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Title: The Greater Power

Author: Harold Bindloss
        W. Herbert Dunton

Release Date: August 9, 2009 [EBook #29650]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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THE GREATER POWER




BY SAME AUTHOR

  The Cattle Baron's Daughter
  Alton Of Somasco
  Dust Of Conflict
  Winston Of The Prairie
  For Jacinta
  Delilah Of The Snows
  By Right Of Purchase
  Lorimer Of The Northwest




[Illustration: "I AM AFRAID I'M GOING TO LOSE HIM, AFTER ALL."
_Page 174_]




THE GREATER POWER

BY HAROLD BINDLOSS

Author of "The Cattle Baron's Daughter," "By Right of Purchase,"
"Lorimer of the Northwest," "Thrice Armed," etc.

With Frontispiece in Colours by

W. HERBERT DUNTON

NEW YORK

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

PUBLISHERS




Copyright, 1909, By

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

September, 1909




CONTENTS

  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE
        I Overburdened                                               1
       II The Trail                                                 11
      III Waynefleet's Ranch                                        22
       IV Laura Waynefleet's Wish                                   34
        V The Flood                                                 45
       VI The Breaking of the Dam                                   56
      VII Laura Makes a Dress                                       66
     VIII By Combat                                                 78
       IX Gordon Speaks His Mind                                    89
        X The Calling Canon                                         99
       XI The Great Idea                                           109
      XII Wisbech Makes Inquiries                                  118
     XIII On the Trestle                                           127
      XIV In the Moonlight                                         138
       XV Martial's Misadventure                                   149
      XVI Acton's Warning                                          162
     XVII An Eventful Day                                          174
    XVIII Tranquillity                                             186
      XIX Nasmyth Hears the River                                  195
       XX Nasmyth Goes Away                                        208
      XXI The Men of the Bush                                      218
     XXII Nasmyth Sets to Work                                     228
    XXIII The Derrick                                              239
     XXIV Realities                                                251
      XXV Nasmyth Decides                                          260
     XXVI One Night's Task                                         269
    XXVII Timber Rights                                            278
   XXVIII A Painful Duty                                           287
     XXIX A Futile Scheme                                          297
      XXX Second Thoughts                                          309
     XXXI The Last Shot                                            318




THE GREATER POWER




CHAPTER I

OVERBURDENED


It was winter in the great coniferous forest which rolls about the
rocky hills and shrouds the lonely valleys of British Columbia. A
bitter frost had dried the snow to powder and bound the frothing
rivers; it had laid its icy grip upon the waters suddenly, and the
sound of their turmoil died away in the depths of the rock-walled
canyons, until the rugged land lay wrapped in silence under a sky of
intense, pitiless blueness that seemed frozen too. Man and beast
shrink from the sudden cold snaps, as they call them, in that country,
and the rancher, who has sheep to lose, sits shivering in his log
house through the long forenights with a Marlin rifle handy, while the
famished timber wolves prowl about his clearing. Still, it is the
loggers toiling in the wilderness who feel the cold snaps most, for
the man who labours under an Arctic frost must be generously fed, or
the heat and strength die out of him, and, now and then, it happens
that provisions become scanty when no canoe can be poled up the
rivers, and the trails are blocked with snow.

There were four loggers at work in a redwood forest, one January
afternoon, rolling a great log with peevies and handspikes out of a
chaos of fallen trunks. The Bush, a wall of sombre green, spangled
here and there with frost, and impressively still, closed in about the
little gap they had made. Not a sound came out of the shadowy avenues
between the tremendous colonnades of towering trunks, and the topmost
sprays of the cedars and Douglas firs cut motionless against the blue
high above. There was no wind, and the men's breath went straight up,
a thin white vapour, into the biting air. Still, they were warm and
comparatively well fed, which was a good deal to be thankful for, and
three of them toiled contentedly, with now and then a glance at their
companion, who realized at length that he was beaten. In fact, it was
only by calling up all the resolution that was in him that this fourth
man, Derrick Nasmyth, had held himself to his task since early
morning, for there is no occupation which demands from man more
muscular effort and physical courage than logging, as it is generally
carried on in the forest of Western Canada.

Nasmyth was a tall man, apparently under thirty, and leanly muscular,
as were his companions, for those who swing the axe from dawn to dusk
in that wilderness seldom put on flesh. His bronzed face was also
lean, and a trifle worn. Considering his occupation, it was, perhaps,
too finely chiselled, and there was a certain elusive suggestion of
refinement in it. He had clear blue eyes, and the hair beneath his
battered fur cap was brown. For the rest, he wore a black leather
jacket with several rents in it, ragged duck trousers, and long boots.
His companions were the usual Bush choppers--simple, strong-armed men
of kindly nature--and Nasmyth was quite aware that they had undertaken
most of his share in the work during the last few hours.

"Another heave!" said one of the woodsmen. "Hit her hard, boys, and
away she goes!"

They strained sinewy backs and splendid arms. The great log rolled a
trifle farther, canted, as one of them slipped a handspike under the
butt of it, and landed on the skids, which were laid like railway
sleepers down the slope of a steep declivity. The snow was ground down
and rammed back about the skids, and the worn-out hollow gleamed a
faint blue-grey in the shadow of the firs. The men made another
strenuous effort as the log started, but in another moment it rushed
away, and, like a toboggan, sped downwards through the forest to the
river-ice below. The skids screamed beneath it, the snow flew up like
smoke, and then there was a thunderous crash and stillness again.
Nasmyth gasped heavily, and dropped his handspike.

"Boys," he said, "I'm used up. I'll go along to the shanty and get my
time."

He generally expressed himself much as his comrades did, but now his
clean English intonation was a little more noticeable than usual. One
of the others nodded sympathetically, as he answered:

"Well, I guess I've seen the trouble trailing you for quite a while.
Got to let up or play out. It's one I've been up against myself." He
made a vague gesture. "A little rough on you."

Then he and one of his comrades took up a big crosscut saw, while the
other swung a gleaming axe. Nasmyth walked back wearily through the
silent Bush towards the camp. His back ached, his head ached, and he
felt a trifle dazed. The strength seemed to have gone out of him, and
he fancied that he was not very far from a physical collapse. He was
glad when he reached the shanty, where, after he had shaken the snow
from his dilapidated boots, he sat down by the glowing stove, and
smiled wryly as he looked about him. The shed was rudely built of
logs, and a row of bunks packed with swamp-grass and spruce-twigs,
from some of which there hung portions of greasy blankets, ran down
one side of it. It smelt horribly of acrid tobacco and cookery, but at
least, it was warm, which counted for much, and, during the last few
months, Nasmyth had grown to look on it as home. He knew, also, that
it would cost him something to leave it now, especially as he had
nowhere else to go.

Lying back listlessly in a lounge an ingenious chopper had made out
of a few branches and a couple of sacks, Nasmyth vaguely recalled the
comfort of his London chambers and the great pillared smoking-room of
a certain exclusive club, for he was a man acquainted with the
smoother side of life. He had various gifts which were apparently of
no account in British Columbia, and he had enjoyed an education that
had, it seemed, unfitted him for anything strictly utilitarian. There
are a great many men of his description chopping trees and driving
cattle in Western Canada. Indeed, his story was one which, with slight
variations, may be heard frequently in that country. Financial
disaster had overtaken his family. Friends in high places had regarded
him coldly, and he had been too proud to ask for favours, or to profit
by those that were grudgingly offered him. That was why he had gone
out to Canada and spent several years there earning his board, and,
now and then, a few dollars as well, by bodily labour, until he went
up into the Bush with the loggers.

For a time he had somehow contrived to hold his own with the other
workers, though logging in heavy timber is one of the tasks one could
almost fancy that man was never meant for, and the logger, whose
overtaxed muscle fails him for a moment, is very likely to have the
life crushed out of him by some ponderous, slipping trunk. Perhaps,
his lack of endurance was due to the excessive strain, or the
ill-cooked food, but during the last few weeks he had been conscious
that a slackness was creeping over him. Once or twice the handspike or
peevie had been torn from his grasp, and the lives of his comrades had
been placed in peril. He had found it more and more difficult to drag
himself out to his work each morning, but he had held on until that
afternoon when his strength had suddenly failed him.

Nasmyth was half-asleep when the cook and the leader of the gang came
in. The latter, who was a big, gaunt man with grizzled hair, stopped
close by the stove and looked at him.

"Well," said the gang leader, "what do you figure you're doing here?"

Nasmyth explained with some difficulty, for in the Bush, men
acquire a certain pride in their physical manhood, and it is never
a pleasant thing to own oneself defeated. The logger, however, nodded
comprehendingly. He was a reticent, grim-faced person from Ontario,
where they breed hard men, though some have, also, kindly hearts in
them.

"That's quite right. I've noticed it myself," he commented. "In fact,
I've been figuring on asking you to get out the last week or two."

Nasmyth smiled. Like other men of his description in that country, he
had become accustomed to hearing such remarks addressed to him.

"I wonder," he answered reflectively, "why you didn't."

The logger appeared to consider. It was characteristic of him and the
stock he sprang from that he would never have admitted that he had
borne with Nasmyth as long as possible out of kindness. The thing
would have hurt him.

"Well," he said, "it seemed to me we might start you teaming, if I
could have got a span or two of oxen in, but I'm most afraid I can't
get them at my figure." He changed the subject abruptly. "Where are
you heading for?"

"I don't quite know, though I shall probably land in Victoria sooner
or later. I might strike something a little easier than logging there.
Still, it would be most of a week's march before I could reach the
railroad, and there's not a ranch anywhere near the trail."

The logger nodded. "Well," he said, "I'd head West instead. There'll
be nothing going on along the railroad just now, and the mines are
running easy, while you ought to fetch the settlement south of Butte
Lake on the third day. Guess you might pick up a dollar or two in that
neighbourhood, and, any way, there's a steamer running down the West
Coast to Victoria. Seems to me quite likely one of those Bush-ranchers
would take you in a while, even if he didn't exactly want a hired man;
but they don't do that kind of thing in the city."

Nasmyth smiled. Experience had already taught him that, as a rule, the
stranger who is welcomed in the cities arrives there with money in his
pockets, and that it is the hard-handed men with the axes from whom
the wanderer in that country is most likely to receive a kindness.
Still, though he was naturally not aware of it, a great deal was to
depend upon the fact that he followed the advice of the logger, who
traced out a diagram on the bench upon which they sat.

"There's an Indian trail up the river for the first four leagues," said
the logger. "Then you strike southwest, across the divide--here--and you
come to the Butte River. She's running in a little canyon, and you can't
get over 'cept where a prospector or somebody has chopped a big fir."

The log span across a stream is an old device, and was probably
primitive man's first attempt at bridge-building, though it is one
frequently adopted on the Pacific slope, where a giant tree grows
conveniently close to an otherwise impassable river. It was, however,
important that Nasmyth should be able to find the tree.

"You know exactly where that fir is?" he asked.

"Southwest of the highest ridge of the divide. Once you're over,
you'll fetch the Butte Lake in a long day's march. When d'you figure
you'll start?"

"To-night," said Nasmyth, "after supper. If there's sickness of any
kind hanging round me--and I feel like it--you don't want me here,
and I dare say they'd take me into the hospital at Victoria. Walking's
easier than logging, anyway, and it seems wiser to try for that fir in
daylight."

The logger nodded as if he concurred in this, and, taking a little
book from his pocket, he turned it over, wrinkling his brows while
Nasmyth watched him with a smile.

"Well," he said at length, "we'll count you full time to-day, but
there's the four days off when you got crushed by that redwood, and
the week when you chopped your leg. Then, counting the amount for your
board, that's thirty-six dollars I'm due to you."

"Not quite," answered Nasmyth. "There was the day or two after I fell
through the ice and had the shivers. I'd sooner you knocked off the
few dollars."

The logger was said to be a hard man, and in some respects this was
certainly the case; but a faint flush crept into his grim face.
Perhaps he had noticed the weariness in Nasmyth's voice or the
hollowness of his cheeks.

"All right," he said awkwardly. "Jake will put you up grub for four
days, and we'll call it square."

He counted out the money, which Nasmyth slipped into the receptacle
inside his belt. When the logger moved away the weary man crossed over
to his bunk. Nasmyth had brought his few possessions up in a canoe,
and now, knowing that he could not take them all away, he turned them
over with a curious smile. There were one or two ragged pairs of duck
trousers stained with soil, a few old tattered shirts, and a jacket of
much the same description. He remembered that he had once been
fastidious about his tailoring, as he wondered when he would be able
to replace the things that he left behind. Then he rolled up some of
the garments and his two blankets into a pack that could be strapped
upon his shoulders, and, as he did this, his comrades came trooping
in, stamping to shake the snow off their leggings.

There were about a dozen of them--simple, strenuous, brown-faced
Bush-ranchers for the most part--and they ate in haste, voraciously,
when the abundant but rudely served supper was laid out. Nasmyth had
not much appetite, and the greasy salt pork, grindstone bread,
desiccated apples, flavoured molasses, and flapjacks hot from the pan,
did not tempt him. He preferred to watch his companions, and now and
then his glance was a trifle wistful. He had worked and eaten with
them; they had slept about him, and he knew he had their rude
good-will. When his strength had begun to give way, some of them had
saddled themselves with more than their share of the tasks they were
engaged in, and he knew that it was possible he might not fall in with
comrades of their kind again. Now that the time had come, he, who had
once been welcomed at brilliant London functions, felt that it would
cost him an effort to part with these rough comrades. Perhaps this was
not so astonishing, for, after all, strenuous, valiant manhood and
rude kindliness count for much.

The shanty was cheerfully lighted and cosily warm. Nasmyth had slept
soundly there on the springy spruce-twigs, and there was at least
abundance when the mealtimes came round. Now he was about to be cast
adrift again to face a three days' march in the open, under the bitter
frost, and what might await him at the end of it he did not know. At
length, the meal was cleared away, and when the pipes were lighted, he
told his comrades that he was going. They were not demonstrative in
their expressions of regret, but they thrust upon him little plugs of
tobacco, which could not well be replaced there, and several of them
told him that, if he struck nothing he liked better, all he had to do
was to present himself at this ranch or the other beside blue lake or
frothing river when they went back in the spring. What was more to the
purpose, they meant it.

Among those Western pines men are reared who, in point of primitive
vigour, slow endurance, and the dogged courage that leads them to
attempt, and usually to accomplish, the apparently impossible, are a
match for any in the world, and no wanderer who limps up to their
lonely ranches is turned away. Those who have no claim on them are
honoured with their hospitality, and now and then one new to that
country looks with wonder on their handiwork. Down all the long
Pacific coast, from lonely Wrangel, wrapped in the Northern snow, to
Shasta in the South, it is written on hewn-back forest, rent hillside,
and dammed river. The inhabitants are subduing savage Nature; but, as
time will surely show, their greatest achievement is the rearing of
fearless men.

Though it cost him an effort, Nasmyth contrived to smile as he shook
hands with the loggers. Then he set his lips tight as, with his pack
strapped on his shoulders, he opened the door and looked out at the
dimly shining snow. It was only natural that he hesitated for a
moment. After all, brutal as the toil had been, he at least knew what
he was leaving behind, and his heart sank as he drew the door to. The
cold struck through him to the bone, though there was not a breath of
air astir, and the stillness was almost overwhelming. The frost
cramped his muscles and drove the courage out of him, and, as he
plodded down the trail, he heard Jacques, the French-Canadian cook,
tuning his battered fiddle. A little burst of laughter broke through
the twanging of the strings, and Nasmyth closed one hand hard as he
strode on faster into the darkness. There was as much of the animal in
him as there is in most of us, and he longed for the cheerful light
and the warmth of the stove, while one learns the value of human
companionship when the Frost King lays his grip on that lonely land.
He was once more homeless--an outcast--and it was almost a relief to
him when at length the twanging of the fiddle was lost in the silence
of the pines.

The trees rose about him, towering high into the soft darkness in
serried ranks, and the snow gleamed a cold blue-grey under them. Not a
twig stirred; the tall spires were black, and motionless, and solemn,
and he felt that their stateliness emphasized his own feebleness and
inconsequence. In the meanwhile, though the snow was loose and
frost-dried, it was not much above his ankles, and the trail was
comparatively good. It seemed to him advisable to push on as fast as
possible, for he had only four days' provisions, and he was not sure
of his strength. There was no doubt as to what the result would be if
it failed him in the wilderness that lay between him and the
settlement.




CHAPTER II

THE TRAIL


A half-moon rose above the black tops of the pines, and a faint light,
which the snow flung back, filtered down between the motionless
branches upon the narrow trail that wound sinuously in and out among
fallen trunks and thickets draped with withered fern, for the Siwash
Indians passed that way when the salmon came up the rivers, and the
path an Indian makes is never straight. Over and over again, an Indian
will go around an obstacle through which the Bush-rancher would hew a
passage. This is essentially characteristic of both, for the primitive
peoples patiently fit their lives to their environment, while the
white man grapples with unfavourable conditions, and resolutely
endeavours to alter them.

Until daylight Nasmyth made a tolerable pace. He had been troubled
with a curious lassitude and an unpleasant dizziness, but walking is
considerably easier than rolling ponderous logs, and he knew that it
was advisable for him to push on as fast as possible. At length, the
dawn broke high up in a dingy grey sky, and he stopped to build a
fire. It did not take long to boil a can of strong green tea, and to
prepare a piece of doughy bread, with a little salt pork, for his
breakfast. Then he wrapped one of his blankets around him and took out
his pipe. He did not remember how long he sat there, but it was clear
daylight when he noticed that the fire was burning out, and, somewhat
to his annoyance, he felt curiously reluctant to get up again.

Though it cost him an effort, he rose, and stood a minute or two
shivering in the bitter wind, which now set the dark firs sighing. He
could see the trees roll upwards before him in sombre ranks until
their topmost sprays cut in a thin filigree very high up against the
sky, and he knew that he must now leave the easy trail and cross the
big divide. When he set out he was a little annoyed to find that the
pack-straps hurt his shoulders, and that one of his boots galled his
foot. Knee-boots are not adapted for walking long distances, but the
only other ones that Nasmyth possessed were so dilapidated that he had
left them behind.

He went up for several hours through withered fern and matted
undergrowth, and over horrible tangles of fallen tree-trunks, some of
which were raised high above the snow on giant splintered branches.
The term "virgin forest" probably conveys very little to the average
Englishman, since the woods with which he is acquainted are, for the
most part, cleaned and dressed by foresters; but Nature rules
untrammelled in the pine-bush of the Pacific slope, and her waste
material lies piled in tremendous ruin until it rots away. There are
forests in that country, through which a man accustomed to them can
scarcely make a league in a day. Still, Nasmyth crossed the divide,
struggling against a bitter wind, and then went down the other side,
floundering over fallen branches, and smashing through thickets of
undergrowth and brakes of willows. He wanted to find the river, and,
more especially, the tree that bridged it, as soon as possible. It
was, however, noon when he reached the river, and it frothed and
roared a hundred feet below him in a smooth walled canyon, which had
apparently kept the frost out, for there were only strips of crackling
ice in the eddies.

It was clearly out of the question for him to get down to the river,
even if he had wished to make the descent, and without stopping to
make another fire, he plodded along the bank until the afternoon was
almost spent. There were a good many fallen trees, as he discovered to
his cost, since each one had to be painfully clambered over, but none
of them spanned the chasm. Then, as his foot was becoming very sore,
he decided to camp where a big cedar lay across a little ravine that
rent the bank. It promised to afford him a partial shelter. He had no
axe, but he tore off an armful or two of the thinner branches, with
the twigs attached to them, to form a bed, and then, crawling down to
the river, filled his smoke-blackened can and came back wearily to
make a fire. Man needs very little in those solitudes, but there are
two things he must have, and those are food to keep the strength in
him, and warmth, though there are times when he finds it singularly
difficult to make the effort to obtain them. The most unpleasant hour
of the long day of persistent toil is often the one when worn-out
muscle and jaded intelligence must be forced to the task of providing
the evening meal and shelter for the night.

Nasmyth ate his supper, so far as it went, voraciously, but with a
prudent check upon his appetite, for he had set out with only four
days' provisions, and he could not find the tree. When he had eaten,
he took out his pipe, and crouched a while beside the fire, shivering,
in spite of the blankets wrapped about him. The heat dies out of the
man who has marched for twenty hours, as those who have done it know.
In the meanwhile, darkness crept up from the east, and the pines faded
into sombre masses that loomed dimly against a leaden sky. A mournful
wailing came out of the gloom, and the smoke whirled about the
shivering man in the nipping wind, while the sound of the river's
turmoil and the crash of stream-driven ice drifted up out of the
canyon. Nasmyth listened drowsily, while his thoughts wandered back to
the loggers' shanty. He could see the men with bronzed faces sitting
smoking about the snapping stove, two or three of them dancing, while
Jacques coaxed music full of fire from his battered fiddle.

Then his thoughts went farther back to the chambers that he had once
occupied in London, and he saw himself and Frobisher, who shared them
with him, sitting at a little table daintily furnished with choice
glass and silver covers. There were big candles upon it--Frobisher,
who was a fastidious man, had insisted upon them. After that, the
artistically furnished room faded out of his memory, and he recalled a
larger one in which he had now and then dined. He could picture the
wine, and lights, and costly dresses, the smiling faces of those who
had at that time expected a great deal from him, and he saw the girl
who usually sat at his side. She had a delicate beauty and a dainty
mind, and he had sometimes fancied they might be drawn closer when he
had made his mark, which in those days appeared a very probable thing.
He wondered vaguely what she was doing then, or if she ever thought of
him. After all, as she had not answered the one letter which he wrote,
it scarcely seemed likely that she remembered him. Those who fail, he
reflected, are soon forgotten.

Then, as he was falling forward into the fire, he roused himself, and
smiled wryly. He was once more an outcast, shivering, half-asleep in
the wilderness, worn out, ragged, and aching, with a foot that was now
distinctly painful. It is, however, fortunate for such men as he, and
others among the heavily burdened, that the exhaustion of the body has
its deadening effect upon the mind. Rolling the blankets round him, he
lay down on the cedar branches and went to sleep.

He did not hear the timber wolves howling in the blackness of the
night, though several that got wind of him flitted across the ravine
after the fire burned low, and, when at length he awakened, it was
with the fall of a wet flake upon his face, and he saw the dim dawn
breaking through a haze of sliding snow. It seemed a little warmer,
and, as a matter of fact, it was so, for the cold snaps seldom last
very long near the coast; but the raw damp struck through him as he
raked the embers of the fire together. Again he felt singularly
reluctant to start when he had finished breakfast, and he found that
he could hardly place one foot upon the ground; but haste was
imperative now, so he set off limping, with the pack-straps galling
his shoulders cruelly. He also felt a little dizzy, but he pushed on
all that day beside the river through a haze of snow without coming
upon the tree. The dusk was creeping up across the forest when at
length the river emerged from the canyon, and he ventured out upon the
ice in a slacker pool. The ice heaved and crackled under him with the
pulsations of the stream, but he got across, and roused himself with
difficulty for the effort to make another fire. He was an hour
gathering fuel, and then, after a sparing supper, he lay down in his
wet clothing.

The snow that eddied about him whitened his spongy blankets, but he
got a little sleep, and, awakening, found the fire out. He tried to
light it and failed. His fingers seemed useless. He was cramped and
chilled all through, and there was in one hip-joint the gnawing pain
that those who sleep on wet ground are acquainted with. Sometimes it
goes away when one gets warmed up, but just as often it does not.
Nasmyth, who found it a difficult matter to straighten himself, ate a
little damp bread, and then, strapping his pack upon his shoulders,
stumbled on into the forest. He afterwards fancied it did not snow
very much that day, but he was not sure of anything except that he
fell over many rotten branches, and entangled himself frequently in
labyrinths of matted willows. Night came and he went to sleep without
a fire. He contrived to push on next day, walking during most of it
half asleep. Indeed, now and then he would stagger along for minutes
after consciousness of what he was doing had deserted him, for there
are men in that Bush, at least, who know what it is to stop with
suddenly opened eyes on the verge of a collapse, and find that they
have wandered from the path--only in Nasmyth's case there was no path
at all.

He was never sure whether it was that day or the next when,
floundering through an undergrowth of willows, he came upon a break in
the forest that was covered with sawn-off stumps. As he made for it,
he fell into a split-rail fence, some of which he knocked down until
he could climb over it. There was a faint smell of burning fir-wood in
the air, and it was evident to him that there was a house somewhere in
the vicinity. The snow was not deep in the clearing, and he plodded
through it, staggering now and then, until he came to a little slope,
and fell down it headlong. This time he did not seem able to get up
again, and it was fortunate that, when he flung the split fence down,
the crash made by the falling rails rang far through the silence of
the woods.

While Nasmyth lay in the slushy snow, a girl came out from among the
firs across the clearing, and walked down the little trail that led
to a well. She was tall, and there was something in her face and
the way she held herself which suggested that she was not a native of
the Bush, though everything she wore had been made by her own
fingers--that is, except the little fur cap, whose glossy brown
enhanced the lustre of her hair. This was of a slightly lighter
tint, and had gleams of ruddy gold in it. Her eyes were large and
brown, and there was a reposeful quietness in the face, which
suggested strength. It was significant that her hands were a trifle
hard, as well as shapely, and that her wrists were red.

She came to the top of the slope near the foot of which Nasmyth, who
had now raised himself on one elbow, lay, and though this might well
have startled her, she stood quietly still, looking down on him.
Nasmyth raised himself a trifle further, and blinked at her stupidly,
and she noticed that his face was drawn and grey.

"I heard the rails fall," she said. "What are you doing there?"

It did not appear strange to Nasmyth that she should speak in
well-modulated English, for there are probably as many insular English
as Canadians in parts of that country. Besides, he was scarcely in a
condition to notice a point of that kind just then.

"I think I upset the fence," he answered. "You see, I couldn't get
over. Then I must have fallen down."

It naturally struck the girl as significant that he did not seem sure
of what had happened, but the explanation that would have suggested
itself to anyone fresh from England did not occur to her. There was
not a saloon or hotel within eight or nine miles of the spot.

"Can you get up?" she asked.

"I'll try," said Nasmyth; but the attempt he made was not a complete
success, for, although he staggered to his feet, he reeled when he
stood upon them, and probably would have fallen had she not run down
the slope and taken hold of him.

"You can rest on me," she said, laying a firm and capable hand upon
his shoulder.

With her assistance, Nasmyth staggered up the slope, and there were
afterwards times when he remembered the next few minutes with somewhat
mixed feelings. Just then, however, he was only glad to have someone
to lean upon, and her mere human presence was a relief, since Nature
had come very near to crushing the life out of him.

"This is your ranch?" he inquired, looking at her with half-closed
eyes, when at length she moved away from him, a pace or two, and,
gasping a little, stood still, beneath a colonnade of towering firs.

"It is," she said simply; and a moment or two later he saw a little
house of logs half hidden among the trees.

They reached it in another minute, and, staggering in, he sank into
the nearest chair. A stove snapped and crackled in the middle of the
little log-walled room, which in spite of its uncovered, split-boarded
floor, seemed to possess a daintiness very unusual in the Bush. He did
not, however, know what particular objects in it conveyed that
impression, for the whole room seemed to be swinging up and down; but
he was definitely conscious of a comforting smell of coffee and pork,
which came from the stove. He sat still, shivering, and blinking at
the girl, while the water trickled from his tattered clothing. He
fancied from the patter on the shingle roof, that it was raining
outside.

"I wonder if you would let me camp in the barn to-night," he said.

The girl's eyes had grown compassionate as she watched him, for there
was a suggestive greyness in his face. It was evident to her that he
was utterly worn-out.

"Go in there," she said, pointing to a door. "You will find some dry
clothes. Put them on."

Nasmyth staggered into a very small room, which had a rude wooden bunk
in it, and with considerable difficulty sloughed off his wet things
and put on somebody else's clothing. Then he came back and sank into a
deer-hide lounge at the table. The girl set a cup of coffee, as well
as some pork and potatoes, before him. He drank the coffee, but
finding, somewhat to his astonishment, that he could scarcely eat, he
lay back in his chair and looked at the girl deprecatingly with
half-closed eyes.

"Sorry I can't do the supper justice. I think I'm ill," he said.

Then his head fell back against the deer-hide lounge, and, while the
girl watched him with a natural consternation, he sank into sleep or
unconsciousness. She was not sure which it was, but he certainly
looked very ill, and, being a capable young woman, she remembered that
within the next hour, the weekly mail-carrier would strike a trail
which passed within a mile of the ranch. Rising, she touched Nasmyth's
shoulder.

"Stay there, and don't try to get up until I come back," she commanded
in a kindly tone.

Nasmyth, as she had half-expected, said nothing, and, slipping into
another room--there were three in the house--she returned, wearing
a jacket of coarse fur, and went quietly out into the rain. It was
dark now, but she had, as it happened, not long to wait for the
mail-carrier.

"I want you to call at Gordon's ranch, Dave," she told the man. "Tell
him he is to come along as soon as he can. There's a stranger here who
seems very ill."

The mail-carrier would have asked questions, but she cut him short.

"How long will it be before you can tell Gordon?" she asked.

"Well," answered the man reflectively, "I'm heading right back for the
settlement, but it's a league to Gordon's, anyway. He could be here in
two hours, if he starts right off, and, considering what the trail's
like, that's blamed fast travelling."

He disappeared into the darkness, and the girl went back to the ranch.
It was, perhaps, significant that she should feel sure that the man
she had sent for would obey the summons, but she grew anxious while
the two hours slipped by. At last, a man opened the door and walked
in, with the water dripping from the long outer garment he flung off.
He was a young man, with a bronzed face and keen grey eyes, and he had
swung the axe, as one could see by his lithe carriage and the hardness
of his hands, but there was something professional in his manner as he
stooped down, regarding Nasmyth closely while he gripped the
stranger's wrist. Then he turned to the girl.

"He's very sick," Gordon said. "Guess you have no objections to my
putting him in your father's bunk. First, we'll warm the blankets."

The girl rose to help him, and--for she was strong--they stripped off
most of Nasmyth's garments and lifted him into the bunk in the next
room. Then Gordon sent her for the blankets, and, when he had wrapped
them round Nasmyth, he sat down and looked at her.

"Pneumonia," he said. "Anyway, in the meanwhile, I'll figure on it as
that, though there's what one might call a general physical collapse
as well. Where did he come from?"

"I don't know," said the girl.

"Your father won't be back for a week?"

"It's scarcely likely."

The man appeared to reflect for a moment or two. Then he made a little
expressive gesture.

"Well," he said, "it's up to us to do what we can. First thing's a
poultice. I'll show you how to fix it; but while we're here, I guess
we might as well run through his things."

"Is that needful?" and the girl glanced at Nasmyth compassionately.

"Well," said the man with an air of reflection, "it might be. This
thing's quick. Leaves you or wipes you out right away. There's very
little strength in him."

He turned out the pockets of Nasmyth's clothes, which were, however,
empty of anything that might disclose his identity.

"Not a scrap of paper, not a dollar; but I guess that wasn't always
the case with him--you can see it by his face," he said. Then he
laughed. "He's probably like a good many more of us--not very anxious
to let folks know where he came from."

The girl, though he did not notice it, winced at this; but next moment
he touched her shoulder.

"Get some water on," he said. "After we've made the poultice, I'll
take charge of him. We may get Mrs. Custer round in the morning."

The girl merely smiled and went out with him. She was aware that it
was in some respects an unusual thing which she was doing, but that
did not greatly trouble her. They are not very conventional people in
that country.




CHAPTER III

WAYNEFLEET'S RANCH


Though he afterwards endeavoured to recall them, Nasmyth had never
more than a faint and shadowy recollection of the next few days.
During most of the time, he fancied he was back in England, and the
girl he had left there seemed to be hovering about him. Now and then,
she would lay gentle hands upon him, and her soothing touch would send
him off to sleep again; but there was a puzzling change in her
appearance. He remembered her as slight in figure--sylph-like he had
sometimes called her--fastidious and dainty, and always artistically
dressed. Now, however, she seemed to have grown taller, stronger, more
reserved, and, as he vaguely realized, more capable, while her
garments were of a different and coarser fashion. What was still more
curious, she did not seem to recognize her name, though he addressed
her by it now and then. He pondered over the matter drowsily once or
twice, and then ceased to trouble himself about it. There were several
other things that appeared at least as incomprehensible.

