CHAPTER XXXI.

Brooke is Forgiven 431

A DAMAGED REPUTATION.

I.

BROOKE PAUSES TO REFLECT.

It was a still, hot night, and the moon hung round and full above the

cedars, when rancher Brooke sat in his comfortless shanty with a whisky

bottle at his hand. The door stood open, and the drowsy fragrance of the

coniferous forest stole into the room, while when he glanced in that

direction he could see hemlock and cedar, redwood and balsam, tower,

great black spires, against the luminous blueness of the night. Far

above them gleamed the untrodden snow that clothed the great peaks with

spotless purity; but this was melting fast under the autumn sun, and the

river that swirled by the shanty sang noisily among the boulders.

There are few more beautiful valleys than that one among all the ranges

of British Columbia, but its wild grandeur made little impression upon

Brooke that night. He felt that a crisis in his affairs was at hand,

and he must face it boldly or go under once for all, for it was borne in

upon him that he had already drifted perilously far. His face, however,

grew a trifle grim, and his fingers closed irresolutely on the neck of

the bottle, for drifting was easy in that country, and pleasant, so long

as one did not remember.

Even when the great peaks were rolled in tempest cloud, the snow fell

but lightly among the Quatomac pines. Bright sunlight shone on them for

weeks together, and it was but seldom a cold blast whipped the still,

blue lake where the shadows of the cedars that distilled ambrosial

essences lay asleep. There were deer and blue grouse in the woods,

salmon in the river, and big trout in the lake; and the deleterious

whisky purveyed at the nearest settlement was not inordinately dear. It

had, however, dawned on Brooke by degrees that there were many things he

could not find at Quatomac which men of his upbringing hold necessary.

In the meanwhile, his sole comrade, Jimmy, who assisted him to loaf the

greater part of every day away, watched him with a curious little smile.

Jimmy was big, loose-limbed, and slouching, but in his own way he was

wise, and he had seen more than one young Englishman of Brooke's

description take the down-grade in that colony.

"Feeling kind of low to-night?" he said, suggestively. "Now, I'd have

been quite lively if Tom Gordon's Bella had made up to me. Bella's nice

to look at, and 'most as smart with the axe as a good many men I know.

I guess if you got her you wouldn't have anything to do."

Brooke's bronzed face flushed a trifle as he saw his comrade's grin, for

it was what had passed between him and Tom Gordon's Bella at the

settlement that afternoon which had thrust before him the question what

his life was to be. He had also not surmised that Jimmy or anybody else

beyond themselves had been present at that meeting among the pines.

Bella was certainly pretty and wholly untaught, while, though he had

made no attempts to gain her favor they had not been necessary, since

the maid had with disconcerting frankness conferred it upon him. She

had, in fact, made it evident that she considered him her property, and

Brooke wondered uneasily how far he had tacitly accepted the position.

His irresponsive coolness had proved no deterrent; he could neither be

brutal, nor continually run away; and there were times when he had

almost resigned himself to the prospect of spending the rest of his life

with her, though he fancied he realized what the result of that would

be. The woman had the waywardness and wildness of the creatures of the

forest, and almost as little sensibility, while he was unpleasantly

conscious that he was already sinking fast to her level. With a soulless

mate, swayed by primitive instincts and passions, and a little further

indulgence in bad whisky, it was evident that he might very well sink a

good deal further, and Brooke had once had his ideals and aspirations.

"Jimmy," he said, slowly, "I'm thinking of going away."

Jimmy shook out his corn-cob pipe, and apparently ruminated. "Well, I'd

'most have expected it," he said. "The question is, where you're going

to, and what you're going to do? You don't get your grub for nothing

everywhere, and living's cheap here. It only costs the cartridges, and

the deerhides pay the tea and flour. Besides, you put a pile of dollars

into this place, didn't you?"

"Most of six thousand, and I've taken about two hundred out. Of course I

was a fool."

Jimmy nodded with a tranquil concurrence which his comrade might not

have been pleased with at another time.

"Bought it on survey, without looking at it?" he said. "Going to make

your fortune growing fruit! It's kind of unfortunate that big peaches

and California plums don't grow on rocks."

Brooke sat moodily silent awhile. He had, as his comrade had mentioned,

bought the four hundred acres of virgin soil without examining it, which

is not such an especially unusual proceeding on the part of

newly-arrived young Englishmen, and partly explains why some land-agency

companies pay big dividends. For twelve months he had toiled with hope,

strenuously hewing down the great redwoods which cumbered his

possessions; and expended the rest of his scanty capital in hiring

assistance. It was only in the second year that the truth dawned on him,

and he commenced to realize that treble the sum he could lay hands upon

would not clear the land, and that in all probability it would grow

nothing worth marketing then. In the meanwhile something had happened

which made it easier for him to accept the inevitable, and losing hold

of hope he had made the most of the present and ignored the future. It

was sufficient that the forest and the river fed him during most of the

year, and he could earn a few dollars hewing trails for the Government

when they did not. His aspirations had vanished, and he dwelt, almost,

if not quite, content in a state of apathetic resignation which is not

wholesome for the educated Englishman.

It was Jimmy who broke the silence.

"What was it you done back there in England? I never asked you before,"

he said.

Brooke smiled somewhat drily, for it was not a very unusual question in

that country. "Nothing the police could lay hands on me for. I only

quarrelled with my bread and butter. I had plenty of it at one time, you

see."

"That means the folks who gave it you?" said Jimmy.

"Exactly. It was the evident duty of one of them to leave me his

property, and I think he would have done it, only he insisted on me

taking a wife he had fixed upon as suitable along with it. There was,

however, the difficulty that I had made my own choice in the meanwhile.

I believe the old man was right now, though I did not think so then, and

when we had words on the subject I came out to make a home for the other

woman here."

"And you let up after two years of it?"

"I did," said Brooke, with a trace of bitterness. "The girl, however,

did not wait so long. Before I'd been gone half the time she married a

richer man."

Jimmy nodded. "There are women made that way," he said reflectively.

"Still, you wouldn't have to worry 'bout Bella. Once you showed her who

was to do the bossing--with a nice handy strap--she'd stick to you good

and tight, and 'most scratch the eyes out of any one who said a word

against her husband. Still, I figure she's not quite the kind of woman

you would have married in the old country."

That was very evident, and Brooke sat silent while the memories of his

life in the land he had left crowded upon him. He also recoiled from the

brutality of the one his comrade had pictured him leading with the maid

of the bush, though it had seemed less appalling when she stood before

him, vigorous and comely, a few hours ago. He had, however, made no

advances to her. On that point, at least, his mind was clear, and now he

realized clearly what the result of such a match must be. Yet he knew

his own loneliness and the maid's pertinacity, and once more it was

borne in upon him that to stay where he was would mean disaster. Rising

abruptly he flung the bottle out into the night, and then, while Jimmy

stared at him with astonishment and indignation, laughed curiously as he

heard it crash against a stone.

"That's the commencement of the change," he said. "After this I'll pitch

every bottle you bring up from the settlement into the river."

"Well," said Jimmy, resignedly, "I guess I can bring the whisky up

inside of me, and you'd get hurt considerable if you tried slinging me

into the river. The trouble is, however, I'd be seeing panthers all the

way up whenever I brought along a little extra, and I'm most scared of

panthers when they aren't there."

Brooke laughed again, for, as he had discovered, men take life lightly

in that country, but just then the soft beat of horse hoofs rose from

across the river, and a cry came out of the darkness.

"Strangers!" said Jimmy. "Quite a crowd of them. With the river coming

down as she's doing it's a risky ford. We'll have to go across."

They went, rather more than waist-deep in the snow-water which swirled

frothing about them, for the ford was perilous, with a big black pool

close below; and found a mounted party waiting them on the other side.

There was an elderly man who sat very straight in his saddle with his

hand on his hip, and Brooke, at least, recognized the bearing of one

who had commanded cavalry in the Old Country. There was also a younger

man, dismounted and smoking a cigarette, two girls on Cayuse ponies, and

an Indian, whose appearance suggested inebriation, holding the bridles

of the baggage mules. The men were certainly not ranchers or

timber-right prospectors, but now and then of late a fishing party had

passed that way into the wilderness.

"I understand the ford is not very safe, and the Indian has contrived to

leave our tents behind," said the older man. "If you can take us across,

and find the ladies, at least, shelter of any kind for the night, it

would be a kindness for which I should be glad to make any suitable

recompense."

Jimmy grinned, for it was evident that the speaker was an insular

Englishman, and quite unacquainted with the customs of that country,

wherein no rancher accepts payment for a night's hospitality. Brooke

had, however, a certain sense of humor, and touched his big shapeless

hat, which is also never done in Western Canada.

"They can have it, sir," he said. "That is, if they're not very

particular. Take the lady's bridle, Jimmy. Keep behind him, sir."

Jimmy did as he was bidden, and Brooke seized the bridle of the Cayuse

the other girl rode. The half-tamed beast, however, objected to entering

the water, and edged away from it, then rose with forehoofs in the air

while Brooke smote it on the nostrils with his fist. The girl, he

noticed, said nothing, and showed no sign of fear, though the rest were

half-way across before he had an opportunity of doing more than cast a

glance at her. Then, as he stood waist-deep in water patting the

trembling beast, he looked up.

"I hope you're not afraid," he said. "It will be a trifle deeper

presently."

He stopped with a curious abruptness as she turned her head, and stood

still with his hand on the bridle a moment or two gazing at her. She

sat, lithe and slim, but very shapely, with the skirt of the loose light

habit she had gathered in one hand just clear of the sliding foam, and

revealing the little foot in the stirrup. The moon, which hung round and

full behind her shoulder, touched one side of the face beneath the big

white hat with silvery light, that emphasized the ivory gleam of the

firm white neck. He could also just catch the sparkle of her eyes in the

shadow, and her freshness and daintiness came upon him as a revelation.

It was so long since he had seen a girl of the station she evidently

belonged to. Then she laughed, and it seemed to him that her voice was

in keeping with her appearance, for it reached him through the clamor of

the river, soft and musical.

"Oh, no," she said. "What are we stopping for?"

Brooke, who had seldom been at a loss for a neat rejoinder in England,

felt his face grow hot as he smote the pony's neck.

"I really don't know. I think it was the Cayuse stopped," he said.

The girl smiled. "One would fancy that the water was a trifle too cold

for even a pony of that kind to be anxious to stay in it."

They went on with a plunge and a flounder, and twice Brooke came near

being swept off his feet, for the pony seemed bent on taking the

shortest way to the other bank, which was, as it happened, not quite the

safest one. Still, they came through the river, and Brooke dragged the

Cayuse up the bank in time to see the rest disappear into the shanty.

Then he boldly held up his hand, and felt a curious little thrill run

through him as he swung his companion down.

"It was very good of you to come across for us, and I am afraid you must

be very wet," she said. "This is really a quite inadequate recompense."

Then she turned and left him with the pony, staring vaguely after her,

flushed in face, with a big piece of minted silver in his hand. It was

at least a minute before he slipped it into his pocket with a curious

little laugh.

"This is almost too much, and I don't know what has come over me. There

was a time when I would have been quite equal to the occasion," he

said.

Then he turned away to the stables, where Jimmy, who came in with an

armful of clothing, found him rubbing down the Cayuse with unusual

solicitude, in spite of its attempts to kick him.

"I guess you'll have to change," he said. "Those things aren't decent,

and you can put the deerskin ones on. The old man's a high-toned

Englishman going camping and fishing, and, by what she said, the younger

girl's struck on frontiersmen. When you get into that jacket you'll look

the real thing."

Brooke had no great desire to look like one of the picturesque

desperadoes who are, somewhat erroneously, supposed, in England, to

wander about the Pacific Slope, but as he mended his own clothes with

any convenient piece of flour bag, he saw that his comrade's advice was

good.

