteen miles
out, on the branch line of the C.P.R. running through the valley. You
can go with me, as it will give you a good opportunity of seeing a
little more of the surroundings, and perhaps enable you to judge of what
there is to be done."
Left to himself, with the afternoon before him, Fellows strolled away to
the top of a hill which commanded an extensive view over the
prairie-land surrounding him on all sides, and there, seating himself
beneath a sheltering tree, his thoughts wandered away to a distant home,
where in imagination he saw the features of those he loved, and who were
seldom absent from his mind. A stranger might not have been able to
tell the current of thought engaging his attention, but it would have
been apparent to the most casual observer, by the contracted brow and
the gloom on his countenance, that his reflections were none of the
pleasantest.
After a considerable lapse of time, his attention was diverted by
hearing distant sounds of voices borne upon the still air, apparently
proceeding from a rough-looking timber construction, the abode of some
one of the many farm-hands engaged upon the Ranch.
Built upon a spur of the hill, in a somewhat deep indentation, it was a
little distant from where he was seated, but he soon became an attentive
observer of all that was passing.
A labouring-looking man came from the house with a pail, and ran with
all haste to a pond at a short distance and commenced filling it, but
before he could return loud screams proceeded from the interior, which
caused Fellows to hasten down the hill in order to ascertain the cause
of the commotion.
Reaching the dwelling at the same time as did the other with his pail of
water, he found the living-room in a blaze of fire, whilst screams were
proceeding from a room beyond, all communication with which appeared to
be cut off by the trend of the flames. Taking a handkerchief from his
pocket, he hastily dipped it in the pail the man was carrying, wrung it
out, tied it round his mouth, and then rushed swiftly through the flames
into the room where the sounds of distress were to be heard.
On reaching the room, a task which was only successfully accomplished
with much difficulty, and considerable painful cost, he beheld a female
form sink fainting to the ground, overcome, apparently, by the heat and
smoke, of which latter the apartment was full.
To raise her from the floor was the work of an instant; his next
proceeding was to place her upon a bed in the room, roll a blanket round
her, and rush through the smoke and flame to the outer room with as much
speed as the weight of the burden he bore would permit.
The fiery marks on face and hands, which were subsequently to be seen,
bore eloquent testimony to the severity of the ordeal he had passed
through in accomplishing the dangerous and difficult task so bravely and
fearlessly undertaken.
When the outbreak was observed from the other stations on the Ranch, a
number of willing hands began to congregate with all haste, and with the
assistance of such appliances as were most readily available a united
effort was made to stem the progress of the flames. These, however, had
by this time obtained so firm a hold, that it was evident the building,
with its contents, was doomed. In a short while nothing remained of the
humble dwelling but a blackened and smouldering ruin.
The inanimate form of his daughter occupied all the attention of
Russell, the late occupier of the hut, who, as soon as she could be
restored to consciousness, was found not to have suffered much harm,
thanks to the brave and timely efforts of Fellows on her behalf.
He, however, had not escaped so freely, having suffered considerably
about the hands and face, which had been exposed to the full force of
the flames as he twice made his way through them.
A cart was procured, in which he was at once placed and driven back to
Ranger's dwelling, to be doctored with such native measures as Mrs.
Ranger was able hastily to command.
The cause of the fire, as the girl explained when she was sufficiently
recovered to do so, was one of common occurrence. Some light articles
of clothing had been hung in front of the fire to air, and whilst
Russell sat enjoying his after-dinner nap, she had gone into the other
room to attend to certain domestic duties, and during this temporary
absence a spark must have set the things on fire, which was only
discovered when the outer room was in a blaze.
As the few things which Russell possessed were all destroyed,
arrangements had to be temporarily made for the accommodation of himself
and his daughter in two of the other huts on the Ranch, until his own
could again be rebuilt.
Leaving instructions for all hands to turn to in the morning, and help
put up another dwelling for the two who had been thus suddenly left
houseless, Ranger, who, as soon as informed of what was happening, had
lost no time in proceeding to the scene of the fire, returned home to
see how it fared with Fellows, and to make preparations for his journey
in the morning, which would now have to be undertaken without his
companionship.
Fellows was in a high state of fever; whilst many of the burns he had
sustained were seen to be of such a serious character that it was felt
more skilled assistance would have to be procured. A messenger was at
once despatched into the town--distant some fifteen miles--for the only
medical man in the neighbourhood.
It was shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon, that, mounted on a
good horse, the messenger set out for M'Lean Station, in hopes of
finding the doctor and returning with him. His way for the most part
was over rolling prairie, relieved by clumps of trees, which are to be
found on the borders of such lakes and streams as are constantly to be
met with; or down amid the hollows, where grow the heavy luxuriant
grasses from which the farmer obtains his supply of winter hay.
As the slanting rays of the westering sun were sending up their
brilliant points into the clear blue vault above, Ranger's messenger
drew rein before the door of the doctor's dwelling, a very
unpretentious, one-storeyed detached villa--one of some
half-dozen--standing upon a hillside leading up to the station.
Dr. Fisherton was not at home; he had left in the early morning for the
Pleasant Hills, in response to an imperative request from a Nat Langham,
who kept a store, and farmed a small holding at the foot of the hills,
and was not expected back till late. There was no help for it but to
wait. So, stabling his horse, he accompanied his negro attendant into
the servants' quarters, determined to make himself as comfortable as
possible for the time being.
After doing full justice to the meal which was presently spread out
before him, and which his long ride had well prepared him for, he
lighted his pipe and seated himself at the window to wait for the
doctor's return.
Slowly the hours seemed to pass, until eleven o'clock struck, without
any signs of the doctor's appearance. At length the sound of a horse's
feet were heard approaching, and soon all doubt was put at rest with the
entry of the man so long expected.
The appearance of the doctor was that of a man in the prime of life;
tall, and with a good physique, and a countenance calculated to impart
confidence almost at a glance.
On learning that a messenger was in waiting for him, he, without
standing on ceremony, immediately made his way to where he was sitting
and inquired the nature of his business.
"There's been a fire, sir, this afternoon, at Farmer Ranger's, and one
of his men is very seriously injured; in fact, when I left home he was
in a high state of fever, so that it was thought advisable to send me,
in order, if possible, to take you back at once to him."
