interior of the doomed vehicle.
"Shoulders to the wheels!" was Ned's low order. "Now, all together!
Send her a-kiting."
Every man got down with a will and a smothered yo-heave started the
caboose down the slope. With a final united shove they sent it away from
their hands in mad career toward the lake. Down the hill it sped,
swaying in its course like a drunken man, but heading straight for the
water. In fearfully accelerated speed it shot over the short sand beach
and crashed in the gleaming waves. Carried along by its great momentum
it charged the lake like a racing motor-boat, throwing a huge prow wave
as it ran into the deep water. Weighted with its heavy truck and human
freight it sank almost half-way to the roof before coming to a
standstill.
While the caboose sped down the hill the perpetrators of the deed
watched its flight in breathless interest. As it plunged into the water
a cheer roared down the hillside.
Meanwhile in desperate rage and no small alarm McClure with his gigantic
strength had torn a hole in the roof and thrusting his shoulders upward
broke through and climbed out just as the car came to rest in the bed of
the lake. Looking up the moonlit hill he could plainly see the group of
men crowning its height and caught the cheer that swept down. No word,
however, escaped him. Thoroughly sobered, the full significance of the
daring lark burst upon him, sealing his lips. There were times when Rob
McClure was unexpectedly silent. Reaching down he helped his men one by
one out to safety. Soon the roof was black with men.
"Dey some leetle drown rat!" exclaimed Jean Benoit, shaking with
laughter at the sight. "What dey goin' to do?"
Through the quiet air came the answer. It was McClure's voice.
"I guess there is nothing else for it," said he.
Instantly came the sound of a splash. Other splashes followed and then
could be seen a straggling line of dark figures plunging through the
surf.
"Now let them have it," cried Ned.
With all the vigour of seventeen pairs of powerful lungs they lifted
cheer after cheer.
"Enough!" cried Ned at last. "This beats a fight. We have licked the
whole gang without anybody getting mussed up. The cold water will help
to sober them."
A moment later Bald Hill was bare.
*VIII*
*THE RIVAL BOSSES*
McClure sat in his office nursing his choler, with a face bitterly
inexorable. The routine of threshing moved on. Looking through the
window, as upon a former occasion, he saw the two lines of smoke
trailing off together over the fields. The sight caused a tightening of
jaws. For an hour he had sat moodily thus, plunged in gloom.
The loss of the heavy wager was not desirable and the defeat galled.
But it was not this that caused the baleful smouldering within the eyes.
He tossed away the stake with the sang-froid of the gamester. He would
get it back when the luck turned. The thing that incensed him was not
the utter rout but the manner of it. His shoulders had been pinned to
the mat by the swift address of an antagonist he had despised. The
conviction sank in upon him that this young and resourceful foe had
toyed with him. This levity was the barb that inflamed the wound.
The episode of Hallowe'en was a cup of gall to him. The kidnapping and
ducking of himself and gang was a daring act deep and wily in its
deliberate insolence. He fancied he caught the mocking laugh on
Pullar's face. Ned had used him for a public burlesque. The caboose
still lay in the lake. Pellawa was highly amused and--talking. Defeat
was complete and bitter. Added to this was the condemnatory voice of an
inner and subtle monitor that told him he had been wrong from the start
and moreover had not scrupled to foul his man. His opponent on the
other hand had played fair. These facts did not trouble the conscience
of Rob McClure. They nettled him. He resented the alignment of public
opinion with his adversary. He would use the same tactics again. But he
would see to it that the camouflage was perfect. The longer he brooded
the deeper grew his dour morosity. Vengeance cried loudly within him.
He vowed a tenfold reprisal. Some day he would put on a burlesque
himself and then----
Suddenly he was roused from his malignant reveries by a light step
outside the door. In a moment it opened quietly, admitting Helen
McClure. Her face so compellingly attractive had a tragic weariness in
it. A close observer wondered at the acute pain that would glance at
times from the clear eyes. Neither the beauty of her fragile person nor
the remarkable dignity of her bearing could hide the reality of
suffering. Rob McClure, man of steel though he was, secretly
acknowledged the noble strength of his wife. In a soft voice she
announced:
"Mr. Pullar wishes to see you, Rob." Turning to the newcomer she smiled
brightly, inviting him in. Motioning him to a chair she withdrew.
Ned remained standing.