When he entered the shanty Jimmy had supper ready, but he realized, as

he had never done since he raised its log walls, the comfortless squalor

of the room. The red dust had blown into it, it was littered with

discarded clothing, lines and traps, and broken boots, while two

candles, which flickered in the draughts, stuck in whisky bottles,

furnished uncertain illumination. He had made the unsteady table, and

Jimmy had made the chairs, but the result was no great credit to either

of them, while nobody who was not very hungry would have considered the

meal his comrade laid out inviting. Still, his guests had evidently no

fault to find with it, and during it the girl whose pony he had led

once or twice glanced covertly at him.

She saw a tall man with a bronzed face of not unpleasant English type,

attired picturesquely in fringed deerskin which had crossed the

mountains from the prairie. He had grey eyes, and his hair was crisped

by the sun; but while he was, she decided, distinctly, personable and

still young, there was something in his expression which puzzled her. It

was neither diffidence nor embarrassment, and yet there was a suggestion

of constraint about him which his comrade was wholly free from. Brooke,

on his part, saw a girl with brown eyes and hair who held herself well,

and had a faint suggestion of imperiousness about her, and wondered with

an uneasiness he was by no means accustomed to what she thought of him,

since he felt that the condition of his dwelling must show her the

shiftless life he led. Still, he shook off that thought, and others that

troubled him, and played his part as host, talking, with a purpose, only

of the Canadian bush, until, when the meal was over, Jimmy, who felt

himself being left out, turned to the guests.

"A little whisky would have come in to settle those fried potatoes

down," he said. "I would have offered you some, but my partner here

slung the bottle into the river just before you came."

There was a trace of a smile in the face of the grey-haired man, but the

girl with the brown eyes looked up sharply, and once more Brooke felt

his face grow a trifle hot. Men do not as a rule fling whisky bottles

into rivers without a cogent reason, especially in Canada, where liquor

is scarce. He was, however, both astonished and annoyed at himself that

he should attach the slightest value to this stranger's good opinion.

Then, when the others seconded Jimmy's suggestion, he took a dingy

fiddle from its case, and, although there is little a rancher of that

country will not do for the pleasure of a chance guest, wondered why he

had complied so readily. He played French-Canadian dances, as the

inhabitants play them, and though only some of them may be classed as

music, became sensible that there was a curious silence of attention.

"That violin has a beautiful mellow tone," said the younger girl, whom

he had scarcely noticed. "I am, however, quite aware that there is a

good deal in the bowing."

"It might have!" said Jimmy, who disregarded his comrade's glance.

"There was once a man came along here who said it would fetch the most

of one thousand dollars. Still, every old Canadian lumberman can play

those things, and you ought to hear him on the one he calls the

Chopping. Play it for them, and I'll open the door so they can see the

night and hear the river singing."

The military gentleman stared at him, and even the girl with the brown

eyes, who was very reposeful, appeared surprised at this flight of

fancy, which nobody would, from his appearance, have expected of Jimmy.

"The Chopping? Oh, yes, of course I understand," she said. "This is the

place of all places for it. We have never heard it in such

surroundings."

Brooke smiled a little. "I'm afraid it is difficult to get moonlight and

mystery out of an American steel first string," he said. "One can't keep

it from screaming on the shifting."

He drew the bow across the strings, and save for the fret of the

snow-fed river which rose and fell in deep undertone, there was a

curious silence in the room. The younger girl watched the player with

grave appreciation in her eyes, and a little flush crept into her

companion's cheek. Perhaps she was thinking of the dollar she had given

the man who could play the famous nocturne as she had rarely heard it

played before, and owned what, though she could scarcely believe it to

be a genuine Cremona, was evidently an old Italian fiddle of no mean

value. There was also silence for at least a minute after he had laid

down the bow, and then Brooke held out the violin to the girl who had

praised its tone.

"Would you care to try the instrument?" he said.

"No," said the girl, with quiet decisiveness. "Not after that, though it

is, I think, a better one than I have ever handled."

"And I fancy I should explain that she is studying under an eminent

teacher, who professes himself perfectly satisfied with her progress,"

said the man with the grey hair.

Brooke said nothing. He knew the compliment was sincere enough, but he

had seen the appreciation in the other girl's eyes, and that pleased him

most. Then, as he put away the fiddle the man turned to him again.

"I am far from satisfied with our Siwash guide," he said. "In fact, I am

by no means sure that he knows the country, and as we propose making for

the big lake and camping by it, I should prefer to send him back if you

could recommend us anybody who would take us there."

Brooke felt a curious little thrill of anticipation, but it was the girl

with the brown eyes he glanced at. She, of course, said nothing, but,

though it seemed preposterous, Brooke fancied that she knew what he was

thinking and was not displeased.

"With your approval I would come myself, sir," he said. "There is

nothing just now to keep me at the ranch."

The other man professed himself pleased, and before Brooke retired to

his couch in the stable the matter was arranged. He did not, however,

fall asleep for several hours, which was a distinctly unusual thing with

him, and then the face of the brown-eyed girl followed him into his

dreams. Its reposefulness had impressed him the more because of the

hint of strength and pride behind it, and again he saw her sitting

fearlessly on the plunging horse in the midst of the river with the moon

round and full behind her.

II.

BROOKE TAKES THE TRAIL.

The sun had not cleared the dark firs upon the steep hillside, though

the snow on the peaks across the valley glowed with saffron light, when

Brooke came upon the girl with the brown eyes sitting on a cedar trunk

beside the river, and she looked up with a smile when he stopped beside

her. There was nobody else about, for the rest of the party had

apparently not risen yet, and Jimmy had set out to catch a trout for

breakfast. Save for the song of the river all the pine-shrouded hollow

was very still.

"I was wondering if I might ask what you thought of this country?" said

Brooke. "It is, of course, the usual question."

The girl laughed a little. "If you really wish to know, I think it is

the grandest there is on this earth, as I believe it will be one of the

greatest. Still, my liking for it isn't so astonishing, because,

although I have lived in England, I am a Canadian."

Brooke made a little deprecatory gesture. "It's a mistake I've been led

into before, and I'm not sure you would consider it a compliment if I

told you that I scarcely supposed you belonged to Canada. It also

reminds me of a friend of mine who had spent a few months in Spain, and

took some pains to teach a man, who, though he was not aware of it, had

lived fifteen years in Cuba, Castilian. Still, perhaps you will tell me

what you thought of England."

The girl did not invite him, but she drew her skirt a trifle aside, and

Brooke sat down upon the log beside her. She looked even daintier, and

appealed to his fancy more, in the searching morning light than she had

done when the moon shone down on her, which he was not altogether

prepared for. Her eyes were clear and steady in spite of the faint smile

in them, and there was no uncertainty of coloring on cheek or forehead,

which had been tinted a delicate warm brown by wind and sun.

"When you came up I was just contrasting this valley with one I remember

visiting in the Old Country," she said. "It was in the West. Major Hume,

who is with us now, once took me there, and we spent an afternoon at a

house which, I think, is older than any we have in Canada."

"In a river valley in the West Country?" said Brooke.

The girl nodded. "Yes," she said. "Ivy, with stems thicker than your

wrist, climbs about the front of it, and a lawn mown until it looks like

velvet slopes to the sliding water. A wall of clipped yews shuts it in,

and the river slides past it silently without froth or haste, as though

afraid that any sound it made would jar upon the drowsy quietness of the

place. There is a big beech wood behind it, and one little meadow, green

as an emerald, between that and the river----"

"Where the stepping-stones stretch across. A path comes twisting down

through the dimness of the wood, and there are black firs upon the ridge

above."

"Of course!" said the girl. "That is, beyond the ash poles--but how

could you know?"

Brooke smiled curiously. "I was once there--ever so long ago."

His companion seemed a trifle astonished. "Then I wonder if you felt as

I did, that those shadowy woods and dark yew hedges shut out all that is

real and strenuous in life. One could fancy that nobody did anything but

sit still and dream there."

Brooke smiled a little, though it had not escaped his attention that she

seemed to take his comprehension for granted.

"Well," he said, reflectively, "there was very little else one could do.

Anything that savored of strenuousness would have been considered

distinctly bad form in that valley."

A little sardonic twinkle flickered in the girl's eyes. "Oh," she said,

"I know. The distinction between those who work and those who idle is

marked in your country. It even seems to be considered a desirable

thing for a man to fritter his time away, so long as he does it

gracefully. Still, there is room for all one's activities, and the big

thoughts that lead to big schemes here. How far does your ranch go?"

"To the lake," said Brooke, who understood the purport of the question.

"There are four hundred acres of it, and I have, I don't mind telling

you, been here rather more than two years."

The girl glanced at the very small gap in the forest, and again the man

guessed her thoughts.

"And that is all you have cleared?"

"Yes," said Brooke, with a little smile. "One can lounge very

successfully here. Still, even if there was not a tree upon it the soil

wouldn't be worth anything, and it's only in places one can find a foot

or two of it. When I first came in, an enterprising gentleman in the

land agency business sold me this wilderness of rock and gravel to feed

cattle and grow fruit trees on, though I fancy I am not the only

confiding stranger who has been treated in the same fashion in this

country."

For a moment a curious expression, which Brooke could attach no meaning

to, crept into his companion's face, but though there was a faint flush

in her cheeks it grew suddenly reposeful again.

"I gave you a dollar last night," she said, and stopped a moment. "I

have, as I told you, lived in England, and I recognized by your voice

that you came from there, but, of course, I hadn't----"

Brooke smiled at her. "If you look at it in one light, I scarcely think

that explanation is gratifying to one's vanity. Still, you have also

lived in Canada, and you ought to know that whoever parts with a dollar

in this country, even under a misapprehension, very rarely gets it

back."

The girl regarded him gravely a moment with the faint warmth still

showing in her sun-tanned cheeks, and then looked away towards the

sliding water. She said nothing whatever, although there was a good deal

to be deduced from the man's speech. Then she rose as Major Hume came

out of the house.

They left the ranch that day, and for a week Brooke led them through

dark fir forests, and waited on them in their camps. He would also have

stayed with them longer could he have found a reasonable excuse, but, as

it happened, a most exemplary Siwash whom he knew appeared, and offered

his services, when they reached the lonely mountain-girt lake. Then he

said farewell to Major Hume, and was plodding down the homeward trail

with his packs slung about him, when he met the girl coming up from the

lake. She carried a cluster of the crimson wine-berries in her hand, and

stopped abruptly when she saw him. She and her younger companions had

been fishing that afternoon, and though Brooke could not see the latter

amidst the serried trunks, their voices broke sharply through the

stillness of the evening. It was significant that both he and the girl

stood still without speaking until the voices grew less distinct.

Then she said, quietly, "So you are going away?"

"Yes," said Brooke, a trifle grimly. "An Indian I can recommend came in

this afternoon. That made it unnecessary for me to stay."

"You seem in a hurry to go."

Brooke made a little gesture. "I fancy I have stayed with Major Hume

quite as long as is good for me. The effort it cost me to go away was

sufficiently unpleasant already. It is, you see, scarcely likely that I

shall ever spend a week like the past one again."

There was sympathy in his companion's eyes, for she had seen his

comfortless dwelling, and guessed tolerably correctly what manner of

life he led. It would, she realized, have been easier for him had he

been born a bushman, for there was no doubt in her mind that he was one

who had been accustomed to luxury in England.

"You are going back to the ranch?" she said.

"For a little while, and then I shall take the trail. Where it will lead

me is more than I know, but the ranch is as great a failure as its

owner. And yet a month--or even a week--ago I was dangerously content to

stay there."

The girl fancied she understood him, for she had seen broken men who had

lost heart in the struggle sink to the Indian's level, and ask no more

than the subsistence they could gain with rod and gun. That was,

perhaps, enough for an Indian, but it seemed to her a flinging of his

birthright away in the case of a white man. Her face was quietly grave,

and Brooke felt a little thrill run through him as he looked at her.

