Grace Coulthurst had not long cleared the evening meal away, but she was
already waiting Esmond's departure with an impatience which was somewhat
difficult to hold in check. He had come across from the outpost while
she was occupied with the task, and that in itself would have been
sufficient to displease her, but there were also other causes for the
strain upon her temper. Miss Coulthurst had not expected to fare
luxuriously in the Green River country and had hitherto borne the
necessary discomforts exceptionally well; but of late she had been
actually hungry, which, in her case, was as unpleasant as it was
unusual.
There was still a store of flour and salt-pork in the Gold
Commissioner's house, but there was practically nothing else, and the
pork was rancid, while Grace had a very rudimentary acquaintance with
the art of cookery. As one result of this, she had risen unsatisfied
from each untempting meal, and, brought up as she had been, the
deprivation had its effect on her physical nature, though she felt the
isolation which had succeeded the blockade even more. Of late the
company of Ingleby or Sewell had become almost a necessity, while she
had naturally not seen either of them since the miners made their
protest. Coulthurst had also been a trifle difficult to get on with. He
was not addicted to indulgence, but neither was he particularly
abstemious, and tea brewed from leaves which had been infused once or
twice already was not a beverage he appreciated or one that tended to
make him more companionable.
He lay somewhat wearily in a big deck-chair beside the stove with an
unlighted cigar in his hand, while Esmond sat opposite him with an
unpleasant look in his face.
"There is nothing to be gained by hiding the fact that I'm a little
anxious about the state of affairs, sir," he said. "The scoundrelly
miners are still apparently as far from giving in as ever, and,
unpleasant as it is to admit, they have the upper hand."
"It looks like it," said the major drily. "I suppose you haven't thought
of making a compromise? Nobody's hurt as yet, and I fancy they would be
satisfied if you met them with regard to Tomlinson. You're not bound to
send a man up for trial unless it's reasonably evident that he's guilty,
and I don't believe Tomlinson did the thing, myself. Couldn't you hold a
kind of informal inquiry, and give the boys an opportunity for proving
him innocent?"
A vindictive sparkle crept into Esmond's eyes. "And permit a rabble of
that kind to teach me my duty? I'm afraid not. Even if I wasn't sure the
man was guilty, which I am, the thing would be out of the question."
"You feel warranted in calling all of them--rabble?" asked Grace.
"I do. Every one of them. Their leaders, in particular, belong to that
most intolerable class to be found anywhere--the half-taught
proletariat, with just enough education to increase their natural
unpleasantness and inspire them with a hatred of their superiors. That,
however, is not quite the point."
The blood rose to the girl's face, but remembering that the major
occasionally displayed some little penetration she contrived to keep
silent, though this was by no means easy. Coulthurst, however, nodded.
"I scarcely think it is," he said, with a trace of dryness. "As I
pointed out once before, you do not seem to remember that I
occasionally had Mr. Sewell and Ingleby here."
"I'm afraid I didn't--I'm sorry, sir," said Esmond. "Of course, I should
have done so. One could almost have fancied that they were here
frequently."
Again Grace said nothing, though it cost her a stronger effort, and the
major did not appear to notice the younger man's sardonic smile.
"Since you don't seem to care for my suggestion, have you any notions of
your own?"
"I haven't, which is partly why I came to you. If I could only find a
way of getting word to Victoria and a few more troopers in, it would be
easy to bring them to reason. As it is, I have sense enough to realize
that nobody would thank me for forcing a contest that could only end in
disaster and the subsequent sending up of a battalion of Canadian
militia. The miners are twenty to one, you see."
Again Coulthurst nodded. "You are right in one respect," he said.
"Personally, I shouldn't care to undertake the thing with less than
three or four strong companies, and I'm not sure I could get in then.
Well, since a compromise appears out of the question, you can only wait
events."
"That is the difficulty. I can't wait too long. We're on full rations
still, but stores are getting low and certainly won't last until the
thaw sets in. Of course, if affairs had been different, I could have
hired enough of the fellows to break out a trail."
Perhaps the major did not intend it, but he looked at Grace, and saw
comprehension of his thoughts in her eyes. They were not on full
rations, or anything approaching it, at the Gold Commissioner's house,
and a few of the comforts Esmond could have spared would have been worth
a good deal to them. He was in some respects not an ungenerous man, but
though he must, Grace fancied, have seen how meagrely they fared, such a
course had evidently never suggested itself to him, and in that fact
lay the sting. He rose to go, in another minute or two, but just then
there was a knocking at the door, which swung open a moment later, and
Grace gasped as she saw Ingleby standing on the threshold with a heavy
case in his hands.
