A PAINFUL DUTY
Three months had slipped away since the evening on which Wheeler had
discussed the subject of shingle-splitting with his companions.
Nasmyth stood outside the shanty in the drenching rain. He was very
wet and miry, and his face was lined and worn, for the three months of
unremitting effort had left their mark on him. Wheeler had secured the
timber rights in question, and that was one difficulty overcome, but
Nasmyth had excellent reasons for believing that the men who had cast
covetous eyes upon the valley had by no means abandoned the attempt to
get possession of at least part of it.
He had had flood and frost against him, and his money was rapidly
running out. A wild flood swept through the canyon. The heading was
filled up, so that no one could even see the mouth of it, and half the
rock he had piled upon the shingle had been swept into the rapid,
where it had formed a dam among the boulders that could be removed
only at a heavy expenditure of time and powder when the water fell. He
was worn out in body, and savage from being foiled by the swollen
river at each attempt he made, but while the odds against him were
rapidly growing heavier he meant to fight.
A Siwash Indian whom he had hired as messenger between the canyon and
the settlement had just arrived, and Gordon, who stood in the doorway
of the shanty, took a newspaper out of the wet packet he had brought.
Gordon turned to Nasmyth when he opened it.
"Wheeler's getting ahead," he said. "Here's his announcement that his
concern is turning out a high-grade cedar shingle. That's satisfactory
so far as it goes. I don't quite know how we'd have held out if it
hadn't been for the money we got from him for running the logs down."
Then his voice grew suddenly eager. "Try to get hold of the
significance of this, Derrick: 'We have got it on reliable authority
that certain propositions for the exploitation of the virgin
forest-belt beyond the Butte Divide will shortly be laid before the
Legislature. It is expected that liberal support will be afforded to a
project for the making of new waggon-roads, and we believe that if the
scheme is adopted certain gentlemen in this city will endeavour to
inaugurate a steamboat service with the Western inlets.'" He waved his
hand. "When this particular paper makes an assertion of that kind,
there's something going on," he added. "It's a sure thing that if
those roads are made, it will put another thirty or forty cents on to
every dollar's worth of land we're holding."
"Exactly," replied Nasmyth, whose tense face did not relax. "That is,
it would, if we had run the water out of the valley; but, as it
happens, we haven't cut down very much of the fall yet, and this thing
is going to make the men we have against us keener than ever. They're
probably plotting how to strike us now. Get those letters open."
There was anxiety in his voice, and Gordon started when he had ripped
open one or two of the envelopes.
"This looks like business," he remarked, as he glanced at a letter
from a lawyer who had once or twice handled Nasmyth's affairs in the
city. "It's from Phelps. He says he has been notified that, unless an
agreement can be arrived at, proceedings will be taken by a man called
Hames, who claims to hold one hundred acres on the western side of the
valley, to restrain you from altering the river level. Atterly--he's
the man we've heard from already--it seems, is taking action, too."
"Hames?" repeated Nasmyth. "I've never heard of him. Any way, he can't
hold land on the western side. We haven't sold an acre." He stopped a
moment, and looked hard at Gordon. "That is, I haven't sanctioned it,
and I believe there's nobody holding a share in the project who would
go back on us."
Gordon made a gesture indicating his doubt in the subject, and they
looked at each other for half a minute.
"I'm afraid I can't go quite as far as that," he replied, and laughed
harshly. "As it stands recorded, the land could be transferred to
anyone by Waynefleet. Any way, it seems to be in his block. Phelps
cites the boundary-posts."
Nasmyth closed one hand tight. Waynefleet, who had found the constant
wetting too much for him, had left the canyon a week or two before this
morning, on which it was evident a crisis of some sort was near. He
had complained of severe pains in his back and joints, and had sent
them no word after his departure.
"Is there anything from him?" asked Nasmyth.
Gordon picked out an envelope and opened it. "Here's a note from Miss
Waynefleet. She desires you to ride across at once."
With a troubled face Nasmyth stood still in the rain another minute.
"I'll take the pack-horse and start now," he said after a brief
silence. "When I have seen Miss Waynefleet, I'll go right on to
Victoria." He turned and gazed at the river. "If one could get into
the heading by any means, I'd fire every stick of giant-powder in it
first. Unfortunately, the thing is out of the question."
In a few moments he was scrambling up the gully, and Gordon, who went
into the shanty and lighted his pipe, sat gazing at the letters very
thoughtfully. They had no money to spare for any legal expenses.