She stood, slender and very shapely, with unconscious pride in her pose,

in front of the great cylindrical trunk of a cedar whose grey bark

forced up every line of her white-clad figure, and he realized, when he

met the big grave eyes, that he had pulled himself upon the edge of a

precipice a week ago. He had let himself drift recklessly during the

last two years, but it was plain to him now that he would have gone down

once for all had he mated with Bella.

"I think you are doing wisely," she said, quietly. "There is a chance

for every man somewhere in this country."

Brooke smiled drily. "I am going to look for mine. Whether I shall find

it I do not know, but I am, at least, glad I have seen you. Otherwise, I

might have settled down at the ranch again."

"What have I to do with that decision?" and the girl regarded him

steadily.

"It is a trifle difficult to explain. Still, you see, your gracious

kindliness reminded me of a good deal that once was mine, and after the

past week I could never go back to the old life at the ranch. No doubt

there comes to every one who attempts to console himself with them, a

time when the husks and sty grow nauseating. I do not know why I should

tell you this, and scarcely think I would have done so had there been

any probability of our ever meeting again."

There was full comprehension in the girl's eyes, as well as a trace of

compassion, and she held out a little hand.

"Good-bye!" she said, quietly. "If they are of any value, my good wishes

go with you."

Brooke made her a little deferential inclination, as the dainty fingers

rested a moment in his hard palm; then he swung off his big shapeless

hat and turned away, but the girl stood still, looking after him, until

the lonely, plodding figure faded into the shadows of the pines, while

it was with a little thrill of sympathy she went back to camp, for she

realized it was a very great compliment the man had paid her. He was, it

seemed, turning his back on his possessions, and going away, because she

had awakened in him the latent sense of responsibility. She was,

however, also a little afraid, for no one could foresee what the result

of his decision would be, and she felt that to help in diverting the

course of another's life was no light thing.

In the meanwhile, Brooke held on up the hillside with long, swinging

strides, crashing through barberry thickets and trampling the

breast-high fern, until he stopped and made his camp on the edge of the

snow-scarped slopes when the soft darkness fell. His road was rough, and

in places perilous, but there was a relief in vigorous action now the

decision was made, and the old apathy fell from him as he climbed

towards the peaks above. It was, however, several days later when he

reached the ranch, and came upon Jimmy sprawling his ungainly length

outside it, basking in the sun. Still, the latter took his corn-cob pipe

from his lips, and became attentive when he saw his face. This, he

realized, was not altogether the same man who had left him a little

while ago.

"Get up!" said Brooke, almost sharply. "I want you to listen to me. If

it suits you to stay here by yourself, you can; in the meanwhile, do

what you like, which will, of course, be very little, with the ranch. In

return, I'll only ask you to take care of the fiddle until I send for

it. I'm going away."

Jimmy nodded, for he had expected this. "That's all right!" he said. "I

guess I'll stay. I don't know any other place where one can grub out

enough to eat quite so easily. Where're you going to?"

"I don't quite know," and Brooke smiled grimly. "Up and down the

province--anywhere I can pick up a dollar or two daily by working for

them."

"The trouble is that they're so blamed hard to stick to when you've got

them," said Jimmy, reflectively. "Now, you don't want dollars here."

"If I had two thousand of them I'd stay, and make something of the

ranch, rocky as it is."

"It couldn't be done with less, and I guess you're sensible. I'm quite

happy slouching round here, but there's a kind of difference between you

and me. That girl with the big eyes has been putting notions into you?"

Brooke made no disclaimer, and Jimmy laughed. "It's a little

curious--you don't even know who she is?"

"Her name is Barbara. She is, she told me, a Canadian."

"Canada's quite a big country," said Jimmy, reflectively. "You could put

England into its vest pocket without knowing it was there. I guess it

will be a long while before you see her again, and if you meet her in

the cities she's not going to remember you. You'd find her quite a

different kind of young woman there. When are you going?"

"At sundown. I'd go now, but I want a few hours' rest and sleep."

Jimmy looked at him with sudden concern in his face. "Then I'll be good

and lonely to-night," he said. "Say, do you think I could take out the

fiddle now and then to keep me company? I guess I could play it, like a

banjo, with my fingers."

"No," said Brooke, drily, "that's the one thing you can't do."

He flung himself down in his straw-filled bunk, dressed as he was, for

he had floundered through tangled forest since the dawn crept into the

sky; and the shadows of the cedars lay long and black upon the river

when he opened his eyes again. Jimmy was busy at the little stove, and

in another few minutes the simple meal, crudely served but barbaric in

its profusion, was upon the table. Neither of the men said very much

during it, and then Jimmy silently helped his comrade to gird his packs

about him. The sun had gone, and the valley was dim and very still when

they stood in the doorway.

"Good luck!" said Jimmy. "You'll come back by-and-by?"

Brooke smiled curiously as he shook hands with him. "If I'm ever a rich

man, I may."

Then he went out into the deepening shadows, and floundering waist-deep

through the ford, plodded up the climbing trail with his face towards

the snow. It grew a trifle grim, however, when he looked back once from

a bare hill shoulder, and saw a feeble light blink out far down in the

hollow. Jimmy, he knew, was lying, pipe in hand, beside the stove, and,

after all, the lonely ranch had been a home to him.

A man without ambition who could stifle memory might have found the life

he led there a pleasant one. Bountiful Nature fed him, the hills that

walled the valley in shut out strife and care, and now he was homeless

altogether. He had also just six dollars in his pockets, and that sum,

he knew, will not go a very long way in Western Canada.

As he gazed, the fleecy mist that rolled up from the river blotted out

the light, and the man felt the deep stillness and loneliness as he had

not done since he first came there. That sudden eclipse of Jimmy's light

seemed very significant just then, for he knew it would never burn again

as a beacon for him. The last red gleam had also faded off the snow,

and, with a jerk at the pack straps that galled his shoulders, he set

his lips, and swung away into the darkness of the coming night.

III.

THE NARROW WAY.

The big engine was running slowly, which did not happen often, and

Brooke, who leaned on the planer table, was thankful for the respite. A

belt slid round above him, and on either side were turning wheels, while

he had in front of him a long vista of sliding logs, whirring saws, and

toiling men. The air was heavy with gritty dust, and a sweet resinous

smell, while here and there a blaze of sunshine streamed into the great

open-sided building. Something had gone wrong with the big engine, and

its sonorous panting, which reverberated across the still, blue inlet,

had slackened a trifle. There was not, as a result of this, power enough

to drive all the machines in the mill, and Brooke was waiting until the

engineer should set matters right.

It was very hot in the big shed. In fact, the cedar shingles on the roof

were crackling overhead; and Brooke's thin jean garments were soaked

with perspiration. The dust the planer threw off had also worked its way

through them, and adhered in smeary patches to his dripping face, while

his hair and eyebrows might have been rubbed with flour. That fine

powder was, however, not the worst, for he was also covered with

prismatic grains of wood, whose sharp angles caused him an intolerable

irritation when his garments rasped across his flesh. His hands were raw

and bleeding, there was a cramp in one shoulder, and an ache, which now

and then grew excruciating, down all the opposite side of him.

The toilers are, as a rule, at least, liberally paid in Western Canada,

but a good deal is expected from them, and the manager of the mill had

installed that planer because it could, the makers claimed, be run by

one live man. The workmen, however, said that if he held to the contract

he would very soon be dead, and Brooke was already worn out with the

struggle to keep pace with steam. It was a long while since he had

toiled much at the ranch, and in England he had not toiled at all,

while, as he stood there, gasping, and hoping that the engineer would

not get through his task too soon, he remembered that on the two

eventful occasions in his life when he had made a commendable decision,

it had brought him only trouble and strain. The way of the virtuous, it

seemed, was hard.

He turned languidly when a man who carried an oil can came by and

stopped a moment beside him.

"You're looking kind of played out," said the newcomer.

"It's not astonishing," said Brooke. "I feel quite that way."

"Then I guess that's a kind of pity. The boss will have the belt on the

relief shaft in a minute now, and he allows he's going to cut every foot

as much as usual by the supper hour. You'll have to shake yourself quite

lively. How long've you been on to that planer?"

"A month."

"Well," said the engineer, "she broke the last man up in considerably

less time than that. Weak in the chest he was, and when we were driving

her lively he used to cough up blood. He had to let up sudden one day,

and he's in the hospital now. Say, can't you strike somebody for a

softer job?"

"I'm afraid I can't," said Brooke, drily. "I'll have to go on till I'm

beaten."

The engineer made a little gesture of comprehension as he passed on, for

the attitude the Englishman had adopted is not uncommon in the Dominion

of Canada, or the country where toil is at least as arduous to the south

of it. Men who demand, and not infrequently obtain, the full value of

their labor, are proud of their manhood there, and there was an innate

resoluteness in Brooke, which had never been wholly awakened in England.

Suddenly, however, the belt above him ran round; there was a clash as he

slipped in the clutch, and a noisy whirring which sank to a deeper tone

when he flung a rough redwood board upon the table. The whirring millers

took hold of it, and its splintery edges galled his raw hands as he

guided it, while thick dust and woody fragments torn off by the

trenchant steel, whirled about him in a stream until his eyes were

blinded and his nostrils filled. Then the board slid off the table

smooth on one side, and he knew that he was lagging when the hum of the

millers changed to a thin scream. They must not at any cost be kept

waiting for their food, for by inexorable custom so many feet of dressed

lumber every day was due from that machine.

He flung up another heavy piece, reckless of the splinters in his hand,

made no pause to wipe the rust from his smarting eyes, and peering at

the spinning cutters blindly thrust upon the end of the board, and

wondered vaguely whether this was what man was made for, or how long

flesh and blood could be expected to stand the strain. The board went

off the table with a crash, and it was time for the next, while Brooke,

who bent sideways with a distressful crick in his waist, once more faced

the sawdust stream with lowered head. It ceased only for a second or

two, while he stooped from the table to the lumber that slid by

gravitation to his feet, and he knew that to let that stream overtake

him and pile up would proclaim his incapacity and defeat. So long as he

was there he must keep pace with it, whatever tax it laid upon his jaded

body.

He did it for an hour, flagging all the while, for it was a task no man

could have successfully undertaken unless he had done such work before,

and Brooke's head was aching under a tension which had grown unendurable

that afternoon. Then the screaming millers closed upon a knot in the

wood, and, half-dazed as he was, he thrust upon the board savagely,

instead of easing it. There was a crash, a big piece of steel flew

across the table, and the hum of the machine ceased suddenly. Brooke

laughed grimly, and sat down gasping. He had done his best, and now he

was not altogether sorry that he was beaten.

He was still sitting there when a dusty man in store clothes, with a

lean, intent face, came along and glanced at the planer before he looked

at him.

"You let her get ahead of you, and tried to make up time by feeding her

too hard?" he said.

"No," said Brooke. "Not exactly! She got hold of a knot."

"Same thing!" said the other man. "You've smashed her, anyway, and it

will cost the company most of three hundred dollars before we get her

running again. You don't expect me to keep you after that?"

Brooke smiled drily. "I'm not quite sure that I'd like to stay."

"Then we'll fix it so it will suit everybody. I'll give you your pay

order up to now, and you'll be glad I ran you out by-and-by. There are

no chances saw-milling unless you're owner, and it's quite likely

somebody's got a better use for you."

Brooke understood this as a compliment, and took his order, after which

he had a spirited altercation with the clerk, who desired him to wait

for payment until it was six o'clock, which he would not do. Then he

went back to his little cubicle, which, with its flimsy partitions one

could hear his neighbor snoring through, resembled a cell in a hive of

bees, in the big boarding-house, and slept heavily until he was awakened

by the clangor of the half-past six supper bell. He descended, and,

devouring his share of the meal in ten minutes, which is about the usual

time in that country, strolled leisurely into the great general room,

which had a big stove in the middle and a bar down one side of it. He

already loathed the comfortless place, from the hideous oleographs on

the bare wood walls down to the uncleanly sawdust on the floor.

