NEIGHBOURS
The modest herring had been the foundation of the great Canby fortune.
Small and unpretentious, the herring had swum in the icy waters of the
Maine coast until transformed into a French sardine by Canby, Sr. It had
brought wealth and renown to the shrewd old Yankee, who was alleged to
have smelled of herring even in his coffin, but the Canby family were
not given to boasting of the source of their income to strangers, and by
the time Canby, Jr., was graduated from Harvard they were fairly well
deodorized.
In the East many things had conspired to make the young Canby the
misanthrope and recluse he had come to be in Wyoming, where he was fully
aided and abetted in his desire for seclusion by his neighbours, who
disliked him so thoroughly that they went out of their way to avoid
speaking to him.
Having been graduated without distinction, he concentrated his efforts
upon an attempt to become one of a New England coterie that politely but
firmly refused to do more than admit his existence.
In pursuance of his ambition he built a castle-like residence and
specialized in orchids and roses, purchased a yacht, became an exhibitor
at the Horse Show. Society praised his roses, but their admiration did
not extend to Canby; he went on solitary cruises, in his floating palace
and the Horse Show, which had proved an open sesame to others, in his
case was a failure.
Finally he married a girl who had the _entree_ to the circle he coveted,
but his wife received invitations which did not include her husband. The
divorce court ended the arrangement, and Canby had the privilege of
paying a king's ransom in alimony into one of Boston's first families.
Petty, unscrupulous, overbearing, Canby never attributed his failure to
the proper cause, which was his unpleasant personality, but regarded it
as a conspiracy on the part of Society to defeat him in his ambition and
accordingly came to hate it.
When he was not travelling he spent his time on the feudal estate he had
created in Wyoming, where he had no visitors except Helene Spenceley and
her brother, who came occasionally when invited. Protecting himself from
invasion from the smaller cattlemen and homesteaders was in the nature
of a recreation to Canby, who had various methods of ridding himself of
their presence.
Boise Bill was one of those he kept for the purpose of intimidating
prospective settlers and was considered by him his ablest lieutenant.
Theretofore when that person returned and stated that the job of running
off the newcomer was one he did not care to tackle further, Canby could
not fail to be impressed by the declaration.
Among traits less agreeable, Boise Bill had a strong sense of humour,
albeit of a somewhat ghoulish brand, usually. As he rode back to report
to Canby, the ludicrous side of the encounter grew on him until it
outweighed the chagrin he first had felt at getting the worst of it.
Thinking of Wallie in his "dude" clothes, his face pale and his eyes
gleaming, swinging the frying-pan in his rage at the loss of his supper,
when a more experienced man would have thrown up his hands promptly,
Boise Bill slapped his leg and rocked in the saddle as he chuckled:
"That's the closest queak I ever had; he might a trembled his gun off
and killed me!"
To Canby he declared with a face that was unsmiling and solemn:
"I 'low I got my share of nerve when it comes to a show-down, and I ain'
no skim-milk runt, neither, but that nester--he's a giant--and hos-tile
as they make 'em! He had me lookin' at my hole card from the outset."
"Are you afraid of him?" Canby demanded, incredulously.
"I wouldn't say I'm actually _afraid_ of him, but I got an old mother in
southern Idyho that's dependin' on me and I can't afford to take
chances."
"I'll go myself," said Canby, curtly.
"Don't let him git the drop on you," Boise Bill warned him. "I never
_see_ anybody so quick as he is. He had out his weepon and was over the
fire at me before I knew what was happenin'," with conviction. "He gets
'ringy'--that feller."
Canby's cold gray eyes glittered, though he said nothing of his
intentions.
* * * * *
Pinkey put up Wallie's silk tent and staked it, showed him how to hobble
and picket his horse and to make baking-powder biscuit, and left him.
"It'll be lonesome at first, and the work'll come hard on you, but
you'll be jest as happy as if you was in your right mind, onct you git
used to it," he assured Wallie.
"The work doesn't bother me, but I imagine it will be lonesome."
"You ought to git some kind of an animal and tame it," Pinkey suggested.
