another and stonier age. Give me a nice living girl with plenty of
breath in her body and a soft heart,--one with a laugh in her eyes and
her soul, who can loll comfortably on a rock and revel dreamily in sheer
langour and laziness; a girl for instance like Margaret Grant."
"You don't like me when I'm poetic--rapt."
"Don't I? How like a woman! You want me to confess that I am mad about
you. But I will not, for I am not--not the very slightest."
Margaret glanced up curiously, a smile playing about her lips.
"The fact is, Margaret," continued Andy, "I do like you--just you, in
any mood, at any time and on any condition. It is not a foolish, mad
regard; just a cool, composed, deliberate but fatal, tremendously fatal
affection."
"Why fatal, Andy? I don't like the word."
"Take a look at me. Can you not see doom written all over me?"
Margaret looked. Their eyes met. She smiled whimsically.
"You look for all the world like a Norseman ready for Valhalla. But you
are a very live and hopeful and preposterous Yellow-hair. In what way
am I connected with this horrible doom?"
"You are the wild Norse girl that has demented your Norseman."
"Then you are mad after all?"
Again their eyes met. A unique confusion lay behind the light in the
man's; something inscrutable behind the humorous banter in the girl's.
Yet it was a happy unembarrassed moment. Andy seized it.
"Margaret," he said, rising and stepping toward her. "You guessed my
artifice all right. I alone am to blame for sending Ned and Mary up the
gully. There was no plot, only on my part. I decided that we must come
to a clear understanding. Lately I have had hours of anxious reflection.
I wanted to see you alone to-day. Do you think you love me, Margaret?"
The girl turned frank, open eyes upon him, all levity gone. There was
something looking out of his eyes that made her tremble. A deep
seriousness stole over her face. Slowly she averted her gaze, looking
out into the lake. For a long time she was silent. Then she said
gently:
"I love no one else, Andy. But--I--I cannot answer your question. I
know you love me. I am not sure that I love you. Do I love you? I--I
cannot say. Perhaps I do. I have always thought I did. It may be
true. It may all have come about in a way so gradual, so natural, so
ordinary that I am confused. I cannot answer you--now. I do not know.
Something will help us."
Looking up she met his eyes. They were full of trouble. A wave of
compunction swept over her. Holding out her hands she leaned toward
him.
"Come," she said simply, "you may kiss me, Andy. I love your kisses."
"How I would like to," was his quiet return as he fought the temptation.
"But I cannot. It would not be right. You have a tender heart,
Margaret. I love you ever so much more in the last few moments. I
shall wait for the right to kiss you. Perhaps it will come."
The girl looked up surprised, a faint flush dyeing her face. Their
attachment had obtained for years and since the engagement two years
before they had enjoyed the sweet amenities of true lovers. A pang
smote her as she realized that he was right.
Upon riding back they discovered the delinquent couple enjoying the
shade of a giant oak just beyond the entrance to the gully. Joining
forces the troop rode homeward.
*XIII*
*THE RED KNIGHT SCORES*
The air was full of the merry laughter of children. It was the hour of
noon and Mary McClure was busy placing some afternoon work upon the
blackboard. A sound on the porch caused her to hold her flying hand.
In a little there was a rap at the door and a giant form stepped in.
"Good-day, lassie," said the deep voice of Ed. Pullar.
"Well, Mr. Pullar!" was the girl's cordial greeting as she turned toward
him. "How glad I am to see you. Have you news of The Red Knight?"
The venerable face was wreathed in smiles. The happiness boded good
tidings.
Bowing with cavalier grace he replied:
"Here is the communication. I want you to read it, lassie."
Stepping lightly to him she took the sheet and pored over it swiftly.
Its contents were of extreme interest to her. It ran:
DEAR SIR:
Doubtless you have received my letter acknowledging the safe arrival of
your packages of Red Knight. The tests are proceeding apace and already
we are able to report results that may be of far-reaching import to the
grain growers of the WORLD. They will assuredly be gratifying to you.
Your samples have been subjected to an exhaustive series of milling
tests, disclosing the presence in Red Knight of ASTONISHING MILLING
PROPERTIES.
Also, we have studied carefully your very complete history of the
discovery and isolation of the new variety and find that throughout the
germination tests up to the present stage, our observations have
resulted in a remarkable parallel of your own record.
