Daly was not at Banff, and Foster, who made cautious inquiries, found
nothing to indicate that he had been there. Indeed, he began to weigh
the possibility of Carmen's having deceived him, but rejected this
explanation. The girl was clever at intrigue, but he did not think she
had acted a part. She had really lost her self-control and told him
the truth in a fit of rage. On the other hand, it was possible that
Daly had deceived her, but there was no obvious reason for his doing so.
The fellow, however, was not in Banff, which is a small place,
frequented mostly by tourists and invalids who come there in summer,
and Foster took a west-bound train. He was once more at a loss and
felt dispirited. For one thing, he had no time to lose, because it
would spoil his plans if Hulton's agents got on Daly's track before him.
He left Banff late at night, with a ticket for Vancouver, which he had
bought on speculation, partly because the seaboard city is a
clearing-house for travelers to all parts of the Pacific coast, but did
not sleep much as the heavy train rumbled through the mountains. The
jolting of the cars and the roar of wheels that echoed among the rocks
disturbed him, and he was troubled by gloomy thoughts. He had promised
Alice Featherstone that he would clear her brother; but he had also to
clear himself, and in order to do so must find Lawrence as well as
Daly. Just now he had not much hope of finding either, but he
cherished a vague belief in his luck, and it was unthinkable that he
should neglect any chance of justifying the girl's confidence. He was
ready to follow Daly round the world, sooner than lose that. The
trouble was that he could not tell if he was following the fellow or
not.
He went to sleep at last, and getting up rather late, spent an hour or
two trying to knit up broken clews and looking for a light. It was a
profitless but absorbing occupation and he vacantly glanced at the
majestic panorama of snowy peaks and climbing forest that rolled past
the windows of the car. When his thoughts wandered from their groove,
he saw Alice Featherstone moving with stately calm about the Garth, or
standing in the orchard with the sunset shining on her face. He
recalled the grace of her tall figure and how her dress harmonized with
the mossy trunks, but he loved to dwell upon the look of trust in her
steady eyes. Then the memories were suddenly banished, for a whistle
rang up the track and there was a jar of brakes.
Foster hurried out to the platform when the long train stopped, and saw
the conductor talking to the engineer and passengers jumping down into
the snow. Pete joined him as he followed them, but he stopped for some
moments and looked about. There was no station near. The track, which
was marked by cinders and stains on the snow, ran along a desolate
mountainside. Dark pines that looked as if they had been dusted with
icing-sugar rolled in curiously rigid ranks up the slope, getting
smaller until they dwindled to a fine saw-edge that bit into a vast
sweep of white. This ended in a row of jagged peaks whose summits
gleamed with dazzling brightness against the blue sky. Below the
track, the ground fell away to a tremendous gorge, where dark-colored
mist hung about a green river dotted with drifting ice. The sun struck
warm upon his face, though the snow was dry.
"We'll find out why they've stopped," he said to Pete and walked
forward past the cars.
The engineer stood on the step of the huge locomotive and had not much
information to give.
"Track's gone down not far ahead; snow-slide, I guess."
He shrugged when Foster asked if it would be a long job. "You can see
for yourself, if you like," he remarked, indicating a plume of smoke
that rose above the pines. "There's a construction gang at work round
the bend. It's a sure thing we won't pull out before you're back."
Foster set off with Pete and several passengers, and the Scot gazed
about with wonder.
"I was born among the hills, but never have I seen ought like this!" he
exclaimed. "Man, it passes dreamin' o'; it's just stupenjious! But I
wouldna' say they'll mak' much o' farming here."
"They have some bench tablelands and pretty rich alluvial valleys,"
Foster answered with a smile. "The province depends largely on its
minerals."
Pete glanced back up the track that wound down between rock and forest
from a distant notch in the high, white rampart.
"I'm thinking the men who built yon line had stout hearts."
"It wasn't an easy job," Foster agreed. "They were up against savage
Nature, and she's still too strong for the engineer now and then, as I
expect you'll shortly see."
