to venture into the sacred recesses of a life. She followed him to the
porch where rested a tub. Seizing the handle he pulled it out into the
sunlight. Lifting a covering he disclosed to her eyes a mass of
grain--beautiful wheat, brown-gold in colour, with the wealthy red tinge
that tints the peerless milling kernel. The plump, red berries
suggested to her heaps of tiny, golden pebbles. She was astonished and
silent.
"It is The Red Knight," said he simply, stooping and dipping up a
handful. She observed how fondly he held it in the palm of his great
hand.
"It is very dear to you," was her gentle remark.
Once again he studied her eyes. They looked up at him with a clear-eyed
rapture that provoked his grateful confidence.
"Come, lassie! Rest while I tell you the tale of the finding of The Red
Knight.
"It will be forty years, come Maytime again, since I brought Kitty
Belaire from the old East over the Valley of The Qu'Appelle to The
Craggs. Here we set up a home in the little log hut you can see at the
end of the lane. In the log hut was born the first wee bairn. He did
not stay with us long and we laid him away in the dip beyond the bluffs.
There, too, Ned came to us, filling the sore spot in our hearts left by
his little brother. We were happy, the three of us, though we had
little to do with, and the work was hard. The years were years of
struggle. We fought the winds and the drought, rust, smut, hail and the
frost with little success to boast about. One year we had a bumper crop
with prices low. Then followed one or two without a harvest. Ned was
growing to be a husky little chap when a crop grew on the place that
promised us a forty-bushel yield. But one day a black cloud swept over
the homestead and in ten minutes it was gone. We had no seed. On the
heels of the hail came a drought year. Following it appeared a crop that
filled the settlement with hope. We were getting ready to cut when a
blight appeared. The rust reduced the yield from forty bushels to five.
So passed the years and the battle went against us, with the frost the
worst enemy of all. One terrible harvest it came to me that the seed
was wrong. It matured too slowly. What we needed was a seed that would
come along fast enough to harden before the blight of the rust or the
nip of frost. The following harvest I set out on a quest. One day I
discovered a patch of ripe heads among the filling grain. Upon shelling
them I found a plump kernel fully matured. I plucked the strange heads
and carefully preserved the wheat. When seeding time came round again I
sowed them on a bit of new ground in the garden. They came up strong
and far outstripped the other grain. I had great hopes. Filling time
arrived and I watched developments. It was now plain to me that the new
variety would ripen fully two weeks ahead of the old type. Then, in the
depths of night, a crashing hailstorm and--my precious plot smashed into
the earth.
"I had made the fatal mistake of not preserving a few kernels against
accident. But that was the beginning. Henceforth I was alert to
discover any quickly maturing plants among my fields of grain. By hand
selection I began to improve the standard varieties. By use of head-row
plots I was able to provide myself with a purer seed. But it took a
great deal of time. My neighbours began to surpass me in quantity of
yield. Eventually they regarded me as luny. At last only Kitty and Ned
believed in me. They never failed me. They became experts in seed
selection. They helped me with their sympathy. Together we made
thousands of tests. Gradually we caught our feet. One year we started
cutting a full week ahead of the settlement. We had escaped the rust
and showed a plump sample. We were alone in our good fortune. From
that time we were the first into the binding, our yield was at the top,
and under Ned's wise management our quantity began to pull ahead, always
showing a consistently high sample.
"It is four years this harvest that Kitty and the lad went out on a
'roguing' stalk. Perhaps you do not know that a 'rogue' is a foreign
variety of grain that has appeared for some reason in your field. The
task of plucking these 'rogues' is called 'roguing.' Upon their return
the mother handed to me a headed plant of wheat carefully lifted from
the ground. How well I remember it! She gave it into my hands with a
smile.
"'Here, Edward!' she said brightly. 'Here is your Red Knight at last.
I found him growing in the twenty acre field on the little knoll.'
"I took the plant and carefully examined it. The straw was strong and
erect, the roots the most perfect I had ever looked upon. But it was
the head that caught my eye, as it had caught Kitty's and Ned's. It was
not exceptionally large but well compacted and heavy, its spikelets
packed with wonderful kernels. We were not led into fond hopes by the
remarkable heads, as we had tested many another apparently as perfect."
Here the old man paused, lost a moment in reverie.
