LAURA WAYNEFLEET'S WISH
It was a hot summer evening, and a drowsy, resinous fragrance stole
out of the shadowy bush when Nasmyth, who had now spent six months at
Waynefleet's ranch, lay among the wineberries by the river-side.
Across the strip of sliding water the sombre firs rose in a great
colonnade from the grey rock's crest, with the fires of sunset blazing
behind their wide-girthed trunks. The river was low and very clear,
and the sound of it seemed to intensify the solemn stillness of the
Bush. Nasmyth had come there to fish, after a long day of tolerably
arduous labour, but he did not expect much success, though the trout
rise freely just after sunset in those rivers. Indeed, he had almost
forgotten that the rod and net lay near his side, for his employer's
daughter sat on a fallen cedar not far away from him.
She had laid her hat aside, and, as it happened, two humming-birds
that flashed, bejewelled, in a ray of ruddy light hung poised on
invisible wings about the clustered blossoms of an arrow-bush that
drooped above her head. She was, however, not looking at them, but
watching Nasmyth with thoughtful eyes. Everything she wore was the
work of her own fingers, but the light print dress became her
curiously well.
"You have been here six months now," she said.
"I have," answered Nasmyth, with a little laugh. "I almost venture to
think I do you credit, in view of the state I was in when I reached
the ranch. If you hadn't taken me in hand, two or three days would
probably have been the length of my stay."
The girl made no disclaimer. She was one who admitted facts, even
when they did not chime with her wishes, and she still regarded
Nasmyth thoughtfully. He certainly did her credit, so far as his
physical appearance went, for his strength had fully come back to him,
and, as he lay among the wineberries in an easy pose, his thin duck
garments displayed the fine proportions of a figure that had been
trained almost to muscular perfection by strenuous labour. The light
of the paling sunset was on his bronzed face, and it revealed the
elusive delicacy that characterized it. Nasmyth was certainly a
well-favoured man, but there were respects in which his companion was
not altogether satisfied with him. She had, as she admitted, restored
him to bodily health, but, after all, that was only going so far, and
she felt it was possible that she might accomplish a little more,
though there was no very evident reason why she should wish to do so.
Still, she was conscious of the wish.
"I was wondering," she said, "how long you would be content to stay."
Nasmyth gazed at her in evident astonishment. "Stay!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, you can call it twenty years, if one must be precise."
"Ah!" replied Laura, "in one sense, that is an admission I'm not
exactly pleased that you should make."
The man raised himself slowly, and his face became intent as he strove
to grasp her meaning. He was not in the least astonished that she
should speak to him as she did, for there are few distinctions drawn
between the hired man and those who employ him on the Pacific slope,
and he had discovered already that the girl was at least his equal in
intelligence and education. In fact, he had now and then a suspicion
that her views of life were broader than his. In the meanwhile it was
in one respect gratifying to feel that she could be displeased at
anything he might think or do.
"I'm not quite sure I see the drift of that," he said.
"You would be content to continue a ranch-hand indefinitely?"
"Why not?" Nasmyth asked, with a smile.
Laura once more looked at him with an almost disconcerting steadiness,
and she had, as he was already aware, very fine eyes. She, however,
noticed the suggestive delicacy of his face, which had, as it
happened, more than once somewhat displeased her, and a certain
languidness of expression, with which she had also grown almost
impatient. This man, she had decided, was too readily acquiescent.
"That," she continued, "is rather a big question, isn't it?"
"Ah!" said Nasmyth reflectively. "Now I begin to understand. Well, I
don't mind admitting that I once had ambitions and the means of
gratifying them, as well as an optimistic belief in myself. That,
however, was rudely shattered when the means were withdrawn, and a man
very soon learns of how little account he is in Western Canada. Why
shouldn't I be content to live as the ranch-hands do, especially when
it's tolerably evident that I can't do anything else?"