"Well, you see I was out and in the saddle early this morning, and have
only just returned after a hard day's work. What do you say to staying
the night, so that we may start together soon after daylight in the
morning?"
"It may sound a little inconsiderate, sir," responded the man, "but if
you could manage to come now, we shall be able to reach the Ranch about
two o'clock; and my own opinion is, that it is a case where every hour
may be a matter of importance."
After reflecting for a few moments, during which time he seemed to be
turning the matter well over in his mind, he announced his decision in a
manner which admitted of no appeal.
"I think it would be very unwise to start at such an hour. It is late;
there is no moon; the track is very uneven; and in the darkness it would
not be difficult to miss one's way. Besides, the ground is not free
from loafers and tramps--to give them no more desperate title--whom it
would be dangerous to meet at such a time. We will bed you up for the
night, and start in the morning soon after the dawn; and instead of
reaching the farm at the unearthly hour of two, get there between six
and seven, a delay of four or five hours, which, on the whole, I think
will be a far preferable arrangement."
The wisdom of the course recommended was too evident to admit of
dispute; therefore, after giving orders for the morning, the doctor
retired, and the man was shown at once to his sleeping apartment, and
for a few brief hours sought a welcome rest.
The grey light of dawn was stealing rapidly up from the east when the
messenger, Burt, was awakened by the negro attendant and told that it
was time to be up. To arise and dress, for a man of his habits, was not
a work occupying much time; in less than ten minutes he was seated in
the kitchen, doing ample justice to the well-spread table before him.
And by the time the doctor was ready to depart, Burt was in the saddle
by his side, and together they started on their ride to the Ranch.
The atmosphere being clear, the view up the valley along which they
journeyed was uninterrupted. Where the river ran there was a thick and
tangled line of vegetation, but the absence of rain had reduced it to
the proportions of a very modest stream, flowing sluggishly within
narrow limits. As they reached higher ground they found it everywhere
thickly covered with the short crisp variety of grass known as "buffalo
grass," forming excellent pasture both in winter and summer.
Familiarity may not always breed contempt, because of the beauty of
things with which long association has rendered one familiar,
nevertheless it induces indifference. And in the case of our two
friends--Fisherton and Burt--the scenes through which they were passing
had been so frequently viewed by them, that it was with a species of
indifference they rapidly pushed on, intent upon accomplishing their
journey with as little delay as possible.
Reaching the farm just as Ranger and his household were about to sit
down to breakfast, they were fully prepared, after rising so early and
their long and rather exhausting ride, to join him at the morning meal.
When seated at the breakfast-table, the doctor inquired about the
patient he had come to see, and was informed that he had passed a very
restless night, with fitful intervals of sleep, and seemed to be in
great pain.
"When your messenger arrived, it happened, unfortunately," said Dr.
Fisherton, "that I was out. A mounted messenger from the Pleasant Hills
had that morning arrived to say I was wanted at Nat Langham's Store,
where a free fight had resulted in one man being shot dead and two
others severely wounded, and I was unable to get back until eleven at
night, when I found him waiting to bring me here."
"Ah, I see!" added Ranger; "and of course you naturally felt it was too
late to start out then to come here."
"That is just it, my friend. Your man wanted me to do so; but I decided
that, rather than arrive here in the middle of the night, it would be
better to take a few hours' rest, start with the dawn, and get here, as
we have done, in broad daylight."
"Quite right, doctor; and when you have finished breakfast, I will take
you to the patient, and let you see for yourself if you think the delay
has done him any harm."
"I trust not," was the doctor's only comment.
Breakfast over, the "gudewife" conducted the doctor to the bedroom of
the invalid, whilst Ranger set about preparing for his journey into
town.
After a careful examination of the injuries he had received, the doctor
pronounced them to be in no sense dangerous, although serious. The
measures which had been adopted to allay irritation and heal the burns
were highly approved; and, having dressed the wounded parts and
administered a cooling draught, he took his departure, giving strict
instructions as to the course to be followed, with a view to reduce the
fever, and promising to return in three days unless previously sent for,
which he did not apprehend would be necessary.
*CHAPTER X.*
*THE MISSING LINK.*
"'There is no God,' the foolish saith,--
But none, 'There is no sorrow.'"--E. B. BROWNING.
On returning to the Hall, after her purposeless journey to the
railway-station to meet her son Ralph, Mrs. Sinclair waited the whole of
that day, anxiously hoping that some intelligence would be received to
account for his non-arrival, but neither letter nor message of any kind
arrived.
After spending a restless night, and the morning post bringing nothing
to relieve the oppression which was weighing upon her mind, she told her
daughter of her intention to drive into town and make inquiry at the
offices of the agents, to see if anything could be learned about the
passengers by the _Kestrel_.
There she was informed of the vessel's safe arrival; but that during the
voyage, a passenger--supposed to be Ralph Sinclair, from papers
discovered in the pocket of a coat believed to be his, as no one could
be found to claim it--had been lost in mid-ocean, and that, although
every effort was made at the time, they had been unsuccessful in
recovering the body.
The grief of both mother and daughter at this intelligence was
heartrending to witness, and may be better imagined than described.
They returned home in a state well-nigh bordering upon distraction, and
for some hours were hopelessly helpless with grief. The news, brief
though it was, seemed too circumstantial to be doubted.
Later in the day, when slightly recovered from the shock which the first
intelligence of her loss had caused, she resolved to write to the firm
in whose employ he was engaged, in the all but vain hope they might know
something with regard to his movements which would throw doubt upon the
report to hand. Having done this, it remained only to wait two weary
days before a reply could be received.
Ralph had for some years been in the service of H. & E. Quinion, at
Broadstone, and held a responsible position, which took him frequently
to the Continent and other parts in executing the orders of the firm.
Early the next morning a telegram came to hand, sent by the firm in
question, saying, "Nothing known of R. S. beyond what the papers say
to-day. Letter follows." The letter, which was received the next
morning, added little to what was already known, and only contained the
firm's expression of regret if the news should turn out to be true.
Acting under advice, Mrs. Sinclair wrote the owners of the _Kestrel_,
asking them to forward her such effects as were found upon their vessel
which were believed to belong to her son; and in the course of a few
days she received a parcel containing an overcoat, with his
pocket-book,--sad memorials of one fondly loved but now lost for ever.
