The elder was quelled,
But the younger rebelled;
So he spread out his wings and fled over the sea.
Said the jackdaws and crows,
"He'll be hanged I suppose,
But what in the deuce does that matter to we?"
--_Henry Kingsley_
The second son of an English cavalry officer holding a high rank, young
Benton's life up to the age of fifteen--with the exception of a few
escapades at Shrewsbury--which were due more to an ingrained hardihood
than viciousness, had passed very much the same as that of any other
well-bred public school boy.
The death of his mother, however, and the later advent of a step-parent,
wrought a disastrous change in the boy's hitherto happy enough life. His
stepmother's intolerance with his high spirits led to many family
quarrels and finally had the effect of provoking a naturally wayward
temper to open rebellion and a definite course of action.
Her studied, unremitting hostility towards the boy succeeded in arousing
in him a bitter, lasting hatred for her which, in its intensity and
fixity of purpose, was positively awesome and well-nigh incredible in
one of his years.
Scorning to follow his elder brother's example in meekly submitting to
the new regime he turned, in his misery and distress, to an old friend
of his dead mother's, one--Major Carlton--his ofttime confidant and
mediator in many boyish troubles.
Borrowing fifty pounds from the latter, and taking little else save his
mother's photograph and a few clothes, with a farewell to none except
his debtor, he turned his back on that beautiful old Devonshire home
forever.
A youthful imagination inspired, perhaps, by prolific and intelligent
reading, inexplicably directed his course to the United States; so,
booking his passage at Liverpool, he found himself later, depleted in
money--but not in pluck or resolution--a waif in that vast assemblage of
mixed peoples. One letter--the last that he was ever to write home--he
despatched to his father.
Sir John Benton's fierce, lined face softened for an instant as he
perused his son's missive, but it grew darker and drearier than ever
before he had read it through. The letter said no word of return, and he
guessed rightly it was meant for an absolutely final farewell.
A strict disciplinarian in his own household, its contents he never
divulged to the rest of the family; and if he felt the loss of the
manly, headstrong boy, he never showed it hereafter by word or deed. The
stern old soldier recognized in those lines--penned with a certain
boyish courtesy--only too well the inflexible characteristics that
matched, to the full, his own.
Various vicissitudes eventually landed young Benton in a great
cattle-raising district of Montana, where he obtained a job as a chore
boy on a big ranch, known as the "Circle H." A fearless upbringing
amongst horses stood him now in good stead, and this, combined with a
willing capacity for work, ultimately won for him the approval of "Big
Jim Parsons," the silent, laconic ranch foreman, who befriended the
lonely, and now taciturn, youngster.
It is not to be supposed that he gained this patronage any too easily.
Although babbling little concerning his history, his English speech and
apparent breeding were sufficient at the start to make him the butt of
many doubtful pleasantries from the devil-may-care cow-punchers whose
bunkhouse victim he was. No sulker, he could assimilate the most of it
in good part; but there were limitations to such "joshing," as many of
his tormentors found out when the savage, uncontrollable Benton temper
blazed forth with such appalling venom of fist and tongue that, immature
youth though he was, caused the bleeding and cursing authors of the
disturbance to retreat aghast at the devil they had raised. The old
Mosaic law--"An eye for an eye"--with its grim suggestion of unforgiving
finality, always found in Ellis an ardent and exacting adherent.
At such scenes Big Jim would generally appear on the field of
hostilities, a threatening, nasal sneer twisting his morose face.
"Quit monkey'n with that kid, now," he would snarl; and with rising
wrath: "I tell yu', fer guts, that same dude maverick has yu' all
skinned! What was it he called yu', Windy?... Will yore mother stand fer
that?... What's happened to yore face, Ike?... Fell down an' trod on
it?"
The foreman's rough championing, and his own ability to take care of
himself, in course of time discouraged this systematic baiting, and ere
long he received the degree of comradeship. Possessing an inborn love
for music, which from childhood up his mother had always sedulously
encouraged, Ellis was a pianist of no mean ability. This, coupled with a
sweet, boyish voice--which in later years was to develop into a
magnificent baritone--caused him to be in constant request as a
performer on the battered old piano which the ranch-owner's dwelling
boasted. Nothing loath, he played and sang to them the simple old
melodies and songs that they knew; and soon from being the ranch butt he
became one of its especial favorites.
With characteristic honor, although the loan had been but a mere trifle
to the wealthy giver, his first laudable ambition had been to pay back
to Major Carlton the sum he had borrowed from that kind-hearted bachelor
on emigrating; and this, with much self-denial, he found himself able to
do during the next two years, thereafter keeping up a desultory
correspondence with his old friend which lasted until the latter's
death.
Time went on, and Ellis, after drifting here and there through Montana
and Wyoming punching for various cattle outfits, finally returned to the
"Circle H," where at the early age of twenty-five he became its
competent young foreman--vice "Big Jim Parsons," deceased.
By this time, his character, like his frame, was set; to the vehement
ambition and ardor of youth had succeeded the cool, matured resolution
of manhood--powerful to will, prompt to execute, and patient to endure;
he was proof against idle hopes, no less than against groundless fears,
and the common chagrins of life took no more hold of his soul than toil
or privation of his body. Yet under all this case-hardness, like a
virgin pearl lying dormant within its flinty habitation, there still
remained deep in him a certain softness of heart that he inherited from
the gentle lady whose picture and loving memory he had cherished
throughout his wanderings.