"That winter the Mother died," resumed he softly. "But she left a
legacy that will forever bless mankind. We carried out our tests. We
have put The Red Knight through every conceivable trial and it remains
pure, repeating its superior qualities each harvest. It is of the
highest milling grade, grows a strong straw and erect, compact head,
maturing three full weeks before any other wheat. This tub is filled
from our head-row plots with the very purest Red Knight. In addition
Ned has already cut and threshed a five acre field. The yield has been
true to promise and will astonish the world. Red Knight, the gift to
the world of Kitty Belaire, has averaged this year over one hundred
bushels to the acre."
As the old man finished a deep silence fell on them, broken at length by
Mary. At the first accents of her voice her companion looked up. He
was surprised to see tears in her eyes.
"Mr. Pullar!" she said hesitantly, her voice touched with awe. "You and
Ned and--his mother are--gracious benefactors. You are bringing a
wonderful boon to the West--to the whole world."
Leaning forward the old man looked eagerly into the earnest eyes before
him.
"Ah, lassie," he said kindly, "you are a wonderful little soul. You are
seeing deep into this thing, God bless you. 'Tis a vision the three of
us have had. The Red Knight will mean a steady and reliable living for
the farmers round about us and a sure crop for the struggling pioneer in
the new places of the world. It will mean that a million homesteads
will spring up in the great Northern plains where men could scarcely
live because of the rust and frost. It will fill up the bread-basket of
the world and make cheaper food for the hard-pressed masses, for The Red
Knight will push the grain belt three hundred miles nearer to the poles
the whole world round."
"Just a moment, Mr. Pullar!" exclaimed Mary, seized by a brilliant idea.
"I've got it! I believe every word you say. It is true. Gloriously
true! But the world will have to hear about it. It will take time to
marshall the forces of The Red Knight and start him on his great
crusade. You will have to declare him to the world. The discovery and
mission of this wonderful new wheat must be placed before the public,
and at once."
"Ah," said he, "you speak the truth. Ned and I have thought it over,
but we have no gift of the pen whatever."
Another deep silence fell over them. It was Mary who broke it once
more.
"Do you think, Mr. Pullar," she said diffidently, "that--that I could
help you? I have done a little writing. We could get the facts into
shape and some editor could put them in form for presentation to the
public."
The old man looked at her with eyes in which glowed a grateful wonder.
"You believe my story enough to do that, lassie?"
"Why, of course! It is simply wonderful! Come over to the school each
day at noon and we can work at the tale of The Red Knight while the
children are playing. An hour a day will accomplish a great deal in a
month. Will you come?"
Her companion reflected deeply before replying.
"It is a noble offer," he said gratefully. "But I will think it over.
If I decide it is best I will come to-morrow."
"Thank you, Mr. Pullar!" was the pleased reply. "This has been an
amazing hour. But I must be going. You will be sure and come?"
Waving good-bye she vanished through the trees.
For a long time the man reflected on the happy interview. At length he
returned to the sack of unthreshed wheat. Picking up the flail he held
it poised ready while his gaze grew pathetically reminiscent.
"Ah, Kitty," he whispered. "'Tis an angel she is. Our dreams will come
true after all, dear heart."
*XI*
*THE THIRD RIDER*
Margaret Grant paced the terrace, her black hair flowing in the wind.
The sun flooded the Valley with a prodigal outpouring of his golden
tanks. The girl's eyes snapped with the vivacity of life, for the world
was streaming with light and the birds were carolling in joyous abandon.
Something in the bubbling wildness of the morning lent a nimbleness to
her feet, and she would change her sedate walk for a tripping scurry
across the lawn. She cast frequent glances over the gorge to the Peak of
the Buffalo Trails in evident anticipation of some appearance there.
While she waited she let her eyes sweep down the Valley, her heart and
ofttimes her feet dancing with the sun.
Margaret was a child of The Qu'Appelle. The gleaming valley had nursed
her through childhood, writing the beauty of hill and stream and wind
and sun into the little girl, making her skin as brown as that of the
metis maiden, her blood warm and red and her soul free with the purity
of the flashing light. She loved the cottonwoods and the poplars and
the clustering, glistening birch, while the oak and willow folk cast a
spell over her. She knew the berry and cherry trees and the sun-steeped
slopes where browned the sweetest hazelnuts. Ask her where coquettes
the wine-black saskatoon or the wonder berry--and she can tell. As for
the flowers, the bees and Margaret were twin possessors. Equally dear
were the people of feather and fur.