Some months later, she was rather astonished to receive a visit from one
of the members of the firm who happened to be away up North on a holiday
tour; and to learn from him that it had been discovered that the
financial relations of her son with them were anything but what they
should be. That, from inquiries they had felt it necessary to make, he
had not only been mixed up with a very questionable class of companions,
but had made free use of the moneys of the firm which had passed through
his hands. At cards, it would seem, he had lost heavily, and had paid
his debts with gold that was not his own.
[Illustration: AT CARDS HE HAD LOST HEAVILY.]
It may well be supposed this in no way tended to lessen the grief
experienced at the loss she had sustained. The thought that her son,
whom she had doted upon, and hoped would have been a comfort in her
declining years, should have disgraced his own and his father's good
name, was madness to her, and for a time seemed likely to deprive her of
her reason.
Her daughter Jennie was most assiduous in attending on her mother during
this trying period; and her youth, coupled with a robust constitution,
peculiarly fitted her for this task. For although feeling keenly the
disgrace which her brother's conduct had brought upon the family, and
the untimely end which had apparently overtaken him, she did not give
way or break down after the manner of her mother, on whom the
infirmities of advancing years were beginning to leave their mark.
By slow degrees she rallied, and was able again to resume her place in
the household, but the old spirit had left her, so that she never seemed
able to hold herself up as in former days.
Her neighbours and friends evinced much sympathy with her at her
loss,--the true cause of the deep-seated grief they witnessed they were
kept in ignorance of. The nights of agony spent in mourning over the
frailties and faults of her boy--her darling boy!--not even her daughter
knew anything about. She could not but note, however, how prematurely
her mother was ageing, and it was with a painful sense of what might be
before her that she contemplated, day after day, the tottering form,
which seemed as if bowed down with the weight of years.
At Broadstone, the feeling of regret which at first prevailed when the
tidings of young Sinclair's drowning was made known, had gradually given
place to anger and resentment, when it ultimately became the topic of
conversation that he had defrauded the firm of between four and five
thousand pounds.
True, they scarcely felt the loss of that sum, since the amounts, as
they were discovered, were simply made a matter of bookkeeping, for
which a few entries in day book and ledger sufficed to transfer them to
profit and loss account, and the thing was done with, so far as the
business was concerned. Nevertheless the members of the firm had been
disappointed by one on whom they had implicitly relied, and whom they
had looked upon as the soul of honour. And, as time progressed, the
reflex influence of this one man's actions was seen and felt by all, in
the inauguration of a stricter discipline amongst the employes, and a
more elaborate and, as it was regarded, a better system of account
keeping being introduced, in order to maintain a closer check upon those
who had the receiving and paying of money.
To the older men this was galling; but as younger men entered upon their
duties, with little if any knowledge of what had preceded, they readily
accommodated themselves to what was to them the natural order of things.
Perhaps it ought not to be wondered at if the firm should endeavour to
find reasons for dispensing with the services of these older ones; and
it might be that some such influence had been working to cause the
changes which had been taking place of late. Firms do but consist of
human beings, after all, although they often seem to forget that those
who serve them are human beings likewise.
If the same even-handed justice prevailed when no cloud flecked the
horizon, as is meted out when turmoil reigns, there might be less cause
of complaint. But with the cause the complaint must not be audible, as
that would be to still further wreck the position and prospects of the
unfortunate employe.
*CHAPTER XI.*
*MANITOBA.*
"I spake of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents...
Of hair-breadth scapes."--_Othello_, Act. I. sc. iii.
After their unfortunate experience in the city of Montreal, the Bartons
lost no more time in looking about, but proceeded by the first outgoing
train to the great North-West. Finding, however, before starting, that
the money they now possessed would not be sufficient to carry them
through and leave any cash in hand, they determined to break their
journey somewhere beyond Winnipeg, and see if work could be found which
would enable them to replenish their exchequer before venturing farther.
Fortunately succeeding in effecting a change in their through tickets
for the less distant city of Regina, they prepared to face a long day's
ride. Travelling on the Canadian Pacific Railway is a luxurious
procedure compared with that experienced on English lines and in many
Continental cities, whilst the second-class corresponds with English
first-class, with the advantage of being transformable into
sleeping-cars at night.
The scenery from Montreal to the Pacific is some of the noblest and most
varied the traveller can anywhere behold.
As he passes through the lovely Ottawa Valley, Toronto, which is the
capital city of the Dominion, will be sure to attract attention; and, as
he advances, the interest will deepen as he passes through the primeval
forest, or past the primitive homes of frontier settlers.
The rail carries him along the shore of Lake Superior, the greatest
fresh-water lake on the face of the globe. And, until Fort William is
reached, some very grand scenery is beheld.
Rock, stream, and lake succeed, or mingle with, each other for the next
three or four hundred miles, and receives an added interest from the
fact that, besides being the route of the old fur-traders, it was also
that by which our "One General" conducted the Red River Expedition of
1870.
The Red River Valley is now a populous settlement; crossing which,
Winnipeg is entered, and the capital reached of the "world's great
wheatfields of the future."
The province of Manitoba "is the most eastern division of the great
prairie country," and its valleys are everywhere famous for the quality
of its wheat. It is the older settled division of what was formerly
known as Rupert's Land; its climate is extremely healthy, and is, in
fact, looked upon as a health-resort in other parts of Canada.
Important and attractive as Winnipeg undoubtedly was, and influential as
being the capital of the province, it was not considered by the Bartons
to be the place most likely to meet their wants; hence their
determination to travel on in order to reach a more agricultural station
of the rural type, where they hoped there might be a possibility of
obtaining work.
Passing a number of small towns and thriving settlements, where here and
there might be found traces of the all but extinct buffalo, and
occasionally catching a glimpse of an antelope, they had commenced the
descent into the valley of the Qu'Appelle, and were rounding a rather
sharp curve, when there burst on the engine-driver's view a heavily
laden goods-train, in process of shunting, standing right across the
path of the on-coming train. To shut off steam and reverse the brakes
was the work of a few seconds; nevertheless the crash came, and at once
a scene of dire confusion ensued. The driver lay dead beneath his
overturned engine; the stoker had jumped off, and almost miraculously
escaped with only a severe shaking and some few bruises. Two of the
forward carriages were telescoped; others were heaped end-on companion
carriages; two had been thrown over.