On the afternoon of the nineteenth we are holding a Staff Conference to
consult on the phases of Red Knight, referred to above, with a view to
consider the speeding up of test operations. The imminency of the
ensuing seed-time demands this if we are to launch comprehensive field
tests in ALL OUR NATIONAL FARMS.
At the close of the Conference an informal luncheon will be tendered to
the DISCOVERERS of THE RED KNIGHT. We request the presence of yourself
and your son as the honourable guests of the occasion.
I have the honour to be, sir,
Your obedient servant,
JOHN T. C. NORRGRENE,
_Minister of Agriculture_.
As she finished Mary clasped the letter to her breast, lost in a
moment's pensiveness. Then she lifted to the earnest face above her
eyes aglow with a brimming pleasure.
"You will go, Mr. Pullar!" she cried delightedly. "You will go, of
course, both you and Ned."
"Yes, I will go," was the quiet reply. "I have no desire now to tramp
abroad but I am going to do whatever I can to help these great men
discover the true character of The Red Knight. Ned is coming with me.
Dad Blackford will take care of the farm. It is a great moment for Ned
and me."
The gray head lifted with a perceptible pride.
"Mr. Pullar!" she cried, stepping nearer to him. "Do I look pleased?"
He read the girl's face.
"Aye! It is so, lassie. 'Tis the bonny bit you have been with your
bright, loyal heart."
"I am more than pleased," returned Mary. "I am elated. It means that
your big, noble plans will be realized. There can be no hitch now. The
Red Knight is doing splendid work alone, but when you and Ned join
forces with him you will be irresistible. I see glorious times ahead."
The old man looked deep into the eyes bright with the magic of a great
hope.
"Bonny Mary!" said he gently. "Bonny Mary!--that is what I have been
calling you in my secret mind.--You have been a right wonderful blessing
to me for you--you believe in me. And your beauty and tenderness they
have been recalling the past these happy hours in the wee school-house.
I cannot thank you----"
"Hush, Mr. Pullar!" was her gentle interruption. "You cannot thank
people for their--their regard, for their--love. You--you just do it
too. You love them back. Do you not?"
The naive, girlish innocence touched him. Placing a great hand gently on
her head he stooped down and brushed her brow ever so lightly with his
lips.
"God bless you, lassie!" was the reverent benediction.
She watched him go out, his face beautiful with a new light.
On the edge of the clearing he halted and looked back to the school.
"Aye! God bless you, lassie!" was his whisper. "May He keep the light
o' laughter always in your bonny eyes! Always!"
The proud form that vanished into the trees was not unlike the strong
young Apollo who wooed the dainty Kitty Belaire. Old Ed. Pullar was
putting up a fight, the stress of which was known to only two. Ned
realized it by the insight of his great affection; and Mary by the
tender intuition of her woman's heart.
*XIV*
*BEHIND THE GREEN BAIZE DOOR*
It was December, but the balm of the bright days belied the season. The
fall had elongated into a second springhood and save for a crispness in
the evening air it might have been April. Then, with the sudden vagary
of prairie weather, came a change. It was three days after the
reception of the invitation to the luncheon. The morning opened up with
the mellow warmth of Indian summer. Ned Pullar and his father carried
their light overcoats upon their arms as they boarded the seven-thirty
for the long ride to the City. An hour later a chill breath swept down
from the north and winter was on. Before their journey was half
completed the yellow and black landscape had given place to a truly
December white.
Winter assumed the reins of power by the grand inaugural of a
considerable blizzard. The wind was not as riotous and gusty as in the
dreaded storm but steady and cold, snowing heavily and driving a close,
surface blow. Night drew down the curtain with the temperature slightly
lower, the breeze unabated in its mild steadiness and the snow falling
in a thickening sheet. With the stars blanketed by heavy clouds and the
moon stark dead the night was black. The white covering of snow made
little difference to the impenetrable pall.
Pellawa was unusually quiet though a few hardy pedestrians braved the
deepening drifts. Louie Swale's joint, however, boasted a small and
interesting crowd. About the bar were some familiar faces, Snoopy Bill
Baird, Nick Ford and other members of McClure's Gang. The Green Baize
Door was shut. Two men occupied the privacy of the "Square Room,"
sitting on opposite sides of the table, each with his amber-hued flask.
Rob McClure was plainly on the defensive, withstanding some daring
proposition being urged by Reddy Sykes. Their frequent swigs were
beginning to undermine McClure's scepticism.