The lake was a fascinating, joyous mystery, whether it lay under her
eyes a thing of shimmering light or frowning shadows. Its magic swept
her most powerfully. In the moments of its hush, when it became a great
calm silence, rippleless and infinitely deep, a new vastness with its
own blue sky and clouds and shapely hills.
Far out in the lake lay a tiny island tufted with cottonwood shrubs and
one ragged scrub oak. This tree had grown out of a crevice in the rock.
The island was nothing more than a huge boulder and the bower of
cottonwoods and bit of turf held precariously to the smoothed surface.
Here the girl enjoyed the dulcet music of the waves and the solitude,
reaching the island easily by aid of her birch canoe. From its
behaviour in time of tempest this lonely spot had received the name of
The Storm Rock. Long before the waves had worked into rollers an angry
cloud of white spray above the rock portended the fury of the storm.
Suddenly the girl paused in her walk and fastened her eyes on the Peak
of the Buffalo Trails. A glimmer of white crowned the Peak. She gave an
exclamation of delight as she defined the form of Bobs. Astride was
Mary McClure. A signal passed between the girls. Turning slightly,
Margaret swept the north bank with a keen glance, emitting another
ejaculation as she saw a rider cantering along the shoulder of the hill
making his way down into the valley.
"Ned!" she observed, with a droll tip of her head. "You are remarkably
punctual, my fine fellow. You need not push Darkey so fast, however,
for Flash and I are going to take a very considerable time to saddle
up."
Turning about, she glanced up at the Peak again. Bobs and his rider had
disappeared. As she continued to look at the empty summit she was
surprised to see another rider trot out on the hill. It was a man, and
he halted his horse in the identical place where Mary had sat Bobs but a
moment before. He looked over the valley toward the Grant homestead,
then turning, vanished hurriedly down the hill.
The watcher was at a loss to account for the appearance of the strange
rider. She pondered a moment.
"One of Blythes' cow-punchers!" was her conclusion. "He is probably
beating up strays."
Satisfied and relieved at her surmise she ran into the house to prepare
for the ride to Willow Glade.
Ned rode swiftly along, skirting the lake about the Pellawa end. He had
an hour of fast riding before he at length disappeared into the groves
near the brook. As he broke into the Glade he saw Bobs tied to a tree
and his mistress seated on the log beside the stream.
"Ho, ho! Darkey!" he cried softly. "High fortune is ours!"
Bobs tossed his head in equine friendliness, but the figure on the log
was absorbed in a study of the tree-tops. Tying his horse, Ned stole up
on the silent one.
"Room for another on the observation car?" called Ned in her ear.
With a casual "Good-day, Ned!" she glanced into his eyes. Her face was
so irresistibly teasing that he seized her hands.
"I am welcome, Mary?" said he.
Her reply was smothered by his lips. When conditions had become normal
once more she announced importantly:
"I came here to-day, Ned, with the deliberate purpose of having an
interview with you."
"That is delightfully gratifying," was the reply. "But since I know the
lady so well I fear there is another reason forthcoming."
"We are to have a chaperon," resumed Mary. "I signalled Margaret from
the Peak of the Buffalo Trails. She will be here--within--an hour or
two. Flash has taken to loitering, I fear."
"Yes, we know what a sleepy nag Flash can be when Margaret has so made
up her mind."
"You speak as though there is a little plot on foot."
"Rather on four feet, Mary."
Catching his eye Mary laughed.
"But there is another reason?" was his serious question. "Are you in
trouble, Mary?"
"No," was her reply. "I am deeply interested in some one other than Mr.
Pullar, Jr. And also in a number of things--the Red Knight, for
example. Why have you not come over to the school sometimes with your
father?"
He looked into her eyes with a frankness that satisfied her. She nodded
comprehendingly.
"You did right," said she gently. "We agree that it was best. But I
have wanted to consult you about the Red Knight. I think it is such a
big, wonderful thing, and it means so much to your father. Do you----"
Further speech was suddenly interrupted by a commotion in the woods.
Bobs gave a vigorous whinny to which Darkey responded in a
half-frightened way while both horses moved restively about their trees,
nostrils distended and ears pricked forward.
"What can be troubling the horses?" said Mary looking about.