"Sit down," said McClure coldly.
"No, thank you!" returned Ned courteously. "My business will be brief.
Man to man I want to know whether or not you are satisfied with Jack
Butte's decision."
McClure darted a swift look into the other's eyes.
"It is a mere trifle," said he with a deprecatory gesture. "Butte is
straight. You got the lucky breaks."
"Very good!" said Ned. "It gratifies me to hear you say it. You
positively agree that the Valley Outfit win?"
"You got the lucky breaks," repeated McClure.
"That satisfies me," said Ned conclusively as he took a package from his
breast pocket. Reaching forward he placed the bundle on the desk before
McClure. His eyes flashed and his voice had a ring of steel as he said:
"That is your share of the wager just as it was handed to me by Butte.
You will remember, I think, that I did not desire to take up your bet.
There is your cash. I will not touch the winnings. Gaming is the
expedient of a lazy thief willing to take a chance. You can keep the
swag. It is yours. Or--you can burn it. This completes my business.
I wish you good-day."
McClure was astounded. His eyes dropped amazedly to the package before
him. For a full minute he stared at the wad of ragged edged bills. Then
into his face flooded a black tide. His hands clenched, clutching in a
horrible convulsion of rage.
"You insolent devil!" he cried fiercely, hurling the package to the
floor. Turning he flashed angry eyes about, surprised to find that he
was alone in the room. He leaped to his feet, nonplussed, baffled. His
eye caught a motion outside the window. It was Ned unhitching his horse
from the post not thirty yards away. At sight of his enemy a fearful
idea came to him. Reaching down swiftly he opened a drawer and
snatching out a revolver broke open its blue chambers. There was a gleam
of brass rims. It was loaded. With a menacing cry he stepped to the
window and threw up the sash. He was dropping the sight on the tall
figure when his ear caught the tripping of light feet along the hall.
It was Mary coming to his room. He held the gun on his target for the
briefest instant, then dropped the muzzle and thrust it covertly into
his pocket. As he whirled about Mary burst through the door, a lithe,
little figure in riding boots, sombrero and habit. She looked at him,
her face radiant, her eyes dancing with the joy of living. He seemed
hesitant. Could it be that for once her father was inviting? With a
happy cry she closed upon him. He smiled a strange, relieved smile.
"Daddy! Daddy!" she cried delightedly. "I have had such a glorious
ride. Bobs pranced down the trail a thing of wildest life, making the
trip from The Craggs in less than an hour."
Throwing her arms about his neck she drew his head gently to her. Swept
off his feet by the swift denouement of the last few minutes, he
submitted to her will. For the first time in years she felt the absence
of chilling repulse. Holding him close in her ecstasy she kissed his
forehead again and again. With a final caress she laid her cheek
against his for one silent, happy moment, then broke away and ran off to
her room thrilling with pleasant emotion.
Mary McClure did not know that her glad arrival had held her father's
hand from an unspeakable crime. He was indeed grateful to her for the
interposition, though his face showed no repentance. There was, though,
a regretful pang in the breast. It was caused not by any faint
penitence for his evil design but by the memory of Mary's cheek against
his. The "feel" of her soft, tender touch was there. For some strange
reason the memory of it sank deep. The sound of her footsteps had
scarcely died away, however, when the old ruthlessness returned. The
relief he now felt was that of one who had been saved from committing a
violent inexpediency. Glancing through the window he saw the horseman
cantering leisurely down the trail. As he watched the hard lines drew
about his mouth. He began casting about for the package of money,
finding it at length near the door. Picking it up he looked at it a
moment with bright eyes that acknowledged an enigma. Walking to the
window he looked out, smiling secretively and shaking the wad ominously
at the Valley boss.
"It will help to break you, Pullar," was his threat.
Going to the desk he opened a large drawer and deposited the money
carefully in a tin box.
Above in her room Mary watched Ned ride out of sight into the Valley.
She was greatly mystified as to the purpose of his visit. She regretted
missing a meeting with him, but reflected with deepest happiness on the
friendliness of her father. The moment, she felt, was full of happy
augury.
*IX*
*A LAND SHARK*
Reddy Sykes had drifted into Pellawa during the early weeks of summer.