Indeed, he was far from sure they had enough to supply them with
powder and provisions until their task was accomplished. During the
long grim fight in the canyon they had borne almost all that could be
expected of flesh and blood, and it was unthinkable that the city man,
who sat snug in his office and plotted, should lay grasping hands upon
the profit. Still, that seemed possible now that somebody had betrayed
them.
Meantime, Nasmyth had swung himself into the pack-saddle, and, in the
rain, was scrambling up the rocky slopes of the divide. He had not
changed his clothing, and it would have availed him little if he had,
since there was a long day's ride before him. The trail was a little
easier than it had been, for each man who led the pack-horse along it
had hewn through some obstacle, but it was still sufficiently
difficult, and every here and there a frothing torrent swept across
it. There were slopes of wet rock to be scrambled over, several
leagues of dripping forest thick with undergrowth that clung about the
narrow trail to be floundered through, and all the time the great
splashes from the boughs or torrential rain beat upon him. In places
he led the pack-horse, in places he rode, and dusk was closing in when
he saw a blink of light across Waynefleet's clearing. In another few
minutes he had led the jaded horse into the stable, and then, splashed
with mire, and with the water running from his clothes, had limped to
the homestead door.
Nasmyth opened the door and saw Laura Waynefleet sitting by the stove.
She started as he came in.
"I have been expecting you," she said. She gave him her hand and her
eyes met his with a look of anxiety. She noticed his appearance of
weariness and the condition of his clothing. "I can get you something
dry to put on," she added.
"No," said Nasmyth, "you must not trouble. I would be quite as wet
again, soon after I leave here. If I can borrow a horse, I must push
on to the railroad in an hour."
"To-night?" asked Laura. "After riding in from the canyon, it's out of
the question. Besides, you could never get through the Willow Ford.
Listen to the rain."
Nasmyth sank wearily into the nearest chair, and heard the deluge lash
the shingled roof.
"I'm afraid it must be done," he declared.
Laura laid supper upon the table, and insisted that he should eat
before she made any reference to the object she had in hand. Then,
while he sat beside the stove with his clothes steaming, she looked at
him steadily, and a little colour crept into her face.
"I wonder if you can guess why I sent for you?" she said.
"Where is your father?" Nasmyth asked abruptly.
"In Victoria. He left six days ago. I suppose he sent you no word that
he was going."
"No," answered Nasmyth very dryly, "he certainly didn't. I don't think
I could have expected it from him."
He sat silent for almost a minute, looking at her with a troubled air,
and though Laura was very quiet, her manner was vaguely suggestive of
tension. It was Nasmyth who broke the silence.
"I believe you have something to tell me, Miss Waynefleet," he said.
"Still, I would sooner you didn't, if it will hurt you. After all,
it's rather more than possible that I can arrive at the information by
some other means."
The tinge of colour grew plainer in Laura's face, but it was evident
that she laid a firm restraint upon herself. "Ah!" she cried, "it has
hurt me horribly already. I can't get over the shame of it. But that
isn't what I meant to speak of. I feel"--and her voice grew tense and
strained--"I must try to save you and the others from a piece of
wicked treachery."
She straightened herself, and there was a flash in her eyes, but
Nasmyth raised one hand.
"No," he protested, almost sternly, "I can't let you do this. You
would remember it ever afterwards with regret."
The girl seemed to nerve herself for an effort, and when she spoke her
voice was impressively quiet.
"You must listen and try to understand," she said.
"It is not only because it would hurt me to see you and the others
tricked out of what you have worked so hard for that I feel I must
tell you. If there was nothing more than that, I might, perhaps, never
have told you, after all. I want to save my father from a shameful
thing." Her voice broke away, and the crimson flush on her face
deepened as she went on again. "He has been offering to sell land that
can't belong to him," she asserted accusingly.
Nasmyth felt sorry for her, and he made an attempt to offer her a
grain of consolation.
"A few acres are really his," he said. "I made them over to him."
"To be his only if he did his share, and when the scheme proved
successful," Laura interrupted. "I know, if he has sold them, what an
opportunity of harassing you it will give the men who are plotting
against you. Still, now you know, you can, perhaps, break off the
bargain. I want you to do what you can"--and she glanced at him with a
tense look in her eyes--"if it is only to save him."
"That," replied Nasmyth quietly, "is, for quite another reason, the
object I have in view. I would like you to understand that I have
guessed that he had failed us already. It may be some little
consolation. Now, perhaps, you had better tell me exactly what you
know."
Laura did so, and it proved to be no more than Nasmyth had suspected.