"I mind one winter when I 'bached' I tamed and halter-broke two
chipmunks so I could lead 'em anywhur. You wouldn't believe what company
they was for me."
Wallie agreed that it was an idea, but he was privately of the opinion
that there would be a limit to the pleasure which the company of
chipmunks, however accomplished, could afford him.
"If only I had a congenial neighbour," he sighed, "it would make a great
difference."
"There's Canby--you might call on him," Pinkey suggested, grinning. "Or
if you ketch yourself pickin' at the bed-clothes you can saddle up and
scamper over and see me. 'Tain't fur--forty miles across the mounting.
Jest below that notch--you can't miss it."
Wallie had looked at the notch often since then. He was staring at it
the evening Canby rode down on him--staring and thinking so hard of
Helene Spenceley that Canby had checked his horse and was looking at him
before he saw him.
It would be impossible to say which was the more astonished.
Instead of the fearsome person Canby had anticipated, he saw one so
different and at the same time so extraordinary that he could not
immediately collect himself.
Wallie's trunks had followed him, together with a supply of provisions,
and now, his day's work done, he was sitting in front of his tent on a
patent camp-chair garbed in whatsoever had come handiest.
Canby's eyes rested upon a mild-looking young man in a purple silk
lounging robe, hob-nailed mountain boots, and a yachting cap with a
black patent-leather visor. He was smoking a cigarette with a gold tip
and a monogram, held in a hand that was white and carefully manicured.
In his surprise, Canby said: "Good evening," almost amiably.
Wallie, in turn, saw a visitor who looked as if he might just have
returned from a canter through Central Park. His appearance was so
homelike and familiar that Wallie went forward with a radiant smile of
welcome. Before he knew it Canby found himself shaking hands vigorously
with the person he had come to quarrel with.
Wallie was sure that it was Canby but it flashed through his mind that
perhaps he was not so black as he was painted and Pinkey was given to
exaggeration, and very likely Boise Bill had acted upon his own
initiative. At any rate, after four days of solitude Wallie would have
been delighted to see his Satanic Majesty; so, with his most engaging
smile, he invited Canby to dismount and stated that his name was
"Macpherson."
Canby could do nothing less than give his name also, though he refused
the invitation. Whereupon Wallie declared heartily:
"I take this as very nice and neighbourly of you, Mr. Canby, and please
believe I appreciate it!"
Canby bowed but said nothing.
"You see, I'm a newcomer," Wallie babbled, "and I have so many things to
learn that you can teach me. I consider myself fortunate in having a
neighbour of your experience, and if you will let me I shall come to you
for advice often."
"Don't hesitate to call on me." In Canby's eyes there was something like
a glint of amusement.
Wallie went on guilelessly, finding it an extreme relief, after his
enforced silence, to have an ear to talk into.
"The fact is," confidentially, "I may not look it but I am a good deal
of a tenderfoot."
"Indeed?" Canby raised a politely surprised eyebrow.
"Yes," he prattled on, "I am totally ignorant of agricultural matters;
but I hope to learn and make a good thing, ultimately, out of this
dry-farming proposition. I've got a little money, and I intend to invest
it in developing this homestead. By mixing brains with industry I hope
by next fall to get an ample return upon my money and labour. I trust I
am not too optimistic?"
"It would not seem so," Mr. Canby replied, guardedly. "How are you fixed
for horses?"
"I was just going to ask you about that," Wallie exclaimed. "I want to
plow, and haul some fence posts, and I shall need horses. Can you
recommend a team that would suit me?"
"Next Thursday at two o'clock there will be a stock sale at my place and
I have no doubt that you will be able to pick up something there for
your purpose."
"That's splendid!" Wallie cried, delightedly. "I shall seek you out, Mr.
Canby, and ask you to assist me in making a selection. I've been
thinking of buying a cow, too--this is rare good luck, isn't it, to be
able to purchase what I need without going so far for it!"
"I shall be present--hunt me up--two o'clock, Thursday."
With a smile and a nod Canby gathered up his reins and departed while
Wallie with a glowing face looked after him and declared aloud:
"That's what I call real Western sociability!"