Though at first an anomaly in the little town, the citizens grew used to
his presence. It was hard to define Sykes' business. He was not a
lawyer, though he had a distinctly legal turn of mind. He had acquired
the title of Commissioner. He began work in the village with a command
of considerable capital. His most lucrative line was real estate. He
bought and sold farms and manipulated the transfer of large acreage
blocks. A few city shingles decorated his window but the great urban
boom of the West was as yet on the verge and the subdivisional mania had
not got properly under way. The ability of the new arrival in his
selected field was so surprising and apparent that his presence in
Pellawa was a poser to the shrewd minds of the plains. He could have
made things hum in a bigger world.
Personally, Sykes was a character that invited scrutiny. He was
comparatively young, still in the early thirties, possessing a
full-blooded interest in life. His face was unusually hard for so young
a man and wore an habitual calculating expression. He was a man of
scheme and intrigue. His motion as he moved about was very like that of
Reynard as he slunk through the night en route to Mr. Farmer's chicken
coop. He lived by his wits, searching the trail closely for tracks of
his prey. His nose was always in the wind. He was alert for the lucky
cast of the die that should tumble fortune into his lap. Inventive and
resourceful, his mind stored a great fund of premises. He could adopt
and discard twenty viewpoints in as many minutes. The stolid,
common-place farmers fought shy of Sykes, shunning his speciousness,
afraid of a snare. They felt the unrelenting, unscrupulous thing in the
man, though unable to detect it in his handsome face.
Notwithstanding the diffidence of the farmers to enter into free
commerce with the real estate agent he had become an accepted cog in the
social wheel. He had made one powerful friend--Rob McClure. The two
drew together like steel and magnet. The attraction fused into an
implicit partnership from the very start. There was a reason for this,
a matter on which Rob McClure was utterly in the dark. Only one person
in the settlement had even surmised it. Reddy Sykes was dominated by
the mightiest of human motives in his facile address at fostering a
strong friendship with McClure. Ned Pullar alone understood that he was
at once lured by the passion of love and urged by the fell ardour of
hate. The object of his regard was Mary McClure. The object of his
rancour, Ned himself. He had effected his purpose with McClure by an
ingratiating cunning assisted by an unusual mutual attraction. His
relations with Mary and Ned ran back into the cross currents of their
university life. Of that again.
Sykes' friendship with McClure opened to him the McClure home. He
availed himself of the hospitality in a wise and restrained use of the
privilege. His reception had been cordial. The two women were only too
glad to promote goodwill with a friend of Rob's. Helen McClure was
always pleased to welcome the gentlemanly guest. Mary in her secret mind
was very considerably perturbed, remembering certain advances made by
Sykes in the past. She had turned him down on occasion and once had
deservedly and effectually snubbed him. She was agreeably surprised,
however, at his casual gallantries. He was courteous and companionable,
but did not in the faintest degree press his attentions.
Sykes had been moving about his office studying closely certain realty
maps of local townships. His search over, he sat down at his desk and
picking up a letter read it carefully. This was the third perusal. He
was pondering some undoubtedly alluring proposition. In his mouth he
held an unlit cigar, rolling it around in unconscious habit,
occasionally chewing off the end and throwing it away. Looking through
the window out upon the street he saw something that brought sudden
resolution into his eyes. Andy Bissett was dashing by with his team of
blacks. He pulled up in front of a store and hurriedly tied his horses
to a post. He was about to enter the store when Sykes hailed him. Andy
walked over and entered the office.
"How's the Valley Outfit?" inquired Sykes pleasantly.
"Laid up with a broken shaft," was the reply.
"I've been looking out for you to-day, Bissett," said Sykes affably,
plunging into business. "I want you to read this."
He handed over the letter he had just been reading.
"This," said he, "is a communication from a farmer in Northern Alberta
who is anxious to get hold of a farm in this settlement. He owns a
section and is willing to swap it for an improved half in the Pellawa
district. The full description of the land is there. It is a big
snap."
Andy read the letter rapidly then handed it back.
"I have nothing I would care to exchange for that," said he quietly.
"How about the quarters you are renting to the Poles?"
Andy shook his head.
"Not in the market."
"Some of your friends might consider the proposition."
"No," said Andy decidedly, "I could not recommend the deal to any of my
friends. Personally I do not like it."
Sykes looked up sharply with the Reynard-like movement.
"This is an A-1 chance, a windfall for somebody."