"You are forgetting that most of them were born to it. That counts for
a good deal. Have you noticed how far some of the others drift?" A
faint trace of heightened colour crept into her cheeks. "Perhaps one
couldn't blame them when they have once acquired the whisky habit and
a Siwash wife."
Nasmyth lay very still for a few moments, resting on one elbow among
the wineberries, for she had, after all, only suggested a question
that had once or twice troubled him. It was, however, characteristic
of him that he had temporized, and, though he knew it must be answered
some day, had thrust it aside.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you want to send me away. Now, I had almost
fancied I had made things easier in various ways for you, and we have
been good comrades, haven't we? One could call it that?"
"Yes," agreed Laura slowly; "I think one could call it that."
"Then," returned Nasmyth, "why do you want me to go?"
It was difficult to answer, and, to begin with, Laura did not exactly
know she desired him to leave the ranch--in fact, she was willing to
admit that there were several reasons why she wished him to stay.
Still, perhaps because she had watched over him in his sickness, and,
so Gordon said, had snatched him back to life again, she had a certain
pride in him, and vaguely felt that. In one sense, he belonged to her.
She would not have him throw away the life she had saved, and she had
recognized, as many of his English friends had not, the perilously
acquiescent side of his character. He was, she feared, one who had an
unfortunate aptitude for drifting.
"That," she said, "is rather more than I could explain either to
myself or to you, but I will tell you something. They are going to
build the pulp-mill down the valley, and they are now asking for
tenders for the construction of the dam. The thing, I have heard, is
not big enough to interest contractors from the cities, and most of
the men round here have their hands full with their ranches."
Nasmyth became a trifle more intent. "Still," he remarked, "I have
never built a dam."
"You told me you were rather a good chopper, and I think you are. You
have made roads, too, and know how to handle giant-powder in the
rock-cutting, and how to use the drill."
"There are shoals of men in this country who know considerably more
about those things than I do."
Laura made a little impatient gesture. "Yes," she admitted, "there
are, but they are simple Bushmen for the most part; and does intellect
count for nothing at all? Are a trained understanding and a quick
comprehension of no use when one builds a dam?"
Nasmyth frowned, though she saw a little glow kindle in his eyes. "I'm
by no means sure that I possess any of those desirable qualities.
Besides, there's a rather serious objection--that of finance."
Then Laura Waynefleet made it clear that she had considered the
question, and she favoured the man with a glimpse of the practical
side of her character.
"The stores give long credit, and partial payments are generally made
as a work of that kind goes on. Then it is not a very unusual thing
for workmen to wait for their wages until the contract is carried
through."
Nasmyth lay still for at least another minute. He had gradually lost
his ambition during the few years he had wandered through the Bush of
British Columbia. The aimless life was often hard, but it had its
compensations, and he had learned to value its freedom from
responsibility and care. When he did not like a task he had
undertaken, he simply left it and went on again. Still, he had had
misgivings now and then when he noticed how far some of his comrades
had drifted. Presently he rose slowly to his feet.
"Well," he said, "you're right, I think, and, if I'm given an
opportunity, I'll undertake the thing. The credit will be yours if I'm
successful."
The girl rose. "Then," she admonished, with a faint smile, "don't tell
me that you have failed."
She turned away and left him somewhat abruptly, but Nasmyth did not
resume his fishing, though he could hear the big trout splashing in
the pool as the sunset light faded off the water. He lay down among
the wineberries, which were scattered among the glossy leaves like
little drops of blood, to think harder than he had thought for a
considerable time. An hour ago, as he had told Laura Waynefleet, he
would have been well content to stay on at the ranch, and, though she
had roused him, he knew that it would cost him an effort to leave it.
He was not, he fancied, in love with her. Indeed, he now and then
admitted that she would probably look for more from the man who won
her favour than there was in him, but the camaraderie--he could think
of no better word for it--that had existed between them had been very
pleasant to him.