After a long time, however, his senses came back to him, and one
evening, as he lay languidly looking about him in his rude wooden
bunk, he endeavoured to recall what had passed since he left the
loggers' camp. The little room was comfortably warm, and a plain tin
lamp burned upon what was evidently a home-made table. There was
nothing, except a rifle, upon the rough log walls, and nothing upon
the floor, which was, as usual, rudely laid with split boards, for
dressed lumber is costly in the Bush. Looking through the open door
into the general living-room, which was also lighted, he could see a
red twinkle beneath the register of the stove, beside which a woman
was sitting sewing. She was a hard-featured, homely person in coarsely
fashioned garments, which did not seem to fit her well, and Nasmyth
felt slightly disconcerted when he glanced at her, for she was not the
woman whom he had expected to see. Then his glance rested on a man,
who had also figured in his uncertain memories, and now sat not far
away from him. The man, who was young, was dressed in plain blue duck,
and, though Nasmyth noticed that his hands were hard, and that he had
broken nails, there was something in his bronzed face that suggested
mental capacity.

"I suppose," the sick man said, "you are the doctor who has evidently
taken care of me?"

He was not quite himself yet, and he spoke clean colloquial English,
without any trace of the Western accentuation he usually considered it
advisable to adopt, though, as a matter of fact, the accent usually
heard on the Pacific slope is not unduly marked. The other man
naturally noticed it, and laughed somewhat curiously.

"I have some knowledge of medicine and surgery," Gordon answered. "Now
and then I make use of it, though I don't, as a rule, get a fee." Then
he looked rather hard at Nasmyth. "Quite a few of us find it advisable
to let our professions go when we come to this country."

Nasmyth nodded, for this was a thing he had discovered already. Many
of the comrades he had made there were outcasts--men outside the
pale--and they were excellent comrades, too.

"Well," he said, "I have evidently been very sick. How did I get here?
I don't seem to remember."

"Miss Waynefleet found you lying in the snow in the clearing."

"Ah!" said Nasmyth--"a tall girl with a quiet voice, big brown eyes,
and splendid hair?"

Gordon smiled. "Well," he said, "that's quite like her."

"Where is she now?" asked Nasmyth; and though he was very feeble
still, there was a certain expectancy in his manner.

"In the barn, I believe. The working oxen have to be fed. It's very
probable that you will see her in the next half-hour. As to your other
question--you were very sick indeed--pneumonia. Once or twice it
seemed a sure thing that you'd slip through our fingers. Where were
you coming from when you struck the clearing?"

Nasmyth, who had no reason for reticence, and found his mind rapidly
growing clearer, briefly related what had led him to set out on his
journey through the Bush, and his companion nodded.

"It's very much as I expected," he said. "They paid you off before you
left that logging camp?"

"They did," said Nasmyth, who was pleased to recall the fact. "I had
thirty-two dollars in my belt."

His companion looked at him steadily. "When you came here you hadn't a
belt on. There was not a dollar in your pockets, either."

This was naturally a blow to Nasmyth. He realized that it would
probably be several weeks at least before he was strong enough to work
again, and he had evidently been a charge upon these strangers for
some little time. Still, he did not for a moment connect any of them
with the disappearance of his belt. He was too well acquainted with
the character of the men who are hewing the clearings out of the great
forests of the Pacific slope. As a matter of fact, he never did
discover what became of his belt.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I forgot to put it on, one of those
mornings on the march. Still, it's not very astonishing that the
thing should worry me. I can't expect to stay on at this ranch. When
do you think I can get up and set out again?"

"How long have you been out here?"

"Been out?"

Gordon laughed. "You're from the Old Country--that's plain enough."

"Several years."

"In that case I'm not going to tell you we're not likely to turn you
out until you have some strength in you. I believe I'm speaking for
Miss Waynefleet now."

Nasmyth lay still and considered this. It was, at least, quite evident
that he could not get up yet, but there were one or two other points
that occurred to him.

"Does the ranch belong to Miss Waynefleet?" he inquired. "She can't
live here alone."

"She runs the concern. She has certainly a father, but you'll
understand things more clearly when you see him. He's away in
Victoria, which is partly why Mrs. Custer from the settlement is now
in yonder room. Her husband is at present building a trestle on the
Dunsmore track. I come up here for only an hour every day."

Nasmyth afterwards discovered that this implied a journey of three or
four miles either way over a very indifferent trail, but at the moment
he was thinking chiefly of Miss Waynefleet, who had given him
shelter.

"You practise at the settlement?" he asked.

"Yes," said his companion dryly, "chopping big trees. I've a ranch
there. Still, I don't know that you could exactly call it practising.
By this time, I've acquired a certain proficiency in the thing."

Nasmyth fancied that he must have gone to sleep soon after this, for
when he opened his eyes again there was no sign of the doctor, and a
girl was quietly moving about the room. She sat down, when she saw
that he was awake, and looked at him with a little smile, and it was
only natural that Nasmyth should also look at her. It struck him once
more that she had wonderful hair. In the lamp-light, it seemed to glow
with curious red-gold gleams. She had also quiet brown eyes, and a
face that was a trifle darkened by sun and wind. He guessed that she
was tall. She looked so as she moved about the room with a supple
gracefulness that had a suggestion of strength in it. That was all he
noticed in detail, for he was chiefly conscious of the air of quiet
composure that characterized her. He was a trifle fanciful that night,
and, while he looked her, he felt as he had sometimes felt when he
stood at sunset in the silence of the shadowy Bush, or gazed down into
the depths of some still river pool. Only her gleaming red-gold hair
and her full red lips slightly counteracted this impression. There was
in them at least a hint of fire and passion.

"You are much better," she said, and her softly modulated voice fell
pleasantly on his ears. He contrived to raise himself a trifle.

"I believe I am," he answered, "In any case, I know I owe it to you
that I'm alive at all. Still"--and he hesitated--"I can't help feeling
a bit uncomfortable. You see, I have really no claim on you."

Laura Waynefleet laughed. "Did you expect me to leave you out in the
snow?"

"If you had, I couldn't have complained. There wasn't the least
obligation upon you to look after a penniless stranger."

"Ah!" said the girl, with a little smile which was curiously
expressive, "after all, many of us are in one sense strangers in the
Bush."

Nasmyth pondered over this, for, in view of what he had noticed in her
voice and manner, he fancied he understood her meaning.

"Well," he said, "it's evident that I can do nothing in return for all
your kindness, except take myself off your hands as soon as possible.
That's partly why I'm particularly anxious to get better."

He stopped a moment, with a faint flush in his hollow face. "It sounds
very ungracious, doesn't it? But, after all, it's sense. Besides, I
scarcely feel up to expressing myself very neatly."

The girl moved across the room, and gently pressed him down again on
the pillow.

"Go to sleep again at once," she said.

Nasmyth did as he was bidden, which, since he felt that he wanted to
lie awake and watch her, was in one way significant. As a matter of
fact, what Laura Waynefleet considered advisable was usually done.
Nasmyth's head was clearer next morning, and, during the week that
followed, he grew stronger rapidly, until one night, as he sat beside
the stove, he realized that he could, in all probability, set out
again on his journey in a day or two. While he talked to Laura
Waynefleet, there were footsteps outside, and she ran towards the door
as a man came into the room. Nasmyth fancied the newcomer was her
father, for he was grey-haired and elderly, but he did not look in the
least like a Bush-rancher. Beneath the fur coat, which he flung off
when he had kissed his daughter, he was dressed as one who lived in
the cities, though his garments were evidently far from new. He was
tall, but his spareness suggested fragility, and his face, which
emphasized this impression, had a hint of querulous discontent in it.

"I didn't expect to get through until to-morrow, but they've altered
the running of the stage," he said. "Wiston drove me up from the
settlement, and said he'd send my things across to-morrow. I was glad
to get out of Victoria. The cooking and accommodation at the hotel I
stayed at were simply disgusting."

Nasmyth glanced at the speaker in amused astonishment, for the
Bush-ranchers of the Pacific slope are not, as a rule, particular.
They can live on anything, and sleep more or less contentedly among
dripping fern, or even in a pool of water, as, indeed, they not
infrequently have to do, when they go up into the forests surveying,
or undertake a road-making contract. Laura Waynefleet directed her
father's attention to her convalescent guest.

"This is Mr. Nasmyth," she said. "You will remember I mentioned him in
my letter."

Waynefleet made the young man a little inclination that was formally
courteous. "I am glad to see you are evidently recovering," he said.
"I hope they have made you at home here." Then he turned to his
daughter. "If you could get me some supper----"

Laura busied herself about the stove, while Waynefleet sat down and
talked to Nasmyth about generalities. Waynefleet appeared to be a
politician, and he criticized the Government, which, in his opinion,
was neglecting the Bush-ranchers shamefully. It was evident that he
considered it the duty of the Government to contribute indirectly
towards the support of settlers. Then the supper was laid out. As he
ate fastidiously, he made a few faintly sardonic observations about
the cookery, and, after the girl had brought in a pot of coffee, he
frowned at the cup he put down.

"There is one place in Victoria where you can get coffee, as it ought
to be, but this is merely roasted wheat," he said. "You will excuse me
from drinking any more of it. As you have probably discovered, Mr.
Nasmyth, one has to put up with a good deal in this country. It is in
many respects a barbarous land."

Nasmyth saw the faint flush in Laura Waynefleet's face, and said
nothing. He fancied that he knew the establishment in Victoria to
which Waynefleet referred, but it was not one which he had ever
visited, or which the smaller Bush-ranchers usually frequented.

Soon after supper, Nasmyth withdrew to the bed, which he had insisted
on preparing for himself in the loft above the stables, and it was
next day when he spoke to Laura Waynefleet alone.

"I can't abuse your kindness any longer," he said. "I must go away."

The girl looked at him quietly. "You are far from strong yet, and--it
must be mentioned--there was not a dollar in your pockets."

"That is certainly the case;" and Nasmyth flushed a little. "Still, I
can get as far as the settlement, and I dare say somebody, who won't
be too hard on me at first, may want a hand. I am really rather a good
chopper."

Laura smiled as she glanced at his face, but it was not its hollowness
she was thinking of. Nasmyth had not the appearance of the average
chopper.

"Well," she said, "perhaps you had better see my father. I think he
has something to say to you."

She left him, and, half an hour later, Waynefleet came up to Nasmyth,
who was sunning himself outside the ranch-house. Like many other
houses in that country, it stood beneath a few great firs on the edge
of a desolate clearing, round which the primeval forest rose in an
unbroken wall. Behind it, and a little farther back among the trees,
was the rude barn, built of big notched logs, and roofed with cedar
shingles. In front there lay some twenty acres of cleared land, out of
which rose the fir-stumps, girdled with withered fern, for a warm wind
from the Pacific had swept the snow away. Beyond that, in turn, and
outside the split-rail fence, rows of giant trunks lay piled in the
tremendous ruin usually called the "slashing." Some day, these would
be sawn up and burnt, and the clearing driven farther back into the
Bush. The little gap into which the sunlight shone, however, had been
hewn out at the cost of several years of strenuous labour, and
Nasmyth, who was aware of this, felt inclined to smile as the man who
owned it strolled up to him. It was a little difficult to imagine that
he had had any great share in the making of that clearing.

Waynefleet was dressed in duck, but it was whole and unsoiled, and
Nasmyth made his own deductions from a glance at the delicate hands.
As a rule, Waynefleet's expression was discontented and querulous, but
for the time being his manner was gracious. In fact, he was generally
more or less courteous to Nasmyth.

"Miss Waynefleet tells me you are thinking of going away," said the
owner of the ranch.

Nasmyth replied that he intended to leave the ranch, and was
explaining that he felt he had already abused his host's kindness,
when Waynefleet cut him short.

"We have been glad to have you here," he said; "in fact, I have been
wondering if you might feel disposed to stay. It is probably evident
to you that I cannot do all that is necessary about this place with
one pair of hands."

Nasmyth knew, from what he had seen on other and larger ranches, that
one man could do the work, though he felt that it was more than one
could reasonably have expected from Waynefleet. It was, however, clear
that somebody did a great deal, and he fancied that it was the
rancher's daughter.

"Well," continued Waynefleet, "I am disposed to spend a little upon
the ranch. They are talking of building a pulp-mill near the
settlement. That will make land more valuable, and probably lead to a
demand for produce. With that in view, I wish to raise a larger crop,
and I'm open to hire somebody." He made a little gesture. "My strength
scarcely permits me to undertake any severe physical effort, and I
may confess that my faculty is rather that of administration. Now I
will make you an offer."

Nasmyth considered it gravely. As it happened, he was feeling sorry
for the rancher's daughter, and it was this fact chiefly which led him
to come to terms with the man, since it seemed to him that there were
tasks the girl must shrink from--tasks of which he could relieve her.
Though he was quite aware that when his strength came back, he could
probably earn more than Waynefleet offered him, he accepted the chance
to stay at the ranch. Moreover, the varied work was likely to be much
easier than logging.

"It's a bargain. I'll make a start now, and haul one or two of those
logs out with the oxen," he said. "Still, I'm afraid you must not
expect too much from me for a week or two."

Waynefleet made no objections. There was, as a matter of fact, a great
deal to be done, and Nasmyth went back to his new quarters over the
stable almost too weary to hold himself upright that night. He,
however, gathered strength rapidly, and a few days later he was
chopping a great tree, standing on a narrow plank notched into the
trunk of it several feet from the ground as he swung the axe, when the
man who had instructed Miss Waynefleet how to nurse him came up the
trail. Gordon sat down on a log close by, and looked at Nasmyth.

"I was coming round to make sure I was quite through with your case,
but it's tolerably evident you have no more use for me," he said.
"Stopping here?"

Nasmyth said he was, and Gordon nodded.

"Well," he said, "in several ways I'm rather glad. It's going to make
things easier for Miss Waynefleet. Guess you understand what I meant
when I said she ran the ranch?"

Nasmyth said he thought he did, and then, with a certain diffidence,
he changed the subject.

"You must have spent a good deal of time looking after
men--professionally," he said.

Gordon laughed in a somewhat curious fashion. "We'll let that go. In
one sense, I've dropped my profession. I had to, and it's scarcely
likely that I shall take it up again."

"I wonder," said Nasmyth reflectively, "if it's admissible for me to
mention that I had fancied something of the kind. You see, in the
Bush, I have naturally come across a good many men who have turned
their backs upon the cities."

Gordon made a little gesture. "It's a sure thing you'll hear a good
deal about me at the settlement, where, though the boys don't cast it
up to me, I'm credited with having killed somebody back East, and as
I've had an idea that I could hit it rather well with you, I'd sooner
tell you the thing myself. Well, I was making my mark in a big city,
several years ago, when I lost my head. When success comes too
quickly, it's a thing you're rather apt to do. The trouble is that you
have usually to face the results of it."

He broke off for a moment with a little wry smile. "In my case they
were serious. There was a woman of hysterical temperament with a
diseased imagination. I was overworked and a trifle overwrought, and
had a glass of brandy too much at a certain committee lunch. Then
there was a rather delicate operation in a hospital, and though I'm
not sure yet that I blundered, it was suggested that I did, and the
thing was complicated by what the woman said when the committee took
it up. It didn't matter that the patient recovered, for when he took
action against the woman, the thing made a sensation in the Eastern
papers."

He looked at Nasmyth with a question in his eyes.

"Now," he said, "you more or less understand my reasons for ranching
here. How's it going to affect you?"

Nasmyth gazed reflectively towards the East. "I think," he replied,
"there are more of us who have left a good deal behind back yonder.
Perhaps it's fortunate that the thing is possible."

Then he swung his axe again, and Gordon, who saw Waynefleet
approaching, strolled away towards the ranch-owner.




CHAPTER IV

LAURA WAYNEFLEET'S WISH


It was a hot summer evening, and a drowsy, resinous fragrance stole
out of the shadowy bush when Nasmyth, who had now spent six months at
Waynefleet's ranch, lay among the wineberries by the river-side.
Across the strip of sliding water the sombre firs rose in a great
colonnade from the grey rock's crest, with the fires of sunset blazing
behind their wide-girthed trunks. The river was low and very clear,
and the sound of it seemed to intensify the solemn stillness of the
Bush. Nasmyth had come there to fish, after a long day of tolerably
arduous labour, but he did not expect much success, though the trout
rise freely just after sunset in those rivers. Indeed, he had almost
forgotten that the rod and net lay near his side, for his employer's
daughter sat on a fallen cedar not far away from him.

She had laid her hat aside, and, as it happened, two humming-birds
that flashed, bejewelled, in a ray of ruddy light hung poised on
invisible wings about the clustered blossoms of an arrow-bush that
drooped above her head. She was, however, not looking at them, but
watching Nasmyth with thoughtful eyes. Everything she wore was the
work of her own fingers, but the light print dress became her
curiously well.

"You have been here six months now," she said.

"I have," answered Nasmyth, with a little laugh. "I almost venture to
think I do you credit, in view of the state I was in when I reached
the ranch. If you hadn't taken me in hand, two or three days would
probably have been the length of my stay."

The girl made no disclaimer. She was one who admitted facts, even
when they did not chime with her wishes, and she still regarded
Nasmyth thoughtfully. He certainly did her credit, so far as his
physical appearance went, for his strength had fully come back to him,
and, as he lay among the wineberries in an easy pose, his thin duck
garments displayed the fine proportions of a figure that had been
trained almost to muscular perfection by strenuous labour. The light
of the paling sunset was on his bronzed face, and it revealed the
elusive delicacy that characterized it. Nasmyth was certainly a
well-favoured man, but there were respects in which his companion was
not altogether satisfied with him. She had, as she admitted, restored
him to bodily health, but, after all, that was only going so far, and
she felt it was possible that she might accomplish a little more,
though there was no very evident reason why she should wish to do so.
Still, she was conscious of the wish.

"I was wondering," she said, "how long you would be content to stay."

Nasmyth gazed at her in evident astonishment. "Stay!" he exclaimed.
"Oh, you can call it twenty years, if one must be precise."

"Ah!" replied Laura, "in one sense, that is an admission I'm not
exactly pleased that you should make."

The man raised himself slowly, and his face became intent as he strove
to grasp her meaning. He was not in the least astonished that she
should speak to him as she did, for there are few distinctions drawn
between the hired man and those who employ him on the Pacific slope,
and he had discovered already that the girl was at least his equal in
intelligence and education. In fact, he had now and then a suspicion
that her views of life were broader than his. In the meanwhile it was
in one respect gratifying to feel that she could be displeased at
anything he might think or do.

"I'm not quite sure I see the drift of that," he said.

"You would be content to continue a ranch-hand indefinitely?"

"Why not?" Nasmyth asked, with a smile.

Laura once more looked at him with an almost disconcerting steadiness,
and she had, as he was already aware, very fine eyes. She, however,
noticed the suggestive delicacy of his face, which had, as it
happened, more than once somewhat displeased her, and a certain
languidness of expression, with which she had also grown almost
impatient. This man, she had decided, was too readily acquiescent.

"That," she continued, "is rather a big question, isn't it?"

"Ah!" said Nasmyth reflectively. "Now I begin to understand. Well, I
don't mind admitting that I once had ambitions and the means of
gratifying them, as well as an optimistic belief in myself. That,
however, was rudely shattered when the means were withdrawn, and a man
very soon learns of how little account he is in Western Canada. Why
shouldn't I be content to live as the ranch-hands do, especially when
it's tolerably evident that I can't do anything else?"

"You are forgetting that most of them were born to it. That counts for
a good deal. Have you noticed how far some of the others drift?" A
faint trace of heightened colour crept into her cheeks. "Perhaps one
couldn't blame them when they have once acquired the whisky habit and
a Siwash wife."

Nasmyth lay very still for a few moments, resting on one elbow among
the wineberries, for she had, after all, only suggested a question
that had once or twice troubled him. It was, however, characteristic
of him that he had temporized, and, though he knew it must be answered
some day, had thrust it aside.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you want to send me away. Now, I had almost
fancied I had made things easier in various ways for you, and we have
been good comrades, haven't we? One could call it that?"

"Yes," agreed Laura slowly; "I think one could call it that."

"Then," returned Nasmyth, "why do you want me to go?"

It was difficult to answer, and, to begin with, Laura did not exactly
know she desired him to leave the ranch--in fact, she was willing to
admit that there were several reasons why she wished him to stay.
Still, perhaps because she had watched over him in his sickness, and,
so Gordon said, had snatched him back to life again, she had a certain
pride in him, and vaguely felt that. In one sense, he belonged to her.
She would not have him throw away the life she had saved, and she had
recognized, as many of his English friends had not, the perilously
acquiescent side of his character. He was, she feared, one who had an
unfortunate aptitude for drifting.

"That," she said, "is rather more than I could explain either to
myself or to you, but I will tell you something. They are going to
build the pulp-mill down the valley, and they are now asking for
tenders for the construction of the dam. The thing, I have heard, is
not big enough to interest contractors from the cities, and most of
the men round here have their hands full with their ranches."

Nasmyth became a trifle more intent. "Still," he remarked, "I have
never built a dam."

"You told me you were rather a good chopper, and I think you are. You
have made roads, too, and know how to handle giant-powder in the
rock-cutting, and how to use the drill."

"There are shoals of men in this country who know considerably more
about those things than I do."

Laura made a little impatient gesture. "Yes," she admitted, "there
are, but they are simple Bushmen for the most part; and does intellect
count for nothing at all? Are a trained understanding and a quick
comprehension of no use when one builds a dam?"

Nasmyth frowned, though she saw a little glow kindle in his eyes. "I'm
by no means sure that I possess any of those desirable qualities.
Besides, there's a rather serious objection--that of finance."

Then Laura Waynefleet made it clear that she had considered the
question, and she favoured the man with a glimpse of the practical
side of her character.

"The stores give long credit, and partial payments are generally made
as a work of that kind goes on. Then it is not a very unusual thing
for workmen to wait for their wages until the contract is carried
through."

Nasmyth lay still for at least another minute. He had gradually lost
his ambition during the few years he had wandered through the Bush of
British Columbia. The aimless life was often hard, but it had its
compensations, and he had learned to value its freedom from
responsibility and care. When he did not like a task he had
undertaken, he simply left it and went on again. Still, he had had
misgivings now and then when he noticed how far some of his comrades
had drifted. Presently he rose slowly to his feet.

"Well," he said, "you're right, I think, and, if I'm given an
opportunity, I'll undertake the thing. The credit will be yours if I'm
successful."

The girl rose. "Then," she admonished, with a faint smile, "don't tell
me that you have failed."

She turned away and left him somewhat abruptly, but Nasmyth did not
resume his fishing, though he could hear the big trout splashing in
the pool as the sunset light faded off the water. He lay down among
the wineberries, which were scattered among the glossy leaves like
little drops of blood, to think harder than he had thought for a
considerable time. An hour ago, as he had told Laura Waynefleet, he
would have been well content to stay on at the ranch, and, though she
had roused him, he knew that it would cost him an effort to leave it.
He was not, he fancied, in love with her. Indeed, he now and then
admitted that she would probably look for more from the man who won
her favour than there was in him, but the camaraderie--he could think
of no better word for it--that had existed between them had been very
pleasant to him.

He realized that he was in one sense hers to dispose of. She had, in
all probability, saved his life, and now she was endeavouring to
arouse his moral responsibility. She was sending him out to play a
man's part in the battle of life. He admitted that he had shrunk from
it, of late, or, at least, had been content to sink back among the
rank and file. He had made the most of things, but that, he was
beginning to realize, was, after all, a somewhat perilous habit. Laura
Waynefleet evidently considered that a resolute attempt to alter
conditions was more becoming than to accept them, even though one was
likely to be injured while making it. He heard footsteps, and, looking
up, saw Gordon sit down upon the cedar-log.

"I came to look at Wiston's hand, and walked across when I heard that
Waynefleet hadn't been about," he explained. "I don't think you need
feel any particular anxiety about your employer."

Nasmyth grinned at this. Waynefleet had spent part of one day chopping
a big balsam, and was apparently feeling the effects of the very
unusual exertion. Then Gordon took out his pipe.

"I guess you're fishing?" he observed.

"I came here to get a trout for breakfast."

"You look like it." Gordon smiled. "As it happened, I saw Miss
Waynefleet crossing the clearing. It occurs to me that she may have
said something that set you thinking."

"I wonder," said Nasmyth reflectively, "what made you fancy that?"

Gordon regarded him with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Well," he
replied, "I have the honour of Miss Waynefleet's acquaintance, and
have some little knowledge of her habits."

Men make friends with one another quickly in the Western forests, and
Nasmyth had acquired a curious confidence in his companion, in spite
of the story Gordon had told him. As the result of this he related
part, at least, of what the girl had said. Gordon nodded.

"It's quite likely you'll get that contract if you apply for it. The
folks about the settlement haven't sent an offer in," he said. "The
notion is naturally Miss Waynefleet's. It's the kind of thing that
would appeal to her, and, in a way, it's fortunate you have fallen
into her hands. She's one of the protesters."

"The protesters?"

"Yes," answered Gordon; "I can't think of a better name for them,
though it doesn't exactly convey all I mean. To make the thing a
little clearer, we'll take the other kind--in this country they're
best typified by the Indians. The Siwash found it a wilderness, and
made the most of it as such. They took their toll of the salmon, and
fed their ponies on the natural prairie grass. If we'd left it to them
for centuries it would have remained a wilderness. We came, and found
Nature omnipotent, but we challenged her--drove the steel road down
the great canyon to bring us provisions in, dyked the swamp meadows,
ploughed up the forest, and rent the hills. We made our protest, and,
quite often, it was no more than that, for the rivers were too strong
for us, and the Bush crept back upon our little clearings. Still, we
never let go, and it's becoming evident that we have done more than
hold our own."

He paused, and laughed in a deprecatory fashion before he went on
again. "Now and then I have an outbreak of this kind," he added
lightly. "The thing would make an epic, but, if one could write it, it
wouldn't be worth while. The protest that counts in this land is made
with the axe and drill."

The outbreak was comprehensible, for it must be remembered that the
average Westerner, either by birth or adoption, is seldom a reticent
man. He is, in fact, usually characterized by a daring optimism, and
not infrequently filled to overflowing with the clean pride of
achievement. One can hear this new-world enthusiasm bubble over on
public platforms and at brilliant functions, as well as in second-rate
saloons, but it is most forcibly expressed where men toil waist-deep
in icy water building dyke and dam, or blast their waggon roads out of
the side of the gloomy canyons. Their handiwork is not always
beautiful, but one wonders to see what they have made of that great
desolation.

Nasmyth lay still among the wineberries, for a minute or two, and,
though a cold green transparency had replaced the fires of sunset
behind the tall trunks now, and the trout were splashing furiously in
the pool, he forgot all about the rod beside him as he pondered over a
question which had often occurred to him.

"How is it that Miss Waynefleet is content to stay here?" he asked.

"You would hardly expect her to leave her father."

"No," said Nasmyth. "Any way, that is scarcely an answer. What keeps
Waynefleet here? One wouldn't fancy he likes living in the Bush."

"It's a little curious that you haven't heard. Anyway, somebody is
bound to tell you. Waynefleet had to get out of the Old Country. Some
trouble about trust-money. He came out to Victoria and set up in the
land agency business, but it was his misfortune that he couldn't keep
out of politics. There are folks like that. When they can't handle
their own affairs, they're anxious to manage those of the community.
Somebody found out the story and flung it in his face. The man hadn't
the grit in him to live it down; he struck up into the Bush and bought
the half-cleared ranch."

For the next minute or two Nasmyth gazed straight in front of him with
a very thoughtful face, for he had now a vague recollection of hearing
or reading of the affair in which his employer had played a
discreditable part. He had already decided that he was not in love
with Laura Waynefleet--in fact, it was perhaps significant that he had
done so more than once, but he had a warm regard for the girl who had
saved his life, and, after all, his ideas were not quite so liberal as
he fancied they had become in the Western forest. It was a trifle
disconcerting to discover that she was the daughter of a swindler.

"It hurts?" inquired Gordon dryly.

Nasmyth rose. "To be frank," he admitted, "it does. Still, though the
subject's a rather delicate one, I don't want you to misunderstand me.
After all, Miss Waynefleet is not in the least responsible for
anything her father may have done."

"That," said Gordon, "is a sure thing. Well, I must be hitting the
trail home. Aren't you going to try for some of those trout in the
pool?"

"No," answered Nasmyth, and his smile was a trifle grim; "I don't
think I am."

He watched Gordon stride away through the undergrowth, and then, in
the creeping dusk, went slowly back to the ranch. Waynefleet was out
when he reached it, but Laura was sitting sewing by the lamp, and she
looked at him sharply when he came in. He was unpleasantly conscious
that the light was on his face. Then the girl laid down her sewing and
turned fully towards him.

"I saw Mr. Gordon cross the clearing. He has told you why we are
living here?" she said.

"I think," said Nasmyth, with a slowness that was very expressive, "it
was not done out of unkindness."

"Oh, no," and Laura smiled in a rather curious fashion, "he had
probably quite another motive." Then she leaned forward a little,
looking at him steadily. "I knew that he would tell you."

Nasmyth stood still, with his forehead deeply furrowed, and an unusual
gravity in his eyes. The girl's courage and serenity appealed to him,
and he was conscious that his heart was beating rapidly. He said
nothing, for a moment or two, and afterwards remembered how still the
little room was, and how the sweet, resinous scent of the firs flowed
in through the open window. Then he made a vague gesture.

"There is, perhaps, a good deal one could say; but I fancy most of it
would savour of impertinence," he said. "After all, the thing doesn't
affect you in any way."

Laura glanced down at her hands, and Nasmyth guessed what she was
thinking, for they were hard, and work-roughened. The toil that her
hands showed was, as he realized, only a part of her burden.

"I think it affects me a very great deal," she declared slowly.

Then a curious compassion for her troubled the man. She was young and
very comely, and it was, he felt, cruelly hard on her that, bearing
her father's shame, she must lead a life of hard labour at that
desolate ranch. He felt an almost uncontrollable desire to comfort
her, and to take her cares upon himself, but that was out of the
question, since he was merely a ranch-hand, a Bush-chopper, who owed
even the food he ate and the clothes he wore to her. There is, as he
realized then, after all, very little one can do to lighten another's
load, but in that moment the half-formed aspirations that she had
called into existence in his mind expanded suddenly. There was, he
felt, no reason why he should not acquire money and influence, once he
made the effort.

"Miss Waynefleet," he said haltingly, "I can only offer you my sincere
sympathy. Still"--and perhaps he did not recognize how clear the
connection of ideas was--"I am going down to see about that
dam-building contract to-morrow."

Then Laura smiled, and took up her sewing again. Her burden, as she
realized, was hers alone, but she knew that this man would no longer
drift. She had called up his latent capacities, and he would prove his
manhood.




CHAPTER V

THE FLOOD


The autumn afternoon was oppressively hot when Gordon, floundering
among the whitened driftwood piled along the river-bank, came upon
Nasmyth, who lay upon a slope of rock, with his hands, which were
badly bruised, clenched upon a drill. Another man, who stood upon a
plank inserted into a crevice, swung a hammer, and its ponderous head
came ringing down upon the drill, which Nasmyth jerked round at every
stroke, so many times to the minute, with rhythmic regularity. As
Nasmyth was apparently too busily engaged just then to trouble about
him, Gordon sat down on a big log, and taking out his pipe, looked
about him when he had lighted it.

The river had made a gap for itself in the great forest that filled
the valley, and the sombre firs that rose in serried ranks upon its
farther bank rolled back up the hillside, streaked here and there with
a little thin white mist. A mile or so away, and lower down the
valley, there was an opening in their shadowy masses, out of which
rose the ringing of hammers and a long trail of smoke, for workmen
from the cities were building the new wood-pulp mill there. In the
foreground the river swirled by, frothing at flood level, for a week's
fierce sunshine had succeeded a month of torrential rain, and the snow
high up on a distant peak was melting fast.