A careful scrutiny of the trees and underbrush failed to discover
anything unusual.
"Probably a fox or a wolf," surmised Ned. "The brute was bold to come so
near. The horses have become aware of some marauder."
They let it go at that, little thinking that the horses had a surprising
reason for their unrest. For five minutes past a shadow had been
slipping through the dense growth running toward the lake and had
chanced a flit of a half dozen yards in the open to a clump of willows
within a rod of the log on which they sat. Screened in the low trees
lurked the crouching figure of Reddy Sykes. It was a fox, indeed, a
human fox that had agitated Bobs and his companion. The face of the
agent was uncouth in its strange determination and jealousy. Waiting
until quiet was restored he parted the leaves and took a glance at the
objects of his bold espionage. At sight of the lovers his face went
white and a wave of passion swept over him. As Mary resumed the
conversation he listened with an eagerness wild and intense.
"I was saying," said Mary, "that The Red Knight has a powerful interest
for your father."
"I am sure you discovered that easily," returned Ned.
"Yes. It is as dear to him as life itself. No mother could lavish more
fondness upon her babe than your father does upon this marvellous new
wheat."
"And because it means so much to Dad," said Ned gently, "it means even
more to me. Yet I, too, am foolish over The Red Knight. I wonder can
any one understand how it is that the roots of this plant go back so
deep into the lives of Dad and me? It has grown out of the hard,
glorious years. It is the one living thing linking our dear dead to us.
Mary! It is my little mother's forget-me-not. The tenderest sentiment
gathers about The Red Knight."
Mary laid her hand gently on his arm.
"Ned," she said, looking at him with the shine of dew in her eyes, "you
will always foster this dear foolishness, will you not?"
Drawing her to him he kissed lips and cheeks and hair.
"I know you will," was her glad cry.
"But there is the other side," said Ned in a little. "The Red Knight is
as astonishing a discovery for the good of the world as was steam in its
application to transportation and industry. This is how Dad views it.
Like the discovery of a new element it should be retained for the common
human good. If controlled by the commercial interests and monopolists
it will be lost. The Red Knight needs the care of the keenest and
surest cultural science as well as the protection of a wise government.
This new variety of wheat is very precious now or will be when the great
experts have repeated the tests put through by Dad and myself. By
spring, should our own experiments satisfy the competent judges, every
bushel of Red Knight would be worth one hundred dollars. Forty thousand
dollars! It sounds fabulous to farmers who have spent a lifetime in the
fight to catch their feet. Dad, however, will not sell it in that way.
He intends to distribute his unique seed in such a way as to insure its
preservation and reproduction. Each bushel will go to a source that
meets with his entire approval. Some will pay the hundred dollars per
bushel, not that a monopolist's price may be realized but that the
recipient may be impressed with the rare pricelessness of The Red
Knight. Others will pay but a pittance. The great national farms will
not be overlooked. It is Dad's purpose that when harvest rolls round
again there will be from thirty to forty thousand bushels of Red Knight
in the hands of the National Government and a corps of splendid farmers.
They will agree to keep Red Knight pure and further improve his singular
qualities by faithful selection and experiment."
As Ned finished speaking a deep silence fell on them, broken at length
by Mary.
"That four hundred bushels of Red Knight is precious in many ways, Ned,"
said she. "You have taken precaution to protect it from harm?"
"We are doing our best to avoid misfortune. We have broken the bin up
into three. There are two hundred bushels in the house; we have one
hundred in the big granary and the balance is isolated in one of our
galvanized-iron, portable bins set in the centre of a large ploughed
field. This should provide for the preservation of The Red Knight."
They had fully discussed the scheme of launching the astounding fact of
the discovered variety when Margaret Grant dashed into the glade with a
shout and a clatter of hoofs.
"Greetings, kind friends!" she announced with a swagger. "Permit Flash,
four-footed gentleman of the highroad, to join your sweet company with
Gooseberry up."
"To horse!" cried Ned, catching the conceit of the girl. "To horse! We
ride with the gallant Goose!"
"The very thing!" laughed Mary.
Riding close Margaret struck vengefully. But Ned dodged and assisting
Mary into the saddle swung up on Darkey and the laughing cavalcade rode
out of the glade.
From his covert Reddy Sykes saw them depart. Waiting until he was sure
they were safely away he returned to his horse and mounting rode hastily
back to Pellawa.
