En Route
BERTHA gave a little gasp of surprise. An hour ago she would have been
most dreadfully dismayed at such a disaster, but now it seemed like a
providential chance which would admit of her going to railhead without
seriously upsetting the plans of anyone.
“It is not so much what shall I do, as what you can do yourself,” she
answered slowly. “I thought that you said you must get home to-night,
because you had some work to do.”
“So I must, even though I have to walk every step of the way, although
luckily that is not necessary, as I can ride one of the horses,” he
answered.
“Would you like me to wait in the town and drive the wagon home when it
is mended?” she asked. “I could stay at Mrs. Smith’s boarding-place,
where I stayed when I came west, until Tom could meet me.”
“If you could do that I’d be more obliged than I could say. But wouldn’t
you be afraid to bring the horse and wagon all those miles alone?”
“Not if you will leave me Jupiter to drive,” she said. “I should be
afraid of the black horse because it does rear so, but I could manage
the other very well indeed.”
“You are a downright brick of a girl, and I’ll send young Fricker over
to Duck Flats to-morrow to tell Eunice that she will have to hang on at
your job until you can get back. And we will manage the post office
somehow; there is not much business doing these days, that is one
comfort under present circumstances,” said Bill Humphries, with an air
of huge relief. “I wish that you would just come along with me to Luke
Moulden’s and arrange with him about what time he is to have the wagon
ready for you the day after to-morrow. My word, but you have taken a
load off my mind!” Bill Humphries gave vent to a windy, gasping sigh as
he spoke, and hurried through the slush of the badly made sidewalk at
such a rate, that Bertha had some difficulty in keeping up with him.
It was not the wheel only which had suffered from the collision, but one
side of the wagon was stove in also; and Luke Moulden scratched his head
in a dubious fashion when told that he must have it done by the day
after to-morrow.
“It is sprung and it is ratched, the panel is broke right through, and,
goodness gracious, man! do you think that I can mend your old wagon by
steam?” demanded Luke, as he walked round the derelict, surveying the
damages which he would have to put straight.
“You will have to this time, and if you have to charge a leetle extra
for making haste, why, that is not my fault; and seeing that the railway
people have got to pay the bill, because it was the carelessness of
their man what did the mischief, why, I shan’t be so much upset as if it
had got to come out of my pocket,” drawled Bill Humphries, winking in
the direction of the depot yard, as if it were all a very good joke
indeed.
“Needs must, I suppose, when the old ’un drives,” rejoined Luke Moulden,
with a slow, rumbling laugh. “You shall have the job finished to time,
even if I have to sit up both nights to get it through, and I’ll hitch
up for the young lady smart and early; for she won’t want to get
benighted on the road.”
“I thought that I should manage him if I just happened to say he could
charge a trifle more for getting it done quick,” chuckled Bill, as he
went back with Bertha along the muddy road to the stores, where he spent
half an hour with her, arranging for the lading of the wagon and the
sort of goods he wanted her to bring back; and, when this was done, he
had to mount his horse and ride off to Pentland Broads at the best pace
he could make, while Bertha, left to her own devices, went slowly
towards the police barracks to see what arrangements Inspector Grant had
been able to make for her.
She did not have to wait for him this time, but found that he was
waiting for her, and there was a smile on his face which seemed to
indicate that he had been able to manage to his own satisfaction.
“Well, Miss Doyne, I have got on better than I expected,” he said
cheerfully. “The wife of one of our men stationed at Brocken Ridge wants
to go through to her husband, and she will take care of you on the way
out to railhead, look after you while you are there, and see you safely
on the cars for the return. I have got to write a pass for her, and I
will write one for you also, then the journey will cost you nothing
beyond your food and the bodily discomfort which you are bound to
endure; for I warn you that the journey will not be exactly a picnic, as
you will have to travel out on a freighter.”
“How very kind you are!” she exclaimed. “I don’t in the least mind the
discomfort, if only I can get my errand done.”
“Very well, be at the depot by six o’clock this evening, and I will step
along to introduce you to Mrs. Walford; she is a very respectable sort,
and will take proper care of you. If I had had any doubt about her, I
should not have allowed you to go; for railhead is not a nice place for
a girl, despite the efforts of the contractors to keep the construction
camps clean and wholesome.”
“I am not afraid,” said Bertha simply.
“I don’t believe that you are,” he answered, smiling at her in a kind,
fatherly fashion, “but that is all the more reason why other people
should be afraid for you when duty calls you into questionable places.
Now, don’t forget it is six o’clock sharp, and be sure that you are at
the depot in good time.”
Bertha thanked him, and then made her way to the boarding house kept by
Mrs. Smith, a little Irishwoman who had arrived at Rownton with the
railway and stayed there ever since.