"You think this Red Knight wheat, as you call it, is no hoax," said Rob.
"It's the real goods," averred Sykes positively. "Pullar has tested it
for four years and the experts in the University have pronounced it O.K.
That is why Ned and the old man are toting into the City. It is good
enough to be valued by Ned at one hundred dollars a bushel. They tell
me John T. C. Norrgrene is interested in this thing himself. This wheat
is due to cause a sensation with the result that Ned Pullar's stock goes
up higher in the community as well as somewhere else. Ned Pullar's a
mighty clever gink and I have a hunch that he has nothing on his old
man. They've hit it lucky. The Red Knight is a gold mine to them."
McClure scowled.
"Grant that there's anything in it, how do you propose to get hold of
the wheat? Four hundred bushels is a big thing to lift."
"Easy when you go about it right. I've got it whittled to a hair
trigger. Touch it and away she comes. You want to clap your claws on
Pullar. Here is your chance to sink 'em deep. That four hundred bushels
of Red Knight means more to old Ed. Pullar than his farm, stock and the
whole works. He's doting on it. That makes it mean still more to Ned.
Here is your chance to hand Pullar and Son a dizzy one."
Sykes paused a moment while he took a long drink. McClure pondered the
proposition with a face that grew craftier the longer he simmered. His
cogitations were suspended suddenly, however, by an innovation in the
features of his companion. The pull of liquor had provoked immediate
result, altering Sykes' countenance and causing a sudden expansion of
his confidence. With his face overspread by a secretive leer he leaned
closer and whispered:
"I haven't let it loose before, Rob, but I have red-hot grudge against
your friend Pullar. That party has cut into my trail three or four
times in as many years. We've locked horns before but the breaks went
to him. His luck takes a sag to-night. There are three ways we can beat
him up. We can get him through the old man in the way we've been
figuring. This would cripple him for fair, but we've got to wait for
our chance. It will come. The next best bet is a raid on The Red
Knight. This thing is bigger than you are reckoning. Relieve him of this
bunch of seed wheat and what have we done? We take forty thousand
dollars out of his pocket and smother the one big howl of the old man's
life. I am for putting over this surprise right off the bat."
He paused. McClure waited patiently.
"Go on," said Rob. "Give us your third bullet. It may do the trick
alone. What is it?"
At the query Sykes' face changed in a manner that surprised even his
hardened colleague. The unscrupulous plotter became a fiend repulsively
malicious. From his eyes shot a jealous malignity, while upon every
muscle of his face outcropped the pure depravity of hate. The mask had
inadvertently slipped. Instinctively Sykes caught himself and replaced
it. As McClure continued to search his face he realized that his
companion was wearing his usual inscrutable smile. He could scarcely
believe that the fiendish thing had disclosed itself.
"Never mind number three," said Sykes. "This is not a good time to
consider it. It will be useful later."
McClure looked at him askance. The fellow possessed a knowledge that
baffled him. A vague uneasiness crept into his mind, a premonition
warning him of the man. Sykes realized that he had jeopardized matters
not a little and exercised all his congenial graces to destroy the
effect on the mind of his companion. He turned adroitly to levity and
the flask and very soon they were on the old footing of boon
companionship.
"We must get hold of The Red Knight," said McClure, swinging suddenly in
line under the spell of the odorous whiskey. "And the sooner, the
better."
"To-night!" announced Sykes with a fierce shutting of his jaws.
McClure looked surprised.
"It's blowing a blizzard," was his objection. "And it's a good ten mile
run."
"The kind of night I should select to kill a man," returned the other.
"I could slip up to him out of the storm, pass him out and drop into the
blizzard again. The snow would obligingly cover all trails. It is now
eight o'clock. Bill Baird and his men are ready, six teams all told.
They will pull the little raid at twelve. Each man will have a sleigh
with double box and no bells. They will slip up the Valley along
Pullar's hay trail to his barnyard, coming in from the field instead of
the road. The wheat is all located--two hundred bushels in the house, a
hundred in the granary and the balance in a portable bin in the
southeast quarter."
"But Blackford is at the house. He'll put up a scrap. You can't pull
Dad's leg. He'll make a mess of it."
"We've arranged to put the old bloke away while the fun is on and it
won't need any rough work. Leave Blackford to me."
"But they'll drop on us instantly without a clue. They'll search my farm
and the elevators and every building in Pellawa."