They walked through a gap in the pines and stopped with a sense of awe
on the edge of a great red furrow in the mountain. The gash was
fringed by shattered trees, and here and there a giant splintered trunk
rested precariously among stones ground to fragments. Far beneath, a
vast pile of earth and snow dammed the river, and half-way up an
overturned locomotive, with boiler crushed like an eggshell, lay among
the wreckage. The end of a smashed box-car rose out of the boiling
flood. For a hundred yards the track had vanished, but gangs of men
were hurrying to and fro about the gap. Farther back, there was clang
of flung-down rails and a ringing of hammers.
"If they open the road again by to-morrow morning, they'll be lucky,"
Foster remarked, and stopped a big fellow who was going past with an ax
on his shoulder. "Is there any settlement not too far ahead?"
"There's a smart new hotel at the flag station about six miles off,"
said the man. "You can make it all right walking if you keep to the
track and watch out you don't meet the construction train in the
snowshed."
Foster, who knew he would find waiting tedious, went back to the car
for his small bag, after which he and Pete set off for the hotel. They
had some trouble to cross the path of the avalanche and then spent some
time getting past the men who were unloading a row of flat cars. The
single-line track was cut out of the rock and one ran a risk of
glissading down to the river by venturing outside its edge. Once,
indeed, a heavy beam, thrown too far, plunged down like a toboggan, and
leaping from a rock's crest splashed into the flood. The men on the
cars worked in furious haste, and it was difficult to avoid the
clanging rails they threw off.
Foster got past, but did not find walking easy when he had done so.
The track wound among the folds of the hills, and where the sun had
struck the snow there was a slippery crust, through which he broke.
Where it ran past tall crags and between the trees, the snow was dry
and loose as dust. They made something over two miles in the first
hour and soon afterwards came to the mouth of a snowshed. The opening
made a dark blotch on the glittering slope, for the roof was pitched at
a very small angle to the declivity and the snow passed down hill over
it with scarcely a wrinkle.
It was only when they entered they saw signs of man's work in the
massive beams and stringers that braced the structure. These were
presently lost in the gloom and Foster stumbled among the ties.
Shingle ballast rolled under his feet; where he found a tie to step on
it was generally by stubbing his toe, and once or twice he struck the
side of the shed.
For all that, he pushed on as fast as possible. The warning he had
been given was indefinite, but it looked as if a train was shortly
expected and the locomotive, with its outside cylinders, would not give
them much room. He imagined that refuges would be provided at
intervals, but did not know where to find them. Now and then they
stopped to listen, but heard nothing. There was deep silence, which
was a relief, and they blundered on again as fast as they could. It
was rather daunting work and one could not make much speed, but when a
faint, muffled throbbing reached them they began to run.
Foster had no means of guessing the length of the shed, and as he
slipped among the ballast looked anxiously in front, but could not see
the glimmering patch of light he expected. The darkness was
impenetrable, but the contour of the hillside had indicated that the
shed was curved, and the outlet might be nearer than he thought. In
the meantime, the sweat ran down his face and his breath came hard. He
was in good training, for his journeys among the Scottish hills had
strengthened his muscles, but the footing was bad among the stones, and
he labored through them awkwardly with set lips and clenched hands. He
thought of throwing away his heavy coat, but it would take a few
moments to get it off and he must put down the bag, in which there was
the letter he would need. By and by his foot struck something and
lurching forward he lost his balance and came down heavily. The blow
shook him and he was a little slow in getting up until he felt a rail
he put his hand on quiver. Then he scrambled to his feet, but could
not find the bag.
"I hae't," said Pete, who seized his arm and urged him forward.
A deep snorting reached them and a tie he trod on trembled, but as he
ran savagely with labored breath there was an elusive glimmer in the
dark ahead. It grew brighter, an irregularly-shaped white patch
appeared, and making a tense effort while the ballast rolled beneath
his feet, he staggered into the sunshine. Then with a gasp of keen
relief he threw himself upon the snow beside the track.
About a hundred yards away, a giant locomotive toiled up the incline,
hurling out clouds of smoke that streamed far back among the pines.