She received Bertha with a great demonstration of welcome, for no one
who had ever spent a night under her roof was forgotten, and she
declared that the prairie life must have suited the girl from the east,
who had been so homesick, because it had made her so good-looking.
“It is rale beautiful that you have grown, my dear. Sure, but there is
nothing to equal these lonely places for making the roses bloom in the
faces of girls like yourself!” she exclaimed, taking Bertha by the
shoulders and turning her round to the light.
Bertha flushed, and a happy light stole into her eyes. It had always
been a secret trouble to her that she should be so plain and
uninteresting, when Anne and Hilda had been so pleasant to look upon;
therefore the feeling that someone thought that she was nice-looking
warmed her heart and sent a glow of happiness through every fibre of her
being.
“The prairie is a wonderful place for bringing out what there is in
one,” she answered, laughing and flushing under the little woman’s gaze.
“I had no idea that I could work so hard until I came out west.”
“And do you like it better than you thought that you would, or are you
homesick still for the woods, the hills, and the seashore?” asked Mrs.
Smith; and there was a wistfulness in her own eyes which seemed to point
to the fact that she herself had unsatisfied longings for the land of
her past.
“I believe that I long just as much as ever for the beautiful scenery,
and especially for the sea. But one cannot have everything, you know,
and I have so much more to fill my life now than I had in the past; so I
am content,” replied Bertha, smiling down into the wistful eyes of the
little Irishwoman.
“Ah, and it is that which makes for your good looks, my dear! Sure, and
there’s nothing like contentment for making the roses bloom in the
cheeks and the eyes to shine. How long have you come to stay with me,
dear?” said Mrs. Smith, giving Bertha a gentle push into the big rocking
chair which stood beside the stove.
“I am here for two nights, only I shall not be here,” replied Bertha, in
some confusion, and then broke into a laugh at her own foolishness in
mixing her speech up in such a fashion. “I mean that I am not going back
to my cousin’s house until the day after to-morrow, but I have business
which will take me to railhead, that is out beyond Wastover, and I am
going out to-night in a freighter, and I suppose that I shall come back
some time to-morrow night, only I can’t be sure when.”
“But you can’t go to railhead alone; them construction camps ain’t no
place for a young girl like you,” objected Mrs. Smith, uplifting her
hands in horror at the bare idea of such a thing.
“I am not going alone,” answered Bertha, with a reassuring smile. “Mrs.
Walford, of the Mounted Police, is to take care of me, and Inspector
Grant has written me a pass.”
“Ah, then it is right you are if the inspector has had anything to do
with it, for he is the most particular man, and as careful of women and
children as if they was new-laid eggs!” said Mrs. Smith, and then she
bustled about getting a meal for Bertha. The supper at her boarding
house was always spread for half-past six o’clock, which, of course,
would be too late for Bertha, who, therefore, had to be fed separately.
Having had no food since her early breakfast, Bertha was quite prepared
to do justice to Mrs. Smith’s providing, especially as it was
exceedingly doubtful when and where she would obtain her next meal.
There was time for a brief half-hour of rest after her early supper, but
Bertha could not sleep, being too much oppressed by a dread of losing
her train. A few minutes before six o’clock she walked across to the
depot, and the first person she saw when she arrived was a stout,
elderly woman, who promptly pounced upon her much as a hungry cat might
spring for a young and tender mouse.
“Now, do say, are you Miss Doyne, the young lady that is going to
railhead?” demanded the stout woman, with a blowing sort of gasp
intended to relieve her feelings.
“Yes, that is my name, and I am going to railhead. Are you Mrs.
Walford?” asked Bertha, smiling at the stout woman with great
satisfaction, because she looked so comfortable and motherly a woman.
“That is my name, and I am not so old as I look. It is this dreadful
stoutness that is so aging,” said Mrs. Walford, with a second blowing
gasp, which reminded Bertha of an engine letting off steam. “Forty-five,
I am, and not a week more, for my birthday was the day before yesterday;
and, I am sure, to look at, anyone might well take me for sixty. I tell
Walford sometimes that I will go in for some of those patent medicines
that are advertised for reducing the figure. Then he laughs at me, and
offers to swop jobs for a few weeks; for, as he says, a mounted
policeman has no use for fat, and certainly he can’t keep it.”
“What a good idea! Why don’t you try it?” asked Bertha, laughing at the
fancy picture her mind conjured up of plump Mrs. Walford in a
policeman’s uniform, seated upon a frisky horse.
The stout woman laughed too, as if the little joke tickled her, then she
answered, in her gasping, jerky fashion, “I would swop jobs with him for
a time if it wasn’t for one thing, and that is, I would not dare to
mount a horse. My own two legs are shaky, I know; but I do feel safe
when I am on them, which is more than I should do if I were mounted on
four legs. But though I can’t take his job I can share his life, and now
that they are going to have a police barracks at Brocken Ridge, I’m
going to live there, to make some sort of a home for him and the other
men stationed in that district, and it won’t be my fault if I don’t
manage to run off a little of this fat of mine before I have done.”