As soon as the uninjured portion of the passengers could free themselves
from the carriages which had kept the rails, they set to work to rescue
those who were screaming for succour, or moaning with pain, amidst the
wreckage which plentifully bestrewed the lines.
In the course of a little less than an hour fourteen dead bodies were
laid on the bank-side, and between fifty and sixty more or less
fearfully injured passengers were extricated, of whom several, it was at
once seen, were fatally injured.
Wolseley Station was within about one hundred yards of the accident, and
thither the wounded were conveyed with all speed, whilst telegraphic
messages were being rapidly sent up and down the line for every
available medical man to be despatched on pilot engines, local trains,
or in every possible way, to meet the urgent need.
The Bartons, fortunately, were in the hinder part of the train, and,
with other passengers similarly circumstanced, with the exception of a
good shaking were comparatively uninjured. These proved most
indefatigable in helping the injured.
When tidings of the accident was wired to M'Lean Station, it happened to
be the day that Ranger had gone over on business, and hearing the sad
news he, without loss of time, drove down the line to Wolseley to see if
he could be of any assistance; for, wherever the news had spread, the
farmers and labourers were hastening in with all speed, knowing well
that in such a district, and at such a time, all the help obtainable
would be valuable. On his arrival he found the little station still in
the greatest confusion, there not having yet been sufficient time to
obtain the help needful to attend to the sufferers, let alone clear the
line.
The less seriously injured were being conveyed to the nearest
homesteads; whilst broken or damaged limbs were receiving such "first
aid" as the appliances at hand and the intelligence of the rough but
kind-hearted on-lookers suggested best to be done, until the surgeons
summoned should arrive.
The dead had been carried into the goods-shed at the station, and
reverently laid out to await the coroner's order for removal.
Presently, coming across the Bartons, he found them endeavouring to
restore to consciousness a young woman apparently not more than
twenty-five years of age, who had both legs broken.
By this time several medical men had arrived, including Dr. Fisherton,
whom we last saw at Ranger's Ranch; and these were speedily fully
occupied. When his attention could be arrested, Ranger secured his
services for the young woman the Bartons were attending, and in the
course of a short while they had the satisfaction of seeing her restored
to consciousness, her limbs set and bandaged, and ready to be conveyed
to some place for proper nursing.
In a number of cases this proved to be no easy task, since it involved
being carried back to the hospital at Winnipeg; Portage, and other
smaller towns, affording nothing like adequate accommodation for the
many sufferers.
Ranger's trap being a commodious one, he expressed himself willing to
take the young woman with the broken limbs to be nursed at his
homestead, if the Bartons would ride with him and take all possible care
to keep her from being jolted; providing Dr. Fisherton did not consider
the journey too long and dangerous. Having given his consent to this
arrangement, they all four started for his home. They necessarily had to
proceed slowly, so that consequently the Ranch was not reached until
late in the evening.
As soon as Mrs. Ranger learned what had happened, and the fresh demand
that was to be made upon her domestic resources, she readily
accommodated herself to the situation, and had the patient put in a
comfortable bed. The Bartons were provided with a shake-down on the
floor, after first being supplied with a good supper.
Fellows, who when we last left him was in a state of delirium from the
effects of the fire, had not yet returned to consciousness, although the
virulence of the fever had somewhat abated.
There seemed, therefore, little prospect of much sleep for Mrs. Ranger
that night, as the two alternately required much of her attention.
In the course of the next day Dr. Fisherton rode over to see the two
patients, and to attend to their dressings; and from him they learned
that four more of the injured had died, bringing up the number dead to
eighteen; and that the coroner had arranged to hold his Court at M'Lean
Station on the following day, a jury having been summoned for that
purpose.
The inquiry, which was held in the goods-shed,--a sufficiently capacious
building at M'Lean Station,--was chiefly devoted to a formal
identification of the bodies, so as to render burial possible.
This, in all cases, was not an easy matter, but with the assistance
afforded from papers found upon the deceased, and in one or two cases by
the aid of relations travelling with them who had been saved, it was at
length accomplished, and the coroner's order issued, permitting the
funerals to take place.
As to the cause of the mischief, the testimony was not quite so clear;
but the general opinion seemed to be that it was due to an error of
judgment on the part of the signalman, in allowing the luggage train to
be shunting at a time when the passenger train was so near due.
Eventually the Court stood adjourned for a week to admit of further
evidence being adduced.
At the end of that period, when the jury reassembled, very little fresh
light was thrown upon the case by the additional evidence produced; and
the jury, whilst strongly condemning the carelessness of the signalman,
which had undoubtedly been the cause of all the mischief, returned a
verdict of accidental death.
Subsequently, an official inquiry was held by the C.P.R. Company, which
ended in the signalman, who was deemed to blame, being dismissed the
service.
A heavy bill of indemnity ultimately had to be faced, which the Company
on the whole met and liquidated in a fairly generous spirit.
Whilst the inquest was pending, the Bartons found it impossible to leave
the neighbourhood, as they were required to give evidence.
During their enforced stay at Farmer Ranger's, they had had frequent
opportunities of canvassing their plans for the future with him.
His opinion coincided with their own, that it would be folly to attempt
to penetrate into the Yukon with no better provision for their needs
than what they at present possessed.
He therefore arranged to give them work in the harvest-field at one
dollar per day each, and their board, until means could be found for
procuring them a small holding of their own, whilst acquiring the means
for their journey, if so desired, into the Yukon.
Their next proceeding was to write home and inform Arnold of what had
happened, and how they were at present circumstanced; the conclusion at
which they had arrived being, that for the present they must give up all
thoughts of going farther, and the realisation of their golden dreams
would have to be indefinitely postponed.
This decision, as may well be imagined, was not arrived at without much
discussion; and it was only after long reflection that they came to the
conclusion to abandon the prospects they had in view.
It was a great blow to the sanguine hopes and expectations they had been
indulging; but it was a condition of things they had been preparing
themselves for since leaving Montreal, the scene of their misfortunes,
which their own carelessness or thoughtlessness had so largely, if not
entirely, contributed to.