"It may be," agreed Andy dubiously. "It seems to me unusual. Aside
from that, however, it is not the snap it appears."
Sykes' voice sounded a shade metallic as he said:
"How do you make it?"
Andy noted the change in tone but continued pleasantly:
"In the first place this land about Pellawa is simply wonderful. That
other may be good. Then again there is a pretty fast movement up in this
Valley land. We are expecting it to skyrocket. Things are promising
hereabouts. I think it will be well to stick."
"Still," objected Sykes, "the difference in acreage is great. It covers
all rise."
"That may be. Who can tell? That point would have to be settled by a
personal visit to the Alberta farm."
Sykes shifted his cigar impatiently, biting it viciously.
"How about Pullar?" he queried carelessly. "He might swap the homestead.
He is young yet--just the age to pitch into a section of virgin land.
Pullar's the man."
"You mean Ned?" said Andy.
"Of course."
"Ned would not consider the matter for a minute."
"Why?"
"That land is his father's. Ned is manager and real head, but the land
is still deeded to his father. Although the old man has desired to make
all or any part over to the boy, Ned would not agree."
Sykes seemed to muse on the matter a moment. Andy did not notice the
cunning light flash into the other's eyes. His companion's quick mind
had gathered something of great interest to him.
"The fact is," said Andy deliberately, "I would not recommend this to
any friend of mine, as I have said."
Suddenly a resentful light burned in Sykes' eyes.
"Do you mean to say you will knock this deal?" said he.
"Sure," said Andy smiling. "I'll knock it into a cocked hat if anybody
appeals to me."
"Say!" said Sykes, the lash of sarcasm entering into his tone. "You
rubes carry some side, eh? A few of you little farmers think you can
chin-up to Reddy Sykes. Bah!"
He turned on his heel.
With a cheerful "Good-day!" Andy took his departure.
Looking at the figure crossing the street Sykes smiled sardonically.
"Much obliged, Bissett!" was his muttered soliloquy. "You were easy.
Ha! It looks pretty good! Pretty good to me!"
Late that night McClure appeared in the office.
"Anybody with you?" inquired Sykes, looking up as he entered.
"No. I am alone," was the response. "Took a skip in to get a line on
business. Anything new?"
For answer Sykes thrust the letter into his hand. McClure recognized the
source instantly.
"He has located another spot, I see."
Sykes nodded.
Looking up from the letter McClure ruminated for a moment.
"There's good money in these transfers if we can get them going. That's
where good fishing comes in."
"Tried Bissett to-day," observed Sykes ruefully.
"It was no go?"
"No."
"Keep away from Bissett," was McClure's low counsel. "There are easier
prospects. If not we'll have to chuck it."
"Chuck nothing!" was Sykes' incisive ejaculation. "This community's full
of suckers. There are droves of easy rubes hereabouts fairly howling,
'Come touch me up.'"
For a moment McClure rubbed his chin reflectively. Sykes eyed him
closely.
"I know what you are hunting down," said he, looking McClure full in the
eye. "You're on just one trail these days. You are tracking the boss
of the Valley Outfit."
McClure looked up surprised.
"I see I've hit it," resumed Sykes with a laugh. "Bissett put me next a
little fact that has a whole barrelful of possibilities. He informs me
that Pullar's three-quarter sections are all in the old man's name."
McClure shook his head.
"Don't believe it. Ned's too good a head to stand for that."
"It's a fact, just the same," maintained Sykes. "Bissett told me all
about it."
"What if it is?"
"I guess you know old Ed. Pullar. Thirsty old guy at times."
McClure laughed wisely.
"That's the point," said Sykes in a whisper. "We have an even chance of
getting him there."
McClure said nothing, but Sykes, watching him from the foxy crevices of
his half-shut eyes, knew that he had probed a mighty impulse in his
companion. The gloating of anticipated revenge looked out of Rob
McClure's great eyes. He was roused from his baleful reverie by the
voice of Sykes.
"That prospect pleases you, Rob," said he in a significant tone that
drew the swift glance of McClure. "And I am with you to the limit
provided----"
He paused and looked peculiarly at the other. McClure was puzzled.
"Provided," resumed Sykes, "you do the same with me."
"You have me guessing, Reddy."
"You do not know what I am driving at?"
McClure shook his head.