He sat down, and two men, whose acquaintance he had made during his stay

there, lounged across to him. Trade was slack in the province then, and

both wore very threadbare jean. There was also a significant moodiness

in their gaunt faces which suggested that they had felt the pinch of

adversity.

"You let up before supper-time?" said one.

"I did," said Brooke, a trifle grimly. "I broke up the Kenawa planer in

the Tomlinson mill. That's why I came away. I'm not going back again."

One of the men laughed softly. "Then it was only the square thing. Since

we've been here that planer has broke up two or three men. Held out a

month, didn't you? What were you at before that?"

"Road-making, firing at a cannery, surrey packing. I've a ranch that

doesn't pay, you see?"

The other man smiled again. "So have we! Half the deadbeats in this

country are landholders, too. Two men couldn't get away with many of the

big trees on our lot in a lifetime, and one has to light out and earn

something to put the winter through. This month Jake and I have made

'bout twenty dollars between us. I guess your trouble's want of

capital--same as ours. One can't do a great deal with a hundred dollars.

Still, you'd have had more than that when you came in?"

"I had," said Brooke, drily. "I put six thousand into the land, or

rather the land-agent's bank, besides what I spent on clearing a little

of it, and when I've paid my board and for the clothes I bought, I'll

have about four dollars now."

"That's how those land-company folks get rich," said one of the men.

"Was it a piece of snow mountain he sold you, or a bottomless swamp?"

"Rock. One might have drained a swamp."

The men smiled. "Well," said the first of them, "that's not always easy.

A man's not a steam navvy--but the game's an old one. It was the Indian

Spring folks played it off on you?"

"No. It was Devine."

There was a little silence, and then the men appeared reflective.

"Now, if any man in that business goes tolerably straight, it's Devine,"

said one of them. "Of course, if a green Britisher comes along bursting

to hand over the bills for any kind of land, he'll oblige him, but I'd

sit down and think a little before I called Devine a thief. Anyway, he's

quite a big man in the province."

The bronze deepened a trifle in Brooke's face. "I can't see any

particular difference between a swindler and a thief. In any case, the

man robbed me, and if I live long enough I'll get even with him."

"That's going to be quite a big contract," said one of the men. "It's

best to lie low and wait for another fool when you've been taken in.

Besides, there's many a worse man in his own line than Devine. There was

one fellow up at Jamieson's when the rush was on. He could talk the

shoes off a mule--and he was an Englishman. Whatever any man wanted,

fruit-land, mineral-land, sawing lumber, and gold outcrop, he'd got.

Picked it out on the survey map and sold it him. For 'most a month he

rolled the dollars in, and then the circus began. The folks who'd made

the deals went up to see their land, and most of them found it belonged

to another man. You see, if three of them wanted maple bush, that's

generally good soil and light to clear, and he'd only one piece of it,

he sold the same lot to all of them. They went back with clubs, but that

man knew when to light out, and he didn't wait for them."

Brooke sat silent awhile. He knew that the story was not a very unlikely

one, for while, in view of the simplicity of the Canadian land tenure

legislation, there is no reason why any man should be swindled, as a

matter of fact, a good many are. He was also irritated that he had

allowed himself to indulge in what he realized must have appeared a

puerile threat. This was, of course, of no moment in itself, but he felt

that it showed how he was losing hold of the nice discretion he had, at

least, affected in England. Still, he meant exactly what he had said.

During the greater portion of two years he had attempted a hopeless

task, and then, discovering his folly, resigned himself, and drifted

idly, perilously near the brink of the long declivity which Englishmen

of good upbringing not infrequently descend with astonishing swiftness

in that country, and for that, rightly or wrongly, he blamed the man who

had robbed him. Then the awakening had come, and he saw that while there

were many careers open to a man with six thousand dollars, or even half

of them, there was only strenuous physical toil for the man with none.

He had attempted it, but proficiency in even the more brutal forms of

labor cannot be attained in a day, and he now looked back on a year of

hardship and effort which had left an indelible mark on him.

It had been a season when there was little industrial enterprise, and he

had no friends, while the dollars he gained were earned for the most

part by the strain of overtaxed muscles and bleeding hands. He had

toiled up to his waist in snow-water at the mines, swung the shovel

under the lashing deluge driving a Government road over a big divide,

hung from dizzy railroad trestles holding with fingers bruised by the

hammer the spikes the craftsmen drove, and been taught all there is to

learn about exposure and fatigue. He had braced himself to bear it,

though he had lived softly in England, but each time he crawled into

draughty tent or reeking shanty, wet through, with aching limbs, at

night, he remembered the man who had robbed him.

It was, perhaps, not altogether astonishing that under such conditions

the wrong done him should assume undue proportions, and that when a

slipping hammer laid his knuckles bare he should charge the smart to

Devine, and long for the reckoning. The man who had condemned him to

this life of toil had, he told himself, grown rich by theft, and he

dwelt upon his injury until the memory of it possessed him. It was not,

however, the physical hardship that troubled him most, but the thought

of the opportunities he had lost, for since he had seen the girl with

the brown eyes they had assumed their due value. Devine had not only

taken his dollars, but had driven him out from the society of those who

had been his equals, and made him one who could scarcely hope to meet a

woman of refinement on friendly terms again. Coarse fare and a life of

brutal toil were all that seemed left to him. There were, he knew, men

in that country who had commenced with a very few dollars, and acquired

a competence, but they were not young Englishmen brought up as he had

been.

"You are the only man I've ever heard say anything good about any one in

the land business, and it does not amount to much at that," he said.

"Devine has been successful so far, but even gentlemen of his talents

are liable to make a mistake occasionally, and if ever he makes a big

one, it will probably go hardly with him. That, at least, is one

consolation."

Another man who had been standing near the bar sauntered towards them,

cigar in hand. He was dressed in store clothing, and his hands were, as

Brooke noticed, not those of a workman, though they seemed wiry and

capable. He had penetrating dark eyes, and the Western business man's

lean, intent face, while Brooke would have guessed his age at a little

over thirty.

"I don't mind admitting that I heard a little," he said. "Those

land-agency fellows have a good deal to account for. You're not exactly

struck on Devine?"

"No," said Brooke, drily. "I have no particular cause to be. Still, that

really does not concern everybody."

"Beat him out of six thousand dollars!" said one of his companions.

The stranger laughed a little. "He has done me out of a good many more,

but one has to take his chances in this country. You are working at the

Tomlinson mill?"

"No," said Brooke. "I was turned out to-day."

"Got no notion where to strike next?"

"No."

The stranger, who did not seem at all repulsed by his abruptness, looked

at him reflectively.

"I heard they were wanting survey packers up at the Johnston Lake in the

bush," he said. "A Government man's starting to run the line through to

the big range Thursday. If you took him this card up he might put you

on."

Brooke took the card, and a little tinge of color crept into his face.

"I appreciate the kindness, but still, you see, you know nothing

whatever about me," he said.

The stranger laughed. "I wouldn't worry. We're not particular in this

country. Go up, and show him the card if you feel like it. I've been in

a tight place myself once or twice, and we'll take it as an

introduction. A good many people know me--you are Mr. Brooke?"

Brooke admitted it, and after a few minutes' conversation, the stranger,

who informed him that he had come there in the hope of meeting a man who

did not seem likely to put in an appearance now, moved away.

"Thomas P. Saxton. What is he?" said Brooke to his companions, as he

glanced at the card.

"Puts through mine and sawmill deals," said one of the men. "I'd light

out for Johnston Lake right away, and if you have the dollars take the

cars. Atlantic express is late to-night, waiting the Empress boat, and

if you get off at Chumas, you'll only have 'bout twelve leagues to walk.

I figure it will cost you four dollars."

Brooke decided that it would be advisable to take the risk, and when he

had settled with his host and a storekeeper, found he had about six

dollars left. When he went out, one of the ranchers looked at the other.

He was the one who had spoken least, and a quiet, observant man, from

Ontario.

"I'm not that sure it was good advice you gave him," he said.

"No," said his companion.

The other man appeared reflective. "I was watching Saxton, and he kind

of woke up when Brooke let out about Devine. Now, it seems to me, it

wasn't without a reason he put him on to that survey."

His companion laughed. "It doesn't count, anyway. The Government's

dollars are certain."

"Well," said the Ontario man, drily, "if I had to give one of the pair

any kind of a hold on me, I figure from what I've heard it would be

Devine instead of Saxton."

IV.

SAXTON MAKES AN OFFER.

It was raining as hard as it not infrequently does in the mountain

province, and the deluge lashed the sombre pines that towered above the

dripping camp, when Brooke stood in the entrance of the Surveyor's tent.

He was wet to the skin, as well as weary, for he had walked most of

thirty miles that day over a very bad trail, and was but indifferently

successful in his attempts to hide his anxiety. The Surveyor also

noticed the grimness of his wet face, and dallied a moment with the card

he held, for he had known what fatigue and short commons were in his

early days.

"I'm sorry I can't take you, but I've two more men than I've any

particular use for already," he said at last. "I can't give you a place

to spread your blankets in to-night either, because the freighter didn't

bring up all our tents. Still, you might make Beasley's Hotel, and

strike Saxton's prospectors, if you head back over the divide. He has a

few men up there opening up a silver lead."

Brooke said nothing, and the Surveyor turned to his assistant as he

moved away. "It's rough on that man, and he seems kind of played out,"

he said. "I can't quite figure, either, why Saxton sent him here, when

he's putting men on at his mine. It seems to me I told him I was only

going to take men who'd packed for me before."

In the meanwhile, Brooke stood still a few moments in the rain. He was

aching all over, and his wet boots galled him, while he was also very

hungry, and uncertain what to do. There was nothing to be gained by

pushing on four leagues to Beasley's Hotel, even if he had been capable

of doing it, which was not the case, because he had just then only two

or three copper coins worth ten cents in his pocket. It was, he knew,

scarcely likely he would be turned out for that reason, but he had not

yet come down to asking a stranger's charity. Supper, which he would

have been offered a share of, was also over, and there was not a ranch

about, only a dripping wilderness, for he had plodded on after the

Surveyor from the lonely settlement at Johnston Lake.

It was very enviously he watched two men piling fresh branches on a

crackling fire. Darkness was not far away, and already a light shone

through the wet canvas of the Surveyor's tent. A cheerful hum of voices

came out from the others, and a man was singing in one of them. The

survey packers had, at least, a makeshift shelter for the night, food in

sufficiency, and such warmth as the fires and their damp blankets might

supply, while he had nowhere to lay his head. The smell of the stinging

wood smoke was curiously alluring, and he felt as he glanced at the

black wall of bush which closed in upon the little camp that his

hardihood was deserting him, and in another minute he would go back and

offer his services in return for food. Then his pride came to the

rescue, and, turning away abruptly, he plodded back into the bush, where

a bitter wind that came down from the snow blew the drips from the great

branches into his face.

He kept to the trail instinctively, though he did not know where he was

going, or why, when one place had as little to commend itself as

another, he blundered on at all, except that he was getting cold, until

the creeping dark surprised him at a forking of the way. He knew that

the path he had come by led through a burnt forest and thin willow bush,

while great cedars shrouded the other, which apparently wound up a

valley towards the heights above. They promised, at least, a little more

shelter than the willows, but that, he fancied, must be the trail that

crossed the divide and it led into a desolation of rock and forest. He

had very little hope of being offered employment at the mine the

Surveyor had mentioned, and stood still for several minutes with the

rain beating into his face, while, though he did not know it then, a

good deal depended on his decision. A little mist rolled out of the

valley, and it was growing very cold, while the dull roar of a snow-fed

torrent made the silence more impressive.