Charles, the younger of the two, did suggest the thought of asking
Arnold to advance them the money needed for the completion of their
journey as originally mapped out; but the notion was one so repugnant to
the feelings of the elder brother, and so stoutly resisted by him, that
it was not pressed, and no hint was given in the letter subsequently
written that any such desire prevailed.
*CHAPTER XII.*
*A DREAM OF GOLD.*
"...thou gaudy gold,
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee."
_Merchant of Venice_, Act III. sc. ii.
Arnold's position was not one to be envied. For a flagrant misdemeanour
he had been dismissed from Messrs. Quinion's London establishment, where
he had been employed for many years. But with a display of energy, for
the possession of which few had given him credit, he at once commenced
business on his own account as an agent.
The letter which came to hand from his cousin Jack Barton, told of their
adventures in Montreal, their narrow escape from death at Manitoba, and
their determination for the present to make their stay there, being
under the necessity, through want of means, to abandon for a time their
journey to the Klondyke.
Coming, as this letter did, at a time when his mind was so much
exercised by events at home and his uncertain prospects for the future,
it is not surprising if it revived thoughts, and imparted some life and
vigour to aspirations and secretly cherished desires for a participation
in some of those visions of wealth which from day to day the papers were
revealing as amongst the things possible to men of energy and resource.
So much has been said and written, of late, as to the enormous riches of
such regions as the Kootney, Cariboo, and the Klondyke, that, without
disparaging in the least other regions of the Dominion, it is not
surprising to find the eyes of thousands turned wistfully in their
direction.
It was only a few days prior to the receipt of his cousin's letter that
he had read in one of the papers a statement made by an ex-Mayor of
Ottawa, to the effect "that the new Yukon goldfields were the richest
the world has ever seen."
True, that which followed was calculated somewhat to damp the ardent
enthusiast.
It was not pleasant to be told that "hundreds of the people who are now
going there will be starved and frozen to death."
Some, however, would win success, and why not he?
What if he were to join his two cousins already on the way, help them to
complete their arrested journey, and, by making one common cause, unite
their forces, and perhaps succeed in winning a success eclipsing the
dreams of the most avaricious!
It was a subject which he felt was one to be thought over, and not
hastily decided upon.
The next letter to his cousin was one in which, with some amount of
detail, he described the position in which he had unexpectedly found
himself placed, and the thoughts, not yet matured, which he entertained
of joining them. He closed his letter with the expression of a desire
to hear from them on the subject.
The lapse of a month brought the expected reply, strongly advising him
to join them, and proposing that if he did so, and found the means for
all to go forward, they would consent to his receiving a half share of
whatever was realised, they taking the remaining half between them.
The proposal seemed eminently fair, so that it only remained for him to
well consider the situation before him, and whether the ways and means
could be procured for the undertaking.
His wife, who had not been informed of the plan lie was contemplating,
had yet to be won over to his views. This proved not so easy a matter
as he had dared to hope.
To the woman's mind the journey was fraught with risks and dangers which
far outweighed whatever possibility might exist of realising the golden
dreams, which at present, at all events, were too far distant for
serious contemplation.
Furthermore, to say nothing of the toils and hardships he would have to
face, and which she was fain to believe he was not man enough to endure,
she wanted to know how long he expected to be away, and what he proposed
for her and the children to do until his return.
So far as his own powers of endurance were concerned, he told her, he
had no fears; and was prepared to face all the terrors and hardships of
the journey, as well as the risks and dangers, in the search for gold.
The question of her own and the children's subsistence during his
absence he confessed he had not carefully gone into, as he first wanted
to get at a general expression of her views before considering what
really was the most difficult aspect of the subject.
"I understand your mother is coming this afternoon; so suppose we leave
the matter as it stands at present, that you may talk it over with her,
hear what she has to say, and then when I come home we can go more fully
into it together."
On his return in the evening, he was quickly informed that the two women
regarded the scheme as being altogether a mad and impracticable
proposal; one which no sensible married man ought for a moment to
entertain.
Nor, if the truth were told, did Arnold himself quite see how the thing
could be accomplished.
The main difficulty was how to provide for his family during an almost
two years necessary absence. His wife's mother could have rendered this
part of the task easy enough, had she been so disposed; but since no
such proposal came from her, he himself was not willing to suggest it.
For the present, therefore, the idea was abandoned, and in the course of
a week or two he wrote his cousins, stating fully the difficulties as
they had presented themselves, and explaining that the financial bogey
alone rendered it impossible for him to undertake the exploit, and that
it was with infinite regret he had been compelled to that conclusion.
*CHAPTER XIII.*
*BROADSTONE LIBERALS.*
"Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne."
_Richard II._, Act II. sc. i.
A parliamentary election was pending at Broadstone, through the decease
of one of its sitting members.
The several election agents were busy marshalling their forces, in
readiness for what it was believed would be a sharp contest. Party
clubs were rallying their members, so that each club might bring forward
the strongest possible candidate it could find. The local press were
putting out feelers as to this man and that man's suitability, evidently
with no very definite notion as to which of those named the choice was
likely to fall upon.
Energetic correspondents were at work detailing to an open-mouthed
clientele that So-and-so was being approached with a view to stand, only
to furnish a paragraph for the next day's issue to the effect that the
intelligence so reported was premature or unfounded.
The Radical caucus at length brought out their man in the person of Mr.
E. Quinion, who was declared to be the "Working-Man's Friend," the foe
to all tyranny and oppression, the advocate of Home Rule, and the
extension of the popular vote. The Conservative party showed themselves
equally eager for the political fray, declaring that their man was a
staunch supporter of the rights of labour, but a determined opponent of
Home Rule.
Canvassers began to be busy, meetings were arranged for, and the leading
men from the London clubs were sent down to aid the cause of the
candidates by their floods of eloquence.
As much of the rank and file of each party as could be usefully and
judiciously employed was freely pressed into service. The Conservative
agent having by some means got wind of Roberts and his grievance,
invited him down to a meeting at Broadstone of the working-men, where,
with several others, he was announced as a former employe of the great
house of H. & E. Quinion.