The road bed shook and the hillside rang with the din of wheels. While
Foster lay panting, the locomotive labored past, and then long, flat
cars, on which men sat upon the load of jarring rails, clanged by. The
black mouth of the shed swallowed them, a cloud of smoke and dusty snow
curled about the opening, and the uproar suddenly sank to a muffled
rumble. This died away and the deep silence of the mountains was
emphasized by the sound of the river.
"We were not much too soon," Foster said with a breathless laugh. "Now
I come to think of it, there's no obvious reason we shouldn't have
stopped on board the train and got our lunch comfortably. I seem to
have a habit of doing unusual and unnecessary things; it's curious how
soon you get into trouble when you indulge a bent like that."
"Yon's a verra true remairk," Pete agreed. "It's a rough and thorny
world, an' if ye will not walk in the cleared paths but gang yere air
gait, ye must struggle with the briars."
"And scramble through snowsheds? You Scots are a philosophical lot.
But do you call poaching sticking to the beaten path?"
"I'm thinking it's as near it as stravaging aboot the Border mosses,
when ye might gang by train."
"A fair hit! But after all, man wears the regulation paths so deep
that he can't get out when he wants. What about the pioneers, who
blaze the new trails? Aren't they needed?"
"Whiles, maybe," Pete answered grinning. "For a' that, they maun tak'
the consequences. Do ye feel it's yere business to break a new road?"
"Certainly not! I'm not a philanthropist and would be quite satisfied
with making things a little easier for myself and my friends, but am
much afraid I haven't succeeded yet. In fact, there's one friend in
England who's very far from grateful. But the question is--Why did I
leave the train?"
"Ye just felt ye had to?"
"I think I did. But why did I feel that?"
Pete chuckled. "There ye have me! This I ken; whiles when I had a
hare or a few paltrig in the lining o' my auld coat and cam' to a slap
in a dyke, I had a kind o' feeling yon was no' the road for me. I
couldna' tell there was a keeper hiding on the ither side; but I didna'
gang. Maybe it's better no' to argue but follow yere heart."
"No," said Foster, "I imagine it's really better to follow your head.
In the meantime, I've had no lunch and think we'll get on."
They came to a wide hollow in the hills where the snow was deep and
loose. The sun was shut out and the frost was keen, while Foster saw
by the lengthening shadow of the pines across the river that the
afternoon was wearing on. A glance at his watch showed that he had
been walking for nearly three hours, but there was no sign of the
hotel. Dark masses of trees ran up from the water to the line of
summer snow, and no roof or curl of smoke broke their somber monotony.
High above, the peaks glittered with a steely brightness that seemed to
intensify the cold.
Their breath hung about them as they plodded on, but at length, when
they came to the middle of the bend, where the hills curved out again,
there was a break and they stopped at the end of a bridge. The low sun
shone into the gap, which was profoundly deep and majestically
beautiful. On its farther side, tremendous crags held up the snow,
which trickled down their faces in thin gray streaks and stretched back
above, steeped in soft blue shadow. On Foster's side, giant pines
glimmered a bright green in the warm light, running up to a glittering
slope that ended in two rugged peaks, and a river that sprang from a
wrinkled glacier foamed through the dusky gorge. Where a small
clearing had been cut in the forest, steep red roofs stood out in
harmonious contrast with the green of the firs, and a picturesque
wooden building with pillars and verandas occupied the greater part of
the opening.
"If the place is as attractive inside, it's worth the walk," Foster
remarked. "You appreciate your quarters best when you've had some
trouble to get there."
"I'm thinking that's true. The peat fire and the auld rush chair in
the bit cothouse are weel worth winning to when ye come through the
rain and wind ower the dark moss. This is a gran' country, but it's
no' like that ither amang the Border fells."
Foster stood for a few moments and mused, for he sympathized with Pete.
He remembered the satisfaction with which he had seen the lights of a
lonely inn or farmstead twinkle when he tramped, wet and tired, across
the Scottish moors. They were bleak and often forbidding, but had a
charm one felt but could not analyze, with the half-lights that
trembled across them and their subdued coloring. In spite of some
hardships, he had been happy in the misty, rain-swept land, but he knew
it had been touched by the glamour of romance. That was over. He was
on his probation in utilitarian Canada, and very much at a loss; but he
meant to make good somehow and go forward, trusting in his luck.
