THE CHEQUE
The North-west breeze was fresher than usual when, one afternoon, Helen
rode through a belt of sand-hills on her way to the Charnock farm.
Clouds of dust blew about the horse's feet, and now and then fine grit
whistled past her head. She had her back to the boisterous wind, but she
urged the horse until they got behind a grove of scrub poplars. Then she
rolled up her veil and wiped her face before she looked about.
Round, dark clouds rolled across the sky, as they had done since spring,
but for nearly a month none had broken. A low ridge, streaked by flying
shadows, ran across the foreground, and waves of dust rose and fell
about its crest. Sandy belts are common on parts of the prairie, and
when they fringe cultivated land are something of a danger in a dry
season, because the loose sand travels far before the wind.
Beyond the sand-hills, the level grass was getting white and dry, and in
the distance the figures of a man and horses stood out against a moving
cloud of dust. Helen supposed he was summer-fallowing, but did not
understand the dust, because when she last passed the spot the soil
looked dark and firm. She remembered that Festing had been anxious about
the weather.
Riding on, she saw the roof of the Charnock homestead above a straggling
bluff, and her thoughts centered on its occupants. Strange as the thing
was, she had come to think of Sadie as her friend. Her loyalty and her
patience with her husband commanded respect, and now it looked as if
they would be rewarded. Bob was taking an interest in his farm and had
worked with steady industry for the last month or two. Helen thought she
deserved some credit for this; she had had a part in Bob's reformation
and had made Stephen help.
Sadie trusted her, and no suspicion or jealousy marked their relations.
Indeed, Helen wondered why she had at one time been drawn to Bob. Were
she free to do so, she would certainly not marry him now. Still she had
loved him, and this gave her thoughts about him a vague, sentimental
gentleness. It was a comfort to feel that she had done something to turn
his wandering feet into the right path.
When she reached the homestead she found Sadie looking disturbed. Her
face was hard, but her eyes were red, and Helen suspected that she had
been crying. It was obvious that something serious had happened, because
Sadie's pluck seldom broke down.
“I'm glad you came,” the latter said. “I'm surely in trouble.”
Helen asked what the trouble was, and Sadie told her in jerky sentences.
Charnock had started for the railroad early that morning, and after he
left she discovered that he had written a cheque, payable to Wilkinson.
“It's not so much the money, but to feel he has cheated me and broken
loose when I thought he was cured,” she concluded. “He has been going
steady, but now that brute has got hold of him he'll hang around the
settlement, tanking and betting, for a week or two. Then he'll be slack
and moody and leave the farm alone, and I'll have to begin the job
again.”
Sadie paused, with tears in her eyes, and then pulled herself together.
“Pshaw!” she said, “I'm a silly fool. Before you came I thought I'd quit
and let Bob go his own way; but I'm not beaten yet. If Wilkinson wants
him, there's going to be some fight. Now, I want you to ride over with
me to the fellow's place.”
Helen felt sympathetic. Sadie's resentment was justified, and she looked
rather refined when angry. Her stiff pose lent her a touch of dignity;
her heightened color and the sparkle in her eyes gave her face the charm
of animation. Moreover, her want of reserve no longer jarred. Reserve is
not very common on the plains.
“But you must tell me something about it first,” Helen replied. “How did
you find out he had written the cheque?”
“I suspected something after he'd gone and looked for his cheque-book.
He'd torn out a form, but hadn't filled up the tab. Bob's silly when
he's cunning and didn't think about his blotter. The top sheet was
nearly clean and I read what he'd written, in a looking-glass.”
“Why did he give Wilkinson the money?”
“I guess it's to speculate in wheat or building-lots, and Bob will
certainly lose it all; but that's not what makes me mad. After all, it's
his money; he's been saving it since he steadied down. I can manage Bob
if he's left alone, and thought I'd cut out the friends he shouldn't
have. Wilkinson was the only danger left, but he's a blamed tough
proposition.”
Helen knew Festing disliked the man, but she felt puzzled. “The sum is
not very large,” she said. “I don't quite see why Wilkinson thought it
worth while----”
“It shows he's pinched for money, and there's some hope in that. Then
he doesn't like me, and I imagine he has a pick on your husband. Stephen
froze him off one day when he was getting after Bob. Anyhow, I mean to
get the money back.”
“But can you? It is Bob's cheque.”
“I'm going to try. The bank deals with _me_,” Sadie answered. “But come
along; I hear the hired man bringing the rig.”
When they got into the vehicle, Helen remarked that Sadie had brought
a flexible riding whip. Since the quirt was useless for driving, Helen
wondered what she meant to do with it. The trail they took ran through
the grass, a sinuous riband of hard-beaten soil that flashed where it
caught the light. It was seamed by ruts and fringed by wild barley but
in places the grass had spread across it, leaving gaps, into which the
horses' legs and the wheel sank. The smell of wild peppermint rose from
among the crackling stalks as the team brushed through. Now and then a
prairie-hen got up, and small animals, like English squirrels, squatted
by the trail until the wheels were nearly upon them, and then dived into
holes.