His garments were ragged, and his gauntness showed through them. His
face was worn, and darkened by exposure to the frost, but his eyes were
steady, and he glanced at the girl with a smile. There was a curious
silence for a moment or two until he turned to the major.
"May I come in, sir?" he asked.
Coulthurst regarded him sternly. "You could scarcely expect me to
welcome a man in arms against his country."
"No," said Ingleby. "Not as a friend. That would be unreasonable. Still,
I have a little explanation to make, and it is a bitter night to keep
the door open. With your permission!"
He swung round and closed it, after which he laid down the case, and
Grace felt a thrill of appreciation as she watched him. His
self-possession appealed to her.
"You have come--alone?" asked the major.
"Of course!" said Ingleby.
Esmond smiled, though there was no good-humour in his eyes, and, as if
inadvertently, dropped his hand on his hip. His uniform was raised a
trifle there, in a fashion which suggested that a pistol lay beneath it.
"Wasn't that a little rash?" he asked. "Can you point out any reason why
I shouldn't arrest you?"
"I fancy I can," and Ingleby made a gesture of impatience. "For one
thing, if you attempted to lay hands on me or reached for your pistol I
should fling you out into the snow. That, of course, isn't in good taste
to say in another man's house; but it may save everybody unpleasantness,
and, in any case, I'm one of the proletariat from whom too much is not
expected."
There was a harshness in his voice and a glow in his eyes which seemed
to indicate that he was perfectly willing to make his promise good,
while, though his attitude was certainly not all that conventionality
demanded, it was, at least, natural in the circumstances, and Grace was
not displeased by it. Esmond, perhaps because he recognized the
necessity for displaying his superior training, kept his temper, and
Coulthurst watched them both, with a little grim smile.
"I haven't the least intention of indulging in an exhibition of that
kind, which would be quite unnecessary," said the police officer. "There
is a trooper within call who has a carbine."
"I saw him, though, being a policeman on duty, he naturally did not see
me. What would you gain by calling him?"
"I think he and I between us could take you to the outpost."
"You might. I haven't a weapon of any kind with me, but what then? Two
of my comrades know where I am, and you would have thirty or forty armed
miners inquiring for me before morning. It is, of course, quite plain
that you can't afford to force an outbreak of that kind."
Esmond realized that this was true. Ingleby, it was evident, held the
cards and was quite aware of it. He wisely said nothing, though his face
grew hot, and there was a wicked look in his eyes. Then Ingleby turned
to the major again.
"What I have to say is not in the least important, and will not keep you
a minute, sir," he said. "Still, there are reasons why I would sooner
Captain Esmond didn't hear it."
"I believe he was going when you came in," said Coulthurst reflectively.
The hint was plain enough, and Esmond moved towards the door, while
Ingleby, who stood between him and his fur-coat, handed the coat to him.
Then as the officer went out he lifted a partly-filled flour-bag in
from the veranda, and, when he had closed the door, laid it with the
case on the table.
"Won't you sit down?" Grace said quietly.
Ingleby looked at Coulthurst. "I scarcely think Major Coulthurst would
object to anything you suggest, but I am in his hands."
"Sit down--and be hanged to you!" said the major, whose face grew
suddenly red. "Do you suppose I enjoy the position you have forced me
into?"
Ingleby did as he was bidden. "I came across this case at the
settlement, sir, and was told it was for you. From what the storekeeper
said I fancied Miss Coulthurst would be pleased to have it, and that you
wouldn't mind my bringing it up with me."
"You were at the settlement?" and Coulthurst glanced at him almost
incredibly. "Perhaps you know Esmond sent down two or three troopers,
and they couldn't face the snow?"
"Yes, sir. You will probably understand why I preferred not to mention
it in Captain Esmond's presence."
"The box is proof that you were there--but how the devil you managed it
is more than I know. The troopers certainly couldn't."
"They didn't go the right way," said Ingleby drily.
"Then there is another one?" and Coulthurst flashed a sharp glance at
him.
"As a very little reflection would show you that there must be, there is
no use in running away from the question. Besides, I feel I'm safe in
your hands, and, while circumstances continue as they are, Captain
Esmond couldn't profit by any conclusions you might come to. Shall I
open the case for you, sir?"
The major made a little sign, and Ingleby, crossing to the hearth,
picked up the rock-drill, which served as poker, and contrived to prize
up the lid with it.
It was a trifling action, but it was characteristic; and Grace noticed
that he made use of the thing that was nearest without troubling anybody
to find him a more suitable implement. Then he laid out the contents of
the box upon the table, and the girl's face softened as she watched him.
The little comforts in themselves were worth a good deal to her just
then, but the fact that he had thought of her was worth far more. The
major, however, appeared a trifle disappointed, and she fancied she knew
what he was looking for. Ingleby seemed to know it, too, for there was a
suggestion of a smile in his eyes. Leaning one elbow on the table she
looked at him with her rounded chin in the palm of one hand.