Not being a trained speaker, but a man nervous as to his own
capabilities, and without experience of an election audience, he felt
that he had undertaken a risky business, and therefore it was with
considerable apprehension he ventured to face a somewhat noisy
assemblage, in a crowded hall, in a quarter of the city tenanted chiefly
by the working classes.
Commencing in a low key at first, he was very soon met with exclamations
from various parts of the hall of "What is thee afraid of?" "Speak up,
mon!" "Hold thy head up!" which, instead of disconcerting, seemed to
kindle what little fire there was in him, so that, in a voice which was
heard at the other end of the hall, he cried out--
"Men of Broadstone, listen to me! The issue you are called upon to
decide is an all important one, inasmuch as it affects not you only but
the country at large. You have to decide which of two men is the most
fitting to represent your interests in the Parliament of the nation.
And it is with regard to one of these that I am chiefly concerned this
evening. Your Radical friends have brought forward one they describe as
'The Working-Man's Friend'" (a voice, "So he is!"--Loud cheers). "Well,
I shall be content if you will decide that question when I have
finished. Nearly thirty years ago I entered the service in London of the
firm of which he is a member, serving them faithfully and well, as
letters in my possession will show. During that period they paid me
well, and treated me fairly, and to that extent I have no fault to find
with them. Whilst in their service I was the means of detecting
successively six men who were robbing them. Two were at once sent away;
one fled, and was never again heard of; one died whilst inquiry was
pending; and the other two, at my instigation, were forgiven and
retained.
"But what happened to me? At the end of nearly thirty years, I was
given a month's notice to leave, and on inquiring the reason was told
they had no fault to find with me, but they wanted to make certain
changes which rendered this course necessary.
"Another man, who had served as long as I had done, and with an equally
clean bill of health, was similarly treated. And when the gentleman who
now wants to pose as the Working-Man's Friend was spoken to, as to the
injustice of retaining a man in their employ who had been detected
robbing them, and sending away honest men, with no flaw in their
characters, at an age, and after such a lengthened period of service,
when it would be quite impossible for them to obtain employment
elsewhere,--I say, when your Working-Man's Friend was told this, he
simply shrugged his shoulders and said 'he was sorry'!
"How did he manifest it? I asked him to reinstate me, but he declared
that could not be done. I suggested that he ought to pension me! But
the idea was not entertained.
"Two men in London were retained who were known to be 'lushers,' and did
eventually drink themselves to death. One was frequently so intoxicated
during business that he has been seen to sprawl his length across the
showroom, and to be picked up almost helpless. After receiving notice
to leave he managed to overcome the scruples of the firm, so that he was
eventually retained, and gradually lapsed into his old ways, which
ultimately were the death of him. This, I suppose, is what he calls
being the Working-Man's Friend! I could mention other cases, but it
seems to me that these are--or ought to be--enough to show that the man
who wishes to be thought your friend has such a doubtful record that you
will do well, before you decide to give him your votes, to put a few
questions to him concerning the facts I have so imperfectly endeavoured
to present to your notice."
When Roberts sat down, after comparing and commenting upon the political
programme of the two candidates, it was with a round of applause
uninterrupted by any opposing sound, and it was soon evident that an
impression had been produced most unfavourable for the Radical
candidate.
Much capital was subsequently made of the facts and statements uttered
by Roberts, and an unusual amount of election literature was the
outcome.
Efforts were made by the other side to deny the facts as stated, but
without success.
He was prevented by the circumstances of the case from publishing the
names of the individuals referred to, but particulars of these were
supplied by him to the candidate, rendering it possible to verify the
truth or falsity of his statement.
His efforts during the progress of the election, together with those of
the party he was associated with, resulted in the triumphant return of
the Tory candidate by a big majority, much to the chagrin and bitter
disappointment of Mr. Quinion and his friends.
Privately, he was heard to say that had he anticipated the advent of
Roberts into the fray, he would never have come forward to contest the
seat, and Roberts' coming was not made known until it was too late for
him to withdraw.
Flushed with the result of his efforts at Broadstone, Roberts returned
to town, hoping, although scarcely expecting, that he might hear
something from Mr. Quinion with regard to the statements he had made
whilst on the stump.
He knew him to be a man who prided himself on his public reputation for
fair dealing, and as this had been seriously impugned, he would not have
been surprised had he received such a communication.
But the Oracle remained dumb, and Roberts' prospects did not improve; so
that in a little while it threatened to become a serious question in
what way he was to keep the wolf from the door.
He was told, however, on reliable authority, that one of the members of
the firm had been heard to say he was very sorry they had been induced
to make the changes complained of--it was no doubt a mistake, but it was
too late now to rectify, as they dare not contemplate recalling their
acts or retracing their steps. For good or ill, a certain course had
been marked out, and it must be pursued.
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*CONVALESCENTS.*
"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven."
_All's Well that Ends Well_, Act I. sc. i.
During the months which had intervened since we last followed the
fortunes of our friends at the Ranch, events had been moving forward
most favourably.
Fellows had so far recovered that he was now able to resume work, and
but for the scars of the burns received, which were still visible on
face and hands, there was little outwardly to denote the terrible
sufferings he had gone through.
The young woman who had suffered so severely in the fatal railway
collision was just capable of getting about, but the doctor said it
would yet be some time before she acquired the full use of her limbs.
To lighten the arduous duties of Mrs. Ranger, which the care and
attention needed by the invalids had necessarily thrown upon her, the
services of Russell's daughter, so opportunely rescued by Fellows, were
called in, and proved a most invaluable aid.
Miss Russell, to whom Sir Walter Scott's descriptive line might well
have been applied, "Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile," was a
remarkably intelligent young woman, scarcely nineteen, who three years
before, on the death of her mother, had emigrated with her father, and
found employment at Farmer Ranger's Ranch. She was not regarded as a
field-hand, but employed in domestic and home duties, which, properly
attended to, were sufficient to occupy the major portion of her time,
leaving little to be wasted in idleness.
A fresh hut or shanty had very speedily been raised upon the site of the
one destroyed by the fire, and Russell had resumed his old habits.
The attention which her father's home required, and the duties she was
called upon to discharge at the homestead, fully occupied all the hours
of the day at her disposal, besides making frequent inroads upon those
which should have been reserved for repose.