"Well," he said, "I'm hungry and we'll get on. I hope they won't make
us wait for supper, though they'll no doubt call it dinner at a place
like this."
Five minutes afterwards he stamped the snow off his boots as he entered
a glass-fronted veranda in front of the hotel. It was comfortably
furnished, warm, and occupied by three people. A lady sat with some
sewing at a table, and a very pretty girl, holding a cigarette case,
leaned over the side of a basket chair, in which a man reclined.
Foster, who imagined he was an invalid by his slack pose, was passing
on to the main door when the man moved. As he turned to take a
cigarette Foster saw his face.
"Lawrence!" he exclaimed.
"Jake!" said the other, and would have got up, but the girl put her
hand restrainingly on his arm.
Foster stood still for a moment, overcome by surprise and satisfaction,
but understanding what he saw. The lady with the sewing was studying
him, but he did not resent this and thought he would like her. The
girl divided her attention between him and his comrade, whom she
restrained with a pretty air of authority. She obviously knew who
Foster was and felt curious, but meant to take care of Lawrence. There
was something in her protective manner that Foster found singularly
charming. Then Lawrence beckoned and held out his hand.
"I'm uncommonly glad to see you, Jake, but how did you get here?"
"Why aren't you in California?"
They both laughed and Lawrence turned to the lady.
"This is my neglectful partner, as I dare say you have guessed. Mrs.
Stephen, of Victoria, Jake."
She gave Foster her hand and he was next presented to Miss Lucy
Stephen. Then Lawrence indicated Pete, who waited, looking very big
and muscular but quite at ease.
"Who's this and where did you get him? I'll engage that he was born
between Ettrick and Liddel."
"He kens!" Peter remarked with a twinkle. "My name's no' far frae
Ettrick, sir."
"My friend, Pete Scott," said Foster. "You have heard the ladies'
names, Pete, but this is my partner, Mr. Featherstone, from the Garth."
Pete lifted his hand to his forehead and the movement had a touch of
dignity. "Your servant, all; an' if ye'll alloo it, Mr. Foster's
friends are mine."
Lawrence laughed. "A very proper sentiment, and a true Borderer! But
you haven't told us how you found him, Jake."
"It's a long tale," said Foster. "Besides, I'm hungry. So I expect is
Pete."
Lucy Stephen rang a bell. "Tea ought to be ready. We often take it
here."
The tea was brought a few minutes afterwards and when Lucy gave him his
cup Foster sat in a basket chair studying his comrade. Lawrence's face
was pinched and his pose languid, but Foster thought he was not so ill
as he had been. He did not know how much he ought to ask and had
decided to wait until they were alone when Lawrence smiled.
"You needn't be alarmed, partner. I'm very much better than I was and
will soon be quite fit again."
"We have good ground for hoping so," Lucy Stephen added in a friendly
tone, and Foster thought she had noted his anxiety and liked him for it.
Her remark seemed to warrant his looking at her and he approved what he
saw. The girl was attractive and had character, but what struck him at
first sight was the protective gentleness she showed his comrade. He
liked her eyes, which were a soft, clear blue, while her supple figure
and warm-tinted skin hinted that she was vigorous. It was plain that
she had not Alice Featherstone's reserve and pride, nor he thought the
depth of tenderness that the latter hid. She was softer and more
pliable, for Alice was marked by an unflinching steadfastness. He
smiled as he admitted that for him Alice stood alone on an
unapproachable plane.
"But how did you get ill?" he asked.
"I was left on an icy _couloir_," Lawrence replied. "When they found
me I was half-frozen, but it makes a story that's probably as long as
yours. I'll tell it you later. How's our Borderer getting on?"
Foster turned to Pete, who had a large, hot Canadian biscuit on his
plate. "This kind of meal isn't very common in this country, Pete.
Perhaps I'd better warn you that there'll be another by and by."
"Aweel," said Pete, grinning, "I've no' done so bad. It's a guid plan
to mak' certain when ye hae the chance."