One there was at O Bar O who could not be reconciled to Cheerio.
Hilda intuitively recognized the fact that this stranger on the
ranch belonged to that “upper world” of which she knew vaguely
through the medium of newspapers and tawdry literature emanating from
the bunkhouse. Even the Encyclopædia had furnished the girl with
information concerning kings and princes, lords and dukes, and earls
that abounded in diverse places in the old world. “Bloody parasites,”
her father had named them, “living for generations off the blood
and sweat and toil of the poor, blind underdogs who had not the
intelligence or the ‘sand’ to unseat them from power.”
Her fiery young nature was up in arms at the thought of “that
Englishman’s patronage.” No doubt, thought the proud, hot-headed and
ignorant girl, “he looks down on us as poor Rubes. Well, we’ll show
him a thing or two,” and she urged the men on to torment and make
uneasy the life of Cheerio.
Thorny and suspicious, with her free head toss, so characteristic of
her young, wild nature, her eyes intensely dark, fixed above his head,
or surveying him as from an amused and contemptuous height, Hilda
left no opportunity neglected to show her scorn and contempt for the
newcomer. She could not herself have diagnosed the reason for her
hostility.
Sandy, on the other hand, had slowly but completely capitulated to the
man whose first appearance had so amused him. In Alberta, daylight
lingers, in the summer time, till as late as ten o’clock at night. When
the day’s work was done, Sandy and his new friend, would depart from
the ranch on a hunt that was new to the cattle country. They hunted, in
fact, for fossils, whitened, hardened bones of the original denizens of
the land that had existed before the Rocky Mountains had sprung into
being by some gigantic convulsion of nature.
Zoology was a subject that exercised an uncanny fascination over the
mind of the red-haired boy. P. D. had scarcely begun the instruction
of this alluring subject when chess diverted him, much to the
disappointment and aggravation of his son. Cheerio, however, proved a
mine of information in this particular field. He had actually once been
a member of an archæological expedition to Thibet, from whose bowels
the bones of the oldest man in the world had been dug. Sandy could
have sat by the hour listening to the tales of that expedition and its
remarkable contribution to science. It was an even more enthralling
experience for the youngster, therefore, to personally explore the wild
canyons above the Ghost River, and, with bated excitement, himself
assist in picking out on the gigantic rocks what Cheerio definitely
proved were bones of a dinosaur. These immense reptiles of prehistoric
days were quite common to the Red Deer district, but the new “hand” of
the O Bar O had proven that they were to be found also along the Ghost
River canyons.
Many a time, sitting on the bank of the river, waiting for the wary
trout to bite, the slowly-drawling, seldom-stammering Cheerio, pictured
to the bulging-eyed, open-mouthed youngster, the giant reptiles and
mountainous mammals of prehistoric days. He even drew life-like
pictures upon scraps of paper, which Sandy carefully cherished and
consigned to his treasure drawer. Sandy, at such times, came as near to
touching complete satisfaction with life as was possible.
His defection, in favour of Cheerio, however, was a bitter pill for his
sister to swallow. Argue and squabble, wrangle and fight as the young
McPherson’s had done all of their lives, for they were of a healthy,
pugnacious disposition, they nevertheless had always been first-rate
chums, and in a way, a defensive and offensive alliance to which no
outsider had been permitted more than a look-in. Now “that Englishman”
had come between them, according to Hilda. Sandy evidently preferred
his society to that of his own and only sister. Thus, bitter Hilda.
Sandy upbraided, reproached and sneered at, grouchily allowed that she
could come along too if she wanted to and “didn’t interfere or talk too
much.” Girls, he brutally averred, were a doggone, darned old nuisance,
and always in the way when something real was being done. They were
well enough as ornaments, said Sandy, but the female of the species was
not meant for practical purposes and they ought to know and keep their
place, and if they wouldn’t do it, why they’d be made to.