Yet, notwithstanding these demands, she still found it possible to have
an occasional chat with Fellows, a strong friendship having sprung up
between the two during the period of her attendance, whilst he was being
nursed back to convalescence, and which promised to ripen into a closer
attachment still.
A dwelling had been raised for the Bartons some few yards from the
homestead itself, in which they had been comfortably installed, whilst
awaiting the result of their correspondence with Arnold in London.
When the letter from Arnold arrived, the contents of which has already
been indicated, it created a profound feeling of disappointment and
regret.
From the tenor of his previous communications they had been led to hope
for a very different result, and in anticipation of a rather early
forward movement had allowed their imagination freer play than was
perhaps good for them. The disappointment was, therefore, all the
keener when this letter reached them, which at one blow shattered the
structures their fancy had been at such pains to elaborate.
After carefully considering their position, and the funds still at their
disposal, they held a consultation with Ranger as to the course it would
be best to adopt. That advice was readily given.
"A little capital," said he, "makes the start easier, and saves valuable
time. But I have known many men do without it. Hundreds have arrived
in these parts without any capital whatever, and by first working for
wages have prospered and become substantial farmers. My advice to you,
therefore, would be, don't be in a hurry, but continue to keep your eyes
and ears open, and in the event of any suitable homestead being
obtainable, let me know, and we may be able to so arrange matters as to
secure it for you. And whatever you do, don't let the Klondyke craze
divert your mind from that which is possible and within comparatively
easy reach."
The two men thanked Ranger very heartily for his advice, and promised to
think over what he had said.
"I don't understand how Jim managed to make such a fool of us as well as
himself," remarked the elder Barton, when, seated smoking their pipes at
the door of their hut, in the cool of the evening, they discussed the
events of the day.
"Nor I," said his brother.
"Very likely, however, his wife wouldn't hear of his going away."
"That may have had a great deal to do with it."
"It's very disappointing, as it seems to me we shall be forced to act
upon Ranger's advice."
"Which, of course, means that we must give up all idea of getting out to
the Klondyke."
"Does that follow, Charley, as a matter of course?"
"I think so, Jack; for if we get settled here on our own location, it
will not be so easy to throw that up and run off."
Farmer Ranger's education as a youth had been sadly neglected, and in
later years he missed much of that enjoyment which is theirs who have a
well-trained or a stored mind.
As a boy he was sent to the village school, where he was introduced into
some of the mysteries of the three "R's," but the death of his father,
when he was quite young, compelled his mother to send him into the
fields to maintain the home over their heads. Subsequently, for a brief
period, he went to the parish school on Sunday, where, after the
appointed lesson in the Bible had been read, the remainder of the time
was usually given up to some goody-goody story, which the children
regarded as the most interesting feature.
As may be judged, his secular and religious knowledge were of a very
limited character, and when he left school it was with no very exalted
conceptions of the value of the education he had received.
One habit, however, was formed by his attendance at the parish
school,--which grew with his growth,--and that was the daily reading of
the Bible. Whatever else was neglected, this he was never known to
omit. He had never been in the habit of attending church or chapel, and
since his arrival in the regions of the "Wild West" such a thing as a
clergyman, or a preacher of any description, was a rarity. But he was a
man of good moral principles, one who never sought to obtain the best of
a bargain by any underhand methods, ever ready to do unto others as he
wished others to do to him.
He loved his neighbour as himself, nor stayed to inquire "Who is my
neighbour?" He had but to be shown the need, to render all the help it
was in his power to give.
His wife, having been a farmer's daughter, had proved herself in every
way adapted for the kind of life they had adopted.
"Well, so long as we continue to work for the farmer, we had better be
as economical as possible; save all we can, and then, when the time or
opportunity arrives, and a suitable homestead is to be had, we can
determine whether to put what we possess into it and settle down to a
farmer's life, or if we shall endeavour to make a push and get through
to the Yukon."
"Meanwhile, I don't think we could do better than stay where we are and
work for Ranger, who seems a thoroughly honest fellow."
Ranger had been located at Qu'Appelle about eight seasons.
Originally a farm-bailiff for a small landed proprietor in North Devon,
he had, together with his wife and a son and daughter, determined to try
his fortune in the North-West of America. After realising the little
property he possessed, he found that he had in hard cash close upon one
hundred and twenty pounds.
Being attracted by the general features and local surroundings of the
lovely valley of the Qu'Appelle, he was fortunately able, in those early
days, to secure a section of land owned by the railway company, not very
distant from the railway, by which means increased facilities were
afforded for marketing his produce.
Commencing with what is known as a quarter section--one hundred and
sixty acres--he had gradually increased his holding, until now he was
the proprietor of six hundred and forty acres of some of the finest land
to be found in America.
At no period over-burdened with serviceable and experienced hands, he
was generally open to avail himself of a favourable offer of help when
it presented itself.
The Bartons, with their Old World experience, were additions he was very
ready to welcome, and to find them suitable remunerative occupation.
Harvesting, which begins about the middle of August and ends early in
September, was nearly over; and the young woman rescued from the railway
accident had made such good progress towards convalescence that she was
now able to get about and make herself useful.
The farmer and his wife had frequently, of late, taken the opportunity
of discussing with her of an evening, when the work of the day was over,
the future and its prospects, without being able to arrive at any very
satisfactory conclusion.
Her case was a peculiarly sad one. When the accident overtook her, of
which she was so unfortunate a sufferer, she was travelling in the
company of an uncle and his two sons, who contemplated settling in the
neighbouring province of Alberta.
She was anticipating being married shortly to one of her cousins, in the
event of everything turning out favourable; but to her inexpressible
grief she was informed, as soon as recovery had sufficiently advanced to
render such a communication safe, that all three had been killed; so
that she was now alone, in a strange land, without a friend save those
who had so kindly acted the part of "Good Samaritan."
Although for a time the consequences of such a revelation seemed likely
to be serious, youth and a good constitution in the end triumphed, and
she began to regain a little of that buoyancy and activity which those
who had known her would have expected her to display.
But the memory of those dear to her, of whom she had been so suddenly
and painfully bereaved, could not be so easily effaced; and the languor
of her manners, and the melancholy expression which in hours of idleness
would steal over her, sufficiently served to mark the influence which
reflection was bound to exert, and the grief too deep for utterance
which remained.