Then, attracted solely by the sombre clustering of the cedars, which

promised to keep off at least a little of the rain, he turned up the

valley with a shiver, and finally unrolled his one wet blanket under a

big tree. There was an angle among its roots, which ran along the

ground, and, scooping a hollow in the withered sprays, he crawled into

it, and lay down with his back to the trunk. The roar of the river

seemed louder now, and he could hear a timber wolf howling far off on

the hillside. He was very cold and hungry, but his weariness blunted the

sense of physical discomfort, though as yet his activity of mind

remained, and he asked himself what he had gained by leaving the ranch,

and could find no answer.

Still, even then, he would not regret that he had broken away, for there

was in him an inherent obstinacy, and he would have struggled on at the

ranch had not the absence of funds precluded it, and consideration shown

him that it would be merely throwing his toil away. Life, it seemed, had

very little to offer him, but now he had made the decision he would

adhere to it, though he had arrived at the resolution in cold blood, for

it was his reason only which had responded to the girl's influence, and

as yet what was spiritual in him remained untouched. He would not live

as the Indians do, or sink into a sot. There were vague possibilities

before him which, though this appeared most unlikely, might prove

themselves facts, and the place he had been born to in England might yet

be his. That was why he would not sell his birthright for a mess of

stringy venison, and the deleterious whisky sold at the settlement,

which seemed to him a most unfair price. Still, he went no further, even

when he thought of the girl, which he did with dispassionate admiration.

Worn-out as he was, he slept, and awakened in the grey dawn almost unfit

to rise. There was a distressful pain in his hip-joints, which those who

sleep in the open are acquainted with, and at the first few steps he

took his face went awry, but his physical nature demanded warmth and

food, and there was only one way of obtaining it before the life went

out of him. Whatever effort it cost him, he must reach the mine. He set

out for it, limping, while the sharp gravel rolled under his bleeding

feet as he floundered up the climbing trail. It seemed to lead upwards

for ever between endless colonnades of towering trunks, and when at last

pine and cedar had been left behind, there was slippery rock smoothed by

sliding snow to be clambered over.

Still, reeling and gasping, he held on, and it was afternoon, and he had

eaten nothing for close on thirty hours, when a filmy trail of smoke

that drifted faintly blue athwart the climbing pines beneath him caught

his eye. He braced himself for the effort to reach it, and went down

with loose, uneven strides, smashing through sal-sal and barberry when

he reached the bush again. The fern met above his head, there were mazes

of fallen trunks to be scrambled through, and he tore the soaken jean

that clung about him to rags in his haste. Still, he had learned to

travel straight in the bush, and at last he staggered into sight of the

mine.

There was a little scar on the hillside, an iron shanty, a few soaked

tents and shelters of bark, but the ringing clink of the drills vibrated

about them, and a most welcome smell of wood smoke came up to him with a

murmur of voices. Brooke heard them faintly, and did not stop until a

handful of men clustered about him, while, as he blinked at them, one,

who appeared different from the others, pushed his way through the

group.

"You seem considerably used up," he said.

"I am," said Brooke, hoarsely, "I'm almost starving."

It occurred to him that the man's voice ought to be familiar, but it was

a few moments before he recognized him as the one who had sent him on

the useless journey after the Surveyor.

"Then come right along. It's not quite supper-time, but there's food in

the camp," he said.

Brooke went with him to the shanty, where he fell against a chair, and

found it difficult to straighten himself when he picked it up. Saxton,

so far as he could remember, asked no questions, but smiled at him

reassuringly while he explained, somewhat incoherently, what had brought

him there, until a man appeared with a big tray. Then Brooke ate

strenuously.

"Some folks have a notion that one can kill himself by getting through

too much at once when he's 'most starved," said Saxton. "I never found

it work out that way in this country."

"Were you ever almost starved?" said Brooke, who felt the life coming

back to him, with no great show of interest.

"Oh, yes," said Saxton, drily. "Twice, at least. I was three days

without food the last time. One has to take his chances in the ranges,

and you don't pick up dollars without trouble anywhere. Still, we'll

talk of that afterwards. Had enough?"

Brooke said he fancied he had, and Saxton hammered upon the iron roof of

the shanty until a man appeared.

"Give him a pair of blankets, Ike. He can sleep in the lean-to," he

said.

Brooke went with the man, vacantly, and in another few minutes found

himself lying in dry blankets on a couch of springy twigs. He was

sensible that it was delightfully warm, but he could not remember how he

got there, and was wondering why the rain no longer lashed his face,

when sleep came to him.

It was next morning when he was awakened by the roar of a blasting

charge, and lay still with an unusual sense of comfort until the silence

that followed it was broken by the clinking of the drills. Then he rose

stiffly, and put on his clothes, which he found had been dried, and was

informed by a man who appeared while he was doing it that his breakfast

was waiting. Brooke wondered a little at this, for he knew that it was

past the usual hour, but he made an excellent meal, and then, being

shown into a compartment of the little galvanized iron shanty, found

Saxton sitting at a table. The latter now wore long boots and jean, and

there were pieces of discolored stone strewn about in front of him.

He looked up with a little nod as Brooke came in. "Feeling quite

yourself again?" he said.

"Yes," said Brooke, "thanks to the way your men have treated me. This

is, of course, a hospitable country, but I may admit that I could

scarcely have expected to be so well looked after by one I hadn't the

slightest claim upon."

"And you almost wondered what he did it for?"

Brooke was a trifle astonished, for this certainly expressed his

thoughts, but he was in no way disconcerted, and he laughed.

"I should, at least, never have ventured to suggest that anything except

good-nature influenced you," he said.

"Still, you felt it? Well, you were considerably used up when you came

in, and, as I sent you to the Surveyor, who didn't seem to have any use

for you, I felt myself responsible. That appears sufficient?"

Now, Brooke had mixed with men of a good many different stations, and he

was observant, and, as might have been expected, by no means diffident.

"Since you ask, I scarcely think it does," he said.

Saxton laughed. "Take a cigar. That's the kind of talk I like. We'll

come to the point right away."

Brooke lighted a cigar, and found it good. "Thanks. I'm willing to

listen as long as appears necessary," he said.

"You have a kind of grievance against Devine?"

"I have. According to my notion of ethics, he owes me six thousand

dollars, and I shall not be quite content until I get them out of him,

although that may never happen. I feel just now that it would please me

especially to make him smart as well, which I quite realize, is

unnecessary folly."

The Canadian nodded, and shook the ash from his cigar. "Exactly," he

said. "A man with sense keeps his eye on the dollars, and leaves out the

sentiment. It's quite apt to get in his way and trip him up. Well,

suppose I could give you a chance of getting those dollars back?"

"I should be very much inclined to take it. Still, presumably, you do

not mean to do it out of pure good-nature?"

"No, sir," said Saxton, drily. "I'm here to make dollars. That has been

my object since I struck out for myself at fourteen, and I've piled

quite a few of them together. I'd have had more only that wherever I

plan a nice little venture in mines or land up and down this province, I

run up against Devine. That's quite straight, isn't it?"

"I fancy it is. You are suggesting community of interest? Still, I

scarcely realize how a man with empty pockets could be of very much use

to you."

"I have a kind of notion that you could be if it suited you. I want a

man with grit in him, who has had a good education, and could, if it was

necessary, mix on equal terms with the folks in the cities."

"One would fancy there were a good many men of that kind in Canada."

Saxton appeared reflective. "Oh, yes," he said, drily. "The trouble is

that most of them have got something better to do, and I can't think of

one who has any special reason for wanting to get even with Devine."

"That means the work you have in view would scarcely suit a man who was

prosperous, or likely to be fastidious?"

"No," said Saxton, simply. "I don't quite think it would. Still, I've

seen enough to show me that you can take the sensible point of view. We

both want dollars, and I can't afford to be particular. I'm not sure you

can, either."

Brooke sat silent awhile. He could, at least, appreciate the Canadian's

candor, while events had rubbed the sentiment he had once had plenty of

out of him, and left him a somewhat hard and bitter man. The woman he

believed in had used him very badly, and the first man he trusted in

Canada had plundered him. Brooke was, unfortunately, young when he was

called upon to face the double treachery, and had generalized too freely

from too limited premises. He felt that in all society there must be a

conflict between the men who had all to gain and those who had anything

worth keeping, and sentiment, it seemed, was out of place in that

struggle.

"As you observed, I can't afford to be too particular," he said. "Still,

it is quite possible I might not be prepared to go quite so far as you

would wish me."

The Canadian laughed. "I'll take my chances. Nobody can bring up any

very low-down game against me. Well, are you open to consider my offer?"

"You haven't exactly made one yet."

"Then we'll fix the terms. Until one of us gives the other notice that

he lets up on this agreement, you will do just what I tell you. Pay will

be about the usual thing for whatever you're set to do. It would be

reasonably high if I put you on to anything in the cities."

"Is that likely?"

"I've a notion that we might get you into a place where you could watch

Devine's game for me. I want to feel quite sure of it before I take any

chances with that kind of man. If I struck him for anything worth while,

you would have a share."

Brooke's face flushed just a trifle, and again he sat silent a moment or

two. Then he laughed somewhat curiously.

"Well," he said, "I suppose there are no other means, and the man robbed

me."

Saxton smiled. "If we pull off the deal I'm figuring on, your share

might 'most work up to those six thousand dollars. They're yours."

Brooke realized that it was a clever man he was dealing with, but in his

present state of mind the somewhat vague arrangement commended itself to

him. He was, he decided, warranted in getting his six thousand dollars

back by any means that were open to him. More he did not want, for he

still retained in a slight degree the notions instilled into him in

England, which had, however, since he was seldom able to indulge in

them, not tended to make him happier.

"There is a point you don't seem to have grasped," he said. "Since I am

not to be particular, can't you conceive that it would not be pleasant

for you if Devine went one better?"

Saxton laughed. "I've met quite a few Englishmen--of your

kind--already," he said. "That's why I feel that when you've taken my

dollars you're not going to go back on me without giving me warning.

Besides, Devine would be considerably more likely to fix you up in quite

another way. Now, I want an answer. Is it a deal?"

"It is," said Brooke, who, in spite of the fashion in which he had

expressed himself during the last few minutes, felt a slight warmth in

his face. Though he could not afford to be particular, there was one

aspect of the arrangement which did not commend itself to him.

Saxton nodded. "Then, as you'll want to know a little about mining,

we'll put you on now, helping the drillers, at $2.50 a day. You'll get

considerably more by-and-by. Take this little treatise on the minerals

of the province, and keep it by you."

V.

BARBARA RENEWS AN ACQUAINTANCE.

There was an amateur concert for a commendable purpose in the Vancouver

opera-house, which, since the inhabitants of the mountain province do

not expect any organized body to take over their individual

responsibilities, was a somewhat unusual event, and Miss Barbara

Heathcote, who had not as yet found it particularly entertaining, was

leaning back languidly in her chair.

"There are really one or two things they do a little better in the Old

Country," she said.

The young man who sat beside her laughed. "There must be, or you never

would have admitted it," he said. "Still, I'm not sure you would find

many folks who would believe you here."

"One has to be candid occasionally," and Barbara made a little gesture

of weariness. "There is still another hour of it, but, I sincerely hope,

not another cornet solo. What comes next? We were a little late, and

nobody provided me with a programme. They are inconsistent. Milly, I

notice, has several."

The man opened the paper which a girl Barbara glanced at handed him.

"A violin solo," he said. "I think they mean Schumann, but it's not

altogether astonishing that they've spelt it wrong. A man called Brooke

is put down for it."

"Brooke!" said Barbara, a trifle sharply. "Where does he come from? Do

you know him?"

"I can't say I do----" the man commenced reflectively, and stopped a

moment when he saw the little smile in the girl's brown eyes. "What were

you thinking?"

"I was wondering whether that means he can't be worth knowing."