Sykes threw back his head in glee.
"You're late coming into the game, Rob. That's the trouble!" And he
poked the other playfully on the chest. "We are not bringing the wheat
in here. Oh, no. There is Old Hunt's, the Squatter's shack. It is
water tight and drift tight and has not been used since the old geezer
kicked out two years ago. The boys will drop the stuff there and we can
market it by degrees through the winter. We'll hush up the detective
stunt with an alibi, an alibi that will cover the honour of eight good
men. Here's the how. The gang's with Louie now. When we are ready
they come in here for an all-night deal. Louie and the crowd see them
enter. We let them out quietly through the rear into the dark. They
sneak through the snow and do the job and turn up here in the wee sma'
hours. Louie will not disturb the Square Room. But he can swear that we
held it for the night. We'll make it worth his while. There you are.
But the alibi will not be needed at all. The blizzard will blind the
trail and pad the whole event. This storm will cover over any track in
ten minutes. It is getting late and the men are waiting."
Sykes paused significantly.
"Call them in," said McClure, rubbing his hands in glee. "You are a
wonder, Red! We'll send them on the smart hike."
The Green Baize Door opened and closed a few minutes later on the full
gang of plotters. After being put through a detailed rehearsal of
Sykes' plan they drank a copious draft to the success of the adventure.
"This will be a come-back on that blankety Hallowe'en foul," said Snoopy
Bill with an avenging grin. "We'll proceed to tap Pullar a little for
his fun."
The remark was followed by a chorus of curses that revealed the rankle
of revenge. This motive was the sleeping thing Sykes had roused in his
plying of the gang.
"You'll reach Pullar's farm around twelve," concluded Sykes. "A
half-hour should see you loaded for the haul to Hunt's. You'll be back
here by four. Come in quietly."
Thus adjured, Snoopy Bill and his men, stealing out through the rear,
vanished into the darkness and set off on their expedition.
*XV*
*ONE BLACK NIGHT*
Dad Blackford was late in doing up the chores, for the snow had
presented him with some unforeseen problems, hampering greatly the
bedding and feeding. Not until everything was snug from the storm did
he think of indulging in his evening solace. While dreaming amid the
blue circles of smoke there came to him Ned's admonition about The Red
Knight. It was his last word.
"See that no harm comes to The Red Knight, Dad," was Ned's laughing
caution. "It is the one thing on the farm that Dad would not part
with."
"Ah!" said the old man with sudden decision, "I maun take a turn hout to
the barn. The snow moight 'arm the bonny corn."
Lighting his lantern he went out and was gratified to find that the
grain was snugly secure. When he came in he went to the room where lay
the two hundred bushels. Opening the door he flashed his lantern about.
Here, too, all was weather-tight. At sight of the pile of wonderful
wheat he exclaimed in admiration. Picking up a handful he held it close
to the light.
"'Ee's wealthy-loike!" said the old man, caressing the plump brown
grains with his fingers. "'Ee's the fat corn und 'evvy! The old un'll
make a pile on un."
Shutting the door he returned to his pipe and dreamed of visions of
riches in store for Ned and his father, his innocent old face glowing
with pleasure at the contemplation of their good fortune. Rising at
length he went to the door, took a long look out into the black night,
then shut it carefully and retired to his bed.
It was nearing the hour of midnight when he was aroused from sleep by a
thumping upon the door. Rising he threw up the sash and looked down.
"Hello! Is that Mr. Blackford?" called an anxious voice.
"Hit be," was the succinct response.
"I am from Jake McCarragh's. One of his mares is down and he wants you
to come over and give us a hand."
"Ah! 'Ee's a 'orse sick. Ah'll coome along," was the kind response.
"I'm on the hike," said the voice below. "I'll foot it back on the
double quick and help Jake. You hurry after as fast as you can."
The case was evidently urgent.
"Hal roight, go a'ead. Ah'll be along," replied the old man, hastening
to dress.
In a short time he was ready and stepped out into the storm, trudging
down the lane and off into the north with the blizzard in his face. He
did not hear the muffled beat of galloping hoofs as he emerged into the
road-allowance.
As we have mentioned before, there were pedestrians about the drifted
streets of Pellawa. One of these venturesome wanderers was the little
French bagger of the Valley Outfit, Jean Benoit. He had come to Pellawa
in the morning and untoward obstructions had kept him from setting out
on his return home. He was still "hung up" and was plunging impatiently
through the drifts with determination to make a swift wind up of
business when he heard a voice down the lane to his right.