Nobody about the little settlement at the head of the deep inlet had
seen the water quite so high at that season, and Gordon noticed how it
frothed and boiled about the row of stone-backed piles that stretched
out from either bank. As he listened to the hoarse roar of the pent-up
torrent, he understood what that partly completed dam must have cost
Nasmyth. After a little time Nasmyth rose, and, stepping on the plank,
wearily straightened his back.

"We're down far enough," he announced. "Let me have the two sticks of
giant-powder, and then tell the boys to jump for cover."

The other man, who sprang down from his perch, handed him what
appeared to be two thick sticks of yellow wax, and Gordon watched him
as he carefully nipped a copper detonator down on a length of snaky
fuse, and embedded it in the plastic material. Then he cautiously
tamped the two yellow rolls down into the drilled-out hole. After that
he lighted the fuse, and, clambering down the slope of rock, saw
Gordon.

"We'll get out of this. It's a short fuse," he said.

Gordon, who was acquainted with the action of giant-powder, had no
desire to stay, and they floundered as fast as possible over the
driftwood and masses of shattered rock until Nasmyth drew his
companion behind a towering fir. Then there was a sharp detonation, a
crash, and a shower of flying stones went smashing through the forest
and into the river. One, which Gordon fancied must have weighed about
two hundred pounds, drove close past them, and struck a young cedar,
which snapped off beneath the impact. Then there was a sudden silence,
and Nasmyth stretched out his arms with a suggestive weariness before
he sat down and took out his pipe.

"No one could have expected that stone to come this way," he remarked,
with a little laugh. "It's an example of how contrary things can be.
In fact, they've been about as contrary as it's possible the last
month or so. As no doubt you have noticed, one very seldom gets much
encouragement when he takes the uphill trail. It's very rarely made
any easier for him."

Gordon grinned, though he realized that the trail his companion had
set out upon was very steep indeed. He had secured the dam-building
contract, which was not astonishing, since nobody else appeared
anxious to undertake it, and he had already acquired a certain
proficiency with the axe and drill. There is as yet very little
specialization in that land, which is in many respects fortunate for
those who live in it, and the small rancher cheerfully undertakes any
kind of primitive engineering that seems likely to provide him with a
few dollars, from building timber bridges to blasting waggon roads out
of the hardest rock. What is more, he usually makes a success of it.
In Nasmyth's case, however, the rise of water had made his task almost
insuperably difficult, and it had already left a certain mark on him.
Gordon, who was, after all, a doctor, naturally noticed this as he
watched him.

Nasmyth was very lean now, but he was also hard and muscular, and the
old blue shirt, which hung open at the neck, and torn duck trousers,
which clung about him still wet with river-water, accentuated the wiry
suppleness of his frame; but it was in his face that Gordon noticed
the greatest change. The good-humoured, tolerant indifference he
remembered had melted out of it, the lips seemed set more firmly, and
the eyes were resolute and keen. Nasmyth, so Gordon noticed, had grown
since he first took up his duties as Waynefleet's hired hand. Still,
though it was less apparent, the stamp of refinement and what Gordon
called, for want of a better term, "sensibility," clung to him, and it
seemed to the trained observer that the qualities it suggested might
yet handicap his comrade in a country where the struggle with
primitive forces chiefly demands from man an unreasoning animal
courage. In that land the small contractor and Bush-rancher must bear
the brunt on his body every day, toiling waist-deep in icy waters, or
gripping the drill with bleeding hands, while each fresh misfortune
that follows flood and frost is met with a further strain on weary
muscles and sterner resolution. It is a fight that is usually hardest
for the man who thinks, and in which the one thing that counts is the
brutal, bulldog valour that takes hold and holds on in spite of each
crushing blow.

"This high water," said Gordon, "has kept you back considerably."

"It has," Nasmyth replied with emphasis. "It has cost me more money
that I care to figure up the last month, and we're considerably
behind. The dam's still at the mercy of the next big flood."

"It's a little curious that you seem to stand it better than you did
the logging," said Gordon, with a quick glance at him.

Nasmyth appeared to consider this. "I do, and that's a fact. For one
thing, I'm fighting for my own hand, and no doubt that counts, though,
perhaps, it doesn't go quite far enough. After all, it's a point you
ought to know more about than I do."

His companion smiled. "I can describe the mechanical connection
between the thought in a man's brain and the movement of his muscles.
It's comparatively simple; but when you understand that, you're only
beginning. There's much more behind. To particularize, if you had done
what you're doing now when you were logging, it would, in all
probability, have broken you up again."

Nasmyth fancied that this was correct, though, as he had admitted, he
could give no reason for it. He was only conscious that he was being
constrained by some new influence, and, under the pressure it laid
upon him, he became almost insensible to physical weariness. He had
now a motive for fighting, in place of drifting, that no mere hired
hand can possess. His indolent content had been rudely dissipated, and
something that had lain dormant in the depths of his nature had come
uppermost. It was certainly Laura Waynefleet who had given it the
first impulse, but why he had permitted her to impose her will on him
was a matter that was still incomprehensible to him. Seeing that he
did not answer, Gordon changed the subject.

"Some of the boys and I have been wondering how you contrived to
finance the thing," he said.

Nasmyth smiled, though there was just a trace of darker colour in his
face. "Well," he replied, "one can get tolerably long credit from most
of the Bush stores, and Clipton has let me have provisions for the
boys on quite reasonable terms. Besides, as it happens, there is money
in the family. There was a time when one might have considered it
almost the duty of certain relatives of mine to give me a lift, but I
didn't offer them the opportunity. I came out here and set about
driving cows and chopping trees instead."

"You felt you'd sooner cut your hand off than give them a gentle
hint," remarked Gordon. "It's not an uncommon feeling, but, when you
give way to it, it clears the other people. Won't you go on?"

"When I undertook this affair, I laid the opportunity before them, and
one--the last I expected anything of that kind from--sent me out a
draft. He kindly pointed out that there appeared to be in me certain
capabilities, which he had never supposed I possessed, and added that,
if I ever really succeeded in building a dam or anything else useful,
he would be pleased to take a share in my next venture. In the
meanwhile, he would charge me interest on the amount of that draft.
Perhaps I may mention that the man in question was naturally the one
the rest of them rather looked down upon."

Gordon laughed. "Oh, yes," he said, "I like that, naturally. I guess
you would have taken their view of him once. Well, since you can put
your pride in your pocket, you're evidently growing. There's just one
way of putting anything through here, and that's to take hold and hang
right on, no matter what it costs. I guess there's one of the boys
wanting you."

A man stood knee-deep in the river waving his hand. Nasmyth rose and
stretched himself.

"They seem to want me all the time from sun-up until it's dark," he
said. "In one way it's a little curious, since there's reason to
believe that most of them know a good deal more about what we're doing
than I do myself. You'll excuse me."

Gordon smiled as his comrade strode away. He was one who had studied
human nature, and because he was well acquainted with the Bushman's
capabilities, he knew that there were also limitations to them. Even
in such matters as the splitting of hard rock and the driving of
massive piles into the river-bed, the higher intelligence of the man
of intellect had its effect. Gordon smoked his pipe out as he watched
Nasmyth flounder into the stream among the other men, pushing a little
car loaded with broken rock that apparently ran along a submerged
track. Then he strolled back toward the settlement.

Nasmyth toiled on in the river until the camp-cook hammered upon a
suspended iron sheet as a signal that supper was ready. The summons
was answered without delay. With the water running from their clothing
Nasmyth and his men went back to the little log shanty. One or two
changed their dripping garments, but the rest left their clothes to
dry upon them, as their employer did. When the plentiful, warm supper
had been eaten, Nasmyth went back to the little hut that served him as
store and sleeping quarters. A big, grizzled man from Mattawa,
Ontario, went in with him, and lounged upon the table while he sat in
his bunk, which was filled with fresh spruce twigs.

"I'm pretty well played out, and if I'm to work to-morrow, I've got to
sleep to-night," said Nasmyth.

The grizzled axeman nodded. "Well," he volunteered, "I'll stand watch.
I was in the last two nights, and I guess it's up to me to see you
through. We're going to have trouble, if one of those big logs fetches
up across the sluiceway. The river's full of them, and she's risen
'most a foot since sun-up."

Nasmyth held up one hand, and both heard the deep roar of frothing
water that came in with the smell of the firs through the open door.
The Bush was very still outside, and that hoarse, throbbing note flung
back by the rock slope and climbing pines filled the valley. Nasmyth
smiled grimly, for it was suggestive of the great forces against which
he had pitted his puny strength. Then there was a crash, and, a few
moments later, a curious thud, and both men listened, intent and
strung up, until the turmoil of the river rose alone again.

"A big log," said the older man. "She has gone through the run. Guess
we'll get one by-and-by long enough to jamb. Now, if you'd run out
those wing-frames I was stuck on, she'd have took them straight
through, every one."

"The trouble was that I hadn't the money, Mattawa," said Nasmyth
dryly.

His companion nodded, for this was a trouble he could understand.
"Well," he answered, "when you haven't got it you have to face the
consequences. I'll roust you out if a big log comes along."

Mattawa went out, and soon afterwards Nasmyth, whose clothes were now
partly dry, lay down, dressed as he was, in his twig-packed bunk, with
his pipe in his hand. It was growing a little colder, and a keen air,
which had in it the properties of an elixir, blew in, but that was a
thing Nasmyth scarcely noticed, and the dominant roar of the river
held his attention. He wondered again why he had been drawn into the
conflict with it, or, rather, why he had permitted Laura Waynefleet to
set him such a task, and the answer that it was because he desired to
hold her good opinion, and, as he had said, to do her credit, did not
seem to go far enough. It merely suggested the further question why he
should wish to keep her friendship. Still, there was no disguising the
fact that, once he had undertaken the thing, it had got hold of him,
and he felt he must go on until his task was successfully accomplished
or he was crushed and beaten. It seemed very likely, then, that utter
defeat would be his fate. While he pondered, the pipe fell from his
hand, and the river's turmoil rang in deep pulsations through his
dreams. He was awakened suddenly by a wet hand on his shoulder, and,
scrambling out of his bunk on the instant, he saw Mattawa with a
lantern in his hand.

"Log right across the sluice-run," said the watcher. "More coming
along behind it. They'll sure get piling up."

Nasmyth did not remember that he gave any directions when he sprang,
half asleep, out of the shanty. The roar of water had a different note
in it, and the clangour of the iron sheet one of the men was pounding
rang out harshly. A half-moon hung above the black pines, and
dimly-seen men were flitting like shadows toward the waterside. They
appeared to know what it was advisable to do, but they stopped just a
moment on the edge of the torrent, for which nobody could have blamed
them. The water, streaked with smears of froth and foam, swirled by,
and there was a tumultuous white seething where the flood boiled
across the log in the midst of the stream. The log blocked the gap
left open to let the driftwood through, and, as Nasmyth knew, great
trees torn up in distant valleys were coming down with the flood. It
seemed to him that he could not reasonably have expected to clear that
obstacle with a battalion of log-drivers, and he had only a handful of
weary men. Still the men went in, floundering knee-deep in the flood,
along the submerged pile of stone and clutching at the piles that
bound it to save themselves when the stream threatened to sweep their
feet from under them, until they came to the gap where the great tree,
rolling in the grip of the torrent, thrashed its grinding branches
against the stone.

Then, though it was difficult to see how a man of them found a
foothold, or kept it on the heaving trunk, the big axes flashed and
fell, while a few shadowy figures ran along the top of the log to
attack the massy butt across the opening. It would have been arduous
labour in daylight and at low-water, but these were men who had faced
the most that flood and frost could do. They set about their task in
the dark, for that land would have been a wilderness still if the men
in it had shown themselves unduly careful of either life or limb.

The great branches yielded beneath the glinting blades, and went on
down river again, but Nasmyth, who felt the axe-haft slip in his
greasy hands, did not try to lead. It was sufficient if he could keep
pace with the rest of the wood-choppers, which was, after all, a thing
most men, reared as he had been, would certainly not have done. The
lust of conflict was upon him that night, and, balancing himself
ankle-deep in water on the trunk that heaved and dipped beneath him,
he swung the trenchant steel. He felt that he was pitted against great
primeval forces, and, with the gorged veins rising on his forehead and
the perspiration dripping from him, man's primitive pride and passions
urged him to the struggle.

How long it was before they had stripped the tree to a bare log he did
not know, but twice, as they toiled on, he saw a man splash into the
river, and, rising in the eddy beneath the submerged dam, crawl,
dripping, out again, and at length he found himself beside Mattawa,
whirling his axe above a widening notch, and keeping rhythmic stroke.
He knew he was acquitting himself creditably then, for Mattawa had
swung the axe since he could lift it, and there are men, and
mechanics, too, who cannot learn to use it as the Bushmen do in a
lifetime; but he also knew that he could not keep pace with his
comrade very long. In the meanwhile, he held his aching muscles to
their task, and the gleaming blades whirled high above their shoulders
in the pale light of the moon. As each left the widening gap the other
came shearing down.

The other men were now plying peevie and handspike at the butt of the
log, and he and Mattawa toiled on alone, two dim and shadowy figures
in the midst of the flood, until at last there was a rending of
fibres, and Mattawa leapt clear.

"Jump!" he gasped. "She's going."

Nasmyth jumped. He went down in four or five feet of water, and had
the sense to stay there while the log drove over him. Then he came up,
and clutching it, held on while it swept downstream into a slacker
eddy. There were several other figures apparently clinging to the butt
of it, and when he saw them slip off into the river one by one, he let
go, too. He was swung out of the eddy into a white turmoil, which
hurled him against froth-lapped stones, but at length he found sure
footing, and crawled up the bank, which most of his companions had
reached before him. When the others came up, he found that he was
aching all over, and evidently was badly bruised. He stood still,
shivering a little, and blinked at them.

"You're all here?" he said. "Where are those axes?"

It appeared that most of them were in the river, which was not very
astonishing, for a man cannot reasonably be expected to swim through a
flood with a big axe in his hand, and when somebody said so, Nasmyth
made a little gesture of resignation.

"Well," he said, "the logs will just have to pile up, if another big
one comes along before the morning."

This was evident. They were all dead weary, and most of them were
badly bruised, as well, and they trooped back to the shanty, while
Nasmyth limped into his hut. Nasmyth sloughed off his dripping
garments, and was asleep in five minutes after he had crawled into his
bunk.




CHAPTER VI

THE BREAKING OF THE DAM


A faint grey light was creeping into the shanty when Nasmyth awoke
again, and lay still for a minute or two, while his senses came slowly
back to him. The first thing of which he was definitely conscious was
a physical discomfort that rendered the least movement painful. He
felt sore all over, and there was a distressful ache in one hip and
shoulder, which he fancied was the result of falling on the log, or
perhaps of having been hurled against the boulders by the rapids
through which he had reached the bank. His physical condition did not
trouble him seriously, for he had grown more or less accustomed to
muscular weariness, and the cramping pains which spring from toiling
long hours in cold water, and, although he made a grimace, as he
raised himself a trifle, it was the sound outside that occupied most
of his attention.

The door stood open, as he had left it, and a clean, cold air that
stirred his blood came in, with the smell of fir and cedar, but what
he noticed was the deeper tone in the roar of the river that seemed
flung back in sonorous antiphones by the climbing pines. It had
occurred to him on other occasions when he was in a fanciful mood
that they were singing a majestic _Benedicite_, but just then he
was uneasily conscious that there was a new note in the great
reverberating harmonies. Stately pine and towering cedar had raised
their voices, too, and a wild wailing fell through the long waves of
sound from the highest of them on the crest of the hill. It was
evident that a fresh breeze was blowing down the valley, and, as it
must have swept the hollow farther up among the ranges, which was
filled with a deep blue lake, Nasmyth realized that it would drive
at least another foot of water into the river as well as set adrift
the giant logs that lay among the boulders. Even then they were, he
fancied, in all probability driving down upon his half-finished dam.

Rousing himself with an effort, he clambered out of his bunk, and then
gripped the little table hard, for his hip pained him horribly as his
weight came upon it. Then, as he struggled into his clothing, there
was a heavy thud outside, that was followed by a crashing and
grinding, and a gasping man appeared in the door of the shanty.

"Big log across the run," he cried, "three or four more of them coming
along."

Nasmyth, who said nothing, set his lips tight, and was out of the
shanty in another moment or two. A glance at the river showed him that
any effort he could make would, in all probability, be futile; but he
and the others waded out into the flood and recommenced the struggle.
That, at least, was a thing they owed to themselves, and they toiled
for an hour or two very much as they had done in the darkness; only
that fresh logs were now coming down on them every few minutes, and at
last they recognized that they were beaten. Then they went back
dejectedly, and Nasmyth sat down to breakfast, though he had very
little appetite. He felt that all the strength he had would be needed
that day.

After breakfast he lay among the boulders gnawing his unlighted pipe
and watching the growing mass of driftwood that chafed and ground
against the piles of the dam. Nothing, he recognized, could save the
dam now. It was bound to go, for the piles were only partly backed
with stone, and, in any case, men do not build in that new country as
they do in England. Their needs are constantly varying, and their
works are intended merely to serve the purpose of the hour. It is a
growing country, and the men in it know that the next generation will
not be content with anything that they can do, and, what is more to
the purpose, they themselves will want something bigger and more
efficient in another year or two. Hence the dam was a somewhat frail
and temporary structure of timber as well as stone, but it would
probably have done what was asked of it had it been completed before
the floods set in. As it was, Nasmyth knew that he would see the end
of it before another hour slipped by.

It came even sooner than he had expected. There was a dull crash; the
piles that rose above the flood collapsed, and the mass of grinding
timber drove on across the ruined dam. Then Nasmyth rose, and,
stretching himself wearily, went back to his shanty. He felt he could
not face the sympathy of his workmen. He was still sitting there in a
state of utter physical weariness and black dejection, when, towards
the middle of the afternoon, the door was quietly opened, and Laura
Waynefleet came in. She looked at him as he remembered she had done
once or twice at the ranch, with compassion in her eyes, and he was a
little astonished to feel that, instead of bringing him consolation,
her pity hurt him. Then he felt the blood rise to his face, and he
looked away from her.

"You have heard already?" he asked.

"Yes," said the girl softly. "I was at the settlement, and they told
me there. I am so sorry."

Nasmyth winced, but he contrived to say, "Thank you," and then glanced
round the untidy shanty, which was strewn with dripping clothes. "Of
course," he added, "it is something to know that I have your sympathy;
but I must not keep you here."

It was not a tactful speech, but Laura smiled. "I meant to take you
out," she said. "You have been sitting here brooding since the dam
went, and from what Mattawa told me, you haven't had any dinner."

"No," said Nasmyth; "now I come to think of it, I don't believe I
have. I'm not sure it's very astonishing."

"Then we'll go away somewhere and make tea among the pines."

Nasmyth glanced suggestively at his attire. His duck jacket had shrunk
with constant wetting, and would not button across the old blue shirt,
which fell apart at his bronzed neck. The sleeves had also drawn up
from his wrists, and left the backs of his hands unduly prominent. His
hands were scarred, and the fingers were bruised where the hammer-head
had fallen on them in wet weather as it glanced from the drill. The
girl was immaculate in a white hat and a dress of light flowered
print.

"Do I look like going on a picnic with you?" he said. "The few other
things I possess are in much the same condition."

Laura had naturally noticed the state of his attire, but it was his
face that troubled her. It was haggard and his eyes were heavy. As she
had decided long before, it was a face of Grecian type, and she would
sooner have had it Roman. This man, she felt, was too sensitive, and
apt to yield to sudden impulses, and just then her heart ached over
him. Still, she contrived to laugh.

"Pshaw!" she said. "I told Mattawa to get me a few things ready."

Nasmyth followed her out of the shanty, and when he had picked up the
basket and kettle somebody had left at the door, she turned to him.

"Where shall we go?" she asked.

"Anywhere," said Nasmyth, "that is, as long as it's away from the
river."

Laura saw the shrinking in his eyes as he gazed at the swirling flood,
and though she was sorry for him, it roused in her a momentary spark
of anger. Then she went with him up the hillside beneath the climbing
pines until they reached a shadowy hollow near the crest of it, out of
which a little stream trickled down.

"Now light a fire, while I see what there is in the basket," she
said.

She found a splendid trout, a packet of tea, and a little bag of
self-raising flour, among other sundries, and for the next half-hour
she kept Nasmyth busy making flapjacks and frying the trout. Then they
sat down to a simple meal, and when it was over, Nasmyth laughed.

"It's a little astonishing, in view of how I felt at breakfast, but
there's nothing left," he sighed. "In one way the admission's a little
humiliating, but I almost feel myself again."

"It's supposed to be a very natural one in the case of a man," said
Laura. "You can smoke if you like. I want to talk to you."

Nasmyth stretched himself out on the other side of the fire, and
Laura, leaning forward a little, looked at him. Without knowing
exactly why, he felt somewhat uneasy beneath her gaze.

"Now," she said, "I would like to hear what you are going to do."

The man made a little rueful gesture. "I don't know. Chop trees again
for some rancher, most probably--in fact, I was wondering whether you
would have me back as a ranch-hand."

"Ah!" cried the girl sharply, while a trace of hardness crept into her
eyes, "that is very much what I expected. As it happens, I am far from
satisfied with the man we have, but I should not think of replacing
him with you just now."

Nasmyth winced, and it was characteristic of him that he endeavoured
to beguile her away from the object she evidently had in view.

"What's the matter with the man?" he asked.

"A diversity of gifts. Among other things, he appears to possess an
extensive acquaintance with Colonial politics, and he and my father
discuss the regeneration of the Government when they might with
advantage be doing something else."

Nasmyth frowned. "I understand. That's one reason why I wanted to come
back. After all, there is a good deal I could save you from. In fact,
I get savage now and then when I think of what you are probably being
left to do upon the ranch. I ventured a hint or two to your father,
but he seemed impervious." He hesitated for a moment. "No doubt it's a
delicate subject, but it's a little difficult quietly to contemplate
the fact that, while those men talk politics, you--"

"I do their work?" suggested Laura with a lifting of her arched
eyebrows. "After all, isn't that or something like it what generally
happens when men turn their backs upon their task?"

Nasmyth flushed. "I admit that I was trying to break away from mine,
but it seems you have undertaken to head me off and drive me back to
it again."

"That was more or less what I wished," said Laura quietly.

"Well," Nasmyth replied, "as I think you're a little hard on me, I'll
try to put my views before you. To begin with, the dam is done for."

"You are quite sure? You built it so far once. Is it altogether out of
the question for you to do as much again?"

Nasmyth felt his face grow hot. She was looking at him with quiet
eyes, which had, however, the faintest suggestion of disdain in them.

"The question is why I should want to do it," he said.

"Ah!" rejoined Laura, "you have no aspirations at all? Still, I'm not
quite sure that is exactly what I mean--in fact, I think I mean
considerably more. You are quite content to throw away your
birthright, and relinquish all claim to the station you were born
in?"

The man smiled somewhat bitterly. "I think you understand that it's a
custom of this country not to demand from any man an account of what
he may have done before he came out to it. In my particular case it
was, however, nothing very discreditable, and I once had my
aspirations, or, as you prefer to consider it, I recognized my
obligations. Then the blow fell unexpectedly, and I came out here and
became a hired man--a wandering chopper. After all, one learns to be
content rather easily, which is in several ways fortunate. Then you
instilled fresh aspirations--it's the right word in this case--into
me, and I made another attempt, only to be hurled back again. There
doesn't seem to be much use in attempting the impossible."

"Then a thing is to be considered impossible after one fails twice?
There are men who fail--and go on again--all their lives long."

"I'm afraid," Nasmyth declared in a dull tone, "I am not that kind of
man. After all, to be flung down from the station you were born
to--I'm using your own words--and turned suddenly adrift to labour
with one's hands takes a good deal of the courage out of one. I almost
think if you could put yourself in my place you would understand."

Laura smiled in a suggestive fashion, and looked down at the hands she
laid upon her knee. They were capable, as well as shapely, and, as he
had noticed more than once, the signs of toil were very plain on
them.

"I never did an hour's useful work before I came out West," she said.

She had produced the effect she probably desired, for in the midst of
his sudden pity for her Nasmyth was troubled with a sense of shame.
This girl, he realized, had been reared as gently as he had been
himself, and he knew that she now toiled most of every day at what in
the older country would have been considered most unwomanly tasks.
Still, she had borne with it cheerfully, and had courage to spare for
others whose strength was less than hers.

He sat silent for almost a minute, looking down between the great
pines into the valley, and, as he did so, he vaguely felt the
influence of the wilderness steal over him. The wind had fallen now,
and there was a deep stillness in the climbing forest which the roar
of the river emphasized. Those trees were vast of girth, and they were
very cold. In spite of whirling snow, and gale, and frost, they had
grown slowly to an impressive stateliness. In Nature, as he
recognized, all was conflict, and it was the fine adjustment of
opposing forces that made for the perfection of grace, and strength,
and beauty. Then it seemed to him that his companion was like the
forest--still, and strong, and stately--because she had been through
the stress of conflict too. These were, however, fancies, and he
turned around again to her with a sudden resolution expressed in his
face and attitude.

"There's an argument you might have used, Miss Waynefleet," he told
her. "I said I would try to do you credit, and it almost seems as if I
had forgotten it. Well, if you will wait a little, I will try again."

He rose, and, crossing over, stood close beside her, with his hand
laid gently on her shoulder, looking down on her with a quiet smile.
"After all," he added, "there's a good deal you might have said that
you haven't--in fact, it's one of your strong points that, as a rule,
you content yourself with going just far enough. Well, because you
wish it, I am somehow going to build that dam again."

She looked up at him swiftly with a gleam in her eyes, and Nasmyth
stooped a little, while his hand closed hard upon her shoulder.

"You saved my life, and you have tried to do almost as much in a
different way since then," he went on. "It is probably easier to bring
a sick man back to health than it is to make him realize his
obligations and to imbue him with the courage to face them when it's
evident that he doesn't possess it. Still, you can't do things of that
kind without results, and I think you ought to know that I belong to
you."

There was a trace of colour in Laura Waynefleet's face, and she
quivered a little under his grasp, but she looked at him steadily, and
read his mind in his eyes. The man was stirred by sudden, evanescent
passion and exaggerated gratitude, while pity for her had, she
fancied, also its effect on him; but that was the last thing she
desired, and, with a swift movement, she shook off his hand.

"Ah!" she said; "don't spoil things."

Her tone was quiet, but it was decisive, and Nasmyth, whose face
flushed darkly, let his hand fall back to his side. Then she rose, and
turned to him.

"If we are to be friends, this must never happen again," she added.

Then they went down the hillside and back to the settlement, where
Nasmyth harnessed the team, which the rancher who lived near
occasionally placed at Waynefleet's disposal, to a dilapidated waggon.
When she gathered the reins up, Laura smiled down on him.

"After all," she reminded him, "you will remember that I expect you to
do me credit."

She drove away, and Nasmyth walked back to his camp beside the dam,
where the men were awaiting the six o'clock supper. He leaned upon a
pine-stump, looking at them gravely, when he had called them
together.

"Boys," he said, "the river, as you know, has wiped out most of the
dam. Now, it was a tight fit for me to finance the thing, and I
don't get any further payment until the stone-work's graded to a
certain level. Well, if you leave me now, I've just enough money in
hand to square off with each of you. You see, if you go you're sure of
your pay. If you stay, most of the money will go to settle the
storekeeper's and the powder bills, and should we fail again, you'll
have thrown your time away. I'd like you to understand the thing;
but whether you stay or not, I'm holding on."

There was silence for half a minute, and then the men, gathering into
little groups, whispered to one another, until Mattawa stood forward.

"All you have to do is to go straight ahead. We're coming along with
you solid--every blame one of us," he said.

A red flush crept into Nasmyth's face.

"Thank you, boys. After that I've got to put this contract through,"
he answered.




CHAPTER VII

LAURA MAKES A DRESS


The frost had grown keener as darkness crept over the forest, and the
towering pines about the clearing rose in great black spires into the
nipping air, but it was almost unpleasantly hot in the little general
room of Waynefleet's ranch. Waynefleet, who was fond of physical
comfort, had gorged the snapping stove, and the smell of hot iron
filled the log-walled room. There was also a dryness in its atmosphere
which would probably have had an unpleasant effect upon anyone not
used to it. The rancher, however, did not appear to feel it. He lay
drowsily in a big hide chair, and his old velvet jacket and evening
shoes were strangely out of harmony with his surroundings. Waynefleet
made it a rule to dress for the six o'clock meal, which he persisted
in calling dinner.

He had disposed of a quantity of potatoes and apples at the settlement
of late, and had now a really excellent cigar in his hand, while a
little cup of the Mocha coffee, brought from Victoria for his especial
use, stood on the table beside him. Waynefleet had cultivated tastes,
and invariably gratified them, when it was possible, while it had not
occurred to him that there was anything significant in the fact that
his daughter confined herself to the acrid green tea provided by the
settlement store. He never did notice a point of that kind, and, if
anyone had ventured to call his attention to it, he would probably
have been indignant as well as astonished. As a rule, however, nobody
endeavours to impress unpleasant facts upon men of Waynefleet's
character. In their case it is clearly not worth while.

"Do you intend to go on with that dressmaking much longer?" he asked
petulantly. "The click of your scissors has an irritating effect on
me, and, as you may have noticed, I cannot spread my paper on the
table. It cramps one's arms to hold it up."

Laura swept part of the litter of fabric off the table, and it was
only natural that she did it a trifle abruptly. She had been busy with
rough tasks, from most of which her father might have relieved her had
he possessed a less fastidious temperament, until supper, and there
were reasons why she desired an hour or two to herself.

"I will not be longer than I can help," she said.

Waynefleet lifted his eyebrows sardonically as he glanced at the
scattered strips of fabric. "This," he said, "is evidently in
preparation for that ridiculous pulp-mill ball. In view of the
primitive manners of the people we shall be compelled to mix with, I
really think I am exercising a good deal of self-denial in consenting
to go at all. Why you should wish to do so is, I confess, altogether
beyond me."

"I understood that you considered it advisable to keep on good terms
with the manager," said Laura, with a trace of impatience. "He has
bought a good deal of produce from you to feed his workmen with."

Her father made a gesture of resignation. "One has certainly to put up
with a good deal that is unpleasant in this barbarous land--in fact,
almost everything in it jars upon one," he complained. "You, however,
I have sometimes wondered to notice, appear almost content here."

Laura looked up with a smile, but said nothing. She, at least, had the
sense and the courage to make the most of what could not be changed.
It was a relief to her when, a minute or two later, the hired man
opened the door.

"If you've got the embrocation, I guess I'll give that ox's leg a
rub," he said.

Waynefleet rose and turned to the girl. "I'll put on my rubber
overshoes," he announced. "As I mentioned that I might have to go out,
it's a pity you didn't think of laying out my coat to warm."

Laura brought the overshoes, and he permitted her to fasten them for
him and to hold his coat while he put it on, after which he went out
grumbling, and she sat down again to her sewing with a strained
expression in her eyes, for there were times when her father tried her
patience severely. She sighed as she contemplated the partly rigged-up
dress stretched out on the table, for she could not help remembering
how she had last worn it at a brilliant English function. Then she had
been flattered and courted, and now she was merely an unpaid toiler on
the lonely ranch. Money was, as a rule, signally scarce there, but
even when there were a few dollars in Waynefleet's possession, it
seldom occurred to him to offer any of them to his daughter. It is
also certain that nobody could have convinced him that it was only
through her efforts he was able to keep the ranch going at all. She
never suggested anything of the kind to him, but she felt now and then
that her burden was almost beyond her strength.

She quietly went on with her sewing. There was to be a dance at the
new pulp-mill, which had just been roofed, and, after all, she was
young, and could take a certain pleasure in the infrequent festivities
of her adopted country. Besides, the forest ranchers dance well, and
there were men among them who had once followed other occupations;
while she knew that Nasmyth would be there--in fact, having at length
raised his dam to the desired level, he would be to a certain extent
an honoured guest. She was not exactly sure how she regarded him,
though it was not altogether as a comrade, and she felt there was, in
one sense, some justice in his admission that he belonged to her. She
had, in all probability, saved his life, and--what was, perhaps, as
much--had roused him from supine acquiescence, and inspired him with a
sustaining purpose. After the day when she had saved him from abject
despair over his ruined dam, he had acquitted himself valiantly, and
she had a quiet pride in him. Moreover, she was aware of a natural
desire to appear to advantage at the approaching dance.