“The gophers are surely plentiful,” Sadie remarked. “Don't know that
I've seen so many around before, and that's going to be bad for the
grain. They're generally worst when the crop is poor.”
“Do you think the crop will be poor?”
Sadie glanced at the sky, which was a dazzling blue, flooded with light,
except where the scattered clouds drove by.
“We didn't get the June rains, and the frost-damp has gone down pretty
deep. Then we have had very few thunder-storms, and the sand is blowing
bad. It makes trouble in parts of Manitoba, but the scrub trees in our
sand-hills generally hold it up. What does Steve think?”
“He hasn't told me. Sometimes he looks anxious, but he doesn't talk
about it much.”
“That's Steve's way. I don't know if it's a good way. He sees when he's
up against a hard thing and makes his own plans. Now I want to know my
husband's troubles. You feel better when you can talk.”
Helen agreed with Sadie; she often wished Stephen would talk to her
about his anxieties. He wanted to save her and had confidence in
himself, but she felt that he left her out too much.
“How does the sand damage the wheat?” she asked.
“Cuts the stalk. Takes time, of course, but the sharp grit puts down the
grain like a binder knife, if it blows through the field long enough.
However, I'm not worrying much about that; there are worse things than
the sand and drought. We're fools and make our real troubles; that's
what's the matter with us.”
Helen smiled. Sadie was amusing when philosophized, but Helen thought
her views were sound. She had chosen a stern country, but its stinging
cold and boisterous winds were invigorating, and with pluck one could
overcome its material obstacles. It was human weaknesses that made for
unhappiness.
“Well,” she said, “we must hope the rain will come; but hadn't we better
go by the long bluff? The new man has put a fence across the other
trail.”
Sadie left the trail, and as they crossed a hollow the tall grass
rustled about the horses' legs. It had lost its verdure; the red lilies
and banks of yellow flowers had withered on their parched stalks. When
they reached the level the grass was only a few inches high and the wide
plain rolled back in the strong light, shining pale-yellow and gray. It
was only when the shadows passed that one could see streaks and patches
of faded green. In the distance a cluster of roofs broke the bare
expanse, and Helen knew they marked the Wilkinson ranch. A horse and
buggy approached it, looking very small, and she glanced at Sadie, who
said nothing, although her face was stern. By and by the latter stopped
her team in front of the homestead and fastened the reins to a post.
“Now,” she said, “you sit on the veranda and wait for me. It was
Wilkinson's rig we saw, and I'll find him in.”
Wilkinson looked up from the table at which he was writing when Sadie
entered the room. He was, on the whole, a handsome man, but was rather
fat, and his black eyes were unusually close together. This perhaps
accounted for the obliquity of his glance, which, some believed,
conveyed a useful hint about his character. He was neatly dressed
in light, summer clothes, although the farmers generally wore brown
overalls. As he got up his look indicated that he was trying to hide his
annoyance.
“This is something of a surprise, Mrs. Charnock,” he said politely.
“However, if there's anything I can do--”
“You can sit down again in the meantime,” Sadie replied, and occupied
a chair opposite, with the quirt on her knee. “To begin with, if you're
writing to your Winnipeg friend, you had better wait a bit.”
“I'm not writing to Winnipeg; but don't see what this has to do with
your visit.”
“Then you haven't sent off Bob's cheque yet! I mean to get it back.”
Wilkinson saw that he had made a rash admission. Mrs. Charnock was
cleverer than he thought.
“If Bob wants it back, why didn't he come himself?”
“He doesn't know I have come,” Sadie answered calmly.
Wilkinson studied her and did not like her look. Her face was hard, her
color higher than usual, and her eyes sparkled ominously.
“Well,” he said, “you told me you would pay no more of your husband's
debts, but this is not a debt. Besides, the money must be Bob's, since
he gave me the cheque.”
“Why did he give it you?”
The question was awkward, because Wilkinson did not want to state that
he had persuaded Bob to join him in a speculation. This was the best
construction that could be put upon the matter, and he did not think it
would satisfy Mrs. Charnock.
“Why does a man give another a cheque?” he rejoined, with a look of
good-humor that he did not feel.
“The best reason I know of is--for value received. But this doesn't
apply. You allowed it wasn't a debt, so Bob has got no value.”
“One sometimes pays for value one expects to get.”
Sadie laughed scornfully. “If that's what Bob has done, he'll get badly
stung. There's nothing coming to him from a deal with you. I guess you
don't claim he made you a present of the money?”
“I don't,” said Wilkinson, with a frown, for he thought he saw where she
was leading him.
“Very well. One pays for something one has got or is going to get, and
as we can rule out both reasons, the cheque is bad. In fact, it's not
worth keeping. Better give it me back.”