"Well," said the man, good-humoredly, "there are, I believe, one or two

decent folks in this city I haven't had the pleasure of meeting, but you

were a trifle too previous. I don't know him, but if he's the man I

think he is, I've heard about him. He came down from the bush lately,

and somebody put him on to Naseby, the surveyor. Naseby's busy just now,

doing a good deal for the Government--Crown mineral lands, I think, or

something of that kind--and he took the man. I understand he's quite

smart at the bush work, and Naseby's pleased with him. That's about all

I can tell you. You're scarcely likely to know him."

Barbara sat silent a space, looking about her while the amateur

orchestra chased one another through the treacherous mazes of an

overture. The handsome building was well filled, but there were one or

two empty places at hand, for the man who had sent her there had taken a

row of them and sent tickets to his friends, as was expected from a

citizen of his importance. It was, in the usual course, scarcely likely

that she would know a man who had lately been installed in a subordinate

place in a surveyor's service, for her acquaintances were people of

position in that province, and yet she had a very clear recollection of

a certain rancher Brooke who played the violin.

"I once met a man of that name in the bush," she said, with almost

overdone indifference. "Still, he is scarcely likely to be the same

one."

Her companion started another topic, and neither of them listened to the

orchestra, though the girl was a trifle irritated at herself for wishing

that the overture had been shorter. At last, when the second violins

were not more than a note behind the rest, the music stopped, and

Barbara sat very still with eyes fixed on the stage while the usual

little stir and rustle of draperies ran round the building. Then there

was silence for a moment, and she was sensible of a curious little

thrill as a man who held a violin came forward into the blaze of light.

He wore conventional evening-dress in place of the fringed deerskin she

had last seen him in, and she decided that it became his somewhat spare,

symmetrical figure almost as well. The years he had spent swinging axe

and pounding drill had toughened and suppled it, and yet left him free

from the coarsening stamp of toil, which is, however, not as a rule a

necessary accompaniment of strenuous labor in that country. Standing

still a moment quietly at his ease, straight-limbed, sinewy, with a

little smile in his frost-bronzed face, he was certainly a personable

man, and for no very apparent reason she was pleased to notice that two

of her companions were regarding him with evident approbation.

"I think one could call him quite good-looking," said the girl beside

her. "He has been in this country a while, but I wouldn't call him a

Canadian. Not from this side of the Rockies, anyway."

"Why?" asked Barbara, mainly to discover how far her companion's

thoughts coincided with her own.

"Well," said the other girl, reflectively, "it seems to me he takes it

too easily. If he had been one of us he'd have either been grim and

serious or worrying with the strings. We're most desperately in earnest,

but they do things as though they didn't count in the Old Country. Now

he has got the A right off without the least fussing, as if he couldn't

help doing it."

The explanation was rather suggestive than definite, but Barbara was

satisfied with it. She was usually a reposeful young woman herself, and

the man's graceful tranquillity, which was of a kind not to be met with

every day in that country, appealed to her. Then he drew the bow across

the strings, and she sat very still to listen. It was not music that a

good many of his audience were accustomed to, but scarcely a dress

rustled or a programme fluttered until he took the fiddle from his

shoulder. Then, while the plaudits rang through the building, his eyes

met Barbara's. Leaning forward a trifle in her chair, she saw the sudden

intentness of his face, but he gazed at her steadily for a moment

without sign of recognition. Then she smiled graciously, for that was

what she had expected of him, and again felt a faint thrill of content,

for his eyes were fixed on her when as the tumult of applause increased

he made a little inclination.

He was not permitted to retire, and when he put the fiddle to his

shoulder again she knew why he played the nocturne she had heard in the

bush. It was also, she felt, in a fashion significant that it had now,

in place of the roar of a snow-fed river, the chords of a grand piano

for accompaniment, though the latter, it seemed to her, made an

indifferent substitute. The bronze-faced man in deerskin had fitted the

surroundings in which she had seen him, and they had been close comrades

in the wilderness for a week. It could, she knew, scarcely be the same

in the city, but she saw that he was, at least, equally at home there.

It was only their relative positions that had changed, for the guide was

the person of importance in the primeval bush, and the fact that he had

waited without a sign until she smiled showed that he had not failed to

recognize it. When at last he moved away she turned to the man at her

side.

"Will you go down and ask Mr. Brooke to come here?" she said. "You can

tell him that I would like to speak to him."

The young man did not express any of the astonishment he certainly felt,

but proceeded to do her bidding, though it afforded him no particular

pleasure, for there was a certain imperiousness about Barbara Heathcote

which was not without its effect. Brooke was putting away his fiddle

when he came upon him.

"I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr. Brooke, but it seems

you know a friend of mine," he said. "If you are at liberty, Miss

Heathcote would like to see you."

"Miss Heathcote?" said Brooke, for it had happened, not unnaturally,

that he had never heard the girl's full name. Her companions, of whom he

had not felt warranted in inquiring it, had called her Barbara in the

bush, and he had addressed her without prefix.

"Yes," said the other, who was once more a trifle astonished. "Miss

Barbara Heathcote."

He glanced at Brooke sharply, or he would not have seen the swift

content in his face, for the latter put a sudden restraint upon himself.

"Of course! I will come with you at once," he said, and a minute or two

later took the vacant place at Barbara's side.

"You do not appear very much surprised, and yet it was a long way from

here I saw you last," she said.

Brooke fancied she meant that it was under somewhat different

circumstances, and sat looking at her with a little smile. She was also,

he decided, even better worth inspection than she had been in the bush,

for the rich attire became her, and the garish electric radiance

emphasized the gleam of the white shoulder the dainty laces clung about

and of the ivory neck the moonlight had shone upon when first they met.

"No," he said. "The fact is, I have seen you already on several

occasions in this city."

Barbara glanced at him covertly. "Then why did you not claim

recognition?"

"Isn't the reason obvious?"

"No," said Barbara, reflectively, "I scarcely think it is--unless, of

course, you had no desire to renew the acquaintance."

"Does one usually renew a chance acquaintance made with a packer in the

bush?"

"It would depend a good deal on the packer," said Barbara, quietly. "Now

this country is----"

There was a trace of dryness in Brooke's smile. "You were going to say a

democratic one. That, of course, might to some extent explain the

anomaly."

"No," said Barbara, sharply, with a very faint flush of color in her

face, "I was not. You ought to know that, too. Explanations are

occasionally odious, and almost always difficult, but both Major Hume

and his daughter invited you to their house if you were ever in

England."

"The Major may have felt himself tolerably safe in making that offer,"

said Brooke, reflectively. "You see, I am naturally acquainted with my

fellow Briton's idiosyncrasies."

The girl looked at him with a little sparkle in her eyes. "I do not know

why you are adopting this attitude, or assigning one to me," she said.

"Did we ever attempt to patronize you, and if we had done, is there any

reason why you should take the trouble to resent it?"

Brooke laughed softly. "I scarcely think I could afford to resent a

kindness, however it was offered; but there is a point you don't quite

seem to have grasped. How could I be certain you had remembered me?"

The girl smiled a little. "Your own powers of recollection might have

furnished a standard of comparison."

Brooke looked at her steadily. "The sharpness of the memory depends upon

the effect the object one wishes to recollect produced upon one's

mind," he said. "I should, of course, have known you at once had it been

twenty years hence."

The girl turned to her programme, for now she had induced him to abandon

his reticence his candor was almost disconcerting.

"Well," she said. "Tell me what you have been doing. You have left the

ranch?"

Brooke nodded and glanced at the hand he laid on his knee, which, as the

girl saw, was still ingrained and hard.

"Road-making for one thing," he said. "Chopping trees, quarrying rock,

and following other useful occupations of the kind. They are, one

presumes, healthy and necessary, but I did not find any of them

especially remunerative."

"And now?"

Brooke's face, as she did not fail to notice, hardened suddenly, and he

felt an unpleasant embarrassment as he met her eyes. He had decided that

he was fully warranted in taking any steps likely to lead to the

recovery of the dollars he had been robbed of, but he was sensible that

the only ones he had found convenient would scarcely commend themselves

to his companion. There was also no ignoring the fact that he would very

much have preferred her approbation.

"At present I am surveying, though I cannot, of course, become a

surveyor," he said. "The legislature of this country has placed that

out of the question."

Barbara was aware that in Canada a man can no more set up as a surveyor

without the specified training than he can as a solicitor, though she

did not think that fact accounted for the constraint in the man's voice

and attitude. He was not one who readily betrayed what he felt, but she

was tolerably certain that something in connection with his occupation

caused him considerable dissatisfaction.

"Still," she said, "you must have known a little about the profession?"

"Yes," said Brooke, a trifle unguardedly. "Of course, there is a

difference, but I had once the management of an estate in England. What

one might call the more useful branches of mathematics were also, a good

while ago, a favorite study of mine. One could find a use for them even

in measuring a tree."

The girl had a question on her lips, but she did not consider it

advisable to ask it just then.

"You would find a knowledge of timber of service in Canada?" she said.

"Not very often. You see the only apparent use of the trees on my

possessions was to keep me busy two years attempting to destroy them,

and of late I have chiefly had to do with minerals."

"With minerals?" said the girl, quickly, and then, as he volunteered no

answer, swiftly asked the question she had wished to put before. "Whose

was the estate in England?"

Brooke did not look at her, and she fancied he was not sorry that the

necessity of affecting a show of interest in the music meanwhile made

continuous conversation difficult. His eyes were then turned upon a

performer on the stage.

"The estate--it belonged to--a friend of mine," he said. "Of course, I

had no regular training, but connection and influence count for

everything in the Old Country."

Barbara watched him covertly, and once more noticed the slight hardening

of his lips, and the very faint deepening of the bronze in his cheeks.

It was only just perceptible, but though the sun and wind had darkened

its tinting, Brooke had a clear English complexion, and the blood showed

through his skin. His companion remembered the old house in the English

valley, with its trim gardens and great sweep of velvet lawn, where he

had admitted that he had once been long ago. The statement she had

fancied at the time was purposely vague, and she wondered now if he had

meant that he had lived there, for Barbara possessed the not unusual

feminine capacity for putting two and two together. She, however,

naturally showed nothing of this.

"I suppose it does," she said. "I wonder if you ever feel any faint

longing for what you must have left behind you there. One learns to do

without a good deal in Canada."

Brooke smiled curiously. "Of course! That is one reason why I am pleased

you sent for me. This, you see, brings it back to me."

He glanced suggestively round the big, brilliantly-lighted building,

across the rows of citizens in broadcloth, and daintily-dressed women,

and then turned and fixed his eyes upon his companion's face almost too

steadily. The girl understood him, but she would not admit it.

"You mean the music?" she said.

"No. The music, to tell the truth, is by no means very good. It is you

who have taken me back to the Old Country. Imagination will do a great

deal, but it needs a fillip, and something tangible to build upon."

Barbara laughed softly.

"I fancy the C. P. R. and an Allan liner would be a much more reliable

means of transportation. You will presumably take that route some day?"

"I scarcely think it likely. They have, in the Western idiom, no use for

poor men yonder."

"Still, men get rich now and then in this country."

The man's face grew momentarily a trifle grim. "It would apparently be

difficult to accomplish it by serving as assistant survey, and the means

employed by some of them might, if they went back to the old life, tend

to prevent them feeling very comfortable. I"--and he paused for a

second--"fancy that I shall stay in Canada."

Barbara was a trifle puzzled, and said nothing further for a space,

until when the singer who occupied the stage just then was dismissed,

the man turned to her.

"How long is a chance acquaintance warranted in presuming on a favor

shown him in this country?"

Barbara smiled at him. "If I understand you correctly, until the other

person allows him to perceive that his absence would be supportable. In

this case, just as long as it pleases him. Now you can tell me about the

road-making."