There was, however, difficulty to be grappled with. The dress was old,
and when remade in a later style would be unfortunately plain. The few
pairs of gloves she had brought from England were stained and spotted
with damp, and her eyes grew wistful as she turned over the stock list
of a Victoria dry goods store. The thing would be so easy, if she had
only a little more money, but she sighed as she glanced into her
purse. Then she took up the gloves and a strip of trimming, and looked
at them with a little frown, but while she did so there were footsteps
outside, and the door was opened. A man, whom she recognized as a
hired hand from a ranch in the neighbourhood, stood in the entrance
with a packet in his hand.

"I won't come in," he said. "I met Nasmyth down at the settlement.
He'd just come back from Victoria, and he asked me to bring this
along."

He went away after he had handed her the packet, and a gleam of
pleasure crept into Laura's eyes when she opened it. There was first
of all a box of gloves of various colours, and then inside another
packet a wonderful piece of lace. The artistic delicacy of the lace
appealed to her, for though she possessed very few dainty things she
was fond of them, and she almost fancied that she had not seen
anything of the kind more beautiful in England.

As she unfolded it a strip of paper fell out, and the warm blood
swept into her face as she read the message on it.

"Considering everything, I really don't think you could regard it as a
liberty," it ran. "You have given me a good deal more than this."

Then for just a moment her eyes grew hazy. In proportion to the man's
means, it was a costly gift, and, except for him, nobody had shown her
much consideration since she had left England. She was a trifle
perplexed, for she did not think there was lace of that kind on sale
often in Victoria, and, in regard to the gloves, it was not evident
how he had known her size. Then she remembered that one of the cotton
ones she sometimes wore had disappeared some little time before, and
once more the flush crept into her cheeks. That almost decided her not
to wear his lace, but she felt that to refrain from doing so would
raise the question as to how they stood with regard to one another,
which was one she did not desire to think out closely then; and, after
all, the lace was exactly what she wanted to complete the dress. She
rolled it together, and put it and the gloves away, but she treasured
the little note.

It was a week later when her father drove her to the pulp-mill in a
jolting waggon, and arrived there a little earlier than he had
expected. A dance usually begins with a bountiful supper in that
country, but Waynefleet, who was, as a rule, willing to borrow
implements or teams from his Bush neighbours, would seldom eat with
them when he could help it. He was accordingly not quite pleased to
find the supper had not yet been cleared away, but Laura, who
understood what he was feeling, contrived to lead him into a vacant
place at one of the tables. Then she sat down, and looked about her.

The great room was hung with flags and cedar boughs, and the benches
down the long uncovered tables were crowded. The men's attire was
motley--broadcloth and duck; white shirts, starched or limp, and blue
ones; shoes with the creeper-spikes filed down, and long boots to the
knees. There were women present also, and they wore anything from
light print, put together for the occasion, to treasured garments made
in Montreal or Toronto perhaps a dozen years before, but for all that
the assembly was good to look upon. There was steadfast courage in the
bronzed faces, and most of those who sat about the long tables had
kindly eyes. The stamp of a clean life of effort was upon them, and
there was a certain lithe gracefulness in the unconscious poses of the
straight-limbed men. There was no sign of limp slovenliness about
them. Even in their relaxation they were intent and alert, and, as she
watched them, Laura realized something of their restless activity and
daring optimism. They believe in anything that is good enough in that
country, and are in consequence cheerfully willing to attempt
anything, even if to other men it would appear altogether visionary
and impossible, and simple faith goes a long way when supplemented by
patient labour. Laura suddenly became conscious that the manager of
the pulp-mill, a little wiry man, in white shirt and store clothes,
was speaking at the head of the table.

"In one way, it's not a very big thing we have done, boys," he said;
and Laura was quick to notice the significance of the fact, which was
also characteristic of the country, that he counted himself as one of
them. "We've chopped a hole in the primeval forest, held back the
river, and set up our mill. That's about all on the face of it, but
there's rather more behind. It's another round with Nature, and we've
got her down again. It's a thing you have to do west of the Rockies,
or she'll crush the life out of you. There are folks in the Eastern
cities who call her beneficent; but they don't quite understand what
was laid on man in Eden long ago. Here he's up against flood and frost
and snow. Well, I guess we've done about all we can, and now that
I've paid my respects to the chopper and carpenter-gang, there's
another man I want to mention. He took hold of the contract to put us
up our dam, and kept hold through the blamedest kind of luck. There's
hard grit in him and the boys he led, and the river couldn't wash it
out of them. Well, when the big turbines are humming and the mill's
grinding out money for all of you, I guess you're going to remember
the boys who built the dam."

There was a shout which shook the wooden building, and Laura sat very
still when Nasmyth stood up. There was no doubt that he was a
favourite with everybody there, and she knew that she had nerved him
to the fight. He did not appear altogether at ease, and she waited
with a curious expectancy for what he had to say. It was very little,
but she appreciated the tact which made him use the speech his
audience was accustomed to.

"I had a good crowd," he said. "With the boys I had behind me I
couldn't back down." Then his voice shook a little. "Still, I was
mighty near it once or twice. It was the boys' determination to hold
on--and another thing--that put new grit in me."

Without being conscious of what he was doing, he swept his glance down
the long table until it rested on Laura Waynefleet's face. She felt
the blood creep into her cheeks, for she knew what he meant, but she
looked at him steadily, and her eyes were shining. Then he spread his
hands out.

"I felt I daren't shame boys of that kind," he said, and hastily sat
down.

His observations were certainly somewhat crude, but the little quiver
in his voice got hold of those who heard him, and once more the big
building rang with cheering. As the sound of hearty acclamation died
away there was a great clatter of thrust-back benches through which
the tuning of a fiddle broke. Then out of the tentative twang of
strings rose, clear and silvery, the lament of Flora Macdonald,
thrilling with melancholy, and there were men and women there whose
hearts went back to the other wild and misty land of rock and pine and
frothing river which they had left far away across the sea. It may be
that the musician desired a contrast, or that he was merely feeling
for command of the instrument, for the plaintive melody that ran from
shift to shift into a thin elfin wailing far up the sobbing strings
broke off suddenly, and was followed by the crisp jar of crashing
chords. Then "The Flowers of Edinburgh" rang out with Caledonian verve
in it and a mad seductive swing, and the guests streamed out to the
middle of the floor. That they had just eaten an excellent supper was
a matter of no account with them.

Nasmyth, in the meanwhile, elbowed his way through the crowd of
dancers until he stood at Laura's side, and as he looked at her, there
was a trace of embarrassment in his manner. She wore his lace, but
until that moment her attire had never suggested the station to which
she had been born. Now she seemed to have stepped, fresh and
immaculate, untouched by toil, out of the world to which he had once
belonged. She was, for that night at least, no longer an impoverished
rancher's daughter, but a lady of station. With a twinkle in his eyes,
he made her a little formal inclination, and she, knowing what he was
thinking, answered with an old-world curtsey, after which a grinning
ox-teamster of habitant extraction turned and clapped Nasmyth's
shoulder approvingly.

"V'la la belle chose!" he said. "Mamselle Laura is altogether
ravissante. Me, I dance with no one else if she look at me like dat."

Then Nasmyth and Laura laughed, and glided into the dance, though, in
the case of most of their companions, "plunged" would have been the
better word for it. English reserve is not esteemed in that land, and
the axemen danced with the mingled verve of grey Caledonia and
light-hearted France, while a little man with fiery hair from the
misty Western Isles shrieked encouragement at them, and maddened them
with his fiddle. Even Nasmyth and Laura gave themselves up to the
thrill of it, but as they swung together through the clashing of the
measure, which some of their companions did not know very well,
confused recollections swept through their minds, and they recalled
dances in far different surroundings. Now and then they even fell back
into old tricks of speech, and then, remembering, broke off with a
ringing laughter. They were young still, and the buoyancy of the
country they had adopted was in both of them.

The dance ended too soon, and, when the music broke off with a crash
of clanging chords, Nasmyth led his partner out of the press into a
little log-walled room where the half-built dynamos stood. It was
lighted, but a sharp cool air and the fret of the river came in
through a black opening in one wall. Laura sat upon a large deal case,
and Nasmyth, looking down upon her, leaned against a dynamo. He smiled
as he recognized that she grasped the significance of the throbbing
roar of water.

"It was very pleasant while it lasted, but--and it's a pity--the music
has stopped," he said. "What we are now listening to is the turmoil of
a Canadian river."

Laura laughed, though there was a wistfulness in her eyes. "Oh, I
understand, but couldn't you have let me forget it just for to-night?"
she said. "I suppose that privilege was permitted to Cinderella."

The man felt curiously sorry for her as he remembered how hard her
life was at the lonely ranch, but he knew she would not be pleased if
he expressed his thoughts.

"Well," he observed reflectively, "a thing often looks most
attractive when it's forbidden you, or a long way off, and, you see,
there are always compensations. In fact, I'm beginning to come across
quite a few of them."

He broke off for a moment, and Laura, who noticed that he looked at
her, fancied she understood in what direction his thoughts were
drifting; but he went on again with a laugh.

"After all," he said, "there are exiles who realize that they are in
various ways better off than in all probability they would have been
had they stayed in the land they were driven out of."

"Ah," answered Laura, "would you go back if you were given the
opportunity?"

"No," Nasmyth asserted slowly, "I don't think I should do that--now."

Again she understood him, the more clearly because she saw by the
slight wrinkling of his forehead, during the significant pause, that
he had grappled with the question. She did not think he was altogether
in love with her, but she knew, at least, that he did not wish to go
away while she was left behind in Canada. It seemed desirable to
change the subject, and she touched the lace.

"I have to thank you for this," she said. "It has given me pleasure."
Then--and the words were wholly unpremeditated--she added: "I wanted
to look well--just for once--to-night."

She was sorry, a moment later, when she saw the quick change in the
man's expression, for she remembered that they had always seemed to
understand what the other meant. It was clear that the qualification
just for once had not misled him, but, after all, it seemed to her
that he must presently realize that the admission was not one a
reticent woman really in love with him would have made.

"Oh," he said, "you are always beautiful." Then his manner became
deprecatory. "I didn't think you'd mind. In one way what I owe you
makes me a privileged person. I felt that I could venture----"

This, too, was clear to her, and though she considered his attitude
the correct one, it jarred a little upon her. She was content that
they should be merely comrades, or, at least, that was what she had
endeavoured to convince herself, but, after all, there was no reason
why he should emphasize the fact.

"Yes," she replied quickly, "I think I understand." Then once more she
changed the subject. "I want to compliment you on building the dam."

Nasmyth laughed, but there was a light in his eyes. "I should never
have built it, if it hadn't been for you. Still"--and he made her a
reverent bow--"I owe you a good deal more than that."

Laura made no response to this. She had thrilled at his achievement,
when she had heard the manager's speech, and it became still plainer
that there was a certain hazard in dwelling upon his success. She
could also be practical.

"In one way," she said, "I suppose the result was not quite so
satisfactory?"

"It certainly wasn't. Of course, the work is not quite completed yet,
but after settling up everything, the interim payment left me with
about fifteen dollars in hand."

Laura was not astonished at this, but she was more than a little
perplexed, for she fancied that the lace she was wearing must have
cost a good deal more than fifteen dollars. Still, she had no wish to
make it evident that he had been extravagant; and, while she
considered the matter, a man appeared in the doorway.

"I guess you two have got to come right out," he said. "What d'you
figure you were asked here for?"

Nasmyth held his arm out, but when Laura would have laid her hand
upon it, the man broke in with a grin.

"No, sir," he said severely, "Miss Waynefleet's going right round. Now
you're coming along with me, and we'll show them how to waltz."

Laura smiled good-humouredly, and he swept her into the dance, while
Nasmyth was seized upon by a girl, who drove him through it much as
she did her brother's steers in the Bush.

"A bump or two don't count for much. What you want to do is to hump
yourself and make things hum," said Nasmyth's partner, when another
couple jostled them.

Nasmyth expressed his concurrence in a gasp, and contrived to save her
from another crash, but when the dance was over, he felt limp, and was
conscious that his partner was by no means satisfied with him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Still, I really think I did what I could."

The girl regarded him half compassionately. "Well," she said, "it
wasn't very much, but I guess you played yourself out building that
blamed dam."




CHAPTER VIII

BY COMBAT


Nasmyth's partner condescended, as she said, to give him another show,
but he escaped from that dance with only a few abrasions, and, though
he failed to obtain another with Laura, he contrived to enjoy himself.
All his Bush friends were not primitive. Some of them had once played
their parts in much more brilliant functions. They had cultivated
tastes, and he had learned to recognize the strong points of those who
had not. After all, kindly hearts count for much, and it was not
unnatural that, like other exiles who have plodded up and down that
rugged land, he should think highly of the hard-handed men and patient
women who willingly offer a night's shelter and a share of their dried
apples, salt pork, and grindstone bread to the penniless wanderer.

What was more to the purpose, a number of the guests at the dance had
swung the axe by his side, and fought the river with him when the
valley was filled with the roar of water.

They had done their work gallantly, when it seemed out of the question
that they would ever receive the money he had promised them, from
sheer pride in their manhood, and to keep their word, and now they
danced as determinedly.

There are no cramping conventions and very few shams--and the shams in
those forests, it must be confessed, are as a rule imported ones. In
fact, there was that evening, among all those in the pulp-mill, only
one man who seemed to disassociate himself from the general good-will.
That man was Waynefleet. He wore his old velvet jacket as a cloak of
superciliousness--or, at least, that was how it seemed to the
Bush-ranchers, who recognized and resented an effete pride in the
squeak of his very ancient lacquered shoes. It is possible that he did
not mean to make himself in any way offensive, and merely desired to
indicate that he was graciously willing to patronize their bucolic
festivities. There would have been something almost pathetic in his
carefully preserved dignity had it not been so obtrusively out of
place; and when they stood watching him for a moment or two, Gordon
expressed Nasmyth's thoughts.

"How a man of that kind ever came to be Laura Waynefleet's father is
more than I can figure out!" he said. "It's a question that worries me
every time I look at him. Guess she owes everything to her mother; and
Mrs. Waynefleet must have been a mighty patient woman."

Nasmyth smiled, but Gordon went on reflectively: "You folks show your
sense when you dump your freaks into this country," he said. "It never
seems to strike you that it's a little rough on us. What's the matter
with men like Waynefleet is that you can't teach them sense. I'd have
told him what I thought of him once or twice when I saw the girl doing
his work up at the ranch if I'd figured it would have made any
impression."

"I expect it would have been useless," remarked Nasmyth. "After all,
I'm not sure that it's exactly your business."

Gordon watched Laura Waynefleet as she swung through a waltz on the
arm of a sinewy rancher, and his eyes softened curiously.

"Only on the girl's account," he admitted. "I'm sorry for her. Stills
the blamed old image isn't actively unkind."

Then he saw the sudden contraction of Nasmyth's face, and turned
toward him. "Now," he said, "I want you to understand this thing. If
it would be any comfort to her, I'd let Miss Waynefleet wipe her boots
on me, and in one way that's about all I'm fit for. I know enough to
realize that she'd never waste a moment thinking of a man like me,
even if I hadn't in another way done for myself already."

"Still," Nasmyth replied quietly, "some women can forgive a good
deal."

Gordon's face hardened, and he seemed to straighten himself. "Well,
there are men--any way, in this country--who have too much grit in
them to go crawling, broken, to any woman's feet, and to expect her to
pick them up and mend them. Now you have heard me, and I guess you
understand."

Nasmyth merely made a little gesture of sympathy. After all, he had
the average Englishman's reticence, and the free speech of that
country still jarred upon him now and then. He knew what Gordon had
meant to impress on him, and he was touched by generosity of the
motive, but for all that he felt relieved when Gordon abruptly moved
away. He danced another dance, and then sauntered towards the dynamo
room, where the manager had set up a keg or two of heady Ontario
cider. Several men were refreshing themselves there, but they did not
see him when he approached the door.

"The only thing that's out of tone about this show is Waynefleet,"
said one of them who had once worked for the rancher. "What do we want
that blamed old dead-beat round here for, when he can't speak to
anyone but the Crown land-agent and the mill manager?"

One of the others laughed, but Nasmyth saw venomous hatred in the big
axeman's face. It was, however, not his business, and Waynefleet was a
man for whom he had no great liking. He was about to turn away when
the chopper went on again.

"Waynefleet's a blamed old thief, as everybody knows," he said. "Him
being what he is, I guess you couldn't blame his daughter----"

Nasmyth, whom they had not noticed yet, could not quite hear what
followed; but when somebody flung a sharp, incredulous question at the
speaker, he stood fast in the doorway, with one hand clenched.

"Well," said the man, with a suggestive grin, "what I mean's quite
plain. Is there any other girl, round this settlement who'd make up to
that dam-builder as she's doing, and slip quietly into his shanty
alone?"

Nasmyth never learned what grievance against Waynefleet or his
daughter had prompted this virulence, nor did it appear to matter.
There was just sufficient foundation for the man's insinuation to
render it perilous if it was once permitted to pass unchallenged, and
Nasmyth realized that any attempt to handle the affair delicately was
not likely to be successful. He was afterwards greatly astonished that
he could think clearly and impose a certain command upon himself; but
he understood exactly what it was most advisable for him to do, and he
set about it with a curious cold quietness which served his purpose
well.

There was a gasp of astonishment from one of the group as he stepped
forward into the light and looked with steady eyes at the man who had
spoken.

"Jake," he said, "you are a d---- liar."

It was what the others had expected, and they rose and stood back a
little from the pair, watching expectantly; for they recognized that
the affair was serious, and, though Nasmyth had their sympathy, an
impartial attitude was the correct one now. Jake was tall and lean and
muscular; but perhaps the dam-builder's quietness disconcerted him, or
his bitterness had only extended to the rancher.

"Now," Jake growled, "you light out of this. I don't know that I've
anything against--you."

Nasmyth had his back to the door, and he did not see the grizzled
Mattawa, who was supposed to be one of the strongest choppers about
the settlement, standing a little behind him, and watching him and
Jake attentively. Still, one of the others did, and made a sign to
Mattawa that any support he might feel disposed to offer his employer
would not be tolerated in the meanwhile. Nasmyth, however, realized
that there was only one course open to him, and he drew back one hand
as he met the uneasy eyes of the man in front of him.

"You are going to back down on what you said?" he asked, with incisive
quietness.

"Not a d---- word," the other man assured him.

"Then," said Nasmyth, "you must take the consequences."

He swung forward on his left foot, and there was a thud as his scarred
knuckles landed heavily in the middle of the detractor's face. He
struck with an unexpected swiftness and all the force that was in him,
for he had learned that the rules of the trial by combat are by no
means so hard and fast in British Columbia as they are in England. As
a matter of fact, it is not very frequently resorted to there; but
when men do fight, their one object is to disable their opponents as
soon as possible and by any means available.

Jake reeled backwards a pace or two, and the spectators said
afterwards there was no reason why Nasmyth should have permitted him
to recover himself, as he did. Two axes which the carpenters had been
using stood against the wall, and Jake caught up the nearest of them.
He swung the gleaming blade high, while the blood trickled from his
cut lips and the swollen veins rose on his forehead. This, however,
was going further than the others considered admissible, and there was
a protesting shout, while one sturdy fellow cautiously slid along the
wall to get in behind the man who had the axe.

Still, for a second or two, which might have proved fatal to him,
Nasmyth had only his own resources to depend upon, and he did the one
thing that was possible. The Canadian axe-haft is long, and he sprang
straight in at the man. As he did so, the big blade came down, and
flashed by a hand's breadth behind his shoulders. He felt a burning
pain on the outside of his thigh, but that did not seem to matter, and
he was clutching at his opponent's throat when he was bodily flung
aside. Then, as he fell against the log wall, he had a momentary
glimpse of Jake bent backwards in Mattawa's arms. There was a brief
floundering scuffle as the two men reeled towards the black opening in
the wall, and after that a splash in the darkness outside, and Mattawa
stepped back into the room alone.

"The d---- hog is in the flume," he said.

That did not appear to trouble any of the others. The sluice was not
deep, and, though it was certainly running hard, it was scarcely
likely that a stalwart Bushman would suffer greatly from being washed
along it.

"Guess it will cool him off," said one of them. "If it doesn't, and he
comes back to make a fuss, we'll heave him in again."

Then they turned and looked at Nasmyth, who sat down somewhat limply
on a cider keg. The blood, which was running down his leg, made a
little pool at his feet. Mattawa, who crossed over to him, asked for a
knife, and when a man produced one, he slit Nasmyth's trousers up to
the hip. Then he nodded.

"Boys," he said, "one of you will slip out kind of quiet and bring Mr.
Gordon along. Two more of you will stand in the door there and not let
anybody in."

They obeyed him, and Mattawa looked down at Nasmyth again.

"I guess the thing's not serious," he commented.

"Well," said Nasmyth ruefully, "in one way, I think it is. You see,
store clothes are dear, and this is the only pair of trousers I've
got."

There was a little laugh from the others, and he knew he had done
wisely, when they clumsily expressed their satisfaction at his escape.
He had, at least, discredited Jake, and it was evident that if the man
made any more assertions of a similar nature, which was very unlikely,
no one would listen to them.

In the meanwhile, nobody else seemed to be aware that anything unusual
was going on. All had happened in a minute or two, and the clanging of
the fiddle and the patter of the dancers' feet had drowned any sound
that rose from the dynamo-room. Nasmyth had not long to wait before
Gordon stepped in and quietly set about his surgical work, after
someone had dipped up a little water from the sluice.

"Yes," said Gordon, "it's quite a nice clean slice, and I guess it's
not going to trouble you much, though you won't walk very far for a
week or two. As soon as we can get you to the dam, I'll put a proper
dressing on." Then he looked up sharply. "In the meanwhile, I don't
quite see how you cut yourself like that."

"As a matter of fact, I didn't," said Nasmyth, with evident
reluctance. "I suppose you will have to be told." He looked round at
the others. "Boys, I particularly don't want this thing to go any
further."

He related what had happened, and one of the men stood up. "I wouldn't
worry over that," he replied. "We're not going to talk, and if Jake
does, one of us will pound a little sense into him. Now I'll slip out
and get Highton's team."

After that they gave Nasmyth some cider, and a few minutes later he
limped out through the opening in the wall and across the plank they
laid above the sluice to the waiting waggon. It was not far to the
dam, and before very long Gordon was back again at the mill. It
naturally happened, though he was anxious to avoid her, that Laura
Waynefleet was the first person who accosted him.

"Have you seen Mr. Nasmyth?" she asked.

"Oh, yes," said Gordon. "I saw him a little while ago. You are wanting
him?"

Laura laughed. "I believed I promised him another dance. It's a little
curious he hasn't come for it."

"In one way it's deplorably bad taste."

The girl was quick to notice that his gaze was not quite frank, and he
winced when for a moment she laid her hand upon his arm, for he saw
the veiled anxiety in her eyes.

"Something has been going on," she said. "You don't want to tell me
where Mr. Nasmyth is."

"He has just gone back to the dam. He got hurt--a trifling cut--nothing
more than that. Still, I insisted on tying it up."

"Ah," cried Laura sharply, "you evidently don't wish me to know how he
got it!"

"It is just what I don't mean to do. Any way, it's not worth while
troubling about. Nasmyth's injury isn't in the least serious."

"It doesn't seem to strike you that I could ask him myself."

Gordon would have liked to warn her to keep away from the dam, but he
did not see how it could be done unless he offered some reason, and
that was a thing he shrank from.

"Oh, yes," he said, "you certainly could." Then he glanced down at her
hands. "Those are unusually pretty gloves you have on."

His answer was, as it happened, almost as injudicious as he could have
rendered it, since it left the girl determined to sift the matter
thoroughly. She, however, only smiled just then.

"I think there isn't a nicer pair of gloves in Canada than these," she
said.

Gordon took himself away, wondering what she could have meant by that;
and Laura waited until next day, when, although there was, as usual, a
good deal to be done about the ranch, she went down to find out what
was the matter with Nasmyth.

The injured man was sitting in his shanty, with his foot upon a chair,
but he rose when she came in, and stood leaning rather hard upon the
table.

"It is very kind of you to come," he said, taking her hand. He made
shift to limp to the door, whence he called for Mattawa.

"Bring those two chairs out, Tom, and put them in the sun," he said.

The old axeman shook his head severely. "You sit right down again.
What in the name of wonder are you on your legs for, any way?" he
asked. Then he saw Laura, and made a little gesture of resignation.
"Well, I guess it will have to be done."

The sudden change in his attitude was naturally not lost upon the
girl, but she kept her astonishment to herself, and waited until
Mattawa had made Nasmyth as comfortable as possible. Then she turned
to him.

"I am very sorry you are hurt," she said. "I understand it was an axe
cut. How did it happen?"

Nasmyth appeared to reflect. "Well," he answered, "I suppose I was a
little careless--in fact, I must have been. You see, some of the
building gang had left their axes in the dynamo-room."

"That," said Laura dryly, "certainly accounts for the axe being there.
I'm not sure it goes very much further."

"It really wasn't very much of a cut." Nasmyth's desire to escape
from the topic was a trifle too plain, as he added, "Isn't it nice out
here?"

It occurred to Laura that it was uncomfortably cold, for there was a
nip of frost in the air, though the sun hung coppery red above the
sombre pines.

"I almost fancied you were not overjoyed to see me," she remarked.

Nasmyth appeared momentarily embarrassed, but his expression suddenly
changed, and Laura felt a faint thrill when he laid his hand upon her
arm.

"That," he said, "is a fancy you must never entertain again."

In one respect Laura was fully satisfied, and, though there was still
a great deal upon which she meant to be enlightened, she talked about
other matters for almost half an hour, and then rose with a little
shiver.

"I must get back to the settlement, where I have left the team," she
said, and glanced down at him for a moment with solicitude in her
eyes. "You will be very careful."

Nasmyth let her go, but he did not know that she signed to Mattawa,
who was then busy hewing out a big redwood log. The axeman strolled
after her into the Bush, and then stopped to look hard at her as he
uttered an inquiring, "Well?"

"Tom," said the girl, "can't you understand that it would be very much
wiser if somebody told me exactly how Mr. Nasmyth got hurt?"

The axeman nodded. "Yes," he admitted, with a wink, "that's just how
it strikes me, and I'm going to. The boss has no more arms and legs
than he's a use for anyway."

Laura gazed at him in bewilderment, but the man's expression was
perfectly grave. "Now," he added, "I guess one can talk straight sense
to you, and the fact is I can't have you coming round here again. Just
listen about two minutes, and I'll try to make the thing clear to
you."

He did so with a certain graphic force that she had not expected from
him, and the colour crept into her cheeks. Then, to Mattawa's
astonishment, she smiled.

"Thank you," she said simply. "But the other man?"

"Well," replied Mattawa, "if he goes round talking, somebody will
'most pound the life out of him."

Then he swung round abruptly, for he was shrewd, and had his primitive
notions of delicacy; and Laura went on through the stillness of the
Bush, with a curious softness in her eyes. Mattawa had been terse,
and, in some respects, his observations had not been tactful, but
nobody could have impressed her more in Nasmyth's favour. Indeed, at
the moment, she scarcely remembered how the aspersions Jake had made
might affect herself. As it happened, she met Gordon near the
settlement, and he stopped a moment. He had come upon her suddenly,
and had looked at her with a suggestive steadiness, but she smiled.

"Yes," she said, "I have been to the dam. After the way in which you
made it evident that you didn't want me to go there, it was, perhaps,
no more than you could have expected."

"Ah!" rejoined Gordon, with a look of anxiety, "you probably got hold
of Mattawa. Well, after all, I guess he has done the wise thing." Then
after a pause he observed, "There is very little the matter with your
courage."

"I fancy," observed Laura half wistfully, "that is, in several
respects, fortunate."

Then she went on again, and though Gordon felt exceedingly compassionate,
he frowned and closed one hand.

"It's a sure thing I'll have to tell Waynefleet what kind of a man he
is," he said.




CHAPTER IX

GORDON SPEAKS HIS MIND


It was a nipping morning, and the clearing outside the ranch was
flecked with patches of frozen snow, when Waynefleet sat shivering in
a hide chair beside the stove. The broken viands upon the table in
front of him suggested that he had just made a tolerable breakfast,
but his pose was expressive of limp resignation, and one could have
fancied from the look in his thin face that he was feeling very sorry
for himself. Self-pity, in fact, was rather a habit of his, and,
perhaps, because of it, he had usually very little pity to spare for
anybody else. He looked up when, flushed and gasping, his daughter
came in with two heavy pails of water. She shivered visibly.

"It would be a favour if you would shut that door as soon as you can,"
said Waynefleet. "As I fancy I have mentioned, this cold goes right
through me. It occurred to me that you might have come in a little
earlier to see if I was getting my breakfast properly."

Laura, who glanced at the table, thought that he had acquitted himself
reasonably well, but she refrained from pointing out the fact, and,
after shutting the door, crossed the room to her store-cupboard, and
took out a can of fruit which she had set aside for another purpose.
Waynefleet watched her open it and made a little sign of impatience.

"You are very clumsy this morning," he said.

The girl's hands were wet and stiff with cold, but she quietly laid
another plate upon the table before she answered him.

"Charly is busy in the slashing, and I don't want to take him away,
but there are those logs in the wet patch that ought to be hauled out
now the ground is hard," she said. "I suppose you don't feel equal to
doing it to-day?"

"No," said Waynefleet with querulous incisiveness, "it is quite out of
the question. Do I look like a man who could reasonably be expected to
undertake anything of that kind just now?"

It occurred to Laura that he did not look as if there was very much
the matter with him, and she stood still a minute considering. As
Gordon had said, it was she who managed the ranch, and she recognized
that it was desirable that the trees in question should be dragged out
of the soft ground while the frost lasted. Still, there was the baking
and washing, and it would be late at night before she could accomplish
half she wished to do, if she undertook the task in question. While
she thought over it her father spoke again.

"I wish you would sit down," he said. "I feel I must have quietness,
and your restless habits jar upon me horribly."

That decided her, and slipping into her own room, she put on an old
blanket coat, and went out quietly. She walked through the orchard to
the little log stable where the working oxen stood, and, after patting
the patient beasts, shackled a heavy chain to the yoke she laid upon
their brawny necks. Then, picking up a handspike, she led them out,
and for an hour walked beside them, tapping them with a long pointed
stick, while they dragged the big logs out of the swamp. Now and then
it taxed all her strength to lift the thinner end of a log on the
chain-sling with a handspike, but she contrived to do it until at
length one heavier than the others proved too much for her. She could
hear the ringing of the hired man's axe across the clearing, but there
was a great deal for him to do, and, taking up the handspike again,
she strained at it.

She heard footsteps behind her, and she straightened herself suddenly.
She turned and saw Gordon watching her with a curious smile. Tall and
straight and supple, with a ruddy, half-guilty glow on her face, she
stood near the middle of the little gap in the Bush, the big dappled
oxen close at her side. The wintry sunlight, which struck upon her,
tinted the old blanket dress a shining ochre, and the loose tress of
red-gold hair, which had escaped from beneath her little fur cap,
struck a dominant tone of glowing colour among the pale reds and
russets of the fir-trunks and withered fern.

Gordon shook his head reproachfully. "Sit down a minute or two, and
I'll heave that log on to the sling," he said. "This is not the kind
of thing you ought to be doing."

Laura, who was glad of the excuse, sat down on one of the logs, while
the man leaned against a fir and gravely regarded her.

"The work must be done by somebody, and my father is apparently not
very well again," she explained. "Charly has his hands full in the
slashing. We must get it cleaned up, if it is to be ploughed this
spring."

"Nasmyth contrived to look after all these things. Why didn't you keep
him? The man didn't want to go away."

The colour deepened in Laura's face, and Gordon, who saw it, made a
sign of comprehension. "Well," he added, "I suppose that wasn't a
thing one could expect you to tell me, though I don't quite see why
you shouldn't think of yourself now and then. You know it wasn't on
your own account you sent him away."

"How does this concern you?" she asked.