It is not to be supposed that during all this time the rough
associations and surroundings compatible with the calling he followed
had not left their mark upon him. But hot-blooded, violent and impulsive
though he was by nature, a certain quaint cynicism and command of will
and feature enabled him to suppress outwardly these visible signs of his
temperament. His life was probably not much more immune from vice than
the majority of his fellows who bore themselves more jovially and
noisily; but oh the sin of violated love, or cruel desertion--too often
associated with the sowing of youth's wild oats--he could not accuse
himself. The dark eyes of more than one ranch beauty had looked
approvingly--perhaps lovingly--on the somber, handsome face and
slimly-powerful frame of the reckless young bronco-buster, wondering,
half-pityingly, what should make so youthful a countenance so stern. And
more than once the inviting loneliness of many whom ties bound had been
made only too apparent for his benefit. But the remnants of a nearly
forgotten family pride, rather than shyness or coldness, kept Ellis's
feet clear of the snares. He was not specially cold, or continent, or
tender of conscience, but he chose to take his pleasure in places where
he troubled no man's peace, and where there could be no ignominious
aftermath to torture him with its useless, heart-aching remorse.
Every wayfarer through this world must needs encounter certain points in
his journey where the main trail divides. For awhile the two tracks may
run so near to each other that they may seem still almost one, but they
will diverge more and more till, ere they end, their issues lie as
widely apart as those of good and evil, light and darkness, life and
death. So it was now with Ellis Benton, for a chance episode occurred in
that young man's life which was fated to bring about a material change
in his fortunes and surroundings.
A born fighter, and possessing unusual cleverness with his hands, he was
one night unavoidably forced into an encounter with a professional
prize-fighter on a public street, in Butte. A young girl, whom the
latter was persecuting with his unwelcome attentions, appealed to the
young cow-puncher for protection, and not in vain. Despite the terrible
punishment he received, the deadly fury and ability with which he
finally put his formidable antagonist away made a visible impression on
a well known fight promoter who happened to witness the affray. That
worthy, an ex-pugilist himself of considerable renown, with his glib
tongue, apparent sincerity, and cleverly framed appeals to the younger
man's vanity, succeeded at last in inducing him to enter the ring in
earnest. Ellis, in that unsettled period that comes in most strong men's
lives, was perhaps, too, subconsciously getting a little weary of the
range life that up to now had entirely satisfied his full-blooded
energies, but there is little doubt that had he remained with the
soberer calling that he had followed so long, it would have been more
advantageous to both his profit and honor. But the reckless hardihood,
ingrained in his nature, stifled the suggestions of prudence and
ambition; when he cut himself adrift from family and friends he severed
himself, in intent, no less decisively from the class in which he was
born and bred than if, as an heir to a throne, he had relinquished his
birthright, and become but a humble subject. With a characteristic
indifference to possible consequences, he was not the least ashamed, as
yet, of the doubtful profession that he had adopted. His subsequent
spectacular fighting speedily demonstrated his ability to become a
future middleweight champion, and for a while the bouts in which he
participated drew eager crowds, curious to see the coming young pugilist
who gave them such a good run for their money, invariably drawing with,
or putting away his opponent each time, with a sensational class of
fighting that was highly gratifying to their taste. Becoming gradually
disgusted with the crooked practises and propositions which, somehow,
seemed to be inseparable from the game, and more or less incumbent on
those who were dependent on the ring for a living, he made up his mind
to forsake the profession which demanded of him the sacrifice of his
common honesty. His commendable decision, however, certainly did not
carry with it the solace of much pecuniary acquisition; for although
fighting with great frequency, and winning, or splitting many big purses
during his brilliant, if brief, career, the fast life and heavy expenses
compatible with such a profession soon dissipated them along with a
considerable portion of his previously accumulated savings, limiting the
sum total of his worldly wealth to less than a thousand dollars.
Becoming, by now, thoroughly restless and inclined to wander afresh, his
fancy next took him to South Africa, where he obtained a position in the
Chartered Company's service, at which occupation he remained until the
outbreak of the South African War two years later. Enlisting then as a
private in a well known, and afterwards famous, Irregular Horse, in the
later engagements at Elandslaagte, Waggon Hill, and Wepener, he showed
to the full the soldierly instincts only natural in one come of his
fighting race and breeding, at the latter action, particularly, when in
the storming of a strong Boer position, he exhibited a characteristic
courage of such an utterly reckless, desperate nature, that subsequently
gained for him the Distinguished Conduct Medal and a Sergeant-Major's
promotion.
During the terrible Mauser fire, however, which well nigh decimated his
squadron, he received a bullet through the body, the same passing the
base of the right lung, luckily without permanently injuring that vital
organ. On recovery, he served throughout the succeeding guerilla warfare
until peace was proclaimed at Veereneging, on May 31, 1902. Wearying,
then, of South Africa and its war-ravaged desolation, he returned to the
country and scenes of his former life, resuming his avocation, riding
for a newly-formed cattle company, whose headquarters were near the
Canadian border.
Here, during the next few months, he became acquainted with various
members of the scattered posts of the Royal North West Mounted Police.
Craving companionship, and with the recollections of his late military
experiences still fresh within him, he joined that Force, and after
passing through the inevitable curriculum of their headquarters at
Regina, he was eventually transferred to L Division.
Several notable stock-stealing cases, in which his fearless ability and
previous range experience enabled him to obtain long term convictions on
the offenders, soon brought him under the favorable notice of his
superiors, who recognized his worth in this particular line, and in a
little less than four years he was promoted to the rank in which we find
him in the beginning of this story.