"You are sure Pullar's away?" came clearly through the storm.
"Went in on the morning train with the old man," replied another voice.
Jean halted. The mention of Pullar had awakened his curiosity.
"I'd hate to run into the Valley boss. He's a bang-up hitter."
"No danger. We're squaring with Pullar to-night. He'll never know who
pinched his wheat."
At this point a mutual laugh came through the darkness.
"You meet me with the others at Morrison's bluff. That's the line, eh?"
"Righto! We'll slip into Pullar's yard about twelve. So long."
There was no more. The men had passed on. Jean lingered. He had not
caught the full significance of the brief dialogue, for he could not
hear every word and the English troubled him in places. He pieced
enough together, however, to conclude that some foul work was meditated
against Ned. He held his counsel and rushed through preparations for
departure. As he took the South Cut in his descent into the Valley he
saw a light in the Grant home. So agitated had he become in his review
of the incident in the village that he decided to lay the matter before
Charles Grant.
The farmer was in bed, but at his knock a light step tripped down the
stairs and Margaret opened the door. She invited him in. Grant was
promptly aroused and evidenced serious perturbation at Jean's story.
"I am afraid there is some devilment afoot," was his comment. "You say
there may be a big gang at work?"
"Wan, two, tree, four! Mebbe other! I do not know. I tink many."
"Can it be an attempt to steal Mr. Pullar's new wheat?" ventured
Margaret. "Mary has been telling me so much about it. I saw her
to-day. Ned and his father have gone into the City at the call of John
T. C. Norrgrene."
"It may be that, lass," agreed her father. "Jean's tale points that
way."
"They are after The Red Knight!" said Margaret with intuitive
conviction. "It is a terrible night. What can poor old Dad Blackford
do against a gang of daring thieves?"
"We'll take a hand in it ourselves," said Grant grimly. "Jean, you take
the south trail and let Easy Murphy know. I'll dress and pick up Lawrie
and----"
"I'll saddle Flash, Dad," interrupted Margaret. "I'm all ready. I can
ride over and let Andy know."
Grant looked at the girl a second, considering.
"Very well, lass! Do it," said her father with a smile. "Ye're good
for it and there is not any time to waste. Be careful, for the night is
dark."
Before her father had reached the stable Margaret was in the saddle and
away.
Andy was easily aroused and in an incredibly short time was astride
Night.
"You ride back home," directed he to Margaret. "I'll push Night through.
It is half-past eleven and we have four miles to run. I may be in time
to scare them off. Your Dad and the others will be right on my heels."
With a farewell shout he plunged into the storm. The sound of Night's
speeding hoofs smote her ears then died away. Reluctantly she turned
Flash for home and trotted off. They had proceeded but a few rods when
she reined him in and halted abruptly, loitering irresolute.
"Come, Flash! About!" was her sudden command. "We'll be in it, too."
Wheeling her mount she sent him at a gallop after Night and his rider.
Andy put his horse through at a stiff pace. The homestead was shrouded
in blackness as he approached. Riding through the gate he cantered
swiftly down the lane, and pulled up beside the house. He had but
halted when he discerned the dim movement of figures on all sides of
him. With the consciousness of their presence came the realization that
they were men.
"Good-night, gentlemen!" he called.
But there was no reply. Instead he could hear smothered cries of
chagrin and savage anger, followed by a rush of the encompassing forms.
Night's bridle was seized and strong hands grappled him, dragging him
from the saddle. Terrified by the rough handling and mysterious
commotion the horse reared and plunged, tearing away from her captors.
Leaping free she dashed off down the lane.
As Andy came to earth he clutched one of his assailants and they rolled
over. In the darkness the others seizing his foeman by mistake wrenched
him away, leaving Andy free. Leaping to his feet, he backed to the wall
of the house. Discovering their mistake they rushed him again. He
struck out and a shadow staggered and fell. They closed in as another
went down. Hands seized him on every side. He was struggling mightily,
tossing his assailants about, when he heard a voice shrill out above the
smothered tumult. He realized that it was Margaret's cry and conscious
that help was near, fought with renewed fury to free his arms. Then
something crashed upon his head and he tottered back, falling in a heap
against the wall.