Gordon flung one hand out. "Ah," he said, "how does it concern me?"
Then he seemed to lay a restraint upon himself. "Well, it does in one
sense, anyway. After all, I am a doctor, and a friend of yours, and
I'm going to warn you against attempting things women weren't meant
to do. If that doesn't prove efficacious, I'll say a word or two to
Nasmyth, and you'll have him back here again. It's a sure thing your
father would be glad to get him."

"If you do, I shall never forgive you," warned Laura, with a flash in
her eyes.

She was sorry she had spoken so plainly when she saw that Gordon
winced. She had guessed more or less correctly what the man felt for
her, and she had no wish to pain him. Except for that, however, the
admission she had made did not greatly matter, since she fancied that
he was quite aware why she had sent Nasmyth away. Gordon changed the
subject abruptly.

"There are very few of those blanket dresses this side of the
Rockies," he said. "You probably got it back East."

The girl's eyes had a wistful look as she answered: "We spent our
first winter in Montreal, and we had some friends who were very kind
to us. I like to look back upon those first few months in Canada."

Gordon nodded. "Oh, yes," he replied. "I know--sleigh-rides, snowshoe
meets, skating-rinks, toboggan-slides. Quite as lively as a London
season, and considerably more invigorating; I guess you've been
through that, too. In one way it's a pity you didn't stay in
Montreal."

He saw her sudden embarrassment, and fancied that she could have
stayed there, if she had wished to do so, but he felt that he must
speak frankly, and he shook his head severely.

"Do you never think of your own advantage at all?" he inquired. "Have
you none of the ambitions that most women seem to have?"

"Aren't you forgetting?" Laura asked with sudden quietness. "My father
found it would not be advisable for him to settle in Montreal--for the
same reason that afterwards led us to leave Victoria--and we went
West. Perhaps he could have faced the trouble and lived it down, but I
could not leave him alone."

Gordon sat silent a moment or two. He knew, though she very rarely
mentioned it, how heavy was the burden that had been laid upon her,
and he was divided between a great pity for her and anger against her
father. Then he rose slowly to his feet.

"Miss Waynefleet," he said, "if I have said anything that hurt you,
I'm sorry, but there are times when I must talk. I feel I have to. In
the meanwhile I'll heave those logs up on a skid so that you can slip
the chain round them."

For the next half-hour he exerted himself savagely, and when at last
he dropped the handspike, his face was damp with perspiration. He
smiled grimly when Laura, who had hauled one or two of the logs away,
came back tapping the plodding oxen.

"Now," he said, "I'm going in to see your father. Custer happened to
tell me he was feeling low again, and it's going to afford me a good
deal of pleasure to prescribe for him."

He swung off his wide hat, and, when he turned away, Laura wondered
with a few misgivings what had brought the little snap into his eyes.
Three or four minutes later he entered the house, where Waynefleet lay
beside the stove with a cigar in his hand.

"I ran across Custer at the settlement, and I came along to see how
you were keeping," said Gordon.

Waynefleet held out a cigar-box. "Make yourself comfortable," he
answered hospitably. "We'll have dinner a little earlier than usual."

The sight of the label on the box came near rousing Gordon to an
outbreak of indignation. "I'm not going to stay," he declared. "It
seems to me Miss Waynefleet has about enough to do already."

He saw Waynefleet raise his eyebrows, and he added: "I guess it's not
worth while troubling to point out that it's not my affair. Now, if
you'll get ahead with your symptoms."

Waynefleet looked hard at him for a moment. The older man was not
accustomed to being addressed in that brusque fashion, and it jarred
upon him, but, as a matter of fact, he was not feeling well, and, as
he not infrequently pointed out, he had discovered that one had to put
up with many unpleasant things in that barbarous country. He described
his symptoms feelingly, and was rather indignant when Gordon expressed
neither astonishment nor sympathy.

"That's all right," said Gordon. "The thing's quite plain--especially
the general lassitude you complain of. The trouble is that if you
don't make an effort it's going to become chronic."

Again Waynefleet looked at him in astonishment, for Gordon's tone was
very suggestive.

"Yes," added the medical adviser, "it's a complaint a good many men,
who haven't been raised to work, are afflicted with. Well, I'll mix
you up a tonic, and you'll drive down for it yourself. The thing won't
be half as efficacious if you send the hired man. Then you'll set to
every morning soon as breakfast's over, and do a couple of hours'
smart chopping for a week. By that time you'll find it easy, and you
can go on an hour or two in the afternoon. Nobody round here will
recognize you, if you keep it up for the next three months."

Waynefleet's thin face grew red, but Gordon's imperturbable demeanour
restrained him from betraying his indignation.

"You don't understand that I couldn't swing an axe for five minutes
together," he objected.

"The trouble," answered Gordon, "is that you don't want to."

Waynefleet made an attempt to rise, but his companion laid a hand
upon his arm and pressed him down again.

"You were anxious for my advice, and now I'm going to prescribe,"
Gordon continued. "Two hours' steady chopping every day, to be raised
by degrees to six. Then I'd let up on smoking cigars of that kind, and
practise a little more self-denial in one or two other respects. You
could make things easier for Miss Waynefleet with the money you
save."

He rose with a laugh. "Well, I'm going. All you have to do is to carry
out my suggestions, and you may still make yourself and your ranch a
credit to the district. In the meanwhile, this place would be
considerably improved by a little ventilation."

He went out, and left Waynefleet gazing in indignant astonishment at
the door he carefully fixed open. It seemed to Waynefleet almost
incredible that such words should have been spoken to him, and the
suggestion that at the cost of a painful effort he should endeavour to
make himself a credit to that barbarous neighbourhood rankled most of
all. He had felt, hitherto, that he had conferred a favour on the
community by settling there. He lay still until his daughter came in
and glanced at him inquiringly.

"You have seen Mr. Gordon?" she queried.

"I have," answered Waynefleet with fine disdain. "You will understand
that if he comes back here, he must be kept away from me. The man is
utterly devoid of refinement or consideration."

In the meanwhile Gordon was riding, circumspectly, down the rutted
trail, and it was an hour later when he dismounted at the shanty of
Nasmyth's workmen, and shared a meal with the gang employed on the
dam. After that he sat with Nasmyth, who still limped a little, in the
hut, from which, as the door stood open, they could see the men stream
up into the Bush and out along the dam. The dam now stood high above
the water-level, for the frost had bound fast the feeding snow upon
the peaks above, though the stream roared and frothed through the two
big sluice-gates. By-and-by, the ringing of axes and the clink of
drills broke through the sound of the rushing waters. Gordon, who
stretched himself out on a deer-hide lounge, smiled at Nasmyth as he
lighted his pipe.

"I've been talking a little sense to Waynefleet this morning. I felt I
had to, though I'm afraid it's not going to be any use," he
announced.

"Whether you were warranted or not is, of course, another matter,"
said Nasmyth. "Perhaps you were, if you did it on Miss Waynefleet's
account. Anyway, I don't altogether understand why you should be sure
it will have no effect."

Gordon looked at him with a grin. "Well," he remarked oracularly,
"it's easy to acquire an inflated notion of one's own importance,
though it's quite often a little difficult to keep it. Something's
very apt to come along and prick you, and you collapse flat when it
lets the inflation out. In some cases one never quite gets one's
self-sufficiency back. The scar the prick made is always there, but
it's different with Waynefleet. He is made of self-closing jelly, and
when you take the knife out the gap shuts up again. It's quite hard to
fancy it was ever there."

Nasmyth nodded gravely, for there was an elusive something in his
comrade's tone that roused his sympathy.

"Gordon," he said, "is it quite impossible for you to go back East
again?"

Gordon leaned back in his chair, and glanced out across the toiling
men upon the dam, at the frothing river and rugged hillside, with a
look of longing in his eyes.

"In one way it is, but I want you to understand," he replied. "I might
begin again in some desolate little town--but I aimed higher--and was
once very nearly getting there. As it is, if I made my mark, the thing
I did would be remembered against me. We'll let it go. As a surgeon of
any account I'm done for."

"Still, it's a tolerably big country, and folks forget. You might, at
least, go so far, and that would, after all, give you a good deal--a
competence, the right to marry."

Gordon laughed, but his voice was harsh.

"This is one of the days on which I must talk. I feel like that, now
and then," he said. Then he looked at Nasmyth hard. "Well, I've seen
the one woman I could marry, and it's certain that, if I dare make her
the offer, she would never marry me."

"Ah," said Nasmyth, "you seem quite sure of that?"

"Quite," declared Gordon, and there was, for a moment or two, an
almost uncomfortable silence in the shanty.

Then he made a little forceful gesture as he turned to his companion
again.

"Well," he said, "after all, what does it count for? Is it man's one
and only business to marry somebody? Of course, we have folks back
East, who seem to act on that belief, and in your country half of them
appear to spend their time and energies philandering."

"I don't think it's half," said Nasmyth dryly.

"It's not a point of any importance, and we'll let it go. Anyway, it
seems perilously easy for a man who gets the woman he sets his mind
upon to sink into a fireside hog in the civilized world. Now and then,
when things go wrong with folks of that kind, they come out here, and
nobody has any use for them. What can you do with the man who gets
sick the first time he sleeps in the rain, and can't do without his
dinner? Oh, I know all about the preservation of the species, but
west of the Great Lakes we've no room for any species that isn't tough
and fit."

He broke off for a moment. "After all, this is the single man's
country, and--we--know that it demands from him the best that he was
given, from the grimmest toil of his body to the keenest effort of his
brain. Marriage is a detail--an incident; we're here to fight, to
grapple with the wilderness, and to break it in, and that burden
wasn't laid upon us only for the good of ourselves. When we've flung
our trestles over the rivers, and blown room for the steel track out
of the canyon's side, the oat-fields and the orchards creep up the
valleys, and the men from the cities set up their mills. Prospector,
track-layer, chopper, follow in sequence here, and then we're ready to
hold out our hands to the thousands you've no use or food for back
yonder. I'm not sure it matters that the men who do the work don't
often share the results of it. We bury them beside our bridge trestles
and under tons of shattered rock, and, perhaps, when their time comes,
some of them aren't sorry to have done with it. Anyway, they've stood
up to man's primeval task."

He rose with another half-deprecatory laugh, but his eyes snapped.
"You don't talk like that in your country--it would hurt some of
you--but if we spread ourselves now and then, you can look round and
see the things we do." Then he touched Nasmyth's shoulder. "Oh, yes,
you understand--for somebody has taught you--and by-and-by, you're
going to feel the thing getting hold of you."

He moved towards the doorway, but turned as he reached it. "Talking's
cheap, and I have several dozen blamed big firs to saw up, as well as
Waynefleet's tonic to mix. He'll come along for it when that prick I
gave him commences to heal."




CHAPTER X

THE CALLING CANON


There were four wet and weary men in the Siwash canoe that Nasmyth,
who crouched astern, had just shot across the whirling pool with the
back feathering stroke of his paddle which is so difficult to acquire.
Tom from Mattawa, grasping a dripping pole, stood up in the bow.
Gordon and Wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, knelt in the middle of the
boat. Wheeler's hands were blistered from gripping the paddle-haft,
and his knees were raw, where he had pressed them against the bottom
of the craft to obtain a purchase. It was several years since he had
undertaken any severe manual labour, though he was by no means unused
to it, and he was cramped and aching in every limb. He had plied pole
or paddle for eight hours, during which his companions had painfully
propelled the craft a few miles into the canyon. He gasped with relief
when Mattawa ran the bow of the canoe in upon the shingle, and then
rose and stretched himself wearily. The four men stepped ashore.
Curiously they looked about them, for they had had little opportunity
for observation. Those who undertake to pole a canoe up the rapids of
a river on the Pacific slope usually find it advisable to confine
their attention strictly to the business in hand.

Immediately in front of them the river roared and seethed amid giant
boulders, which rose out of a tumultuous rush of foam, but while it
was clearly beyond the power of flesh and blood to drive the canoe up
against the current, a strip of shingle, also strewn with boulders and
broken by ledges of dripping rock, divided the water from the wall of
the canyon. The canyon, a tremendous slope of rock with its dark crest
overhanging them, ran up high above their heads; but they could see
the pines clinging to the hillside which rose from the edge of the
other wall across the river, so steep that it appeared impossible to
find a foothold upon it.

The four men were down in the bottom of a great rift in the hills,
and, though it would be day above for at least two hours, the light
was faint in the hollow and dimmed by drifting mist. It was a spot
from which a man new to that wild country might well have shrunk, and
the roar of water rang through it in tremendous, nerve-taxing
pulsations. Nasmyth and his companions, however, had gone there with
no particular purpose--merely for relaxation--though it had cost them
hours of arduous labour, and the journey had been a more or less
hazardous one. Wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, was waiting for his
machinery, and, Nasmyth had finished the dam. When they planned the
journey for pleasure, Mattawa and Gordon had gone with them ostensibly
on a shooting trip. There are game laws, which set forth when and
where a man may shoot, and how many heads he is entitled to, but it
must be admitted that the Bush-rancher seldom concerns himself greatly
about them. When he fancies a change of diet, he goes out and kills a
deer. Still, though all the party had rifles no one would have cared
very much if they had not come across anything to shoot at.

Now and then a vague unrest comes upon the Bushman, and he sets off
for the wilderness, and stays there while his provisions hold out. He
usually calls it prospecting, but as a rule he comes back with his
garments rent to tatters, and no record of any mineral claim or timber
rights, but once more contentedly he goes on with his task. It may be
a reawakening of forgotten instincts, half-conscious lust of
adventure, or a mere desire for change, that impels him to make the
journey, but it is at least an impulse with which most men who toil
in those forests are well acquainted.

Nasmyth and Mattawa pulled the canoe out, and when they sat down and
lighted their pipes, Wheeler grinned as he drew up his duck trousers
and surveyed his knees, which were raw and bleeding. Then he held up
one of his hands that his comrades might notice the blisters upon it.
He was a little, wiry man with dark eyes, which had a snap in them.

"Well," he observed, "we're here, and I guess any man with sense
enough to prefer whole bones to broken ones would wonder why we are.
It's most twelve years since I used to head off into the Bush this way
in Washington."

Gordon glanced at him with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now," he observed,
"you've hit the reason the first time. When you've done it once,
you'll do it again. You have to. Perhaps it's Nature's protest against
your axiom that man's chief business is dollar-making. Still, I'm
admitting that this is a blamed curious place for Nasmyth to figure on
killing a wapiti in. Say, are you going to sleep here to-night,
Derrick?"

It was very evident that none of the big wapiti--elks, as the Bushman
incorrectly calls them--could have reached that spot, but Nasmyth
laughed.

"I felt I'd like to see the fall--I don't know why," he said. "It's
scarcely another mile, and I've been up almost that far with an Indian
before. There's a ravine with young spruce in it where we could
sleep."

"Then," announced Wheeler resolutely, "we're starting right now. When
I pole a canoe up a place of this kind I want to see where I'm going.
I once went down a big rapid with the canoe-bottom up in front of me
in the dark, and one journey of that kind is quite enough."

They dumped out their camp gear, and took hold of the canoe, a
beautifully modelled, fragile thing, hollowed out of a cedar log, and
for the next half-hour hauled it laboriously over some sixty yards of
boulders and pushed it, walking waist-deep, across rock-strewn pools.
Then they went back for their wet tent, axes, rifles, blankets, and a
bag of flour, and when they had reloaded the canoe, they took up the
poles again. It was the hardest kind of work, and demanded strength
and skill, for a very small blunder would have meant wreck upon some
froth-lapped boulder, or an upset into the fierce white rush of the
river, but at length they reached a deep whirling pool, round which
long smears of white froth swung in wild gyrations. The smooth rock
rose out of the pool without even a cranny one could slip a hand into,
and the river fell tumultuously over a ledge into the head of it. The
water swept out of a veil of thin white mist, and the great rift rang
with a bewildering din. One felt that the vast primeval forces were
omnipotent there. As the men looked about them with the spray on their
wet faces and the white mist streaming by, Mattawa, who stood up
forward, dropped suddenly into the bottom of the canoe.

"In poles," he said. "Paddle! Get a move on her!" Nasmyth, who felt
his pole dip into empty water, flung it in and grabbed his paddle, for
the craft shot forward suddenly with the swing of the eddy towards the
fall. He did not know whether the stream would sweep them under it,
but he was not desirous of affording it the opportunity. For perhaps a
minute they exerted themselves furiously, gasping as they strained
aching arms and backs, and meanwhile, in spite of them, beneath the
towering fall of rock, the canoe slid on toward the fall. It also drew
a little nearer to the middle of the pool, where there was a curious
bevelled hollow, round which the white foam spun. It seemed to Nasmyth
that the stream went bodily down.

"Paddle," said Mattawa hoarsely. "Heave her clear of it."

They drove furiously between the white-streaked shoot of the fall and
that horribly suggestive whirling; then, as they went back towards the
outrush from the pool, they made another desperate, gasping effort.
For several moments it seemed that they must be swept back again, and
then they gained a little, and, with a few more strokes, reached the
edge of the rapid. They let the canoe drive down the rapid while the
boulders flashed by them, for there was the same desire in all of
them, and that was to get as far as possible away from that horrible
pool. At last Mattawa, standing up forward, poled the canoe in where a
deep ravine rent the dark rock's side, and the party went ashore, wet
and gasping. Wheeler looked back up the gorge and solemnly shook his
head.

"If you want to see any more of it, you've got to do it alone. I've
had enough," he declared. "A man who runs a pulp-mill has no use for
paddling under that kind of fall. I'm not going back again."

Mattawa and Gordon set the tent up in the hollow of the ravine, while
Wheeler hewed off spruce branches with which to make the beds; but
Nasmyth did nothing to assist any of them. Thinking hard, he sat on a
boulder, with his unlighted pipe in his hand. The throbbing roar of
water rang about him; and it was then that the great project crept
into his mind. It was rapidly growing dark in the bottom of the great
rift, but he could still see the dim white flashing of the fall and
the vast wall of rock and rugged hillside that ran up in shadowy
grandeur, high above his head, and as he gazed at it all he felt his
heart throb fast. He was conscious of a curious thrill as he watched
and listened to that clash of stupendous forces. The river had spent
countless ages cutting out that channel, hurling down mighty boulders
and stream-driven shingle upon the living rock; but it was, it seemed
to him, within man's power to alter it in a few arduous months. He
sat very still, astonished at the daring of his own conception, until
Wheeler strolled up to him.

"How much does the river drop at the fall?" he asked.

"About eight feet in the fall itself," answered Wheeler. "Seems to me
it falls much more in the rush above. Still, I can't say I noticed it
particularly--I had something else to think about."

"It's a short rapid," remarked Nasmyth reflectively. "There is, no
doubt, a great deal of the hardest kind of rock under it, which is, in
one or two respects, unfortunate. I suppose you don't know very much
about geology?"

"I don't," confessed the pulp-miller. "Machines are my specialty."

"Well," said Nasmyth, "I'm afraid I don't either, and I believe one or
two of these canyons have puzzled wiser folks than I. You see, the
general notion is that the rivers made them, but it doesn't seem quite
reasonable to imagine a river tilting at a solid range and splitting
it through the middle. In fact, it seems to me that some of the canyons
were there already, and the rivers just ran into them. One or two
Indians have come down from the valley close to the fall, and they
told me the river was quite deep there. The rock just holds it up at
the fall. It's a natural dam--a dyke, I think they call it."

"I don't quite understand what all this is leading to," observed
Wheeler.

Nasmyth laughed, though there was, as his companion noticed, a curious
look in his eyes. "I'll try to make it clearer when we get into the
valley. We're going there to-morrow."

It was almost dark now, and they went back together to the little fire
that burned redly among the spruces in the ravine. There Mattawa and
Gordon had a simple supper ready. The others stretched themselves
out, rolled in their blankets, soon after they had eaten, but Nasmyth
lay propped up on one elbow, wide awake, listening to the roar of
water until well into the night. The stream drowned the faint rustling
of the spruces in a great dominant note, and he set his lips as he
recognized its depth of tone and volume. He had once more determined
to pit all his strength of mind and body against the river. Still, he
went to sleep at last, and awakening some time after it was dawn on
the heights above, roused his comrades. When breakfast was over he
started with them up the ravine to cross the range.

It was afternoon before they accomplished the climb, though the height
was not great and a ravine pierced the crest, and they had rent most
of their clothes to tatters when they scrambled down the slope into
the valley. Those pine-shrouded hillsides are strewn with mighty
fallen trees, amid which the tangled underbrush grows tall and rank,
and, where the pines are less thickly spaced, there are usually matted
groves of willows, if the soil is damp. They pitched camp on the edge
of the valley, and Gordon and Nasmyth prepared supper, while Wheeler
cut firewood and Mattawa went out to prospect for the tracks of
feeding deer. The axeman came back to say there were no signs of any
wapiti, though the little Bush deer were evidently about, and it was
decided to try for one that night with the pitlight, a mode of
shooting now and then adopted when the deer are shy.

They ate their supper, and afterwards lay down with their blankets
rolled about them, for it grew very cold as darkness crept up the
valley. Like most of the other valleys, this one was walled in by
steep-sided, pine-shrouded hills; but in this case there were no trees
in the bottom of it, which, while very narrow, appeared several miles
long. It was also nearly level, and the river wound through it in
deep, still bends. There are not many valleys in that country in
which heavy timber fails to grow, and those within reach of a market
have been seized upon; for all ranch produce is in excellent demand,
and the clearing of virgin forest is a singularly arduous task. In
fact, there was only one reason why this strip of natural prairie had
not already been claimed. Most of it was swamp. Nasmyth, who was
quieter than usual, watched the filmy mist creep about it as the soft
darkness rolled down the hillsides.

Gordon rose and hooked a pitlight into his hat. This pitlight
consists simply of a little open miner's-lamp, which has fixed beneath
it a shield cut out of any convenient meat-can. The lamp is filled
with seal oil. Once a man has fastened it upon his head, the light is
cut off from his person, so that he stands invisible, and the little
flame appears unsupported. Deer of any kind are endued with an
inquisitiveness which frequently leads to their destruction, and
when they notice the twinkling light flitting through the air they
approach it to ascertain the reason for such an unusual thing. Then
the rancher shoots, as soon as their shining eyes become visible.

The party divided. Gordon and Nasmyth, who kept near each other, fell
over several rotting trees, and into what appeared to be crumbling
drains. They floundered knee-deep through withered timothy, which is
not a natural grass. For an hour or two nobody saw any deer. Then
Gordon, who was cautiously skirting another drain, closed in on
Nasmyth until he touched his comrade. Nasmyth heard a crackling rustle
among the withered grass. Gordon made a little abrupt movement.

"If we both blaze off, we double the odds on our getting it," he
said.

Nasmyth only just heard him, for his heart was beating with
excitement; but as he stood knee-deep in the grass, with both hands
ready to pitch the heavy rifle up, it seemed to him that Mattawa could
not have been correct when he said that there were only the Bush deer
about. Judging by the noise it was making, the approaching beast, he
thought, must be as big as a wapiti. Then he saw two pale spots of
light, which seemed curiously high above the ground.

"I'm shooting," he said, and in another moment the butt was into his
shoulder.

He felt the jar of it, but, as usual in such cases, he heard no
detonation, though the pale flash from Gordon's rifle was almost in
his eyes. He, however, heard the thud of the heavy bullet, and a
moment or two later, a floundering amidst the grass.

"That can't be a Bush deer!" he cried.

"It sounds 'way more like an elephant," said Gordon, with a gasp.

They ran forward until they stopped a few yards short of something
very big and shadowy that was still struggling in the grass. Gordon
cautiously crept up a little nearer.

"Those aren't deer's horns, anyway," he announced. "Plug it quick. The
blamed thing's getting up."

Nasmyth flung the rifle up to his shoulder, and twice jerked a fresh
cartridge into the chamber, but this time there was silence when the
crash of the heavy Marlin died away among the woods. They crept
forward a little further circumspectly, until Gordon stopped again
with a gasp of consternation.

"Well," he said, "I guess it couldn't be either a Bush deer or a
wapiti."

They were still standing there when their comrades came running up,
and Mattawa, who took down his light, broke into a great hoarse
laugh.

"A steer!" he said, and pointed to a mark on the hide. "One of
Custer's stock. Guess he'll charge you quite a few dollars for killing
it."

Nasmyth smiled somewhat ruefully, for he was by no means burdened
with wealth, but he was, after all, not greatly astonished. Few of the
small ranchers can feed their stock entirely on their little patches
of cleared land, and it is not an unusual thing for most of the herd
to run almost wild in the Bush. Now and then, the cattle acquire a
somewhat perilous fondness for wrecking road-makers' and prospectors'
tents, which explains why a steer occasionally fails to be found and
some little community of axemen is provided with more fresh meat than
can well be consumed.

"I'm afraid it's rather more than likely I'll have to pay a good
price," said Nasmyth. "Do you feel anxious for any more shooting
to-night, Wheeler?"

"No," said the pulp-miller, with a grin, as he surveyed his bemired
clothes. "Guess it's going to prove expensive, and I've had 'most
enough. I don't feel like poling that canoe any farther up-river,
either. What's the matter with camping right where we are until we eat
the steer?"

There was, however, as Mattawa pointed out, a good deal to be done
before they could make their first meal off the beast, and none of
them quite relished the task, especially as they had only an axe and a
couple of moderately long knives. Still, it was done, and when they
carried a portion of the meat out of the swamp, and had gone down to
wash in the icy river, they went wearily back to their tent among the
firs.




CHAPTER XI

THE GREAT IDEA


The night was cold, and a frost-laden wind set the fir branches
sighing as Nasmyth and his comrades sat about a snapping fire. The red
light flickered upon their faces, and then grew dim again, leaving
their blurred figures indistinct amid the smoke that diffused pungent,
aromatic odours as it streamed by and vanished between the towering
tree-trunks.

The four men were of widely different type and training, though it was
characteristic of the country that they sat and talked together on
terms of perfect equality. Two of them were exiles, by fault and
misfortune, from their natural environment. One had forced himself
upwards by daring and mechanical genius into a station to which, in
one sense, he did not belong, and Mattawa, the chopper, alone, pursued
the occupation which had always been familiar to him. Still, it was as
comrades that they lived together in the wilderness, and, what was
more, had they come across one another afterwards in the cities, they
would have resumed their intercourse on exactly the same footing.
After all, they were, in essentials, very much the same, and, when
that is the case, the barriers men raise between themselves do not
count for much in the West, at least. Wheeler, the pulp-mill builder,
who had once sold oranges on the railroad cars, led up to a
conversation that gave Nasmyth an opportunity for which he had been
waiting.

"You and Mattawa are about through with that slashing contract," he
said. "You will not net a great pile of money out of it, I suppose?"

"My share is about thirty," answered Nasmyth, with a little laugh. "My
partner draws a few dollars more. He got in a week when the big log
that rolled on my cut leg lamed me. I seem to have a particularly
unfortunate habit of hurting myself. Are you going back to Ontario
when we get that money, Mattawa?"

"No," the big axeman replied slowly; "anyway, not yet, though I was
thinking of it. The ticket costs too much. They've been shoving up
their Eastern rates."

"You ought to have a few dollars in hand," remarked Nasmyth, who was
quite aware that this was not exactly his business. "Are you going to
start a ranch?"

Mattawa appeared to smile. "I have one half cleared back in Ontario."

"Then what d'you come out here for?" Gordon broke in.

"To give the boy a show. He's quite smart, and we were figuring we
might make a doctor or a surveyor of him. That costs money, and wages
are 'way higher here than they are back East."

It was a simple statement, made very quietly by a simple man, but it
appealed forcibly to those who heard it, for they could understand
what lay behind it. Love of change or adventure, it was evident, had
nothing to do with sending the grizzled Mattawa out to the forests
of the West. He had, as he said, merely come there that his son might
be afforded opportunities that he had never had, and this was
characteristic, for it is not often that the second generation stays
on the land. Though teamsters and choppers to the manner born are busy
here and there, the Canadian prairie is to a large extent broken and
the forest driven back by young men from the Eastern cities and by
exiled Englishmen. Their life is a grim one, and when they marry they
do not desire their children to continue it. Yet, they do not
often marry, since the wilderness, in most cases, would crush the
wives they would choose. The men toil on alone, facing flood, and
drought, and frost, and some hate the silence of the winter nights
during which they sit beside the stove.

"Then," inquired Wheeler, "who runs the ranch?"

"The wife and the boy. That is, when the boy's not chopping or
ploughing for somebody."

There were reasons why Nasmyth was stirred by what he had heard, and
with his pipe he pointed to Mattawa, as the flickering firelight fell
upon the old axeman's face.

"That," he said, "is the man who didn't want his wages when I offered
them to him, though he knew it was quite likely he would never get
them afterwards unless I built the dam. He'd been working for me two
or three months then, in the flooded river, most of the while. Now, is
there any sense in that kind of man?"

Mattawa appeared disconcerted, and his hard face flushed. "Well," he
explained, "I felt I had to see you through." He hesitated for a
moment with a gesture which seemed deprecatory of his point of view.
"It seemed up to me."

"You've heard him," said Gordon dryly. "He's from the desolate Bush
back East, and nobody has taught him to express himself clearly. The
men of that kind are handiest with the axe and drill, but it has
always seemed to me that the nations are going to sit round and listen
when they get up and speak their mind some day."

He saw the smile in Nasmyth's eyes, and turned to Wheeler, who was
from the State of Washington. "It's a solid fact that you, at least,
can understand. It's not so very long since your folks headed West
across the Ohio, and it's open to anyone to see what you have done."
Then he flung his hand out towards the east. "They fancy back yonder
we're still in the leading-strings, and it doesn't seem to strike them
that we're growing big and strong."

It was characteristic that Wheeler did not grin, as Nasmyth certainly
did. What Gordon had said was, no doubt, a trifle flamboyant, but it
expressed the views of others in the West, and after all it was more
or less warranted. Mattawa, however, gazed at them both as if such
matters were beyond him, and Wheeler, who turned to Nasmyth, changed
the subject.

"Well," he said, "what are you going to strike next?"

Nasmyth took out his pipe, and carefully filled it before he answered,
for he knew that his time had come, and he desired greatly to carry
his comrades along with him.

"I have," he said quietly, "a notion in my mind, or, anyway, the germ
of one, for the thing will want some worrying out. It's quite a
serious undertaking. To begin with, I'll ask Gordon who cut these
drains we've been falling into, and what he did it for?"

"An Englishman," Gordon answered. "Nobody knew much about him. He was
probably an exile, too. Anyway, he saw this valley, and it seemed to
strike him that he could make a ranch in it."

"Why should he fix on this particular valley?"

"The thing's plain enough. How many years does a man usually spend
chopping a clearing out of the Bush? Isn't there a demand for anything
that you can eat from our miners and the men on our railroads and in
our mills? Why do we bring carloads of provisions in? Can't you get
hold of the fact that a man can start ranching right away on natural
prairie, if he can once get the water out of it?"

"Oh, yes," assented Nasmyth. "The point is that one has to get the
water out of it. I would like Mattawa and Wheeler to notice it. You
can go on."

"Well," said Gordon, "that man pitched right in, and spent most of two
years cutting four-foot trenches through and dyking up the swamp. He
went on every day from sun-up to dark, but every time the floods came
they beat him. When he walked over the range to the settlement, the
boys noticed he was getting kind of worn and thin, but there was clean
grit in that man. He'd taken hold of the contract, and he stayed with
it. Then one day a prospector went into the valley after a big freshet
and came across his wrecked shanty. The river had got him."

Wheeler nodded gravely. "It seems to me this country was made by men
like that," he commented. "They're the kind they ought to put up
monuments to."

There was silence for a moment or two after that, except for the
sighing of the wind among the firs and the hoarse murmur that came up,
softened by the distance, from the canyon. It was not an unusual story,
but it appealed to those who heard it, for they had fought with rock
and river and physical weariness, and they could understand the grim
patience and unflinching valour of the long struggle that had
resulted, as such struggles sometimes do, only in defeat. Still, the
men who take those tasks in hand seldom capitulate. Gordon glanced at
Nasmyth.

"Now," he said, "if you have anything to say, you can get it out."