“Your argument looks all right, Mrs. Charnock, but you don't start from
sure ground. How do you know there's nothing coming to your husband?”
“I know you,” Sadie rejoined. “Anyhow, the cheque is certainly bad.
They'll turn it down if you take it to the bank.”
Wilkinson made an abrupt movement. “You can't stop your husband's
cheque. You don't mean he hasn't the dollars to meet it?”
“I don't,” said Sadie, with an angry flush. “Bob is honest. The money's
there, but if you think the bank will pay when I tell them not, go and
see. The manager knows me and he knows you.”
Wilkinson saw that he was beaten, but tried to hide his anger. “Well, it
looks as if Bob was lucky. He has a wife who will take care of him, and
I reckon he needs something of the kind. However, here's the cheque; I
want a receipt.”
Sadie wrote the receipt and he noted that her hand shook. As she got up
he glanced at the quirt.
“Did you ride over? I thought I heard a rig.”
“I drove,” said Sadie. “Looks as I needn't have brought the quirt.
Well, I'm glad you agreed about the cheque being bad. I meant to get it
anyhow.”
Wilkinson gave her a curious look, but said nothing and she went out.
“I've saved Bob's money,” she told Helen as she started the team.
“Wilkinson saw my arguments and didn't kick as much as I expected, but
he certainly doesn't like me any better. I think he'll make trouble if
he can.”
“That seems unlikely,” Helen remarked. “I imagine that as you have
beaten him he'll be glad to let the matter drop. No doubt he wanted the
money and was vexed because he had to give it up, but I hardly think
he'll try to revenge himself on you. Men don't do these things.”
“My husband and yours don't, but Wilkinson is different,” Sadie
answered.
Charnock had not returned when she reached the farm, and after Helen
left she sat on the veranda, feeling disturbed. Bob had told her he was
going to the railroad to bring out some goods, but he could have got
back two or three hours earlier. Then Wilkinson no doubt knew where he
had gone. A small settlement, with two new hotels, had sprung up round
the station, and as the place was easily reached by the construction
gangs there was now and then some drunkenness and gambling. For all
that, Sadie did not mean to anticipate trouble, and set about some
household work that her drive had delayed. It got dark before she
finished, but Bob did not come, and she went outside again.
The night was clear and refreshingly cold after the scorching day. The
wind had dropped, everything was very quiet, and she could see for
some distance across the plain. The hollows were picked out by belts of
darker shadow, and the scattered bluffs made dim gray blurs, but nothing
moved on the waste, and she did not hear the beat of hoofs she listened
for.
For a time she sat still, lost in gloomy thought. Bob's relapse had been
a bitter disappointment, because she had begun to hope that the danger
of his resuming his former habits was past. He had stuck to his work,
which seemed to absorb his interest, and had looked content. There was
ground for believing that with a little judicious encouragement he
might make a good farmer, and Sadie did not grudge the patient effort
necessary to keep him in the proper path. Now he had left it again and
might wander far before she could lead him back.
For all that, she did not mean to give up. She had fought hard for Bob
and was resolved to win, while there was a ray of comfort. The woman
she had at first thought a danger was her best friend, and she felt for
Helen Festing a grateful admiration that sometimes moved her deeply.
Helen had many advantages that she could not have combated had they been
used against her: grace, polish, and a knowledge of the world in which
Bob had lived. But Helen was on her side. Sadie's admiration was perhaps
warranted, but she undervalued her own patience and courage.
At length she got drowsy and forgot her troubles. She did not think she
really went to sleep, but after a time she got up with a start. A beat
of hoofs and rattle of wheels had roused her, and she saw a rig coming
towards the house. For a minute or two she stood shivering and trying
to brace herself. If Bob was driving, things might be better than she
thought; but when the horses stopped another man got down.
“Perhaps you'd better rouse out your hired man, Mrs. Charnock,” he said
awkwardly. “I've got your husband here, but it's going to take two of us
to bring him in.”
Sadie brought a lamp and, with her mouth firmly set, looked into the
rig. Bob lay upon some sacks in an ungainly attitude, and the jolting
had not broken his heavy sleep. It was some time since he had come home
like this, and Sadie felt dejected and tired. Then with an effort she
went to waken the hired man.
They carried Charnock in, and when she had given the driver some money
she sat down and indulged her passionate indignation. Wilkinson had sent
the rig, but had not been prompted by kindness when he told the man to
drive Bob back; it was his revenge for his defeat. He had found Bob,
made him drunk, when there was nothing to be gained by doing so, and
sent him home like this. The fellow was poison-mean, but she thought him
rash. He had struck her a cruel blow, but she did not mean to sit still
and nurse the wound. She must strike back with all the force she could
use and make him sorry he had provoked her to fight. Then, putting off
her half-formed plans until next day, she went to bed.