Letters had passed between Waynefleet and somebody in Victoria, and
the day after he left for that city two men, who had evidently crossed
him on the way, arrived at the ranch. One said his name was Hames, and
his conversation suggested that he supposed the girl was acquainted
with her father's affairs. In any case, what he said made it clear
that he had either purchased, or was about to purchase from
Waynefleet, certain land in the valley. After staying half an hour,
the men had, Laura understood, set out again for Victoria.
When she had told him this, Nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a minute
or two. Her courage and hatred of injustice had stirred him deeply,
for he knew what it must have cost her to discuss the subject of her
father's wrongdoing with him. He was also once more overwhelmingly
sorry for her. There was nobody she could turn to for support or
sympathy, and it was evident that if he succeeded in foiling Hames, it
would alienate her from her father. Waynefleet, he felt, was not
likely to forgive her for the efforts she had made to save him from
being drawn into an act of profitable treachery.
"Well," he said after a moment's thought, "I am going on to Victoria
to see what can be done, but there is another matter that is troubling
me. I wonder if it has occurred to you that your father will find it
very difficult to stay on at the ranch when the part he has played
becomes apparent. I am almost afraid the boys will be vindictive."
"I believe he has not expected to carry on the ranch much longer. It
is heavily mortgaged, and he has been continually pressed for money."
"Has he any plans?"
Laura smiled wearily. "He has always plans. I believe he intends to go
to one of the towns on Puget Sound, and start a land agency." She
made a dejected gesture. "I don't expect him to succeed in it, but
perhaps I could earn a little."
Nasmyth set his lips tight, and there was concern in his face. She
looked very forlorn, and he knew that she was friendless. He could
hardly bring himself to contemplate the probability of her being cast
adrift, saddled with a man who, it was evident, would only involve her
in fresh disasters, and, he fancied, reproach her as the cause of
them. A gleam of anger crept into his eyes.
"If your father had only held on with us, I could have saved you
this," he observed.
There was a great sadness in Laura's smile.
"Still," she replied, "he didn't, and perhaps you couldn't have
expected it of him. He sees only the difficulties, and I am afraid
never tries to face them."
Nasmyth felt his self-control deserting him. He was conscious of an
almost overwhelming desire to save the girl from the results of her
father's dishonesty and folly, and he could see no way in which it
could be done. Then it was borne in upon him that in another moment or
two he would probably say or do something that he would regret
afterwards, and she would resent, and, rising stiffly, he held out his
hand.
"I must push on to the railroad," he said, and he held the hand she
gave him in a firm clasp. "Miss Waynefleet, you saved my life, and I
believe I owe you quite as much in other ways. It's a fact that
neither of us can attempt to disregard. I want you to promise that you
will, at least, not leave the ranch without telling me."
Laura flashed a quick glance at him, and perhaps she saw more than he
suspected in his insistent gaze, for she strove to draw her hand away.
He held it fast, however, while his nerves thrilled and his heart
beat furiously. He remembered Violet Hamilton vaguely, but there came
upon him a compelling desire to draw this girl to whom he owed so much
into his arms and comfort her. They both stood very still a moment,
and Nasmyth heard the snapping of the stove with a startling
distinctness. Then--and it cost him a strenuous effort--he let her
hand go.
"You will promise," he insisted hoarsely.
"Yes," answered Laura, "before I go away I will tell you."
Nasmyth went out into the blackness and the rain, while Laura sat
trembling until she heard the beat of his horse's hoofs. Then she sank
lower, a limp huddled figure, in the canvas chair. The stove snapped
noisily, and the pines outside set up a doleful wailing, but, except
for that, it was very still in the desolate ranch.
Nasmyth rode on until he borrowed a fresh horse from a man who lived a
few miles along the trail. There was a cheerful light from the windows
as he rode into a little settlement, and the trail to the railroad led
through dripping forest and over a towering range, but he did not draw
bridle. He was aching all over, and the water ran from his garments,
but he scarcely seemed to feel his weariness then, and he pushed on
resolutely through the rain up the climbing trail.
He remembered very little of that ride afterwards, or what he thought
about during it. The strain of the last few minutes he had passed
at Waynefleet's ranch had left him dazed, and part of his numbness,
at least, was due to weariness. Several times he was almost flung
from the saddle as the horse scrambled down a slope of rock.
Willow-branches lashed him as he pushed through the thickets, and in
one place it was only by a grim effort that he drove the frightened
beast to ford a flooded creek. Then there was a strip of hillside to
be skirted, where the slope was almost sheer beneath the edge of the
winding trail, and the rain that drove up the valley beat into his
eyes. Still he held on, and two hours after sunrise rode half asleep
into the little mining town. There was a train in the station, and,
turning the horse over to a man he met, he climbed, dripping as he
was, into a car.