This was adding insult to injury. It proved beyond question that
someone had been “setting her brother against her,” and Hilda knew who
that someone was. Sandy knew absolutely nothing about the “female of
the species”--that, by the way, was a brand new expression to the young
McPhersons--and Hilda proposed to “teach him a thing or two” about
her much maligned sex. Also she would “spite that Englishman” who had
influenced her brother against her, by imposing her unwanted society
upon the explorers.
Each evening, therefore, Hilda was on hand, and she arose before dawn
of a Sunday morning--a time when all hands on the ranch were accustomed
to sleep in late--to ride out with them under the grey-gold skies, with
the air fresh and sparkling, and such a stillness on all sides that one
felt loth to break it by even a murmur.
She rode somewhat behind the “bone enthusiasts,” disdaining to ride
abreast with them, or to join in the unintelligible conversation that
presently would begin. No brush was too thick to hold back this girl
of the ranching country; no trail too intricate or tortuous. Foot
wide ledges, over precipices three and four hundred feet above the
river daunted her not. Hilda held her careless seat on the back of
her surefooted and fleet young Indian pony, and if the path crumbled
away in places too perilous for even a foothill horse to pass, Hilda
dismounted and led him, breaking a trail herself through dense timber
land.
True, bones, whether of prehistoric man or mammal, had no actual
interest for the living girl. Sandy’s passion for such things indeed
puzzled and troubled her, inasmuch as she was unable to share it with
him. It was strangely sweet and pleasant, none the less, to ride out
in the quiet dawn or in the evening when the skies were bronzed and
reddened by the still lingering sun. With every day, they found new
trails, new byways, new depressions in the wild woods of O Bar O.
On these excursions Sandy monopolized the conversation and, in a
measure, Hilda was ignored. Cheerio’s concern in her behalf when first
they had penetrated into difficult woods and his offer to lead her
horse had met with haughty and bitter rebuff. Hilda, indeed, rudely
suggested that she was better able to care for herself than he was.
Also she said:
“Don’t bother about me. Ride on with Sandy. I like to ride alone, and I
don’t care for conversation when I ride.”
Sandy more than made up for his sister’s conversational deficiency.
He was a human interrogation point, and his hunger for knowledge in
matters anent man and beast of ancient days was unquenchable.
Hilda, riding a few paces behind, would listen to the endless
questions popped by the eager boy, and secretly marvel at the always
comprehensible replies of his companion. Sometimes she was tempted to
join in the discussions; but her opinions were never solicited by her
brother or Cheerio. As the two rode on, apparently oblivious of her
very existence, Hilda was torn with mixed emotions. She had scornfully
advised Cheerio not to bother her; nevertheless, she was indignant at
thus being ignored. “I might just as well be an old pack pony,” she
thought wrathfully. “I don’t know why I come along anyway. However, I’m
not going to turn back for that Englishman. Not if I know it.”
Cheerio, on the other hand, was not insensible to that small, uplifted
chin and the disdainful glance of the dark eyes that seemed to harden
when they glanced in his direction. He was not versed in the ways of
a woman, or it may be that Hilda’s treatment of him would not have
wounded him so sorely. Cheerio was not stupid; but he was singularly
dense in certain matters. He pondered much over the matter of how he
could possibly have offended the girl, and the thought that she very
evidently disliked him was hard to bear. That cut deep.
Many a night, pipe in mouth, upon the steps of the bunkhouse, Cheerio
would debate the matter within himself. Why did Hilda dislike him? What
was there about him that should arouse her especial scorn and contempt?
Why should her eyes harden and her whole personality seem to stiffen
at his approach? Almost it seemed as if the girl armoured herself
against him. He could find no answer to his questions, and his troubled
meditations would end with the dumping of his pipe, as he shook his
head again in the puzzle of womanhood, and ruefully turned in for the
night. Sometimes he would lie awake for hours, and wholly against his
will the vision of her small, dark face, with its scarlet lips and
deep brown eyes accompanied him into the world of sleep.