Nasmyth raised himself on one elbow. "That Englishman put up a good
fight, but he didn't start quite right," he said. "I want to point out
that, in my opinion, the river has evidently just run into the canyon.
It's slow and deep until you reach the fall, where it's merely held up
by the ridge of rock the rapid runs across. Well, we'll call the
change of level twelve to sixteen feet, and, as Gordon has suggested,
a big strip of natural prairie is apt to make a particularly desirable
property, once you run the water out of it. You can get rid of a lot
of water when you have a fall of sixteen feet."

"How are you going to get it?" asked Wheeler.

"By cutting the strip of rock that holds the river up at the fall. I
think one could do it with giant-powder."

Again there was silence for a few moments, and Nasmyth looked at his
comrades quietly, with the firelight on his face and a gleam in his
eyes. They sat still and stared at him, for the daring simplicity of
his conception won their admiration. Mattawa slowly straightened
himself.

"It's a great idea," he declared. "Seen something quite like it in
Ontario; I guess it can be done." He turned to Nasmyth. "You can count
me in."

Wheeler made a sign of concurrence. "It seems to me that Mattawa is
right. In a general way, I'm quite open to take a share in the thing,
but there's a point you have to consider. Most of the work could be
done only at low water, and a man might spend several years on it."

"Well?" said Nasmyth simply.

Wheeler waved his hand. "Oh," he said, "you're like that other
Englishman, but you want to look at this thing from a business point
of view. Now, as you know, the men who do the toughest work on this
Pacific slope are usually the ones who get the least for it. Well, if
you run the river down, you'll dry out the whole valley, and you'll
have every man with a fancy for ranching jumping in, or some d----
land agency's dummies grabbing every rod of it. It's Crown land.
Anybody can locate a ranch on it."

"You have to buy the land," said Nasmyth. "You can't pre-empt it
here."

"How does that count?" Wheeler persisted. "If you started clearing a
Bush ranch, you'd spend considerably more."

Nasmyth smiled. "I fancy our views coincide. The point is that the
Crown agents charge the usual figure for land that doesn't require
making, which is not the case in this particular valley. Well, before
I cut the first hole with the drill, they will either have to sell me
all I can take up on special terms, or make me a grant for the work I
do."

Gordon laughed. "Are you going to hammer your view of the matter into
the Crown authorities? Did you ever hear of anyone who got them to
sanction a proposition that was out of the usual run?"

"Well," said Nasmyth, "I'm going to try. If they won't hear reason,
I'll start a syndicate round the settlement."

Wheeler, leaning forward, dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Count on me
for a thousand dollars when you want the money." He turned and looked
at Gordon. "It's your call."

"I'll raise the same amount," said Gordon, "though I'll have to put a
mortgage on the ranch."

Mattawa made a little diffident gesture. "A hundred--it's the most I
can do--but there's the boy," he said.

Nasmyth smiled in a curious way, for he knew this offer was, after
all, a much more liberal one than those the others had made.

"You," he said severely, "will be on wages. Yet, if we put the thing
through, you will certainly get your share."

He looked round at the other two, and after they had expressed their
approval, they discussed the project until far into the night, and
finally decided to recross the range, and look at the fall again,
early next morning. It happened, however, that Mattawa, who went down
to the river for water, soon after sunrise, found a Siwash canoe
neatly covered with cedar branches. This was not an astonishing thing,
since the Indians, who come up the rivers in the salmon season, often
hew out a canoe on the spot where they require it, and leave it there
until they have occasion to use it again. After considering the matter
at breakfast, the four men decided to go down the canyon. They knew
that one or two Indians were supposed to have made the hazardous
trip, but that appeared sufficient, for they were all accustomed to
handling a canoe, and an extra hazard or two is not often a great
deterrent to men who have toiled in the Bush.

They had a few misgivings when the hills closed about them as they
slipped into the shadowy entrance of the canyon. No ray of sunlight
ever streamed down there, and the great hollow was dim and cold and
filled with a thin white mist, though a nipping wind flowed through
it. For a mile or two the hillsides, which rose precipitously above
them, were sprinkled here and there with climbing pines, that on their
far summits cut, faintly green, against a little patch of blue.
By-and-by, however, the canoe left these slopes behind, and drifted
into a narrow rift between stupendous walls of rock, though there was
a narrow strip of shingle strewn with whitened driftwood between the
side of the canyon and the river. Then this disappeared, and there was
only the sliding water and the smooth rock, while the patch of sky
seemed no more than a narrow riband of blue very high above.

Fortunately, the river flowed smoothly between its barriers of stone,
and, sounding with two poles lashed together, the men got no bottom,
and as the river swept them on, they began to wonder uneasily how they
were to get back upstream. Once, indeed, Wheeler suggested something
of the kind, but none of the others answered him, and he went on with
his paddling.

At last a deep, pulsating roar that had been steadily growing louder,
swelled suddenly into a bewildering din, and Mattawa shouted as they
shot round a bend. There was a whirling haze of spray into which the
white rush of a rapid led close in front of them, and for the next
minute they paddled circumspectly. Then Mattawa ran the canoe in
between two boulders at the head of the rapid, and they got out and
stood almost knee-deep in the cold water. The whirling haze of spray
which rose and sank was rent now and then as the cold breeze swept
more strongly down the canyon, and it became evident that the rapid was
a very short one. The walls of rock stood further apart at this point,
and there was a strip of thinly-covered shingle and boulders between
the fierce white rush of the flood and the worn stone. Mattawa grinned
as the others looked at him.

"I'm staying here to hang on to the canoe," he said. "Guess you don't
feel quite like going down that fall."

They certainly did not, and they hesitated a moment until Nasmyth
suddenly moved forward.

"We came here to look at the fall, and I'm going on," he said.

They went with him, stumbling over the shingle, and now and then
floundering among the boulders, with the stream that frothed about
their thighs almost dragging their feet from under them. Each of them
gasped with sincere relief when he scrambled out of the whirling pool.
They reached a strip of uncovered rock that stretched across part of
the wider hollow above the fall, and stood there drenched and
shivering for several minutes, scarcely caring to speak as they gazed
at the channel which the stream had cut through the midst of it.
Wheeler dropped his hand on Nasmyth's shoulder.

"Well," he said--and Nasmyth could just hear him through the roar of
the fall--"it seems to me the thing could be done if you have nerve
enough. Still, I guess if they let you have the whole valley
afterwards, you'd deserve it." Then he seemed to laugh. "I'll make my
share one thousand five hundred dollars. In the meanwhile, if you have
no objections, we'll get back again."




CHAPTER XII

WISBECH MAKES INQUIRIES


A little pale sunshine shone down into the opening between the great
cedar trunks when Laura Waynefleet walked out of the shadowy Bush. The
trail from the settlement dipped into the hollow of a splashing creek,
just in front of her, and a yoke of oxen, which trailed along a rude
jumper-sled, plodded at her side. The sled was loaded with a big sack
of flour and a smaller one of sugar, among other sundries which a
rancher who lived farther back along the trail had brought up from the
settlement in his waggon. Waynefleet's hired man was busy that
morning, and as her stores were running out, Laura had gone for the
goods herself. Other women from the cities have had to accustom
themselves to driving a span of oxen along those forest trails.

The beasts descended cautiously, for the slope was steep, and Laura
was half-way down it when she saw that a man, who sat on the little
log bridge, was watching her. He was clearly a stranger, and, when she
led the oxen on to the bridge, tapping the brawny neck of one with a
long stick, he turned to her.

"Can you tell me if Waynefleet's ranch is near here?" he asked.

Laura glanced at him sharply, for there was no doubt that he was
English, and she wondered, with a faint uneasiness, what his business
was. In the meanwhile the big, slowly-moving beasts had stopped and
stood still, blowing through their nostrils and regarding the stranger
with mild, contemplative eyes. One of them turned its head towards the
girl inquiringly, and the man laughed.

"One could almost fancy they wondered what I was doing here," he
remarked.

"The ranch is about a mile in front of you," said Laura in answer to
his question. "You are going there?"

"I am," said the man. "I want to see Miss Waynefleet. They told me to
ask for her at the store."

Laura looked at him again with some astonishment.

He was a little man, apparently about fifty, plainly dressed in what
appeared to be English clothing. Nothing in his appearance suggested
that he was a person of any importance, or, indeed, of much education,
but she liked the way in which he had laughed when the ox had turned
towards her.

"Then," she replied, "as that is my name, you need not go any
further."

The man made a little bow. "Mine's Wisbech, and I belong to the
Birmingham district, England," he explained. "I walked over from the
settlement to make a few inquiries about a relative of mine called
Derrick Nasmyth. They told me at the store that you would probably
know where he is, and what he is doing."

Laura was conscious of a certain resentment against the loquacious
storekeeper. It was disconcerting to feel that it was generally
recognized that she was acquainted with Nasmyth's affairs, especially
as she realized that the fact might appear significant to his English
relative. It would scarcely be advisable, she decided, to ask the
stranger to walk on to dinner at the ranch, since such an invitation
would probably strengthen any misconceptions he might have formed.

"Mr. Nasmyth is expecting you?" she asked.

"No," said Wisbech--and a little twinkle, which she found vaguely
reassuring, crept into his eyes--"I don't think he is. In all
probability he thinks I am still in England. Perhaps, I had better
tell you that I am going to Japan and home by India. It's a trip a
good many English people make since the C.P.R. put their new Empress
steamers on, and I merely stopped over at Victoria, thinking I would
see Derrick. He is, as perhaps I mentioned, a nephew of mine."

There was a certain frankness and something whimsical in his manner
which pleased the girl.

"You have walked from the settlement?" she asked.

"I have," answered Wisbech. "It is rather a long time since I have
walked as much, and I found it quite far enough. A man is bringing a
horse up to take me back, but I am by no means at home in the saddle.
That"--and he laughed--"is, I suppose, as great an admission in this
country as I have once or twice found it to be at home."

Laura fancied she understood exactly what he meant. Most of her own
male friends in England were accustomed to both horses and guns, and
this man certainly did not bear the unmistakable stamp that was upon
his nephew.

"Then my father and I would be pleased if you will call at the ranch
and have dinner with us," she said, and continued a trifle hastily:
"Anyone who has business at a ranch is always expected to wait until
the next meal is over."

Wisbech, who declared that it was evidently a hospitable land, and
that he would be very pleased, went on with her; but he asked her
nothing about Nasmyth as they walked beside the plodding oxen.
Instead, he appeared interested in ranching, and Laura, who found
herself talking to him freely and naturally, supplied him with
considerable information, though she imagined once or twice that he
was unobtrusively watching her. He also talked to Waynefleet and the
hired man, when they had dinner together at the ranch, and it was not
until the two men had gone back to their work that he referred to the
object he had in hand.

"I understand that my nephew spent some time here," he said.

Laura admitted that this was the case, and when he made further
inquiries, related briefly how Nasmyth had first reached the ranch.
She saw the man's face grow intent, as he listened, and there was a
puzzling look in his eyes, which he fixed upon her.

"So you took him in and nursed him," he said. "I wonder if I might ask
why you did it? He had no claim on you."

"Most of our neighbours would have done the same," Laura answered.

"That hardly affects the case. I presume he was practically
penniless?"

"I wonder why you should seem so sure of that. As a matter of fact, he
had rather more than thirty dollars in his possession when he set out
from the logging camp, but on the journey he lost the belt he kept the
money in."

A queer light crept into Wisbech's eyes. "That is just the kind of
thing one would expect Derrick Nasmyth to do. You see, as I pointed
out, he is my nephew."

"You would not have lost that belt?"

Wisbech laughed. "No," he said, "I certainly would not. What I meant
to suggest was that I am naturally more or less acquainted with
Derrick Nasmyth's habits. In fact, I may admit I was a little
astonished to hear he had contrived to accumulate those thirty
dollars."

Laura did not know exactly why she felt impelled to tell him about the
building of the dam, but she did so, and made rather a stirring story
of it. She was, at least, determined that the man should realize that
his nephew had ability, and it is possible that she told him a little
more than she had intended, for Wisbech was shrewd. Then it suddenly
flashed upon her that he had deliberately tricked her into setting
forth his nephew's strong points, and was pleased that she had made
the most of them.

"The dam seems to have been rather an undertaking, and I am glad he
contrived to carry it through successfully," he commented. Then he
looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "I do not know yet where he
got the idea from."

The girl flushed. This was, she felt, regrettable, but she could not
help it, for the man's keenness was disconcerting, and she was, also,
a little indignant with him. She had recognized that Derrick Nasmyth's
character had its defects, but she was by no means prepared to admit
it to his relatives.

"Then it didn't occur to you that an idea of that kind was likely to
appeal to your nephew?" she said.

"No," declared Wisbech, "to be candid, it didn't." He smiled again.
"After all, I don't think we need trouble about that point, especially
as it seems he has acquitted himself very well. I, however, can't help
feeling it was in some respects fortunate that he fell into your
hands."

Laura was usually composed, but he saw her face harden, for she was
angry at his insistence. "It is evident," he went on, "that he would
not have had the opportunity of building the dam unless you had nursed
him back to health and taken him into your employment."

"It was my father who asked him to stay on at the ranch."

"I am not sure that the correction has any very great significance.
One would feel tempted to believe that your father is, to some extent,
in the habit of doing what you suggest."

Laura sat still a moment or two. She was certainly angry with the
stranger, and yet, in spite of that fact, she felt that she liked him.
There was a candour in his manner which pleased her, as his
good-humoured shrewdness did, though she would have preferred not to
have the shrewdness exercised upon herself. It may be that he guessed
what she was thinking, for he smiled.

"Miss Waynefleet," he said, "I almost fancy we should make excellent
friends, but there is a point on which I should like you to enlighten
me. Why did you take the trouble to make me understand that you were
doing nothing unusual when you asked me to dinner?"

Laura laughed. "Well," she said, "if one must be accurate, I do not
exactly know. I may have been a little unwise in endeavouring to
impress it on you. Why did you consider it worth while to explain you
had very seldom been in the saddle?"

Wisbech's manner became confidential. "It's a fact that has counted
against me now and then. Besides, I think you noticed my accent--it's
distinctly provincial, and not like yours or Derrick's--as soon as I
told you I was a relative of his. You see, I know my station. In fact,
I'm almost aggressively proud of it." He spread out his hands in a
forceful fashion. "It's a useful one."

He reached out, and, to the girl's surprise, took up a bowl from the
table, and appeared to weigh it in his hands. It was made of the
indurated fibre which is frequently to be met with in the Bush
ranches.

"This," he said, "is, I suppose, the kind of thing they are going to
turn out at that wood-pulp mill. You have probably observed the
thickness of it?"

"I believe it is, though they are going to make paper stock, too."

"Well," pursued Wisbech; "it may meet the requirements of the country,
but it is a very crude and inartistic production. I may say that it is
my business to make enamelled ware. The Wisbech bowls and cups and
basins are justly celebrated--light and dainty, and turned out to
resemble marble, granite, or the most artistic china. They will
withstand any heat you can subject them to, and practically last for
ever."

He broke off for a moment with a chuckle. "I can't detach myself from
my business as some people seem to fancy one ought to do. After all,
it is only by marriage that Derrick Nasmyth is my nephew." His manner
became grave again. "I married his mother's sister--very much against
the wishes of the rest of the family. As Derrick has lived some time
here, the latter fact will probably not astonish you."

Laura said nothing, though she understood exactly what he meant. She
was becoming more sure that she liked the man, but she realized that
she might not have done so had she met him before she came out to
Canada, where she had learned to recognize the essential points in
character. There were certainly respects in which his manner would
once have jarred upon her.

Her expression was reassuring when he turned to her again.

"I was a retail chemist in a little pottery town when I discovered the
properties of one or two innocuous fluxes, and how to make a certain
leadless glaze," he said. "Probably you do not know that there were
few more unhealthy occupations than the glazing of certain kinds
of pottery. I was also fortunate enough to make a good deal of money
out of my discovery, and as I extended its use, I eventually
started a big enamelling works of my own. After that I married; but
the Nasmyths never quite forgave me my little idiosyncrasies and
some of my views. They dropped me when my wife died. She"--his face
softened curiously--"was in many ways very different from the rest
of them."

He broke off, and when he sat silent a moment or two Laura felt a
curious sympathy for him.

"Won't you go on?" she said.

"We had no children," said the man. "My own folks were dead, but I
contrived to see Derrick now and then. My wife had been very fond of
him, and I liked the lad. Once or twice when I went up to London he
insisted on making a fuss over me--took me to his chambers and his
club, though I believe I was in several ways not exactly a credit to
him."

Laura liked the little twinkle that crept back into his eyes. It
suggested the genial toleration of a man with a nature big enough to
overlook many trifles he might have resented.

"Well," he continued, "his father died suddenly, and, when it became
evident that his estate was deplorably involved, Derrick went out to
Canada. None of his fastidious relatives seemed inclined to hold out a
hand to him. Perhaps this was not very astonishing, but I was a little
hurt that he did not afford me the opportunity. In one way, however,
the lad was right. He was willing to stand on his own feet. There was
pluck in him."

He made an expressive gesture. "Now I'm anxious to hear where he is
and what he is doing."

Laura was stirred by what he had said. She had imagination, and could
fill in many of the points Wisbech had only hinted at. Nevertheless,
she was not quite pleased to recognize that he seemed to consider her
as much concerned about his nephew as he was himself.

"He is"--she tried to speak in an indifferent tone--"He is at present
engaged in building a difficult trestle bridge on a railroad. It is
not the kind of work any man, who shrank from hazardous exertion,
would delight in; but I believe there is a reason why the terms
offered were a special inducement. He has a new project in his mind,
though I do not know a great deal about it."

"I think you might tell me what you do know."

Laura did so, though she had never been in the canyon. The man listened
attentively.

"Well," he said, "I fancy I can promise that he shall, at least, have
an opportunity of putting that project through. You haven't, however,
told me where the railroad bridge is."

The girl made him understand how he could most easily reach it, and,
while she was explaining the various roads he must follow, there was a
beat of hoofs outside. Wisbech rose and held out his hand.

"I expect that is the man with my horse, and I'm afraid I have kept
you talking a very long while." He pressed her hand as he half
apologized. "I wonder if you will permit me to come back again some
time?"

Laura said it would afford her and her father pleasure, and she did
not smile when he went out and scrambled awkwardly into his saddle.
The man who had brought the horse up grinned broadly as he watched
Wisbech jolt across the clearing.

"I guess that man's not going to make the settlement on that horse. He
rides 'most like a bag of flour," he remarked, with evident enjoyment
of the stranger's poor horsemanship.




CHAPTER XIII

ON THE TRESTLE


It was with difficulty that Wisbech reached the railroad track upon
which Laura Waynefleet had told him Nasmyth was occupied. From the
winding waggon-road, he was forced to scramble down several hundred
feet through tangled undergrowth, and over great fallen logs. Then he
had to walk along the ties, which were spaced most inconveniently
apart, neither far enough for a long stride nor close enough for a
short one. It is, in fact, unless one is accustomed to it, a
particularly wearying thing to walk any distance along a Western
railroad track; since local ticket rates are usually high on the
Pacific slope, and roads of any other kind are not always available,
the smaller ranchers and other impecunious travellers frequently tramp
miles upon the ties.

Wisbech, however, had not very far to go, and, though it entailed an
occasional stumble, he endeavoured to look about him. He was
progressing along the side of the wonderful Fraser gorge, which is the
great channel clearly provided by Nature for the commerce of the
mountain province, and he was impressed by the spectacle upon which he
gazed. In front of him rose great rocky ramparts, with here and there
a snow-tipped peak cutting coldly white against the glaring blue.
Beneath these the climbing pines rolled down in battalions to the
brink of a vast hollow, in the black depths of which the river roared
far below. Wisps of gauzy mist clung to the hillside, and out of them
the track came winding down, a sinuous gleaming riband that links the
nations with a band of steel. There were, as he knew, fleet steamers
ready at either end of it, in Vancouver Inlet, and at Montreal, two
thousand four hundred odd miles away, for this was the all-British
route round half the world from London to Yokohama and Hong-Kong.

That fact had its effect on Wisbech as he plodded painfully along the
ties. He had Democratic notions, but he was an Imperialist, too, which
was, perhaps, after all, not surprising, for he knew something of
England's great dependencies. There are a good many men with similar
views in the Dominion, and they have certainly lived up to them. Men
undoubtedly work for money in Western Canada, but one has only to
listen to their conversation in saloon and shanty to recognize the
clean pride in their manhood, and their faith in the destiny of the
land to which they belong. They have also proved their faith by
pitting their unshrinking courage and splendid physical strength
against savage Nature, and, among their other achievements, that track
blown out of the living rock, flung over roaring rivers, and driven
through eternal snow, supplies a significant hint of what they can
bear and do. They buried mangled men in roaring canyon and by giddy
trestle, but the rails crept always on.

Wisbech came to the brink of a gorge which rent the steep hillside. He
could not tell how deep it was, but it made him dizzy to look down
upon the streak of frothing water far below. The gorge was spanned by
the usual Western trestle bridge, an openwork fabric of timber just
wide enough to carry the single track rising out of the chasm on
tapering piers that looked ethereally fragile in that wilderness of
towering trees and tremendous slopes of rock. The chunk of axes and
ringing of hammers jarred through the roar of the stream, and he could
see men clinging in mid-air to little stages slung about the piers,
and moving among the pines below. A man in a ragged duck suit strode
by him with an axe on his shoulder, and Wisbech half-diffidently
ventured to inquire if he could tell where Derrick Nasmyth could be
found. The man, who paid no attention to him, stopped close by, and
shouted to some of his comrades below.

"You ought to get that beam fixed before the fast freight comes
through, boys. There's no sign of her yet," he called in a loud
voice.

Somebody answered him, and the man turned to Wisbech.

"Now, sir," he replied tardily, "you were asking for Nasmyth?"

Wisbech said he wished to see Derrick Nasmyth, and the man nodded.

"Well," said he, "you'll have to wait a few minutes, I guess he's
busy. There's a log they want to put into the trestle before the train
comes along. It's not his particular business, but we're rather
anxious to get through with our contract."

"Ah," returned Wisbech, "then I fancy I know who you must be. In fact,
I'm rather glad I came across you. You are evidently the man who
looked after my nephew when he was ill, and from what Miss Waynefleet
told me, Derrick owes you a good deal."

Gordon looked at Wisbech with a little smile, as he recalled what
Nasmyth had said about the man who had sent him the draft.

"Well," he remarked, as he pointed to the hillside, "it would be quite
hard to fancy there was very much the matter with him now."

Wisbech agreed with Gordon when he saw a man, who was running hard,
beside four brawny oxen that were hauling a great dressed fir-log by a
chain. They came from an opening between the pines, and rushed along
the rude trail, which had a few skids across it. The trail led
downhill just there, and man and oxen went down the slope furiously in
the attempt to keep ahead of the big log that jolted over the skids
behind them. Wisbech had never seen cattle of any kind progress in
that fashion before, but he naturally did not know that the Bush-bred
ox can travel at a headlong pace up and down hills and amidst thickets
a man would cautiously climb or painfully crawl through. As they
approached the level at the foot of the slope, the man who drove them
ran back, and slipping his handspike under it, swung the butt of the
log round an obstacle. Wisbech gazed at his nephew with astonishment
when Nasmyth came up with the beasts again. His battered wide hat was
shapeless, his duck trousers were badly rent, and the blue shirt,
which was all he wore above the waist, hung open half-way down his
breast. He was flushed and gasping, but the men upon the trestle were
evidently urging him to fresh exertion.

"Oh, hit her hard!" shouted one of them; and a comrade clinging to a
beam high above the river broke in: "We're waiting. Get a hump on.
Bring her right along."

It was evident that Nasmyth was already doing all that reasonably
could have been expected of him, and in another moment or two, four
more men, who ran out of the Bush, fell upon the log with handspikes,
as the beasts came to a long upward slope. They went up it savagely,
and Wisbech was conscious of a growing amazement as he watched the
floundering oxen and gasping men.

"Do you always work--like this?" he asked.

Gordon laughed. "Well," he answered, "it isn't the bosses' fault when
we don't. As it happens, however, a good many of us are putting a
contract through, and the boys want to get that beam fixed before the
fast freight comes along. If they don't, it's quite likely she'll
shake it loose or pitch some of them off the bridge. It has stood a
few years, and wants stiffening."

"A few years!" said Wisbech. "There are bridges in England that have
existed since the first railways were built. I believe they don't
require any great stiffening yet."

"Oh, yes," said Gordon. "It's quite what one would expect. We do
things differently. We heave our rails down and fill up the
country with miners and farmers while you'd be worrying over your
parliamentary bills. We strengthen our track as we go along, and we'll
have iron bridges over every river just as soon as they're wanted."

Wisbech smiled. It seemed to him that these men would probably get
exactly what they set their minds upon in spite of every obstacle.

"Why don't they stop the train while they get the beam into place?" he
inquired.

"Nothing short of a big landslip is allowed to hold that fast freight
up," Gordon replied. "It's up to every divisional superintendent
between here and Winnipeg to rush her along as fast as possible. Half
the cars are billed through to the Empress liner that goes out
to-morrow."

In the meanwhile the men and oxen had conveyed the big log up the
slope, and, while Nasmyth drove the beasts back along the skidded
track, it swung out over the chasm at the end of a rope. Men leaning
out from fragile stages clutched at and guided it, and when one of
them shouted, Nasmyth cast the chain to which the rope was fastened
loose from his oxen. Then little lithe figures crawled out along the
beams of the trestle, and there was a ringing of hammers. Gordon, who
gazed up the track, swung his arm up in warning.

"You've got to hump yourselves, boys," he admonished.

The faint hoot of a whistle came ringing across the pines, and a
little puff of white smoke broke out far up the track from among their
sombre masses. It grew rapidly larger, and the clang of the hammers
quickened, while Wisbech watched the white trail that swept along the
steep hillside until there was a sudden shouting. Then he turned and
saw his nephew running across the bridge.

"Somebody has forgotten a bolt or a big spike," said Gordon.

Wisbech felt inclined to hold his breath as he watched Nasmyth climb
down the face of the trestle, but in another minute or two he was
clambering up again with several other men behind him. There was
another hoot of the whistle, and, as Wisbech glanced up the track, a
great locomotive broke out from among the pines. It was veiled in
whirling dust and flying fragments of ballast, and smoke that was grey
instead of white, for the track led down-grade, and the engineer had
throttled the steam. The engine was a huge one, built for mountain
hauling, and the freight cars that lurched out of the forest behind it
were huger still. Wisbech could see them rock, and the roar which they
made and which the pines flung back grew deafening. Most of the cars
had been coupled up in the yards at Montreal, and were covered thick
with the dust that had whirled about them along two thousand four
hundred miles of track, and they were still speeding on through the
forests of the West, as they had done through those of far-off
Ontario.

It seemed to Wisbech as he gazed at the cars that they ran pigmy
freight trains in the land he came from, and he was conscious of
something that had a curious stirring effect on him in the clang and
clatter of that giant rolling stock, as the engineer hurled his great
train furiously down-grade. It was man's defiance of the wilderness, a
symbol of his domination over all the great material forces of the
world. The engineer, who glanced out once from his dust-swept cab,
held them bound and subject in the hollow of the grimy hand he
clenched upon the throttle. With a deafening roar, the great train
leapt across the trestle, which seemed to rock and reel under it, and
plunged once more into the forest. A whistle sounded--a greeting to
the men upon the bridge--and then the uproar died away in a long
diminuendo among the sombre pines.

It was in most respects a fortuitous moment for Wisbech's nephew to
meet him, and the older man smiled as Nasmyth strode along the track
to grasp his outstretched hand.

"I'm glad to see you, Derrick," said Wisbech, who drew back a pace and
looked at his nephew critically.

"You have changed since I last shook hands with you in London, my
lad," he continued. "You didn't wear blue duck, and you hadn't hands
of that kind then."

Nasmyth glanced at his scarred fingers and broken nails.

"I've been up against it, as they say here, since those days," he
replied.

"And it has done you a world of good!"

Nasmyth laughed. "Well," he said, "perhaps it has. Any way, that's not
a point we need worry over just now. Where have you sprung from?"

Wisbech told him, and added that there were many things he would like
to talk about, whereupon Nasmyth smiled in a deprecatory manner.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait an hour or two," he said. "You see,
there are several more big logs ready for hauling down, and I have to
keep the boys supplied. I'll be at liberty after supper, and you can't
get back to-night. In the meanwhile you might like to walk along to
where we're getting the logs out."

Wisbech went with him and Gordon, and was impressed when he saw how
they and the oxen handled the giant trunks. He, however, kept his
thoughts to himself, and, quietly smoking, sat on a redwood log, a
little, unobtrusive, grey-clad figure, until Gordon, who had
disappeared during the last hour, announced that supper was ready.
Then Wisbech followed Nasmyth and Gordon to their quarters, which they
had fashioned out of canvas, a few sheets of corrugated iron, and
strips of bark, for, as their work was on the hillside, they lived
apart from the regular railroad gang. The little hut was rudely
comfortable, and the meal Gordon set out was creditably cooked.
Wisbech liked the resinous scent of the wood smoke that hung about the
spot, and the faint aromatic odour of the pine-twig beds and
roofing-bark. When the meal was over, they sat a while beneath the
hanging-lamp, smoking and discussing general topics, until Nasmyth
indicated the canvas walls of the hut and the beds of spruce twigs
with a wave of his hand.

"You will excuse your quarters. They're rather primitive," he said.

Wisbech's eyes twinkled. "I almost think I shall feel as much at home
as I did when you last entertained me at your club, and I'm not sure
that I don't like your new friends best," he said. "The others were a
trifle patronizing, though, perhaps, they didn't mean to be. In fact,
it was rather a plucky thing you did that day."

A faint flush crept into Nasmyth's bronzed face, but Wisbech smiled
reassuringly as he glanced about the hut.

"The question is what all this is leading to," he observed with
inquiry in his tone.

Gordon rose. "I'll go along and talk to the boys," he announced. "I
won't be back for an hour or two."

Nasmyth glanced at Wisbech before he turned to his comrade.

"I would sooner you stayed where you are," he said. Then he answered
Wisbech. "In the first place, if we are reasonably fortunate, it
should lead to the acquisition of about a couple of hundred dollars."

"Still," said Wisbech, "that will not go very far. What will be the
next thing when you have got the money?"

"In a general way, I should endeavour to earn a few more dollars by
pulling out fir-stumps for somebody or clearing land."

Wisbech nodded. "No doubt they're useful occupations, but one would
scarcely fancy them likely to prove very remunerative," he said. "You
have, it seems to me, reached an age when you have to choose. Are you
content to go on as you are doing now?"

Nasmyth's face flushed as he saw the smile in Gordon's eyes, for it
was evident that Wisbech and Laura Waynefleet held much the same views
concerning him. They appeared to fancy that he required a lot of what
might be termed judicious prodding. This was in one sense not exactly
flattering, but he did not immediately mention his great project for
drying out the valley. He would not hasten to remove a wrong
impression concerning himself.

"Well," resumed Wisbech, seeing he did not answer, "if you care to go
back and take up your profession in England again, I think I can
contrive to give you a fair start. You needn't be diffident. I can
afford it, and the thing is more or less my duty."

Nasmyth sat silent. There was no doubt that the comfort and refinement
of the old life appealed to one side of his nature, and there were
respects in which his present surroundings jarred on him. It is also
probable that, had the offer been made him before he had had a certain
talk with Laura Waynefleet, he would have profited by it, but she had
roused something that was latent in him, and at the same time endued
him with a vague distrust of himself, the effect of which was largely
beneficial. He had realized then his perilous propensity for what she
had called drifting, and, after all, men of his kind are likely to
drift fastest when everything is made pleasant for them. It was
characteristic that he looked inquiringly at Gordon, who nodded.

"I think you ought to go, if it's only for a year or two," said
Gordon. "It's the life you were born to. Give it another trial. You
can come back to the Bush again if you find it fails."

Nasmyth appeared to consider this, and the two men watched him
intently, Wisbech with a curious expression in his shrewd eyes. Then,
somewhat to their surprise, Nasmyth broke into a little harsh laugh.

"That there is a possibility of my failing seems sufficient," he said.
"Here I must fight. I am, as we say, up against it." He turned to
Wisbech. "Now if you will listen, I will tell you something."

For the next few minutes he described his project for running the
water out of the valley, and when he sat silent again there was
satisfaction in Wisbech's face.