"Then I'll set you right. For some years I have known the daughter of
Rob McClure. All these years I have regarded her as the one thing
desirable. That is why I am out among the rubes. She has never been
more gracious than since my arrival here. You stand by me there and I'm
with you. You can do a lot."
The two men looked long into each other's eyes. Then McClure's gaze
became abstract and far away. He was seeing something other than Sykes'
glittering eyes. He saw Mary as she burst in upon him the day of his
interview with Ned. He felt the soft touch of her cheek. Suddenly he
was recalled to the issue.
"Well?" was the crisp challenge.
"Go right in and win," said he with a strange smile. "Do it right and
I'm agreeable. So far as I know you have a clear field. You can count
on me."
"You think the field is open?" said Sykes.
"There isn't a doubt. I know all about my girl."
Sykes smiled and let it go at that. There was some information he could
impart to this cocksure father but it would be more serviceable later.
He reflected for a moment on the effect of the disclosure that Ned
Pullar was very much in the field. Then he smiled again, conscious of
holding a rather high hand.
McClure could see no untoward possibility and was satisfied.
So they made the compact.
*X*
*THE DREAMER*
The watcher stepped back into the shelter of the maples. She had
emerged from them but a moment before and had been on the point of
addressing the worker when her capricious will deterred her. She was
looking upon the great figure of a man. He was aged, nearing the
fullness of the allotted span. His shoulders, however, were square and
his back straight. His form rose to a towering height, retaining its
lines of strength and was crowned by a shapely head with its resplendent
glory of long white hair. The face was noble with a touch of
gentleness. The intelligent eyes had a masterful light mingling with
the dreaminess of them, while his cheeks had the soft rotundity of a
child's and the roses of a girl. Before her stood the father of Ned
Pullar. Often had she heard of him. This was the first time she had
really beheld him. She was very surprised, agreeably so.
The old man was busy flailing a bag of chaff. So absorbed was he in his
employment that he was rudely startled when a woman's voice accosted him
gently.
"Mr. Pullar, I believe!"
Looking up suddenly he detected a small girlish figure in white. Her
face was attractive with a bright friendliness that set him instantly at
ease.
"I am highly honoured," was his reply as he set down his stick and bowed
with courtly stateliness. "Is it the little teacher I have the pleasure
of greeting?"
"I am Mary McClure!"
The old man walked over and held out his hand with Western hospitality.
"Welcome to The Craggs, lassie. The lad, Ned, has been telling me much
about you. Will you not sit down?"
He placed a rustic chair before her.
"I have been waiting for you to call on your new neighbour," said Mary
with a smile as she accepted the proffered chair. "But you have not
favoured us yet. I am afraid you will find me a very impatient and
exacting neighbour, Mr. Pullar."
His eyes twinkled at her speech.
"Well now, that is a pretty rub," said he amusedly. "I shall have to
hunt up my visiting cards and call around."
"Now, see that you do," was the girl's reply as she shook an accusing
finger at him. "But you must not entertain now, Mr. Pullar. I came
over to watch you at work. I am curious to know why you were
belabouring that poor sack so roundly."
The old man laughed delightedly.
"I will tell you all about it," was the reply. "I am threshing the
wheat that is in it."
"But why do you have to do that with a stick? Is Ned not the best
thresher along the Valley?"
A proud look came into the old man's eyes.
"Do you think so, lass?"
"Indeed I do. And so does the whole settlement."
"It is so, I believe," was the frank agreement. "But Ned does not thresh
this. Those bags are filled with rare wheat heads selected from our
head-row plots. For them I use the flail."
He had pointed to where a line of a dozen bulging grain sacks swung on a
stout rope between posts.
Mary's eyes opened.
"Mr. Pullar," said she engagingly, "I have heard most interesting
rumours of what a wizard you are with seeds. One man told me solemnly
that he believed you could grow a good crop in a field of dry dust. Is
it true that you have developed a new variety of wheat?"
For a moment the old man did not answer. Instead he read earnestly the
beautiful, vivacious face of the girl and the eyes deep in their
intelligence.
"I believe, lassie, you would understand," was his satisfied reflection.
"Would you like to hear the truth about The Red Knight?"
Mary looked steadily into the eyes above her. She did not comprehend the
meaning of his question but she was fascinated by the noble enthusiasm
that swept over the fine old face.
"Tell me. Will you?" was her soft voiced reply.
"Come with me," said he. "I will show you something."