He realized that he was in one sense hers to dispose of. She had, in
all probability, saved his life, and now she was endeavouring to
arouse his moral responsibility. She was sending him out to play a
man's part in the battle of life. He admitted that he had shrunk from
it, of late, or, at least, had been content to sink back among the
rank and file. He had made the most of things, but that, he was
beginning to realize, was, after all, a somewhat perilous habit. Laura
Waynefleet evidently considered that a resolute attempt to alter
conditions was more becoming than to accept them, even though one was
likely to be injured while making it. He heard footsteps, and, looking
up, saw Gordon sit down upon the cedar-log.
"I came to look at Wiston's hand, and walked across when I heard that
Waynefleet hadn't been about," he explained. "I don't think you need
feel any particular anxiety about your employer."
Nasmyth grinned at this. Waynefleet had spent part of one day chopping
a big balsam, and was apparently feeling the effects of the very
unusual exertion. Then Gordon took out his pipe.
"I guess you're fishing?" he observed.
"I came here to get a trout for breakfast."
"You look like it." Gordon smiled. "As it happened, I saw Miss
Waynefleet crossing the clearing. It occurs to me that she may have
said something that set you thinking."
"I wonder," said Nasmyth reflectively, "what made you fancy that?"
Gordon regarded him with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Well," he
replied, "I have the honour of Miss Waynefleet's acquaintance, and
have some little knowledge of her habits."
Men make friends with one another quickly in the Western forests, and
Nasmyth had acquired a curious confidence in his companion, in spite
of the story Gordon had told him. As the result of this he related
part, at least, of what the girl had said. Gordon nodded.
"It's quite likely you'll get that contract if you apply for it. The
folks about the settlement haven't sent an offer in," he said. "The
notion is naturally Miss Waynefleet's. It's the kind of thing that
would appeal to her, and, in a way, it's fortunate you have fallen
into her hands. She's one of the protesters."
"The protesters?"
"Yes," answered Gordon; "I can't think of a better name for them,
though it doesn't exactly convey all I mean. To make the thing a
little clearer, we'll take the other kind--in this country they're
best typified by the Indians. The Siwash found it a wilderness, and
made the most of it as such. They took their toll of the salmon, and
fed their ponies on the natural prairie grass. If we'd left it to them
for centuries it would have remained a wilderness. We came, and found
Nature omnipotent, but we challenged her--drove the steel road down
the great canyon to bring us provisions in, dyked the swamp meadows,
ploughed up the forest, and rent the hills. We made our protest, and,
quite often, it was no more than that, for the rivers were too strong
for us, and the Bush crept back upon our little clearings. Still, we
never let go, and it's becoming evident that we have done more than
hold our own."
He paused, and laughed in a deprecatory fashion before he went on
again. "Now and then I have an outbreak of this kind," he added
lightly. "The thing would make an epic, but, if one could write it, it
wouldn't be worth while. The protest that counts in this land is made
with the axe and drill."
The outbreak was comprehensible, for it must be remembered that the
average Westerner, either by birth or adoption, is seldom a reticent
man. He is, in fact, usually characterized by a daring optimism, and
not infrequently filled to overflowing with the clean pride of
achievement. One can hear this new-world enthusiasm bubble over on
public platforms and at brilliant functions, as well as in second-rate
saloons, but it is most forcibly expressed where men toil waist-deep
in icy water building dyke and dam, or blast their waggon roads out of
the side of the gloomy canyons. Their handiwork is not always
beautiful, but one wonders to see what they have made of that great
desolation.
Nasmyth lay still among the wineberries, for a minute or two, and,
though a cold green transparency had replaced the fires of sunset
behind the tall trunks now, and the trout were splashing furiously in
the pool, he forgot all about the rod beside him as he pondered over a
question which had often occurred to him.
"How is it that Miss Waynefleet is content to stay here?" he asked.
"You would hardly expect her to leave her father."
"No," said Nasmyth. "Any way, that is scarcely an answer. What keeps
Waynefleet here? One wouldn't fancy he likes living in the Bush."