"Well," said Wisbech, "I am going to give you your opportunity. It's a
thing I insist upon, and, as it happens, I'm in a position to do it
more or less effectually. I have letters to folks of some importance
in Victoria--Government men among others--and you'll go down there and
live as you would have done in England just as long as appears
advisable while you try to put the project through. It is quite
evident that you will have to get one of the land exploitation
concerns to back you, and no doubt a charter or concession of some
kind will have to be obtained from the Crown authorities. The time you
spend over the thing in Victoria should make it clear where your
capacities lie--if it's handling matters of this kind in the cities,
or leading your workmen in the Bush. I purpose to take a share in your
venture, and I'm offering you an opportunity of making sure which is
the kind of life you're most fitted for."

"I guess you ought to go," remarked Gordon quietly.

Nasmyth smiled. "That," he agreed, "is my own opinion."

"Then we'll consider it as decided," said Wisbech. "It seems to me I
could spend a month or two in this province very satisfactorily, and
we'll go down to Victoria together, as soon as you have carried out
this timber-cutting contract."

They talked of other matters, while now and then men from the railroad
gang dropped in and made themselves pleasant to the stranger. It must
be admitted that there are one or two kinds of wandering Englishmen,
who would not have found them particularly friendly, but the little
quiet man with the twinkling eyes was very much at home with them. He
had been endued with the gift of comprehension, and rock-cutter and
axeman opened their minds to him. In fact, he declared his full
satisfaction with the entertainment afforded him before he lay down
upon his bed of springy spruce twigs.




CHAPTER XIV

IN THE MOONLIGHT


There was a full moon in the clear blue heavens, and its silvery light
streamed into the pillared veranda where Nasmyth sat, cigar in hand,
on the seaward front of James Acton's house, which stood about an
hour's ride from Victoria on the Dunsmer railroad. Like many other
successful men in that country, Acton had begun life in a three-roomed
shanty, and now, when, at the age of fifty, he was in possession of a
comfortable competence, he would have been well content to retire to
his native settlement in the wilderness. There was, however, the
difficulty that the first suggestion of such a course would have been
vetoed by his wife, who was an ambitious woman, younger than he, and,
as a rule, at least, Acton submitted to her good-humouredly. That was
why he retained his seat on several directorates, and had built
Bonavista on the bluff above the Straits of Georgia, instead of the
ranch-house in the Bush he still hankered for.

Bonavista had cost him much money, but Mrs. Acton had seen that it was
wisely expended, and the long wooden house, with its colonnades of
slender pillars, daintily sawn scroll-work, shingled roof, and wide
verandas, justified her taste. Acton reserved one simply furnished
room in it for himself, and made no objections when she filled the
rest of it with miscellaneous guests. Wisbech had brought him a letter
from a person of consequence, and he had offered the Englishman and
his nephew the freedom of his house. He would not have done this to
everybody, though they are a hospitable people in the West, but he had
recognized in the unostentatious Wisbech one or two of the
characteristics that were somewhat marked in himself, and his wife, as
it happened, extended her favour to Nasmyth as soon as she saw him.
She had been quick to recognize something she found congenial in his
voice and manner, though none of the points she noticed would in all
probability have appealed to her husband. Acton leaned upon the
veranda balustrade, with a particularly rank cigar in his hand, a
gaunt, big-boned man in badly-fitting clothes. It was characteristic
of him that he had not spoken to Nasmyth since he stepped out from one
of the windows five minutes earlier.

"It's kind of pretty," he said, indicating the prospect with a little
wave of his hand.

Nasmyth admitted that it was pretty indeed, and his concurrence was
justified. Sombre pinewoods and rocky heights walled in the wooden
dwelling, but in front of it the ground fell sharply away, and beyond
the shadow of the tall crags a blaze of moonlight stretched eastwards
athwart the sparkling sea.

"Well," said Acton, "it's 'most as good a place for a house as I could
find anywhere the cars could take me into town, and that's partly why
we raised it here."

Then he glanced down at the little white steamer lying in the inlet
below. "That's one of my own particular toys. You're coming up the
coast with us next week for the salmon-trolling?"

Nasmyth said that he did not know what his uncle's intentions were,
but he was almost afraid they had trespassed on their host's kindness
already. Acton laughed.

"We have folks here for a month quite often--folks that I can't talk
to and who don't seem to think it worth while to talk to me. Now I can
get along with your uncle; I can mostly tell that kind of man when I
see him. You have got to let him stay some weeks yet. It would be in
one way a kindness to me. What makes the thing easier is the fact that
Mrs. Acton has taken to you, and when she gets hold of anyone she
likes, she doesn't let him go."

Nasmyth was content to stay, and he felt that it would be a kindness
to his host. Acton appeared willing to fall in with the views of his
wife, but Nasmyth fancied that he was now and then a little lonely in
his own house.

"Both of you have done everything you could to make our stay
pleasant," Nasmyth declared.

"It was quite easy in your case," and a twinkle crept into his host's
eyes. "Your uncle's the same kind of a man as I am, and one can see
you have been up against it since you came to this country. That's one
of the best things that can happen to any young man. I guess it's not
our fault we don't like all the young men they send us out from the
Old Country." He glanced down at his cigar. "Well, I've pretty well
smoked this thing out. It's the kind of cigar I was raised on, but I'm
not allowed to use that kind anywhere in my house."

In another moment Acton swung round, and stepped back through an
open window. He generally moved abruptly, and was now and then
painfully direct in conversation, but Nasmyth had been long enough
in that country to understand and to like him. He was a man with a
grip of essential things, but it was evident that he could bear
good-humouredly with the views of others.

Nasmyth sat still after Acton left him. There were other guests in the
house, and the row of windows behind him blazed with light. One or two
of the big casements were open, and music and odd bursts of laughter
drifted out. Somebody, it seemed, was singing an amusing song, but the
snatches of it that reached Nasmyth struck him as pointless and inane.
He had been at Bonavista a week, but, after his simple, strenuous life
in the Bush, he felt at times overwhelmed by the boisterous vivacity
with which his new companions pursued their diversions. There are not
many men without an occupation in the West, but Mrs. Acton knew where
to lay her hands on them, and her husband sometimes said that it was
the folks who had nothing worth while to do who always made the
greatest fuss. But Nasmyth found it pleasant to pick up again the
threads of the life which he had almost come to the conclusion that he
had done with altogether. It was comforting to feel that he could
sleep as long as he liked, and then rise and dress himself in whole,
dry garments, while there was also a certain satisfaction in sitting
down to a daintily laid and well-spread table when he remembered how
often he had dragged himself back to his tent almost too worn out to
cook his evening meal. On the whole, he was glad that Acton had urged
him to remain another week or two.

Then he became interested as a girl stepped out of one of the lighted
windows some little distance away, and, without noticing him, leaned
upon the veranda balustrade. The smile in her eyes, he fancied,
suggested a certain satisfaction at the fact that what she had done
had irritated somebody. Why it should do so he did not know, but it
certainly conveyed that impression. In another minute a man appeared
in the portico, and the manner in which he moved forward, after he had
glanced along the veranda, was more suggestive still. The girl who
leaned on the balustrade no doubt saw him, and she walked towards
Nasmyth, whom, apparently, she had now seen for the first time.
Nasmyth thought he understood the reason for this, and, though it was
not exactly flattering to himself, he smiled as he rose and drew
forward another chair. He believed most of Mrs. Acton's guests were
acquainted with the fact that he was an impecunious dam-builder.

The girl, who sat down in the chair he offered, smiled when he flung
his half-smoked cigar away, and Nasmyth laughed as he saw the twinkle
in her eyes, for he had stopped smoking with a half-conscious
reluctance.

"It really was a pity, especially as I wouldn't have minded in the
least," she observed.

Nasmyth glanced along the veranda, and saw that the man, who had
discovered that there was not another chair available, was standing
still, evidently irresolute. Probably he recognized that it would be
difficult to preserve a becoming ease of manner in attempting to force
his company upon two persons who were not anxious for it, and were
sitting down. Nasmyth looked at the girl and prepared to undertake the
part that he supposed she desired him to play. She was attired in what
he would have described as modified evening dress, and her arms and
neck gleamed with an ivory whiteness in the moonlight. She was slight
in form, and curiously dainty as well as pretty. Her hair was black,
and she had eyes that matched it, for they were dark and soft, with
curious lights in them, but, as she settled herself beside him in the
pale moonlight it seemed to him that "dainty" did not describe her
very well. She was rather elusively ethereal.

"I really don't think you could expect me to make any admission of
that kind about my cigar, Miss Hamilton," he said. "Still, it would
perhaps have been excusable. You see, I have just come out of the
Bush."

Violet Hamilton smiled. "You are not accustomed to throw anything away
up there?"

"No," answered Nasmyth, with an air of reflection; "I scarcely think
we are. Certainly not when it's a cigar of the kind Mr. Acton supplies
his guests with."

He imagined that his companion satisfied herself that the man she
evidently desired to avoid had not gone away yet, before she turned to
him again.

"Aren't you risking Mrs. Acton's displeasure in sitting out here
alone?" she inquired. "You are probably aware that this is not what
she expects from you?"

"I almost think the retort is obvious." And Nasmyth wondered whether
he had gone further than he intended, when he saw the momentary
hardness in his companion's eyes. It suggested that the last thing her
hostess had expected her to do was to keep out of the way of the man
who had followed her on to the veranda. He accordingly endeavoured to
divert her attention from that subject.

"Any way, I find all this rather bewildering now and then," he said,
and indicated the lights and laughter and music in the house behind
him with a little movement of his hand. "This is a very different
world from the one I have been accustomed to, and it takes some time
to adapt oneself to changed conditions."

He broke off as he saw the other man slowly turn away. He looked at
the girl with a smile. "I can go on a little longer if it appears
worth while."

Violet Hamilton laughed. "Ah," she said, "one should never put one's
suspicions into words like that. Besides, I almost think one of your
observations was a little misleading. There are reasons for believing
that you are quite familiar with the kind of life you were referring
to."

It was clear to Nasmyth that she had been observing him, but he did
not realize that she was then watching him with keen, half-covert
curiosity. He was certainly a well-favoured man, and though his
conversation and demeanour did not differ greatly from those of other
young men she was accustomed to; there was also something about him
which she vaguely recognized as setting him apart from the rest. He
was a little more quiet than most of them, and there were a certain
steadiness in his eyes, and a faint hardness in the lines of his face,
which roused her interest. He had been up against it, as they say in
that country, which is a thing that usually leaves its mark upon a
man. It endues him with control, and, above all, with comprehension.

"Oh," he said, "a man not burdened with money is now and then forced
to wander. He naturally picks up a few impressions here and there. I
wonder if you find it chilly sitting here?"

The girl rose, with a little laugh. "That," she said, "was evidently
meant to afford me an opportunity. I think I should like to go down to
the Inlet."

Nasmyth, who understood this as an invitation, went with her, and,
five minutes later, they strolled out upon the crown of the bluff,
down the side of which a little path wound precipitously. Nasmyth held
his hand out at the head of it, and they went down together
cautiously, until they stood on the smooth white shingle close by
where the little steamer lay. The girl looked about her with a smile
of appreciation.

A lane of dusky water, that heaved languidly upon the pebbles, ran
inland past them under the dark rock's side, and it was very still in
the shadow of the climbing firs. On the further shore a flood of
silvery radiance, against which the dark branches cut black as ebony,
streamed down into the rift, and beyond the rocky gateway there was
brilliant moonlight on the smooth heave of sea. The girl glanced at it
longingly, and then, though she said nothing, her eyes rested on a
little beautifully modelled cedar canoe that lay close by. In another
moment Nasmyth had laid his hands on it, and she noticed how easily he
ran it down the beach, as she had noticed how steady of foot he was
when she held fast to his hand as they came down the bluff. With a
curious little smile that she remembered afterwards, he glanced
towards the shadowy rocks which shut in the entrance to the Inlet.

"Shall we go and see what there is out yonder beyond those gates?" he
asked.

"Ah," replied the girl, "what could there be? Aren't you taking an
unfair advantage in appealing to our curiosity?"

Nasmyth made a whimsical gesture as he answered her, for he saw that
she could be fanciful, too. "Unsubstantial moonlight, glamour,
mystery--perhaps other things as well," he said. "If you are curious,
why shouldn't we go and see?"

She made no demur, and helping her into the canoe, he thrust the light
craft off, and, with a sturdy stroke of the paddle, drove it out into
the Inlet. It was a thing he was used to, for he had painfully driven
ruder craft of that kind up wildly-frothing rivers, and the girl
noticed the powerful swing of his shoulders and the rhythmic splash of
his paddle, though there were other things that had their effect on
her--the languid lapping of the brine on shingle, and the gurgle round
the canoe, that seemed to be sliding out towards the moonlight through
a world of unsubstantial shadow. She admitted that the man interested
her. He had a quick wit and a whimsical fancy that appealed to her,
but he had also hard, workman's hands, and he managed the canoe as she
imagined one who had undertaken such things professionally would have
done.

When the shimmering blaze of moonlight lay close in front of them, he
let his paddle trail in the water for a moment or two, and, turning,
glanced back at the house on the bluff. Its lower windows blinked
patches of warm orange light against the dusky pines.

"That," he said, "in one respect typifies all you are accustomed to.
It stands for the things you know. Aren't you a little afraid of
leaving it behind you?"

"I think I suggested that you were accustomed to them, too!"

Nasmyth laughed. "Oh," he said, "I was turned out of that world a long
while ago. We are going to see a different one together."

"The one you know?"

"Well," returned the man reflectively, "I'm not quite sure that I do.
It's the one I live in, but that doesn't go very far after all. Now
and then I think one could live in the wilderness a lifetime without
really knowing it. There's an elusive something in or behind it that
evades one--the mystery that hides in all grandeur and beauty. Still,
there's a peril in it. Like the moonlight, it gets hold of you."

The girl fancied that she understood him, but she wondered how far it
was significant that they should slide out into the flood of radiance
together when he once more drove the light craft ahead.

The smooth sea shimmered like molten silver about the canoe, and ran
in sparkling drops from the dripping paddle. The bluff hung high above
them, a tremendous shadowy wall, and the sweet scent of the firs came
off from it with the little land breeze. They swung out over the
smooth levels that heaved with a slow, rhythmic pulsation, and Nasmyth
wondered whether he was wise when he glanced at his companion. She sat
still, looking about her dreamily, very dainty--almost ethereal, he
thought--in that silvery light, and it was so long since he had talked
confidentially to a woman of her kind, attired as became her station.
Laura Waynefleet's hands, as he remembered, were hard and sometimes
red, and the stamp of care was plain on her; but it was very different
with Violet Hamilton. She was wholly a product of luxury and
refinement, and the mere artistic beauty of her attire, which seemed a
part of her, appealed to his imagination.

He did not remember how she set him talking, but he told her
whimsical, and now and then grim, stories of his life in the shadowy
Bush, and she listened with quick comprehension. She seemed to endow
him with that quality, too, since, as he talked, he began to realize,
as he had never quite comprehended before, the something that lay
behind the tense struggle of man with Nature and all the strenuous
endeavour. Perhaps he expressed it in a degree, for now and then the
girl's eyes kindled as he told of some heroic grapple with giant rock
and roaring river, gnawing hunger, and loneliness, and the beaten
man's despair. He found her attention gratifying. It was certainly
pleasant, though he had not consciously adopted the pose, to figure in
the eyes of such a girl as one who had known most of the hardships
that man can bear and played his part in the great epic struggle for
the subjugation of the wilderness. As it happened, she did not know
that those who bear the brunt of that grim strife are for the most
part dumb. Their share is confined to swinging the axe and gripping
the jarring drill.

It was an hour after they left the Inlet when the land breeze came
down a little fresher, and swinging the canoe round, he drove it back
over a glittering sea that commenced to splash about the polished side
of the light craft. Then both of them ceased talking until, as they
approached the shadowy rift in the rock, the girl looked back with a
laugh.

"It is almost a pity to leave all that behind," she said softly.

Nasmyth nodded as he glanced up at the lighted windows of the house.
"In one sense it is. Still, it's rather curious that I think I never
appreciated it quite so much before." He let his paddle trail as he
wondered whether he had gone too far. "I suppose you are going up the
coast with Mrs. Acton in the steamer?" he inquired.

"Yes," answered Violet Hamilton, with an air of reflection; "I was not
quite sure whether I would or not, but now I almost think I will."

Nasmyth was sensible of a little thrill of satisfaction, for he knew
it was understood at Bonavista that he was going too. He decided that
he could certainly go. He dipped his paddle strongly, and laughed as
they slid forward into the shadow.

"Now," he said, "you are safely back in your own realm again."

"You called it a world a little while ago," said the girl.

"I did," replied Nasmyth. "Still, I almost think the word I
substituted is justifiable."

Violet Hamilton said nothing as they climbed the bluff, but she
wondered how far the change he had made was significant. All the men
at Bonavista were her subjects, but until that night, at least,
Nasmyth had in that sense stood apart from them, and it is always more
or less gratifying to extend one's sovereignty.




CHAPTER XV

MARTIAL'S MISADVENTURE


There was not a breath of wind, and the night was soft and warm, when
Nasmyth lay stretched upon the _Tillicum's_ deck, with his shoulder
against the saloon skylights and a pipe in his hand. The little
steamer lay with her anchor down under a long forest-shadowed point,
behind which a half-moon hung close above the great black pines. Some
distance astern of her, a schooner lay waiting for a wind with the
loose folds of her big mainsail flapping black athwart the silvery
light, and her blinking anchor-light flung a faint track of brightness
across the sliding tide. There was only the soft lap of the water
along the steamer's side and the splash of the little swell upon the
beach to break the stillness, for the sea was smooth as oil.

The _Tillicum_ would not have compared favourably with an English
steam-yacht. She had been built for the useful purpose of towing
saw-logs, and was sold cheap when, as the mill she kept supplied grew
larger, she proved too small for it. Acton, however, was by no means a
fastidious person, and when he had fitted her with a little saloon,
and made a few primitive alterations below, he said she was quite good
enough for him. For that matter, anyone fond of it might navigate the
land-locked waters of Puget Sound and the Straits of Georgia in an
open whaleboat with satisfaction in summer-time. There are islands
everywhere, wonderful rock-walled inlets that one can sail into,
beaches to which the primeval forest comes rolling down, and always
above the blue waters tower tremendous ramparts of never-melting
snow.

On the evening in question, Acton was not on board. He had taken his
wife and guests ashore that morning for an excursion to a certain
river where there was excellent trout-fishing, and, as a hotel had
lately been built for the convenience of sportsmen visitors, it was
uncertain whether they would return that night. Nasmyth had not made
one of the party because there was scarcely room for everybody in the
gig, and six miles, which was the distance to the river mouth, was
rather far to row in the dinghy. Another guest called Martial also had
been left behind, and afterwards had been rowed ashore to visit a
ranching property somewhere in the neighbourhood. He was the man who
had followed Miss Hamilton out on to the veranda one night, and
Nasmyth, who did not like him, understood that he was connected with a
big land exploitation agency.

Nasmyth felt more or less contented with everything, as he lay upon
the _Tillicum's_ deck listening to the faint murmur of the swell upon
the boulder beach. He had made certain propositions to the Crown lands
authorities, which he believed they would look into, and while he
waited he found the customs and luxuries of civilization pleasant. He
found the society of Violet Hamilton more pleasant still, and the
demeanour of the man, Martial, was almost the only thing that ruffled
him. Martial had constituted himself Miss Hamilton's special
attendant, and though Nasmyth fancied Mrs. Acton connived at this, it
was by no means as evident that the girl was pleased with it. Indeed,
he surmised that she liked the man as little as he did. Martial was
brusque in mariner, and, though that is not usually resented in
British Columbia, he now and then went even further than is considered
permissible in that country, and he had gained the sincere dislike of
the red-haired George, who acted as the _Tillicum's_ deck-hand, cook,
and skipper.

George sat upon the skylights sucking at his pipe, and it presently
became evident that his thoughts and Nasmyth's were very much alike.
There was nobody else on board, for the man who fired and drove the
engines was ashore.

"I guess you can catch trout?" the skipper remarked.

"Oh yes," answered Nasmyth indifferently. "As a matter of fact, I've
had to, when there was very little else to eat."

George, who was big and lank, and truculent in appearance, nodded.

"Juss so!" he rejoined. "You've been up against it in the Bush.
Anybody could figure on that by the look of you and the way you use
your hands. A city man takes holds of things as if they were going to
hurt him. That's kind of why I froze on to you."

Nasmyth took this as a compliment, and smiled his acknowledgment, for
George was a privileged person, and most of his recent companions held
democratic views. He, however, said nothing, and George went on
again.

"Mrs. Acton's a mighty smart woman, but she plays some fool tricks,"
he commented. "Where's the blame use in taking a boatload of folks
after trout when none of them but the boss knows how to fish?" Then he
chuckled. "You'd have gone with the rest this morning if she wanted
you to. Guess the gig would have carried another one quite nicely."

Nasmyth fancied that this was possible, though he naturally would not
admit it to his companion. The fact that his hostess had somewhat
cleverly contrived to leave him behind had its significance, since it
seemed to indicate that she recognized that Miss Hamilton regarded him
with a certain amount of favour.

"Well," said George reflectively, "the boss is quite smart, too! Mrs.
Acton crowded you out of the gig. The boss says nothing, but he knocks
off that blame Martial. That makes the thing even, and, unless he
does it, none of them gets any fish. Now, it kind of seems to me that
for a girl like Miss Hamilton to look at a man like Martial is a
throwing of herself away. I guess it strikes you like that, too?"

This was rather too pointed a question for Nasmyth to answer, but, so
far as it went, he could readily have agreed with the skipper. As a
matter of fact it suggested the query why he should object to Miss
Hamilton throwing herself away.

"Well," he observed, "I'm not quite sure that it's any concern of
mine."

George's grin was expressive of good-natured toleration. "Oh!" he
replied, "I guess that's plain enough for me. You're not going to talk
about the boss's friends. Still, one man's as good as another in this
country, and, if I wasn't way better than Martial, I'd drown myself.
That's the kind of pernicious insect a decent man has no use for.
What's he come on board for with three bags ram full of clothes, when
many a better man humps his outfit up and down the Bush in an old
blanket same as you have done? It's a sure thing that no man with a
conscience wants to get into the land agency business. It's an
institution for selling greensuckers ranching land that's rock and
gravel and virgin forest. Besides, I heard the blame insect telling
Miss Hamilton that nobody not raised in the hog-pen could drink my
coffee."

It seemed to Nasmyth that there was a little reason in the skipper's
observations, though he thought that Martial's strictures upon the
coffee accounted for most of them.

"I guess it might have been wiser if Martial had kept on good terms
with the skipper," he laughingly rejoined.

George chuckled softly. "Well," he declared, "when anyone up and says
my coffee's only fit for the hog-pen, I'm going to get even with him.
I kind of feel I have to. It's up to me."

He said nothing further for some little time, and Nasmyth, who fancied
that he would sooner or later carry out his amiable intentions, lay
prone upon the deck smoking placidly. Nasmyth was one who adapted
himself to his environment with readiness, and on board the _Tillicum_
the environment was particularly comfortable. Through Acton's
hospitality, he was brought into contact with the luxuries of
civilization without the galling restraints. Miss Hamilton had been
gracious to him of late. That was a cause for satisfaction in itself.
The days when he swung the heavy axe, or, drenched with icy water,
stood gripping the drill had slipped far away behind him. For the
time, at least, he could bask in the sunshine with ears stopped
against the shrill trumpet-call to action that he had heard in the
crash of rent trees and the turmoil of the wild flood.

A faint cry came from the shore out of the stillness of the woods, and
George listened carefully.

"That can't be the boss. Guess he's stopping at the hotel," he said.
"It's quite likely it's that blame insect Martial coming back. Those
ranchers he has been trying to freeze off their holding have no use
for him."

The cry rose again, a trifle louder, and George nodded complacently.

"Oh, yes," he exulted, "it's Martial sure! We'll let him howl. Any
way, he can walk down the beach until he's abreast of us. When anybody
expects me to hear him, he has got to come within half a mile."

It seemed to Nasmyth that Martial would not have a pleasant walk in
the dark, for most of the beach lay in the black shadow of the pines,
and beneath highwater mark was covered with the roughest kind of
boulders. Above the tide-line, a ragged mass of driftwood interspersed
with undergrowth separated the water from the tangled Bush. Both
George and Nasmyth were aware that one could readily tear one's
clothes to pieces in an attempt to struggle through such a labyrinth.
Judging by the shouts he uttered at intervals, Martial appeared to be
floundering along the beach, and presently Nasmyth laughed.

"He appears to be getting angry," he said. "After all, it's only
natural that he doesn't want to sleep in the woods all night."

George filled his pipe, apparently with quiet satisfaction, but, some
time later, he stood up suddenly with an exclamation.

"The blame contrary insect means swimming off," he announced.

Nasmyth, glancing shorewards, saw a dim white object crawling on
all-fours towards the water where the moonlight streamed down upon a
jutting point, and it was then that the idea which had results that
neither of them anticipated first dawned on the skipper, who broke
into a hoarse chuckle.

"I guess he wouldn't want Miss Hamilton to see him like that," he
said. "Some folks look considerably smarter with their clothes on."

"How's she going to see him when she isn't here?"

George grinned again. "Her dresses are, so's her hat and her little
mandolin. If you were pulled in tight you'd have quite a figure."

It was clear to Nasmyth that the scheme was workable, though he was
quite aware that the thing he was expected to do was a trifle
discreditable. Still, he had lived for some time in the Bush, where
his comrades' jests were not particularly delicate, and Martial once
or twice had been aggressively unpleasant to him. What was more to the
purpose, he felt reasonably sure that Miss Hamilton would be by no
means sorry to be free of Martial, and it was probable that their
victim would never relate his discomfiture, if their scheme
succeeded.

As the result of these reflections he went down with George to the
little saloon. The skipper, who left him there a few minutes, came
hack with an armful of feminine apparel. They had no great difficulty
in tying on the big hat with the veil, but when Nasmyth had stripped
his jacket off there was some trouble over the next proceeding.
Indeed, Derrick did not feel quite comfortable about appropriating
Miss Hamilton's garments, but he had committed himself, and it was
quite clear that his companion would not appreciate his reasons for
drawing back.

"Hold your breath while I get this blame hook in," said the skipper.

Nasmyth did so; but he could not continue to hold it indefinitely, and
in a few moments there was a suggestive crack, and George desisted in
evident dismay.

"Come adrift from the stiffening quite a strip of it," he said. "Well,
I guess I can somehow fix the thing up so as nobody will notice it. It
should be easier than putting a new cloth in a topsail, and I've a
mending outfit in the locker."

Nasmyth was by no means sure of George's ability to make the damage
good, but he permitted the skipper to tie on the loose skirt, and then
to hang the beribboned mandolin round his neck. When this was done
George surveyed him with a grin of satisfaction.

"Well," said George, "I guess you'll do. Now you'll keep behind the
skylights, and only get up and bang that mandolin when Martial wants
to come on board. Guess when he sees you he'll feel 'most like jumping
right out of his skin. Miss Hamilton's not going to mind. I've seen
her looking at him as if she'd like to stick a big hatpin into him."

They went up, and Nasmyth, who felt guilty as he crouched in the
shadow, could see a black head and the flash of a white arm that swung
out into the moonlight and disappeared again. Martial was swimming
pluckily, and the tide was with him, for his head grew larger every
minute, and presently the gleam of his skin became visible through the
pale shining of the brine. His face dipped as his left arm came out at
every stroke, and the water frothed as his feet swung together like a
flail. He paddled easily while the tide swept him on until he reached
the _Tillicum_. Then his voice rose, breathless and cautious.

"Anchor watch," he called. "Anybody else on board?"

George, who kept out of sight, did not answer. Martial called again.

"Don't let anybody out of the companion while I get up," he
commanded.

The _Tillicum_ had a high sheer forward, and he could not reach her
rail, but as the tide swept him along he raised himself to clutch at
it where it was lower abreast of the skylights.

"Now," said George softly, "you can play the band."

Nasmyth rose and swept his knife-haft across the strings of the
mandolin. For a moment he saw something like horror in Martial's wet
face, and then the man, who gasped, went down headforemost into the
water. Martial was nearly a dozen yards astern when his head came out
again, and he slid away with the tide, with his white arm swinging
furiously. George sat down upon the deck, and expressed his
satisfaction by drumming his feet upon the planking while he laughed.

"He's off," he said. "Might have a high-power engine inside of him.
Guess he's going to scare those schooner men 'most out of their lives.
It's quite likely they won't keep anchor watch when they're lying snug
in a place of this kind."

Nasmyth managed to control his laughter, and went down to divest
himself of his draperies. When he came up again, George reported that
he had just seen Martial crawling up the schooner's cable, and in
another few moments what appeared to be a howl of terror rose from
the vessel. It was not repeated, and shortly afterwards Nasmyth went
to sleep.

Martial remained on board the schooner that night, and Nasmyth was not
surprised when he failed to appear next morning. Acton had come back
with his party when a man dropped into the boat astern of the
schooner, and pulled towards the _Tillicum_ leisurely. Everybody was
on deck when he slid alongside, and, standing up in his boat, laid
hold of the rail.

"I've a message for Mr. Acton," he said, holding up a strip of paper.

Acton, who took the paper from him, was a trifle perplexed when he
glanced at it.

"It seems that Martial didn't stay at that ranch last night as I
thought he had done," he remarked.

Mrs. Acton, who sat next to Miss Hamilton, looked up sharply. She was
a tall woman with an authoritative manner.

"Where is he?" she inquired.

"Gone back to Victoria," said her husband, who handed her the note.
"It's kind of sudden, and he doesn't worry about saying why he went.
There's a little remark at the bottom that I don't quite like."

George naturally had been listening, and Nasmyth saw his subdued
grin, but he saw also Mrs. Acton's quick glance at Miss Hamilton,
which seemed to suggest that she surmised the girl could explain why
Martial had departed so unceremoniously. There was, however, only
astonishment, and, Nasmyth fancied, a trace of relief in Violet
Hamilton's face. Mrs. Acton turned to her husband with a flush of
resentment in her eyes.

"I should scarcely have believed Mr. Martial would ever write such a
note," she said. "What does he mean when he says that he does not
appreciate being left to sleep in the woods all night?"

"That," answered Acton, "is what I don't quite understand. If he'd
hailed anchor watch loud enough, George would have gone off for him.
Still, we're lying quite a way out from the beach."

Then he remembered the man from the schooner, who still gripped the
rail.

"How did you come to get this note?" he asked.

"The man who came off last night gave it to the skipper," said the
schooner's deck-hand with a very suggestive grin.

"How'd he come off?" Acton asked. "Did you go ashore for him?"

"We didn't!" said the man. "He must have swum off and crawled up the
cable. Any way, when he struck the skipper he hadn't any clothes on
him."

There was a little murmur of astonishment, and Mrs. Acton straightened
herself suddenly, while Nasmyth saw a gleam of amusement creep into
Acton's eyes. The schooner man evidently felt that he had an
interested audience, for he leaned upon the rail as he began to tell
all he knew about the incident.

"I was asleep forward, when the skipper howled as if he was most
scared out of his life," he said. "I got up out of the scuttle just as
quick as I could, and there he was crawling round behind the
stern-house with an axe in his hand, and the mate flat up against the
rail.

"'Shut that slide quick,' says the skipper. 'Shut it. He's crawling up
the ladder.'

"'I guess you can shut it yourself if you want it shut.' He asked for
whisky. 'Tell him where it is,' says the mate."

There was no doubt that the listeners were interested, and the man
made an impressive gesture. "It was kind of scaring. There was a soft
flippety-flop going on in the stern-house, and I slipped out a
handspike. Then the skipper sees me.

"'There's a drowned man crawling round the cabin with water running
off him,' he says.

"Then a head came out of the scuttle and a wet arm, and a voice that
didn't sound quite like a drowned man's says, 'Oh you----'"

Acton raised his arm restrainingly, and the narrator made a sign of
comprehension.

"He called us fools," the man explained, "and for 'most a minute the
skipper was going to take the axe to him. Then he hove it at the mate
for being scared instead, and they all went down together, and I heard
them light the stove. After that I went back and dropped off to sleep,
and the skipper sent me off at sun-up to fetch the stranger's clothes.
We set him ashore as soon as he'd got some breakfast into him."