*XII*
*ANYTHING IS FAIR IN LOVE...*
The troop of three were retracing the course followed by Ned in his ride
to the Glade. Trotting along the wet sand at the water's edge they had
rounded the Pellawa end of the lake and were hugging the north shore,
riding into the west at a spanking gait when Ned suddenly pulled Darkey
and pointed up the sheer hill. A black speck was moving along the
summit far above.
"Margaret! Behold!" was Ned's laughing shout.
The girls reined in abruptly and followed his hand.
"It is Andy!" cried Mary gaily. "I see where we lose our Gooseberry,
promptly and automatically."
As she uttered the words a shout floated down from the silhouette above
and the rider sent his mount over the bank. The brave brute took the
precipice with a sure nonchalance, sliding on all fours or "sitting" the
perpendicular slides with swift and perilous drop.
"Lucifer hits the toboggan!" cried Ned.
"The magnificent dare-devils!" exclaimed Mary, thrilled by the sight.
In a moment it was over and Andy closed in upon them at a smart trot,
reining his horse on his heels but a length before them.
"A mighty fine slide!" applauded Ned.
"Margaret can't peep," teased Mary. "Her heart's in her mouth."
Margaret acknowledged the newcomer with a sedate bow. Her voice was
severely accusing as she said:
"Why do you find it necessary to skid that horrible hill on poor Night?"
"Just dropping into good company, Margaret," was the bright reply.
"Night likes it."
"Very well! You are welcome to--the skidding," was the demure
impertinence.
She turned from him to glance over the lake. Had Andy caught her eyes he
would have seen deep down in their dark depths a gleam of exquisite
pleasure. Good riding, and daring at that, could not fail to delight
Margaret, and of this the wily Andy was well aware. A moment later he
was enjoying her gay sallies as they rode side by side.
The four riders advanced abreast with the girls in the centre, the sound
of their voices mingling with the champing of bits and the restless
tramping of prancing hoofs. Suddenly, to their right, a gully opened
up, winding its way into the hills. Andy caught Ned's eye flashing him
some significant message. Ned instantly realized his intention and
seizing Bobs' bridle turned abruptly into the gully. In the meantime
Andy had adroitly directed Margaret's attention to a big loon basking in
the water near the shore. They were well past the gully before she
discovered that two of the party were missing. She halted Flash and
looked blankly at Andy. With remarkable address he simulated her
expression. She searched his nonplussed features critically, passing
their fluctuations through her mental sieve.
"Two is company!" ejaculated Andy, shrugging his shoulders and looking
back upon the empty trail.
"And three a crowd!" supplemented Margaret.
"And four a multitude!" completed Andy, a tone of satisfaction betraying
him.
Margaret tipped her head a trifle haughtily and looked thoughtfully out
over the lake.
"We have good company here, at any rate," ventured Andy.
Again Margaret gave him that searching glance. For a moment she studied
him, then the glimmers of a whimsical mischief shone in her eyes and
throwing back her head she laughed merrily.
"What transparent creatures you men are!" was her naive remark.
"Obviously you and Ned arranged this sudden and innocent happening."
"How do you know?" challenged Andy boldly.
"How very like a man!" she cried, laughing quietly. "There you go
confessing it. How do I know? Simply because Mary and I did not
arrange it. It just happened. And Mary! I wonder. Was Mary kidnapped
or is she an accomplice deep-dyed in guilt? Never mind. There's a loon
on the water and two more on the shore. We'll go ahead to the Big Stone
and wait for them."
So came Andy's opportunity, effected by his masterly strategy and the
conniving Ned.
Their horses secured, they took seats in comfortable niches of the great
stones and let their gaze sweep over the lake. A steady breeze fanned
their faces and the water lapped musically about the base of the rock.
It set Margaret musing.
"Do you hear it, Andy?" she cried. "I could stay here forever and dream
of the sea. The sea is in my blood and--my heart,--always in my heart.
I have but to shut my eyes and I am a wild, free Norse-girl tossing on
the deep, or--a bold pirate."
"Pirate is better," said Andy with a grin. "You are always stealing
something from me--secrets and other things. These dead Norse maidens
appear to better advantage these days among the zoological collections
of infamous old bones in famous old museums."
Margaret looked up severe and shocked.
"Thank you!" said she with dignity. "You have an affectionate regard
for my ancient ancestors."