"It's a little curious that you haven't heard. Anyway, somebody is
bound to tell you. Waynefleet had to get out of the Old Country. Some
trouble about trust-money. He came out to Victoria and set up in the
land agency business, but it was his misfortune that he couldn't keep
out of politics. There are folks like that. When they can't handle
their own affairs, they're anxious to manage those of the community.
Somebody found out the story and flung it in his face. The man hadn't
the grit in him to live it down; he struck up into the Bush and bought
the half-cleared ranch."
For the next minute or two Nasmyth gazed straight in front of him with
a very thoughtful face, for he had now a vague recollection of hearing
or reading of the affair in which his employer had played a
discreditable part. He had already decided that he was not in love
with Laura Waynefleet--in fact, it was perhaps significant that he had
done so more than once, but he had a warm regard for the girl who had
saved his life, and, after all, his ideas were not quite so liberal as
he fancied they had become in the Western forest. It was a trifle
disconcerting to discover that she was the daughter of a swindler.
"It hurts?" inquired Gordon dryly.
Nasmyth rose. "To be frank," he admitted, "it does. Still, though the
subject's a rather delicate one, I don't want you to misunderstand me.
After all, Miss Waynefleet is not in the least responsible for
anything her father may have done."
"That," said Gordon, "is a sure thing. Well, I must be hitting the
trail home. Aren't you going to try for some of those trout in the
pool?"
"No," answered Nasmyth, and his smile was a trifle grim; "I don't
think I am."
He watched Gordon stride away through the undergrowth, and then, in
the creeping dusk, went slowly back to the ranch. Waynefleet was out
when he reached it, but Laura was sitting sewing by the lamp, and she
looked at him sharply when he came in. He was unpleasantly conscious
that the light was on his face. Then the girl laid down her sewing and
turned fully towards him.
"I saw Mr. Gordon cross the clearing. He has told you why we are
living here?" she said.
"I think," said Nasmyth, with a slowness that was very expressive, "it
was not done out of unkindness."
"Oh, no," and Laura smiled in a rather curious fashion, "he had
probably quite another motive." Then she leaned forward a little,
looking at him steadily. "I knew that he would tell you."
Nasmyth stood still, with his forehead deeply furrowed, and an unusual
gravity in his eyes. The girl's courage and serenity appealed to him,
and he was conscious that his heart was beating rapidly. He said
nothing, for a moment or two, and afterwards remembered how still the
little room was, and how the sweet, resinous scent of the firs flowed
in through the open window. Then he made a vague gesture.
"There is, perhaps, a good deal one could say; but I fancy most of it
would savour of impertinence," he said. "After all, the thing doesn't
affect you in any way."
Laura glanced down at her hands, and Nasmyth guessed what she was
thinking, for they were hard, and work-roughened. The toil that her
hands showed was, as he realized, only a part of her burden.
"I think it affects me a very great deal," she declared slowly.
Then a curious compassion for her troubled the man. She was young and
very comely, and it was, he felt, cruelly hard on her that, bearing
her father's shame, she must lead a life of hard labour at that
desolate ranch. He felt an almost uncontrollable desire to comfort
her, and to take her cares upon himself, but that was out of the
question, since he was merely a ranch-hand, a Bush-chopper, who owed
even the food he ate and the clothes he wore to her. There is, as he
realized then, after all, very little one can do to lighten another's
load, but in that moment the half-formed aspirations that she had
called into existence in his mind expanded suddenly. There was, he
felt, no reason why he should not acquire money and influence, once he
made the effort.
"Miss Waynefleet," he said haltingly, "I can only offer you my sincere
sympathy. Still"--and perhaps he did not recognize how clear the
connection of ideas was--"I am going down to see about that
dam-building contract to-morrow."
Then Laura smiled, and took up her sewing again. Her burden, as she
realized, was hers alone, but she knew that this man would no longer
drift. She had called up his latent capacities, and he would prove his
manhood.