Brooke understood that she wished to hear, and when he could accomplish

it without attracting too much attention, pictured for her benefit his

life in the bush. He also did it humorously, but effectively, without

any trace of the self-commiseration she watched for, and her fancy dwelt

upon the hardships he lightly sketched. She knew how the toilers lived

and worked in the bush, and had seen their reeking shanties and

rain-swept camps. Labor is accounted honorable in that land, but it is

none the less very frequently brutal as well as strenuous, and she could

fancy how this man, who, she felt certain, had been accustomed to live

softly in England, must have shrunk from some of his tasks, and picture

to herself what he felt when he came back at night to herd close-packed

with comrades whose thoughts and his must always be far apart. That many

possibly better men had certainly borne with as hard a lot longer, after

all, made no great difference to the facts. She also recognized that

there was a vein of pathos in the story, as she remembered that he had

told her it was scarcely likely he would ever go back to England again.

That naturally suggested a good deal to her, for she held him blameless,

though she knew it was not the regularity of their conduct at home which

sent a good many of his countrymen out to Canada.

At last he rose between two songs, and stood still a moment looking down

on her.

"I'm afraid I have trespassed on your kindness," he said. "I am going

back to the bush with a survey expedition to-morrow, and I do not know

when I shall be fortunate enough to see you again."

Barbara smiled a little. "That," she said, "is for you to decide. We are

'At home' every Thursday in the afternoon--and, in your case, in the

evening."

He made her a little inclination, and turned away, while Barbara sat

still, looking straight in front of her, but quite oblivious of the

music, until she turned with a laugh, and the girl who sat next to her

glanced round.

"Was the man very amusing?" she said.

"No," said Barbara, reflectively. "I scarcely think he was. I gave him

permission to call upon us, and never told him where we lived."

"Still, he would, like everybody else in this city, know it already."

"He may," said Barbara. "That, I suppose, is what I felt at the time,

but now I scarcely think he does."

"Then one would fancy that to meet a young man of his appearance who

didn't know all about you would be something quite new," said her

companion, drily.

Barbara flushed ever so slightly, but her companion noticed it. She was

quite aware that if she was made much of in that city it was, in part,

at least, due to the fact that she was the niece of a well-known man,

and had considerable possessions.

VI.

AN ARDUOUS JOURNEY.

It was late at night, and raining hard, when a line of dripping mules

stood waiting beneath the pines that crowded in upon the workings of the

Elktail mine. A few lights blinked among the log-sheds that clustered

round the mouth of the rift in the steep hillside, and a warm wind that

drove the deluge before it came wailing out of the blackness of the

valley beneath them. The mine was not a big one, but it was believed

that it paid Thomas P. Saxton and his friends tolerably well, in spite

of the heavy cost of transport to the nearest smelter. A somewhat

varying vein of galena, which is silver-lead, was worked there, and

Saxton had, on several occasions, declined an offer to buy it, made on

behalf of a company.

On the night in question he stood in the doorway of one of the sheds

with Brooke, for whom the Surveyor had no more work just then, beside

him. Brooke wore long boots and a big rubber coat, on whose dripping

surface the light of the lantern Saxton held flickered. Here and there a

man was dimly visible beside the mules, but beyond them impenetrable

darkness closed in.

"It's a wicked kind of night," said Saxton, who, Brooke fancied,

nevertheless, appeared quite content with it. "You know what you've got

to do?"

"Yes," said Brooke, a trifle drily, "you have given me tolerably

complete instructions once or twice already. The ore is to be delivered

to Allonby at the Dayspring mine not later than to-morrow night, and I'm

to be contented with his verbal acknowledgment. The getting it across

the river will, I fancy, be the difficulty, especially as I'm to send

half the teamsters back before we reach it."

"Still, you have got to send them back," said Saxton. "Jake and Tom will

go on, and when you have crossed the ford that will be two mules for

each of you. Not one of the other men must come within a mile of the

trail forking. It's part of our bargain that you're to do just what I

tell you."

Brooke laughed a little. "I'm not going to grumble very much at leading

two mules. I have done a good deal harder work quite frequently."

"You'll find it tough enough by the time you're through. You must be in

at the mine by daylight the day after to-morrow, anyway. Allonby will be

sitting up waiting for you."

Brooke said nothing further, but went out into the rain, calling to one

of the teamsters, and the mules were got under way. The trail that led

to the Elktail mine sloped steep as a roof just there, and was slippery

with rain and mire, but the mules went down it as no other loaded beasts

could have done, feeling their way foot by foot, or glissading on all

four hoofs for yards together. The men made little attempt to guide

them, for a mule is opinionated by nature, and when it cannot find its

own way up or down any ascent it is seldom worth while for its driver to

endeavor to show it one.

When they reached the level, or rather the depth of the hollow, for of

level, in the usual sense of the word, there is none in that country,

Brooke, who was then cumbered with no bridle, turned and looked round.

The lights of the Elktail had faded among the pines, and there was only

black darkness about him. Here and there he could discern the ghostly

outline of a towering trunk a little more solid than the night it rose

against, and he could hear the men and beasts floundering and splashing

in front of him. A deep reverberating sound rose out of the obscurity

beneath, and he knew it to be the roar of a torrent in a deep-sunk

gully, while now and then a diminishing rattle suggested that a

hundred-weight or so of water-loosened gravel had slipped down into the

chasm from the perilous trail.

It was a difficult road to travel by daylight, and, naturally,

considerably worse at night, while Brooke had already wondered why

Saxton had not sent off the ore earlier. That, however, was not his

business, and, shaking the rain from his dripping hat, he plodded on.

It was still two or three hours before daylight when they reached a

wider and smoother trail, and he sent away three of the men.

"It's a tolerably good road now, and Saxton wants you at the mine," he

said.

One of the teamsters who were remaining laughed ironically. "I'm blamed

if I ever heard the dip down to the long ford called a good trail

before!"

"Well," said one of the others, "what in the name of thunder are you

going that way for?"

Brooke, who was standing close by, fancied that a man who had not spoken

kicked his loquacious comrade viciously.

"Tom never does know where he's going. It's the mule that does the

thinking for both of them," he said.

There was a little hoarse laughter, and those who were going back

vanished into the deluge, while Brooke, who took a bridle now, went on

with two men again. It was darker than ever, for great fir branches met

overhead just there, but they at least kept off a little of the rain,

and he groped onward, splashing in the mire, until the roar of a river

throbbed across the forest as the night was wearing through. Then the

leading teamster pulled up his mules.

"It's a nasty ford in daylight, and she'll be swirling over it

waist-deep and more just now," he said. "Still, we've got to take our

chances of getting through."

"It will be light in two hours," said Brooke, suggestively. "Of course,

you know better than I do whether we could make the wasted time up."

The man laughed curiously. "I guess we could, but there's two concerned

bush ranchers just started their chopping over yonder. I had a kind of

notion the boss would have told you that."

It commenced to dawn on Brooke that Saxton had a reason for not desiring

that everybody should know he was sending ore away, but he was too wet

to concern himself about the question then.

"I don't think he did," he said. "Anyway, if we have to go through in

the dark there's nothing to be gained by waiting here."

They went on, down what appeared to be the side of a bottomless gully,

with the stones and soil slipping away from under them, while half-seen

trees flitted up out of the obscurity. Then they reached the bed of a

stream, and proceeded along it, splashing and stumbling amidst the

boulders. In the meanwhile the roar of the river was growing steadily

louder, and when they stopped again they could hear the clamor of the

invisible flood close in front of them. It came out of the rain and

darkness, hoarse and terrifying, but while the wind drove the deluge

into his face Brooke could see nothing beyond dim, dripping trees.

"Well," said the leading teamster, "I have struck a nicer job than this

one, but it has got to be done. Tether the spare mule, each of you, and

then get in behind me."

Brooke had no diffidence about taking the last place in the line. Though

he was in charge of the pack train, it was evident that the men knew a

good deal more about that ford than he did, and he had no particular

desire to make himself responsible for a disaster. Then there was a

scrambling and splashing, and he found himself suddenly waist-deep in

the river. He was, however, tolerably accustomed to a ford, and though

the mule he led objected strenuously to entering the water, it proceeded

with that beast's usual sagacity once it was in. He endeavored to keep

its head a trifle up-stream, and as close behind his two companions as

he could, but apart from that he left the beast to the guidance of its

own acumen, for he knew that it is seldom the sagacious mule takes any

risk that can be avoided.

Twice, at least, his feet were swept from under him, and once he lost

his grip on the bridle, and simultaneously all sight of his companions

and the beast he led. Then he felt unpleasantly lonely as he stood more

than waist-deep in the noisy flood, but after a few yards floundering he

found the mule again, and at last scrambled up, breathless and gasping,

beneath the pines on the farther side.

"Hit it square that time!" said the teamster. "I'm not quite so sure as

I'd like to be we can do it again."

They went back through the river for the rest of the mules, and were

half-way across on the return journey when the leader shouted to them

that they should stop. The water seemed deeper than it had been on the

previous occasion, and Brooke found it difficult to keep his footing at

all as he peered into the darkness. The rain had ceased, but there was

little visible beyond the faint whiteness of sliding froth, and a

shadowy blur of trees on either shore. He could see nothing that might

serve any one as guide, and the leading teamster was standing still,

apparently in a state of uncertainty, with dim streaks of froth

streaming past him.

"I'm 'most afraid we're too far down-stream," he said. "Anyway, we can't

stay here. Head the beasts up a little."

His voice reached the others brokenly through the roar of the torrent,

and with a pull at the bridle Brooke turned his face up-stream. He could

hear the rest splashing in front of him until his mule lost his footing,

and he sank suddenly up to the breast. Then there was a shout, and a

struggling beast swept down on him with the swing of an eddy. Brooke

went down, head under, and one of the teamsters appeared to be shouting

instructions to him when he came up again. He had not the faintest

notion of what they were, and swung round with the eddy until he was

driven violently against a boulder. There was a mule close beside him,

and he contrived to grasp the bridle, and found to his astonishment that

he could now stand upright without difficulty. Exactly where the others

were, or where the opposite side of the river lay, he did not at the

moment know; but the mule appeared to be floundering on with a definite

purpose, and he went with it, until they scrambled up the bank, and he

found two other men and one beast already there.

"One of them's gone," said the teamster. "There'll be trouble when we go

back, but I guess it can't be helped. Anyway, there's 'most a fathom in

the deep below the ford, and no mule would do much swimming with that

load."

"A fathom's quite enough to cover the bags up so nobody's going to find

them," said the other man.

Brooke did not quite understand why, since the ore was valuable, this

fact should afford the teamster the consolation it apparently did, but

he was not in a mood to consider that point just then, and all his

attention was occupied when they proceeded again. The trail that climbed

the rise was wet and steep, and seemed to consist largely of boulders,

into which he blundered with unpleasant frequency. It was but little

better when they once more plunged into the forest, for the way was

scarcely two feet wide, and wound round and through thickets of thorn

and fern which, when he brushed against it, further saturated him. He

was wet enough already, but the water which remained any time in his

clothing got slowly warm. It also dipped into splashy hollows and

climbed loose gravel banks, while once a hoarse shout from the leader,

which changed to a howl of pain, was followed by a stoppage. The man had

stumbled into a clump of the horrible Devil's club thorn, than which

nothing that grows anywhere is more unpleasant when it gets a good hold

on human flesh.

He was cut loose, and his objurgations mingled with the soft splashing

from the branches as they blundered on until a faint grey light filtered

down, and the firs they passed beneath grew into definite form. It had

also become unpleasantly chilly, and a thin, clammy mist rose like steam

from every hollow. Then the trees grew thinner as they climbed steadily,

until at last Brooke could see the black hill shoulders rise out of the

trails of mist, and the leader pulled up his mules.

"We've done 'bout enough for one spell, and nobody's going to see us

here," he said. "Get a fire started. I'm emptier'n a drum."