"Whichever way you went you must have crossed the range," she said.
"That box was heavy. How did you carry it?"
"On my back," said Ingleby. "That is the usual way. We had sold all the
horses off to the freighter for a few dollars quite a while ago. Of
course, as I hadn't asked your permission, it was a liberty."
Grace made a little gesture. "What did you go down to the settlement
for?"
"Provisions."
"But nobody could carry many of them over the mountains."
"I think I managed forty pounds," said Ingleby incautiously. "Most of
the boys had considerably more."
The clear rose colour crept into Grace's cheeks, and she did not trouble
to prevent his seeing it. She knew what the simple admission meant, and
that it must have cost him toil incredible to make that journey with a
double burden. It was for her he had borne it.
"And the box?" she asked.
Ingleby's embarrassment was evident, and she turned to the major with a
curious little laugh and a faint ring in her voice.
"Do you understand what Mr. Ingleby has done?" she said. "He has carried
that box besides his own load up from the settlement--over the
mountains--so that we should not suffer for anything."
Coulthurst also appeared embarrassed. In fact, his face was distinctly
red. "I'm very much obliged to him," he said. "It's devilishly
unfortunate you got drawn into that outpost business, Ingleby. Excuse
me, Grace, it is--unfortunate. Can't you see how you have placed me? As
a man who has served his nation, even though he has been kicked for it,
I can't very well----"
He stopped a moment, still a trifle flushed, and then broke into a
little laugh. "Well," he said, "you're too strong for me--I'll
capitulate. You know the ground I ought to take as well as I do; but
it's more than could reasonably be expected of any man, under the
circumstances. Still, that storekeeper fellow might have put in
something a little more exhilarating than tea."
Ingleby opened the flour-bag with something as nearly approaching a grin
on his gaunt face as was compatible with the deferential attitude he had
assumed.
"I feel a little diffident about the next proceeding, sir," he said. "In
fact, it is a piece of almost intolerable presumption on the part of a
man setting constituted authority at defiance, as I'm afraid I am.
Still, you see, people must eat and drink, in any case."
He took two carefully wrapped bottles out of the bag, and the major's
eyes twinkled, while as he spread out the rest of its contents Grace
felt her heart grow very soft towards him. He had, it seemed, thought of
everything that could minister to her comfort. Then she saw that he had
guessed what she was thinking, and his honesty became apparent.
"The storekeeper had his wife there," he said. "I had a little talk with
her."
"It is to be hoped she didn't drink whisky of that kind," said the
major, with a chuckle. "You couldn't get anything better in a Montreal
club."
Ingleby laughed. "I fancy some of my comrades have belonged to
associations of the kind, and a good many of them have cultivated
tastes," he said. "As a matter of fact, they can afford them."
"Will you be good enough to tell me how much those things cost?" asked
the major.
"If you insist. In fact, there's an invoice here. Still, after the
little kindnesses you have shown me I would much sooner not let you see
it."
Coulthurst looked at him sharply, and then, reaching out, laid his hand
upon the grocery bill. After that he rose and went into the adjoining
room, and when he came back he handed Ingleby a cheque on a Vancouver
bank. Grace watched the miner curiously as he did so.
"Now you have relieved your feelings, sir, I can make what use I like of
what is my own," he said.
He crossed the room and flung the paper into the fire, then turned with
a little smile to the major. It was a bold step, and the boldness of it
appealed to the girl. She understood it as an assertion of equality,
something he owed to himself, and withal it was done with deference and
not aggressively. For a moment Coulthurst gazed at him in astonishment.
Then he laughed, and made a little sign of comprehension.
"I'm not sure I've met many young men with nerve enough to do that, but
I think you're right," he said. "I was pleased to make your
acquaintance, Mr. Ingleby--and it is, perhaps, not altogether your fault
that the present unfortunate circumstances must necessarily lead to a
temporary break in it."
Ingleby made him a little grave inclination. "I understand, sir, and
there is only one thing I would like to ask," he said. "We may make some
suggestions shortly for a compromise, and, in view of Captain Esmond's
temperament--and our own--they might be considered more dispassionately
if passed through a third party. Would you be willing to receive Sewell
here?"
He was evidently about to go, and Coulthurst held out his hand. "Send
him as soon as you can. If your ideas are reasonable, I'll do my utmost
with Esmond. This state of affairs can't go on."
Ingleby turned towards the door, but Grace, who was waiting, opened it
for him, and let her hand rest in his a moment.
"Walter," she said very softly, "it was exactly what I would have
expected from you."
Ingleby did not think it advisable to turn round, but he gripped the
little fingers hard as he passed out into the darkness.