The railway company had arranged to make ample provision for her, so
that little concern was felt on that score; but for the present it was
undecided what course it would be best for her to pursue.
In the unsettled, or only half settled, districts of the great
North-West, where woman, if not a minus quantity, is very often in many
parts a _rara avis_, the advent of one is always regarded with marked
attention and considerable interest.
Under any circumstances Mary Truman would have been a welcome guest at
Farmer Ranger's, whilst from the unfortunate nature of her surroundings
she was now made to feel doubly welcome.
To the elder Barton, it was very easy to be seen, she had become an
object of peculiar interest, but her sorrow and suffering were yet of
too recent a date to admit of much safe speculation with regard to the
future.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*NAT LANGHAM'S.*
"You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house."
_Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act III. sc. iv.
It is not so many years ago that the lands through which the lines of
the Great Trunk Railway of Canada run, after leaving Winnipeg, away up
to Calgary in the "Rockies," were the happy hunting-grounds of the Cree
and Blackfeet Indians. Now the traveller sees little besides a number
of small towns and thriving settlements, all along the line.
Occasionally a nondescript representative of the almost extinct races
may be observed, disillusioning the mind of the beholder of whatever
romantic notions he may have imbibed from the pages of Fenimore Cooper.
But away in the hills, or out on the more distant prairies, where even
if the pioneer has ventured the settler has not yet attempted to follow,
encampments of these "children of nature" still exist.
And it is only at extremely rare intervals that we hear of them being
upon the "war path."
Like the buffalo he was wont to hunt, or the aboriginal Australian, the
North-American Indian promises soon to be but a figure of history.
Amongst the foot-hills of the "Rockies," as well as in the glens and
valleys amid the higher peaks, and secluded amongst the hills and woods
which abound in the far interior, down through the provinces of Alberta,
Assiniboia, Saskatchewan, to Manitoba, roving bands of lawless men are
to be found, guided occasionally by one or more of what are known as
"half-breeds" or native scouts, who, if not the last of their race, are
more frequently for some delinquency the outcasts of their tribes.
The cattle-lifting frays of these bands of desperadoes are dreaded
events in the lives of the peaceably disposed settlers, their tracks
being generally marked by the destruction and ruin of happy homesteads,
and the murder of their defenceless occupants.
Only recently a raid had been made on a settlement at the foot of the
Beaver Hills, some distance to the north of Ranger's homestead, but
sufficiently near to set him on the alert, and give rise to some anxiety
for his own safety as well as the lives of the many dependent upon him.
The mounted police--a thoroughly efficient and well-organised body--had
been scouring the country in all directions, in hopes of striking the
trail of this band of marauders, but hitherto to little effect.
Nat Langham's Store, in the neighbourhood of the Pleasant Hills, was a
well-known place of resort for the miners and lumber-men for miles
round. He was said to have been a prize-fighter in his time, and
thither all the loafers and idlers and the ne'er-do-wells, which ever
hang on to the skirts of a community, were in the habit of gathering.
Drinking, betting, and gambling were the order of the day--and night
too. And many were the scenes of riot and bloodshed which had been
witnessed at his store.
Being the only store where liquor could be obtained, and play of a
certain kind indulged in, it was freely resorted to by most of that
class whose tastes led them in the direction of what was known as
conviviality and sport.
The police, when in search of information, or for doubtful or dangerous
characters, were frequent visitors at his shanty.
The recent raid in the vicinity of the Beaver Hills had woke up the
slumbering zeal of the authorities to increased activity and
watchfulness, and their attention of late to this particular locality
had been of a very marked character.
One of the most successful of the small but energetic little band of the
police stationed at Wolseley was a man named "Puffey," from a habit he
had acquired of inflating his cheeks, until they stood up in hillocks on
each side of a little red snub nose, looking for all the world like a
well-rounded Burgundy bottle with its red sealed cork flanked by the
dark ruby of the glass.
Although the butt of his companions, he was a good-tempered little
fellow, ever ready to render effective aid when called upon, but whose
kindness of heart often threatened to override his judgment, or to play
havoc with the discretion which at times it was needful to exercise. He
was a man in the prime of life, not more than thirty-four or thirty-five
years of age; strong, wiry, and active, with a pair of small, keen grey
eyes, whose steady gaze were capable of reading character, to the
confusion of many an ill-conditioned ruffian and the upsetting of his
well-considered plans.
Formerly a member of the detective force in England, on migrating to the
States, after a short but not very successful career in New York, he had
crossed the border, and soon found ready employment in the ranks of the
mounted police, where his reputation had been steadily growing for some
years past.
It was a dull chilly day towards the close of September, as late one
afternoon he dismounted at the door of Langham's shanty, and giving his
horse into the charge of a slim youth, who had emerged from the dwelling
on hearing the sounds of an approaching horseman, with the laconic
remark of "Stable him, my lad," entered through the public-room, where
Nat Langham was to be seen behind a roughly constructed bar, possessing
none of those outward attractions which are found so alluring to the
denizens of our big cities and towns.
The conversation, which had been noisy and general, was hushed as soon
as it began to be whispered who the new-comer was.
Casting a careless glance around, but a glance which enabled him to
rapidly survey the assembled groups, with a nod to Langham he passed on
into a small room on the right of the bar, in which were seated a few of
the more select spirits of the neighbourhood.
The men were engaged in the exciting game of "Poker," and as they
glanced up for a moment on his entry, one of them shouted--
"Hullo, Puffey! What's up?"
"Not much yet," the officer replied.
"Who do you want?" was the next inquiry.
"No one here."
"That's all right. Have a drink?" was the prompt rejoinder.
That he was well known might have been inferred from the fact of all
three offering him glasses. Having drunk with them on the score of good
fellowship, and called for the glasses to be refilled, he sat down at an
unoccupied corner of the table, and lighting a small briar pipe, which
by its appearance looked to have been in constant demand for some time,
he prepared to watch the game going on.
Two of the men were apparently stockmen, and hailed from a Ranch a few
miles distant; the other was an engineer in the employ of the railway
company.
"Puffey," or to give him his proper name as it appeared on the books of
the force, John Stone, sat for some time apparently watching the play of
the three men, but in reality listening to the sounds proceeding from
the bar, which could be plainly heard in the room in which they were
seated.