“I am sure I hope that you will be successful, if it is going to make
you more comfortable,” said Bertha, and then she asked, “Do you know if
Inspector Grant is coming to the depot before we start?”
“He was coming, but just as we were moving out of the door a message
came for him that he was wanted at Ardley Crossing as soon as he could
get there, and so he had to go. He told me I was to find you, and I
wasn’t to go without you, even if I had to get the freighter kept
waiting for half an hour, though I guess there would be a pretty row
among the officials if I were to try on any games of that sort,” said
Mrs. Walford.
Bertha laughed, and then turned to follow her companion towards the door
of a covered freight wagon (box car, as it was called), and of which
there were only three in the long train of wagons, laden with railway
construction stuff, which had drawn into the Rownton depot.
“Now, which of these cars have we got to ride in, I wonder?” said Mrs.
Walford, in a puzzled tone, as the first car appeared to be fast locked,
and there was no possibility of getting near the others save by wading
or swimming, as the melted snow covered the track in pools of muddy
water; then, seeing a man in the distance who appeared to be in some way
connected with the train, she called out loudly, “Here! Hi! young man,
can you tell me which of these cars has been reserved for Mrs. Walford,
of the Mounted Police?”
“This ain’t a passenger train, ma’am, but only a freighter going through
to railhead loaded with construction stuff,” said the young man, lifting
his cap politely.
“I did not say it was, but it has got to carry a passenger, or rather
two passengers, this trip, so just stir round, will you, please, and see
where we are to be accommodated, for I don’t want to stand in this
cutting wind much longer,” said Mrs. Walford impatiently.
“But there ain’t anywhere for you to ride,” objected the young man,
looking so much worried by the stout woman’s persistence, that Bertha
had some difficulty in keeping from laughing.
“Well, all I have got to say about it is that you will have to make a
place for us to ride, then, and that very quickly, too, for I’m not here
to be kept waiting,” rejoined Mrs. Walford, with a note of asperity
creeping into her tone. “I have a pass from Inspector Grant to carry
this young lady and myself to railhead, and we have got to be taken
there, even if you have to unload one box car on purpose for us.”
“I wish that we could be told when we have got to carry passengers, then
we might be able to have proper accommodation for them,” said the young
man, whereupon he departed in all haste to find the brakeman, who was
presently unearthed from the caboose of the engine, where he had been
refreshing himself with a cup of hot coffee, and was only dragged forth
by the importunities of the young man, who was really concerned on
account of the stout woman and her companion.
“There is a lot of camp bedding in that first box car; we might make
room for you in there. It will be rather close, I’m afraid, and you
won’t be able to have a fire, but it is the best that we can do for
you,” said the brakeman, when he had mentally figured out the different
kinds of lading contained in the three box cars.
“We shan’t need a fire if there is so much bedding. The nights are not
as cold as they were, and, for my own part, I would rather not be shut
up in a box car, with a red-hot stove, over a track that is not properly
settled,” said Mrs. Walford, who was an old hand at pioneer travelling,
and knew to a nicety what it was best to avoid.
“Well, come along, and I will stow you away as comfortably as I can
manage it. We are due to draw out of Rownton in less than half an hour,
and we shall need as much as that, I guess, to fix you up so that you
won’t fall out of bed,” said the man, and, seizing a lantern which hung
inside the depot shed, he fixed a short ladder to the opening high up on
the side of the box car, and, running up it, he unlocked the doors and
swung them back.
The car was packed from floor to ceiling with bundles of bedding
fastened up in coarse canvas, and at first sight there did not appear to
be an inch of space in which the two passengers could be stowed; but the
brakeman called the young man to whom Mrs. Walford had at first applied,
and the two worked with so much zeal and energy, that at the end of
twenty minutes they had succeeded in clearing a little space which would
enable Mrs. Walford and Bertha to sit side by side, though they could
not lie down. Then, ripping open a bundle of blankets, the brakeman
spread them out for the comfort of the adventurous pair of travellers,
and the preparations were complete.
“I’m sure I hope that you will be comfortable,” said the brakeman, as he
helped them to climb up the side into the car. “I remember taking a
couple of men a night journey in a car of bedding five years ago, when I
was braking down in Montana, and when we opened the car in the morning
they was both as dead as door nails. Fact is, they was drunker than they
should have been when we took them on board, and we found two empty
whisky bottles lying beside them.”
And with this cheery reminiscence, he locked the doors on Mrs. Walford
and Bertha.