About this time, he began to draw sketches of Hilda. He made them at
odd moments; at the noon hour, when he scratched them on the backs
of envelopes, slips of paper, a bit of cardboard torn from a box.
Presently parcels were brought by an Indian on horseback from the
Morley Trading Store, and after that Cheerio began to paint the face
of the girl whom he believed hated him. It is true that his model sat
not for him. Yet she was drawn from life, for his memory drew her back
as faithfully as though they were standing face to face. This was all
secret work, done in secret places, and packed away in the locked
portfolio, which was in that battered grip. Drawing and painting in
this way was not at all satisfactory to the artist, who felt that he
was not doing Hilda justice. His need of a place, where he might work,
undisturbed, was keenly felt by him. Cheerio, as before mentioned,
was the one “hand” at the ranch who daily visited the Ghost River for
bathing purposes. He would arise an hour before the other men and was
off on horse to the river, returning fresh and clean for breakfast
and the long day’s work. His explorations with Sandy and these daily
expeditions to the river had made him very well acquainted with the
Ghost River canyon. One day, scanning thoughtfully the rockbound
river, he perceived what appeared to be a declivity in the side of
a giant rock that jutted out several feet above the river. Out of
curiosity, Cheerio climbed up the cliff, and discovered a small cave,
part of which was so cleft that the light poured through. His first
thought was of Sandy, and the fun the boy would have exploring through
what was evidently a considerable tunnel. His next thought was that
on account of the nature of the earth, this might prove a dangerous
and hazardous undertaking for an adventurous youngster. Suddenly an
inspiration flashed over Cheerio. Here was the ideal studio. Not in
the tunnel, on whose ledge he could very well keep his work, but in
that round natural chamber near the opening, when the north light was
husbanded. It did not take him long to bring his drawing and painting
paraphernalia to his “studio,” and after a few days he fashioned a
rude sort of easel for himself. Here on a Sunday Cheerio worked, and
during that day of rest the ranch saw him not. He would carry his
lunch with him, and depart for the day, much to the bewilderment of
Hilda and the disappointment of Sandy, unwilling to abandon the Sunday
morning exploration trips. The cave was so situated that his privacy
was complete, and anyone coming along the top of the canyon or even
down the river itself could not have seen the man in the cave a few
feet above, quietly smoking and drawing those impressionistic pictures
of the ranch, the Indians, the cowboys, P. D., the overall-clad Sandy
and Hilda. Hilda on horse, flying like the wind at the head of the
cowboys; Hilda, loping slowly along the trail, with her head dropped
in a day dream, that brought somehow a singularly wistful and touching
expression of longing to the lovely young face; Hilda with hand on
hip, head tossed up, defiant, impudent, fascinating; Hilda’s head, with
its crown of chocolate-coloured hair and the darker eyes, the curiously
dusky red that seemed burned by the sun into her cheeks, and the lips
that were so vividly alive and scarlet.
Of all his subjects, she alone he drew from memory. He had found no
difficulty in inducing his other subjects to “pose” for him. Even
P. D. with old pipe twisted in the corner of his mouth had made no
demur when Cheerio, pad and pencil in hand, seated on the steps of
the ranch-house rapidly sketched his employer. The Indians were a
never-failing source of inspiration to the artist. The chubby babies,
the child mothers, the tawny braves, the ragged, old, shuffling women;
Indian colours--magentas, yellows, orange, scarlet, cerise. They
furnished subjects for the artist that made his paintings seem fairly
to blaze with light, and later were to win for him well-deserved fame
and monetary reward. Cheerio would take these miniature sketches to
his studio, and there enlarge them. Hilda, however, whom above all
things in the world, he desired to paint, somehow eluded him. No matter
how lifelike or well-drawn his pictures of this girl, they never wholly
satisfied him. Indeed it was not one of his drawings, but a little
kodak picture of her, acquired from Sandy, that found its way into the
ancient locket, where previously had been the picture of the woman with
the long sleepy eyes and dead-gold hair.