Brooke, who knew where to find the resinous knots, was glad to help, and

soon a great fire blazed upon a shelf of rock. The mules were tethered

and forage given them, and the men lay steaming about the blaze until

the breakfast of flapjacks, canned stuff, and green tea was ready. It

was despatched in ten minutes, and rolling his half-dried blanket about

him, Brooke lay down to sleep. He had a strip of very damp rock for

mattress, and a bag of ore for pillow, but he had grown accustomed to a

hard bed in the bush, and had scarcely laid his head down when slumber

came to him. Food and sleep, he had discovered, were things to be

appreciated, for it was not always that he was able to obtain very much

of either. His stay in the Canadian cities had been brief, and the night

he had spent with the brown-eyed girl at the opera-house had already

drifted back into the past.

It was raining when he awakened, and they once more took the trail,

while during what was left of the day they plodded among the boulders

beside frothing streams, crept through shadowy forests, and climbed over

treacherous slopes of gravel and slippery rock outcrop round the great

hill shoulders above. Everywhere the cold gleam of snow met the eye,

save when the mists that clung in ragged wisps about the climbing pines

rolled together and blotted all the vista out. The smell of fir and

balsam filled every hollow, and the song of the rivers rang through a

dead stillness that even to Brooke, who was accustomed to it, was

curiously impressive.

There was no sign of man anywhere, save for the smear of trampled mire

or hoof-scattered gravel, and no sound that was made by any creature of

the forest in all the primeval solitude. For no very evident reason,

tracts of that wild country remain a desolation of grand and almost

overwhelming beauty, and in such places even the bushman speaks softly,

or plods on faster, as though anxious to escape from them, in wondering

silence. The teamsters, however, appeared by no means displeased at the

solitude, and Brooke was not in a condition to be receptive of more than

physical impressions. His long boots were full of water, his clothes

were soaked, the sliding gravel had galled his feet, and his limbs

ached. The beasts were also flagging, for their loads were heavy, and

the patter of their hoofs rose with a slower beat through the rain,

while the teamsters said nothing save when they urged them on.

They rested again for an hour and lighted another fire, and afterwards

found the trail smoother, but evening was closing in when, scrambling

down from a hill shoulder, they came upon a winding valley. It was

filled with dusky cedars, and the mist rolled out of it, but the

teamsters quickened their pace a trifle, and smote the lagging beasts.

Then, where the trees were thinner, Brooke saw a faint smear of vapor a

little bluer than the mist drawn out across the ragged pines above him,

and one of his companions laughed.

"Well," he said, "I guess we're there at last, and if Boss Allonby isn't

on the jump you'll be putting away your supper, and as much whisky as

you've any use for inside an hour."

"Is it a complaint he's often troubled with?" said Brooke.

The teamster grinned. "He has it 'bout once a fortnight--when the pack

beasts from the settlement come in. It lasts two days, in the usual way,

and on the third one every boy about the mine looks out for him."

Brooke asked no more questions, though he hoped that several days had

elapsed since the supplies from the settlement had come up, and in

another few minutes they plodded into sight of the mine. The workings

appeared to consist of a heap of debris and a big windlass, but here and

there a crazy log hut stood amidst the pines which crowded in serried

ranks upon the narrow strip of clearing. The door of the largest shanty

stood open, and the shadowy figure of a man appeared in it.

"Good-evening, boys," he said. "You have brought the ore and Saxton's

man along?"

One of the teamsters said they had, and turned to Brooke with a laugh.

"You're not going to have any trouble to-night," he said. "He's coming

round again, and when he feels like it, there's nobody can be more

high-toned polite!"

VII.

ALLONBY'S ILLUSION.

The shanty was draughty as well as very damp, and the glass of the

flickering lamp blackened so that the light was dim. It, however, served

to show one-half of Allonby's face in silhouette against the shadow, as

he sat leaning one elbow on the table, with a steaming glass in front of

him. Brooke, who was stiff and weary, lay in a dilapidated canvas chair

beside the crackling fire, which filled the very untidy room with

aromatic odors. It was still apparently raining outside, for there was a

heavy splashing on the shingled roof above, and darkness had closed down

on the lonely valley several hours ago, but while Brooke's eyes were

heavy, Allonby showed no sign of drowsiness. He sat looking straight in

front of him vacantly.

"You will pass your glass across when you are ready, Mr. Brooke," he

said, and the latter noticed his clean English intonation. "The night is

young yet, that bottle is by no means the last in the shanty, and it is,

I think, six months since I have been favored with any intelligent

company. I have, of course, the boys, but with due respect to the

democratic sentiments of this colony they are--the boys, and the fact

that they are a good deal more use to the country than I am does not

affect the question."

Brooke smiled a little. His host was attired somewhat curiously in a

frayed white shirt and black store jacket, which was flecked with cigar

ash, and had evidently seen better days, though his other garments were

of the prevalent jean, and a portion of his foot protruded through one

of his deerhide slippers. His face was gaunt and haggard, but it was

just then a trifle flushed, and though his voice was still clear and

nicely modulated, there was a suggestive unsteadiness in his gaze. The

man was evidently a victim of indulgence, but there was a trace of

refinement about him, and Brooke had realized already that he had

reached the somewhat pathetic stage when pride sinks to the vanity which

prompts its possessor to find a curious solace in the recollection of

what he has thrown away.

"No more!" he said. "I have lived long enough in the bush to find out

that is the way disaster lies."

Allonby nodded. "You are no doubt perfectly right," he said. "I had,

however, gone a little too far when I made the discovery, and by that

time the result of any further progress had become a matter of

indifference to me. In any case, a man who has played his part with

credit among his equals where life has a good deal to offer one and

intellect is appreciated, must drown recollection now and then when he

drags out his days in a lonely exile that can have only one end. I am

quite aware that it is not particularly good form for me to commiserate

myself, but it should be evident that there is nobody else here to do it

for me."

Brooke had already found his host's maudlin moralizings becoming

monotonous, but he also felt in a half-contemptuous fashion sorry for

the man. He was, it seemed to him, in spite of his proclivities, in the

restricted sense of the word, almost a gentleman.

"If one may make the inquiry, you came from England?" he said.

Allonby laughed. "Most men put that question differently in this

country. They talk straight, as they term it, and apparently consider

brutality to be the soul of candor. Yes, I came from England, because

something happened which prevented me feeling any great desire to spend

any further time there. What it was does not, of course, matter. I came

out with a sheaf of certificates and several medals to exploit the

mineral riches of Western Canada, and found that mineralogical science

is not greatly appreciated here."

He rose, and taking down a battered walnut case, shook out a little

bundle of greasy papers with a trembling hand. Then a faint gleam crept

into his eyes as he opened a little box in which Brooke saw several big

round pieces of gold. The dulness of the unpolished metal made the

inscriptions on them more legible, and he knew enough about such matters

to realize that no man of mean talent could have won those trophies.

"They would, I fancy, have got you a good appointment anywhere," he

said.

"As a matter of fact, they got me one or two. It is, however,

occasionally a little difficult to keep an appointment when obtained."

Brooke could understand that there were reasons which made that likely

in his host's case, but he had by this time had enough of the subject.

"What are you going to do with the ore I brought you?" he said.

Allonby's eyes twinkled. "Enrich what we raise here with it."

"It is a little difficult to understand what you would gain by that."

Allonby smiled suggestively. "I would certainly gain nothing, but Thomas

P. Saxton seems to fancy the result would be profitable to him."

"But does the Dayspring belong to Saxton?"

Allonby emptied his glass at a gulp. "As much as I do, and he believes

he has bought me soul and body. The price was not a big one--a very few

dollars every month, and enough whisky to keep me here. If that failed

me, I should go away, though I do not know where to, for I cannot use

the axe. He is, however, now quite willing to part with the Dayspring,

which has done little more than pay expenses."

A light commenced to dawn on Brooke, and his face grew a trifle hot.

"That is presumably why he arranged that I should bring the ore down

past the few ranches near the trail at night?"

"Precisely!" said Allonby. "You see, Saxton wants to sell the mine to

another man--because he is a fool. Now the chief recommendation a mine

has to a prospective purchaser is naturally the quality of the ore to be

got out of it."

"But the man who proposed buying it would send an expert to collect

samples for assaying."

Allonby's voice was not quite so clear as it had been, but he smiled

again. "It is not quite so difficult for a mine captain who knows his

business to contrive that an expert sees no more than is advisable. A

good deal of discretion is, however, necessary when you salt a poor mine

with high-grade ore. It has to be done with knowledge, artistically. You

don't seem quite pleased at being mixed up in such a deal."

Brooke was a trifle grim in face, but he laughed. "I have no doubt that,

considering everything, it is a trifle absurd of me, but I'm not," he

said. "One has to get accustomed to the notion that he is being made use

of in connection with an ingenious swindle. That, however, is a matter

which rests between Saxton and me, and we may talk over it when I go

back again. Why did you call him a fool?"

Allonby leaned forward in his chair, and his face grew suddenly eager.

"I suppose you couldn't raise eight thousand dollars to buy the mine

with?"

Brooke laughed outright. "I should have some difficulty in raising

twenty until the month is up."

"Then you are losing a chance you'll never get again in a lifetime," and

Allonby made a little gesture of resignation. "I would have liked you to

have taken it, because I think I could make you believe in me. That is

why I showed you the medals."

Brooke looked at him curiously for a moment or two. It was evident that

the man was in earnest, for his gaunt face was wholly intent, and his

fingers were trembling.

"It is a very long time since I had the expectation of ever calling

eight thousand dollars my own, and if I had them I should feel very

dubious about putting them into any mine, and especially this one."

Allonby leaned forward further, and clutched his arm. "If you have any

friends in the Old Country, beg or borrow from them. Offer them twenty

per cent.--anything they ask. There is a fortune under your feet. Of

course, you do not believe it. Nobody I ever told it to would even

listen seriously."

"I believe you feel sure of it, but that is quite another thing," and

Brooke smiled.

Allonby rose shakily, and leaned upon the table with his fingers

trembling.

"Listen a few minutes--I was sure of attention without asking for it

once," he said. "It was I who found the Dayspring, not by chance

prospecting, but by calculations that very few men in the province could

make. I know what that must appear--but you have seen the medals.

Tracing the dip and curvature of the stratification from the Elktail and

two prospectors' shafts, I knew the vein would approach the level here,

and I put five thousand dollars--every cent I could scrape

together--into proving it. We struck the vein, but while it should have

been rich, we found it broken, displaced, and poor. There had, you see,

been a disturbance of the strata. I borrowed money, worked night and

day, and starved myself--did everything that would save a dollar from

the rapidly-melting pile--and at last we struck the vein again, and

struck it rich."

He stopped abruptly and stood staring vacantly in front of him, while

Brooke heard him noisily draw in his breath.

"You can imagine what that meant!" he continued. "After what had

happened in England I could never go back a poor man, but a good deal is

forgiven the one who comes home rich. Then, while I tried to keep my

head, we came to the fault where the ore vein suddenly ran out. It broke

off as though cut through with a knife, and went down, as the men who

knew no better said, to the centre of the earth. Now a fault is a very

curious thing, but one can deduce a good deal when he has studied them,

and a big snow-slide had laid bare an interesting slice of the

foundations of this country in the valley opposite. It took me a month

to construct my theory, and that was little when you consider the

factors I had to reckon with--ages of crushing pressure, denudation by

grinding ice and sliding snow, and Titanic upheavals thousands of years

ago. The result was from one point of view contemptible. With about four

thousand dollars I could strike the vein again."

"Of course you tried to raise them?"

Allonby made a grimace. "For six long years. The men who had lent me

money laughed at me, and worked the poor ore back along the incline

instead of boring. Somebody has been working it--for about five cents on

the dollar--ever since, and when I told them what they were letting slip

all of them smiled compassionately. I am of course--though once it was

different--a broken man, with a brain clouded by whisky, only fit to run

a played-out mine. How could I be expected to find any man a fortune?"