The man rowed away in another minute or two, and, as he had evidently
told his story with a relish, Nasmyth wondered whether Martial had
contrived to offend him by endeavouring to purchase his silence. There
are, of course, men one can offer a dollar to on that coast, but such
an act requires a certain amount of circumspection.

Acton's eyes twinkled, and the men who were his guests looked at one
another meaningly.

"Well," answered one of them, "I guess there is an explanation, though
I didn't think Martial was that kind of man."

Nasmyth said nothing, but he saw Mrs. Acton's face flush with anger
and disdain, and surmised that it was most unlikely that she would
forgive the unfortunate Martial. The women in the party evidently felt
that it would not be advisable to say anything further about the
matter, and when George broke out the anchor the _Tillicum_ steamed
away.

It was after supper that night, and there was nobody except the
helmsman on deck, when Miss Hamilton approached the forward scuttle
where Nasmyth sat with his pipe in his hand. Nasmyth rose and spread
out an old sail for her, and she sat down a little apart from him. The
_Tillicum_ was steaming northwards at a leisurely six knots, with her
mastheads swaying rhythmically through the soft darkness, and a
deep-toned gurgling at her bows. By-and-by Nasmyth became conscious
that Miss Hamilton was looking at him, and, on the whole, he was glad
that it was too dark for her to see him very well.

"I wonder if you were very much astonished at what you heard about Mr.
Martial?" she asked.

"Well," said Nasmyth reflectively, "in one way at least, I certainly
was. You see, I did not think Martial was, as our friend observed,
that kind of man. In fact, I may admit that I feel reasonably sure of
it still."

"I suppose you felt you owed him that?"

"I didn't want to leave you under a misapprehension."

There was silence for half a minute, and then Nasmyth turned towards
the girl again.

"You are still a little curious about the affair?" he suggested.

"I am. I may mention that I found a certain dress of mine, which I do
not remember tearing, had evidently been repaired by somebody quite
unaccustomed to that kind of thing. Now there were, of course, only
the skipper and yourself on board while we were away."

Nasmyth felt his face grow hot. "Well," he replied, "if it's any
consolation to you, I am quite prepared, in one respect at least, to
vindicate Martial's character. In any case, I think I shall have an
interview with Mrs. Acton to-morrow."

His heart beat a little faster, for the girl laughed.

"It really wouldn't be any consolation at all to me," she admitted.

"Ah," said Nasmyth, "then, although you may have certain fancies, you
are not dreadfully vexed with me?"

Violet Hamilton appeared to reflect. "Considering everything, I almost
think you can be forgiven."

After that, they talked about other matters for at least an hour,
while the _Tillicum_, with engines throbbing softly, crept on through
the darkness, and Acton, who happened to notice them as he lounged
under the companion scuttle with a cigar in his hand, smiled
significantly. Acton had a liking for Nasmyth, and though he was not
sure that Mrs. Acton would have been pleased had she known where Miss
Hamilton was, the matter was, he reflected, after all, no concern of
his.




CHAPTER XVI

ACTON'S WARNING


It was with somewhat natural misgivings, the next afternoon, that
Nasmyth strolled forward along the _Tillicum's_ deck toward the place
where Mrs. Acton was sitting. Immaculately dressed, as usual, she
reclined in a canvas chair with a book, which she had been reading,
upon her knee. As Nasmyth approached her he became conscious that she
was watching him with a curious expression in her keen, dark eyes. The
steamer had dropped anchor in a little land-locked bay, and Nasmyth
had just come back in the dinghy, after rowing one or two of the party
ashore. Mrs. Acton indicated with a movement of her hand that he might
sit upon the steamer's rail, and then, turning towards him, looked at
him steadily. She was a woman of commanding personality, and
imperiously managed her husband's social affairs. If he had permitted
it, she probably would have undertaken, also, to look after his
commercial interests.

"I wonder why you decided not to visit the Indian settlement with the
others?" she inquired.

Nasmyth smiled. "I have been in many places of the kind," he answered.
"Besides, there is something I think I ought to tell you."

"I almost fancied that was the case."

"Then I wonder if you have connected me with Martial's disappearance?"

"I may admit that my husband evidently has."

"He told you, then?" And Nasmyth realized next moment that the faint
astonishment he had displayed was not altogether tactful.

"No," said Mrs. Acton, with a smile, "he did not. That was, I think,
what made me more sure of it. James Acton can maintain a judicious
silence when it appears advisable, and there are signs that he rather
likes you."

Nasmyth bowed. "I should be very pleased to hear that you shared his
views in this respect," he observed.

"I am, in the meanwhile, somewhat naturally rather uncertain upon the
point," she returned.

"Well," confessed Nasmyth humbly, "I believe I am largely responsible
for your guest's sudden disappearance. It was, of course, almost
inexcusable, and I could not complain if you were very angry with
me."

"I should, at least, like to know exactly what you did."

"That," said Nasmyth, "is a thing I would sooner you did not urge me
to explain. After all, I feel I have done Martial sufficient injury,
and I do not think he would like you to know. There are," he added
somewhat diffidently, "one or two other reasons why I should prefer
not to say anything further, but I would like to assure you that the
explanation one of your friends suggested is not the correct one. I
ventured to make this, at least, clear to Miss Hamilton."

Mrs. Acton regarded him with a suggestive smile. "Mr. Martial was not
effusively pleasant to you. The affair was premeditated?"

"My one excuse is that the thing was done on the spur of the moment. I
should never have undertaken it if I had reflected." Nasmyth made a
gesture of submission. "I am in your hands."

Mrs. Acton sat silent for perhaps a minute gazing at the woods that
swept round three sides of the little bay. Great cedars and pines and
hemlocks rolled down to the water's edge, and the stretch of smooth
green brine between them and the steamer flashed like a mirror.

"Well," she said, after a long pause, "I must admit that at first I
was angry with you. Now"--and her eyes grew a bit scornful--"I am
angry with Martial, instead. In fact, I think I shall wash my hands of
him. I have no sympathy with a man who allows himself to be placed in
a ludicrously painful position that reflects upon his friends."

"Especially when he has the privilege of your particular favour,"
added Nasmyth.

Mrs. Acton laughed. "That," she returned, "was a daring observation.
It, at least, laid a certain obligation on Martial to prove it
warranted, which he has signally failed to do. I presume you know why
he took some little pains to make himself unpleasant to you?"

Nasmyth fancied that she was really angry with Martial, and that he
understood her attitude. She was a capable, strong-willed woman, and
had constituted herself the ally of the unfortunate man who had
brought discredit on her by permitting himself to be shamefully driven
from the field. It was also evident that she resented the fact that a
guest from her husband's yacht should have been concerned in any
proceedings of the nature that the schooner's deck-hand had
described.

"I think I suspect why he was not cordial to me," Nasmyth admitted.
"Still, the inference is so flattering that one would naturally feel a
little diffident about believing that Martial's suppositions were
correct."

"That," replied Mrs. Acton, "was tactfully expressed." She looked at
the young man fixedly, and her next remark was characterized by the
disconcerting frankness which is not unusual in the West. "Mr.
Nasmyth," she said, "unless you have considerable means of your own,
it would be wiser of you to put any ideas of the kind you have hinted
at right out of your head."

"I might, perhaps, ask you for one or two reasons why I should adopt
the course you suggest."

"You shall have them. Violet Hamilton is a lady with possessions, and
I look upon her as a ward of my own. Any way, her father and mother
are dead, and they were my dearest friends."

"Ah," agreed Nasmyth, "that naturally renders caution advisable. Well,
I am in possession of three or four hundred dollars, and a project
which I would like to believe may result to my advantage financially.
Still, that is a thing I cannot be very sure about."

Mrs. Acton gazed at him thoughtfully. "Your uncle is a man of means."

"I believe he is. He may put three or four thousand dollars into the
venture I mention, if he continues pleased with me. That is, I think,
the most I could expect from him."

Mrs. Acton sat silent a while, and, though Nasmyth was not aware of
it, favoured him with one or two glances of careful scrutiny. He was,
as she had naturally noticed, a well-favoured man, and the flannels
and straw hat he wore were becoming to him. What was more to the
purpose, there was a certain graceful easiness in his voice and manner
which were not characteristic of most of her husband's friends.
Indeed, well-bred poise was not a characteristic of her own, though
she recognized her lack. The polish that she coveted suggested an
acquaintance with a world that she had not as yet succeeded in
persuading her husband to enter. Acton was, from her point of view,
regrettably contented with his commercial status in the new and
crudely vigorous West.

"Well," she remarked thoughtfully, "none of us knows what there is in
the future, and there are signs that you have intelligence and grit in
you." Then she dismissed the subject. "I think you might take me for a
row," she said.

Nasmyth pulled the dinghy alongside, and rowed her up and down the
bay, but his intelligence was, after all, not sufficient for him to
recognize the cleverness with which she led him on to talk about his
uncle and England. He was not aware that he had been particularly
communicative, but when he rowed back to the yacht Mrs. Acton was in
possession of a great deal of information that was more or less
satisfying.

The _Tillicum_ steamed away again when the remainder of the party
arrived, and she was leisurely swinging over a little froth-flecked
sea that night, with the spray flying at her bows, when Acton came
upon Nasmyth leaning on the rail.

"I wasn't quite certain what view Mrs. Acton might take of Martial's
disappearance," said Acton. "Just now, however, I think that she is
rather pleased with you."

"The fact," replied Nasmyth, "is naturally a cause for satisfaction."

Acton appeared amused. "Well," he said, "to some extent it depends
upon what views she has for you. Mrs. Acton is a capable woman."

Acton strolled forward, leaving Nasmyth thoughtful. The hint was
reasonably plain, but the younger man was not quite sure that he would
be willing to fall in with the strong-willed woman's views. There was
no doubt that Violet Hamilton attracted him--he admitted that without
hesitation--for she had grace and wit and beauty, but she had, also,
large possessions, which might prove a serious obstacle. Besides, he
was sensible of a tenderness for the woman who had given him shelter
and a great deal more than that in the lonely Bush. Laura, however,
was still in the wilderness, and Miss Hamilton, whose society he found
very pleasant, was then on board the _Tillicum_, facts that had their
significance in the case of a man liable to be swayed by the impulses
of the moment. By-and-by, he started, for while he thought about her,
Miss Hamilton came out of the little companion-way, and stood looking
round her, with her long light dress rustling in the breeze, until
she moved forward as her eyes rested on him.

Nasmyth fancied that there was a particular significance in the fact
that she appeared just then. He walked to meet her, and, drawing a low
canvas chair into the shelter of the skylights, sat down with his back
against them close at her feet. He did not remember what they talked
about, and it was in all probability nothing very material, but they
had already discovered that they had kindred views and likes, and they
sat close together in the shelter of the skylights with a bright
half-moon above them, while the _Tillicum_ lurched on over a
glittering sea. Both of them were surprised to discover that an hour
had slipped by when their companions came up on deck, and Nasmyth was
once more thoughtful before he went to sleep that night.

Next day the _Tillicum_ brought up off a little mining town, and
George, who went ashore, came back with several letters. Among the
letters was a note for Nasmyth from a man interested in land
exploitation. This man, with whom Nasmyth had been in communication,
was then in the mining town, and he suggested that Nasmyth should call
upon him at his hotel. Nasmyth showed Acton the letter.

"I understand these folks are straight?" the younger man remarked with
inquiry in his tone.

Acton smiled dryly. "Any way," he said, "they're as straight as most.
It's not a business that's conducive to unswerving rectitude. Hutton
has come up here to see you about the thing?"

"He says he has some other business."

"Well," replied Acton, "perhaps he has." Then he turned to Wisbech,
who sat close by. "I'll go ashore with Nasmyth. Will you come along?"

"No," said Wisbech; "I almost think I'll stay where I am. If Derrick
can hold out any reasonable prospect of making interest on the money,
it's quite possible I may put three or four thousand dollars into the
thing, but I go no further. It's his affair. He must handle it
himself."

Acton nodded. "That's sensible, in one way," he declared, and one
could have fancied there was a certain suggestiveness in the
qualification.

Wisbech appeared to notice it, for he looked hard at Acton. Then he
made an abrupt gesture.

"It's my nephew's affair," he said.

"Oh, yes!" returned Acton, significantly. "Any way, I'll go ashore
with him, as soon as George has the gig ready."

Acton and Nasmyth were rowed off together half an hour later, and they
walked up through the hot main street of the little colliery town. It
was not an attractive place, with rickety plank sidewalks raised
several feet above the street, towering telegraph-poles, wooden
stores, and square frame houses cracked by the weather, and mostly
destitute of any adornment or paint. Blazing sunshine beat down upon
the rutted street, and an unpleasant gritty dust blew along it.

There was evidently very little going on in the town that afternoon.
Here and there a man leaned heavy-eyed, as if unaccustomed to the
brightness, on the balustrade in front of a store, and raucous voices
rose from one or two second-rate saloons, but there were few other
signs of life, and Nasmyth was not sorry when they reached the wooden
hotel. Acton stopped a moment in front of the building.

"Hutton's an acquaintance of mine, and if you have to apply to men of
his kind, he is, perhaps, as reliable as most," he said. "Still, you
want to remember that in this country it's every man for himself,
especially when you undertake a deal in land." He smiled suggestively.
"And now we'll go in and see him."

They came upon a man who appeared a little older than Nasmyth. He was
sitting on the veranda, which was spacious, and had one or two wooden
pillars with crude scroll-work attached to them in front. Acton nodded
to the stranger.

"This is Mr. Nasmyth," he said. "He came up with me. Doing much round
here?"

The question was abrupt, but the man smiled.

"Oh," he answered, "we endeavour to do a little everywhere."

"Then I'll leave you to it, and look round again by-and-by. I guess I
may as well mention that Mr. Nasmyth is coming back with me."

Acton looked hard at Hutton, who smiled again. "Oh, yes," replied
Hutton, "I understand that. It's quite likely we'll have the thing
fixed up in half an hour or so. A cigar, Mr. Nasmyth?"

Nasmyth took a cigar, and went with Hutton to the little table which
had been set out, on the inner side of the veranda, with a carafe of
ice-water and a couple of bottles. They sat down at it, and Hutton
took out two letters and glanced at them.

"Now," he said, "we'll get to work. I understand your proposition is
to run the water out of the Cedar Valley. What's the area?"

"About four thousand acres available for ranching land, though it has
never been surveyed."

"And you want to take up as many acres beforehand as you can, and
can't quite raise the capital?"

Nasmyth said that was very much the state of affairs, and Hutton
drummed his fingers on the table. He was a lean-faced man, dressed
quietly and precisely, in city fashion, but he wore a big stone in a
ring on one hand, which for no very evident reason prejudiced his
companion against him.

"Well," he averred, "we might consider going into the thing and
finding part of the capital. It's our business, but naturally we would
want to be remunerated for the risk. It's rather a big one. You see,
you would have to take up the whole four thousand acres."

"Then," replied Nasmyth, "what's your proposition?"

"We'll put up what money you can't raise, and our surveyor will locate
land at present first-class Crown land figure. We'll charge you bank
rate until the land's made marketable when you have run the water out.
In a general way, that's my idea of the thing."

Nasmyth laid down his cigar and looked at him. "Isn't it a little
exorbitant? You get the land at cost value, and a heavy charge on
that, while I do the work?"

Hutton laughed. "Well," he said, "it's money we're out for, and unless
you take it all up, your claim's no good. Anybody else could jump
right in and buy a few hundred acres. Then he could locate water
rights and stop you running down the river, unless you bought him
out."

"The difficulty is that the Crown authorities haven't been selling
land lately, and would sooner lease. They seem inclined to admit that
this is a somewhat exceptional case; in fact, they have granted me one
or two privileges."

"What you would call a first option?"

Nasmyth remembered Acton's manner when he had mentioned his
acquaintance with his companion, and one or two things he had said.

"No," he said, "not exactly that. I merely mentioned certain
privileges."

"Then, what's to stop me or anybody going right down to Victoria and
buying the whole thing up to-morrow?"

"I'm inclined to fancy you would discover one or two things that would
make it difficult," answered Nasmyth dryly. "For another thing, I
hardly think you would get any of the regular rock-cutting or
mine-sinking people to undertake the work about the fall at a figure
that wouldn't make the risk too big. It's not a place that lends
itself to modern methods or the use of machinery. Besides, after
approaching you to a certain extent in confidence, it wouldn't be
quite the thing."

Hutton waved the hand which bore the ring. "Well," he said, "we'll get
back to our original offer. If it isn't good enough, how much more do
you want?"

Nasmyth explained his views, and they discussed each proposition point
by point, gradually drawing nearer to an agreement. Nasmyth was quite
aware that in a matter of this kind the man who provides the capital
usually takes the lion's share, but, after all, the project was his,
and he naturally wanted something for himself. At length Hutton leaned
forward with both elbows on the table, and a certain intentness in his
lean face.

"Now," he said, "I've gone just about as far as I can. You have either
got to close with my proposition or let it go."

Nasmyth said nothing, and there was silence for almost a minute while
he lay back in his chair gazing at the weather-cracked front of the
store across the street, and thinking hard. There was, he was quite
aware, a very arduous task in front of him--one that he shrank from at
times, for it could only be by strenuous toil that he could succeed in
lowering the level of the river, and it was clear that if he accepted
Mutton's offer, his share of the proceeds would not be a large one.
Still, he must have more capital than he could see the means of
raising, and once or twice he was on the point of signifying his
concurrence. His face grew grimmer, and he straightened himself a
trifle, but he did not see that the man who could supply the money was
watching him with a smile.

Then it seemed to Nasmyth that he heard a footstep in the room behind
him, but it was not particularly noticeable, and Hutton touched his
arm.

"Well," said the promoter, "I'll just run over our terms again." He
did so rapidly, and added: "If that doesn't take you, we'll call it
off."

Nasmyth made a gesture which was vaguely expressive of resignation,
and in another moment would have closed the bargain, but the footsteps
grew plainer, and, as he turned round, Acton appeared at the open
window close behind them. He stood still, looking at them with
amusement in his shrewd eyes, and then, stepping out, dropped heavily
into the nearest chair.

"Not through yet? I want a drink," he said.

It was probably not often that Hutton was disconcerted, but Nasmyth
saw his fingers close sharply on his cigar, which crumpled under them,
and that appeared significant to him. Acton looked round again as he
filled his glass.

"When you're ready we'll go along," he suggested. "You can worry out
anything Hutton has put before you to-night. When I've a matter of
consequence on hand, I generally like to sleep on it."

Nasmyth rose and turned to Hutton. "I don't want to keep Mr. Acton,
and I'm afraid I can't decide just yet," he said. "I'll let you know
when I make up my mind."

Hutton made a sign of concurrence, but there was a suggestive frown on
his face, when he leaned upon the balustrade, as Nasmyth and Acton
went down the stairway together. When they were half-way down the
street, Acton looked at Nasmyth with a dry smile.

"Well," he commented, "you have still got most of the wool on you?"

Nasmyth laughed, but there was relief in his voice.

"I was very nearly doing what I think would have been an unwise
thing," he said. "It was fortunate you came along when you did."

Acton waved his hand. "I'm open to admit that Hutton has a voice like
a boring bit. It would go through a door, any way. It's a thing he
ought to remember."

"There is still a point or two I am not very clear upon;" and Nasmyth
looked at him steadily.

Acton smiled again. "The fact is, Mrs. Acton gave me some instructions
concerning you. She said I was to see you through." He made an
expressive gesture. "She seemed to figure it might be advisable."

"Well," said Nasmyth reflectively, "I fancy she was right."

They said nothing further, but Nasmyth was unusually thoughtful as
they proceeded towards the water-front.




CHAPTER XVII

AN EVENTFUL DAY


It was about eleven o'clock on a cloudy, unsettled morning when
Nasmyth stood knee-deep in a swirling river-pool, holding a
landing-net and watching Miss Hamilton, who stood on a neighbouring
bank of shingle with a light trout-rod in her hand. The rod was bent,
and the thin line, which was drawn tense and rigid, ripped through the
surface of the pool, while there was also a suggestion of tension in
the pose of the girl's figure. She was gazing at the moving line, with
a fine crimson in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes.

"Oh," she cried, "I'm afraid I'm going to lose it, after all."

Nasmyth smiled reassuringly. "Keep the butt well down, and your thumb
upon the reel," he continued. "You have only to keep on a steady
strain."

A big silvery object broke the surface a dozen yards away, and then,
while the reel clinked, went down again; but the line was moving
towards Nasmyth now, and, in another minute or two, he flung a sharp
warning at the girl as he made a sweep with the net. Then he
floundered ashore, dripping, with the gleaming trout, which he laid at
her feet.

"You ran that fish very well," he told her. "In fact, there were one
or two moments when I never expected you to hold it."

The colour grew a little plainer in his companion's face, though
whether this was due to his commendation or to elation at her own
success was a question. As she had just caught her first big fish, it
was, perhaps, the latter.

"Oh," she said complacently, "it isn't so very difficult after all.
But I wonder what can have become of the others of our party?"

It was at least an hour since Nasmyth had last seen their companions
considerably lower down the river. He and Miss Hamilton had pushed on
ahead of them into the Bush, which was a thing they had fallen into
the habit of doing. The girl sat down on a boulder and seemed to be
listening, but there was nothing to indicate the presence of any of
the party. Except for the murmur of the river and the sighing among
the pine-sprays high overhead, the Bush was very still, but it seemed
to Nasmyth that there was more wind than there had been.

"I suppose we had better go back to them," observed the girl. The
manner in which she spoke conveyed the impression that she would have
been more or less contented to stay where she was with him; but next
moment she added: "After all, they have the lunch with them, and it
must have been seven o'clock when we breakfasted."

"Yes," said Nasmyth, "I think it was. Still, until this minute I had
quite forgotten it."

"I certainly hadn't," said Violet Hamilton. "I don't think I ever had
breakfast at seven o'clock in my life until this morning."

The fact had its significance to Nasmyth. It was one of the many
little things that emphasized the difference between his life and
hers, but he brushed it out of his mind, and they went back together
down the waterside. Their progress was slow, for there was no trail at
all, and while they laboriously plodded over the shingle, or crept in
and out among the thickets, the wail of the breeze grew louder. Half
an hour had passed when the faint hoot of the _Tillicum's_ whistle
reached them among the trees.

"What can the skipper be whistling for?" asked the girl.

"I fancy the wind is setting inshore moderately fresh, and he wants us
to come off before it roughens the water," said Nasmyth.

They went on as fast as possible after that, though it was remarkably
rough travelling; but they saw no sign of their companions, and the
whistle, which had shrieked again, was silent, which evidently meant
that the gig had already gone off. When they reached the inlet the
river fell into, and found only the _Tillicum's_ dinghy lying on the
shingle, Nasmyth, looking down the lane of smooth green water somewhat
anxiously, noticed that the sea was flecked with white. The
_Tillicum_, as he remembered, was also lying well out from the beach.

"We had better get off at once," he said. "The breeze is freshening,
and this dinghy isn't very big."

He helped the girl into the boat, and when he had thrust the little
craft off sent her flying down the riband of sheltered water; but he
set his lips and braced himself for an effort when they slid out past
a point of froth-lapped shingle. There was already a white-topped sea
running, and the spray from the oar-blades and the dinghy's bows blew
aft into his companion's face in stinging wisps as he drove the
plunging craft over it. Now and then an odd bucketful of brine came in
and hit him on the back, while Miss Hamilton, who commenced to get
very wet, shivered and drew her feet up as the water gathered deeper
in the bottom of the boat.

"I'm afraid I must ask you to throw some of that water out," he said.
"There is a can to scoop it up with."

The girl made an attempt to do so, but it was not surprising that in a
few minutes, when the dinghy lurched viciously, she let the can slip
from her fingers. Nasmyth set his lips tighter, and his face was
anxious as he glanced over his shoulder. The sea was white-flecked
between him and the _Tillicum_, which lay rolling wildly farther down
the beach, at least half a mile away. It already taxed all Nasmyth's
strength to drive the dinghy off shore, and every sea that broke a
little more sharply than the rest splashed into the boat. He held on
for another few minutes, glancing over his shoulder and pulling
cautiously, for it was evident that he might fill the dinghy up or
roll her over if he failed to swing neatly over the crest of some
tumbling comber. In spite of his efforts, a wave broke on board, and
sitting ankle-deep in water, he waited until there was a slightly
smoother patch in front of him, and then swung the dinghy round.

"I'm afraid we'll have to make for the beach," he announced.

He would have preferred to head for the inlet, but that would have
brought the little white seas, which were rapidly getting steeper,
dangerously on her beam, and the thrust of one beneath her side
probably would have been sufficient to turn the diminutive craft over.
He accordingly pulled straight for the beach before the wind, and the
perspiration dripped from his set face as he strove to hold the dinghy
straight, when, with the foam boiling white about her, she swung up on
the crest of a comber. Once or twice Nasmyth glanced at Violet
Hamilton reassuringly, but she sat, half-crouching, against the
transom, gazing forward, white in face, with her wet hair whipping
about her. Nasmyth had not noticed it before, but her hat had
evidently gone over. Speech was out of the question. He wanted all his
breath, and recognized that it was not advisable to divert his
attention for a moment from his task, for it depends very largely upon
the man at the oars whether a diminutive dinghy keeps right side
uppermost in any weight of breeze. Once or twice he risked a glance at
the approaching land.

Sombre forest rolled down to the water's edge, and he could see that
there was already a broad ribbon of frothy whiteness beneath it, while
so far as he had noticed that beach consisted of rock ledges and very
large boulders. It was about the last place he would have chosen to
make a landing on, in a light and fragile dinghy.

After that, he looked resolutely astern over his companion's shoulders
as she swung up between him and the sea with the slate-green ridges
and tumbling white tops of the combers behind her. At length a
hazarded glance showed him that they were close inshore, and he
wondered for a moment whether he could swing the dinghy round without
rolling the boat over. He did not think it could be done, and set his
lips as he let her go, careering on a comber's crest, with at least
half her length out of the water.

Then there was a white upheaval close alongside, and for a moment a
black mass of stone appeared amidst the leaping foam. They swept by
it, and he gasped with relief as he looked at Miss Hamilton.

"Get hold of me when she strikes," he said.

The dinghy swung round, twisting broadside-on with the brine pouring
into her in spite of all that he could do; and while he tore at one
oar, another white sea that curled menacingly rose up astern. It broke
right into the boat, and in another moment there was a crash, and
Nasmyth, who let the oars drop, stretched out his arms to the girl. He
jumped when she clutched him, and found himself standing amid the
swirling froth on what seemed to be a ledge of very slippery stone,
with both arms about her, while the crushed-in dinghy swept up among
the foam-lapped boulders. He sprang down from the stone as another sea
came in, and floundered ashore waist-deep with it, after which he set
his dripping companion down upon the beach.

"I'm afraid you're rather wet," he said, when he got his breath again.
"Still, I really couldn't help it. There was a good deal more sea than
I had expected."

Miss Hamilton, who sat down on a boulder with the water dripping from
her skirt, looked ruefully at him and the dinghy, which was rolling
over in the surf.

"How are we going to get off?" she inquired.

"Not in that dinghy, any way," answered Nasmyth. "She has knocked all
one bilge in. They'll probably send the _Tillicum's_ gig ashore for us
by-and-by."

"But she's going away!" said the girl, with a gasp of consternation.

Nasmyth, who turned round, saw that this was certainly the case. A
cloud of steam blew away from beside the yacht's funnel, and in
another moment the shriek of a whistle reached him.

"I don't think we need worry about that," he remarked. "They evidently
watched us get ashore. You see, with the breeze freshening she
couldn't very well lie where she was. Still, if I remember, there's an
inlet a couple of leagues or so away along the coast where she'd find
shelter."

"But why didn't they send for us first?"

"The trouble is that there is really a nasty sea, and they couldn't
very well take us off if they knocked a big hole in the gig. I fancy
the wisest thing would be to walk towards that inlet along the
beach."

They set off, when Nasmyth had pulled the dinghy out, but the beach
was strewn with driftwood which was difficult to flounder over, as
well as very rough. They made no greater progress when they tried the
Bush. Fallen trees lay across one another, and there were thorny
thickets in between, while, here and there, the undergrowth seemed as
impenetrable as a wall. By-and-by it commenced to rain, and for an
hour or two they plodded on dejectedly through the pitiless deluge. It
rains exceedingly hard in that country. At last the girl sat down on a
fallen tree. She had already lost her hat, and the water soaked out of
Nasmyth's jacket, which he had tied by the arms about her shoulders.
Her drenched skirt clung about her, rent to tatters, and one of her
little shoes was caked with mire. The other gaped open.

"How far have we gone?" she asked.

"About a league," answered Nasmyth quietly. "I think we could make the
inlet in another two hours. That is, if the beach isn't very much
rougher."

The girl leaned against a branch wearily. "I'm afraid I can't go a
step further," she replied with trembling lips.

The rain beat upon them, and Nasmyth stood still a moment looking at
her.

"Well," he said, "we really can't stay here. Since there seems no
other way, I think I could carry you."

His diffidence was evident, and Violet smiled. "Have you ever carried
anybody--a distance--before?" she asked.

"No," said Nasmyth, "I certainly haven't."

"Then I don't think there would be much use in trying. You couldn't
carry me for more than four or five minutes. That wouldn't be worth
while, would it?"

Nasmyth said nothing for a minute or two, for he felt compassionate as
well as a trifle confused. He had, in fact, already discovered that
there are occasions when a young woman is apt to show greater
self-possession and look facts in the face more plainly than a man.
Then he set to work furiously with a branch which he tore from the
fallen tree, ripping off rough slabs of bark, and in the course of
half an hour had constructed a shelter about the base of a cedar. It,
at least, kept the rain off when Violet sat under it.

"It might be as well if I pushed on for the inlet and brought George
or Acton back with me," he suggested. "We could make something to
carry you in, if there was too much sea for the gig."

A flush crept into the girl's face, and she looked at him reproachfully.

"How could I stay here alone?" she asked. "Don't say those foolish
things. Come in out of the rain."

The bark shelter would just hold the two of them, and Nasmyth,
dripping, sat down close beside her. She looked very forlorn.

"I'm sorry for you," he said awkwardly.

The girl showed faint signs of temper. "You have told me that before.
Why don't you do something? You said you had lived in the Bush, and
now you have only been a few hours in it. It was seven o'clock when we
had breakfast. Can't you even make a fire?"

"I'm afraid I can't," answered Nasmyth deprecatingly. "You see, one
has usually an axe and some matches, as well as a few other odds and
ends, when one lives in the Bush. A man is a wretchedly helpless being
when he has only his hands."

The fact was borne in upon Violet forcibly as she glanced out at the
wet beach, tumbling sea, and dreary, dripping Bush. The Bush rolled
back, a long succession of straggling pines that rose one behind the
other in sombre ranks, to the rugged hills that cut against the hazy
sky. There was, no doubt, all that man required to provide him with
warmth and food and shelter in that forest, but it was certain that it
was only by continuous and arduous toil that he could render it
available. Indeed, since he could not make himself an axe or a saw or
a rifle, it was also evident that his efforts would be fruitless
unless backed by the toil of others who played their part in the great
scheme of human co-operation.

It is, however, probable that Violet did not concern herself with this
aspect of the matter, but she had led a sheltered life, and it was
curiously disconcerting to find herself brought suddenly face to face
with primitive realities. She was wet through and worn out, and
although evening was not far away, she had eaten nothing since seven
o'clock that morning. The momentary petulance deserted her.

"Oh!" she cried, "they mayn't be able to send off for us for perhaps a
day or two."

"It is quite likely that the breeze will drop at sunset," Nasmyth
replied cheerfully. "These westerly breezes often do. Anyway, the rain
seems to be stopping, and I may be able to dry my matches. In the
meanwhile I might come across something to eat. There are oysters on
some of these beaches."

Violet glanced at the Bush apprehensively, and once more it was
evident that she did not wish him to leave her. This sent a little
thrill of satisfaction through him, and although he half-consciously
contrasted her with Laura Waynefleet, it was not altogether to her
disadvantage. It is a curious fact that some men, and probably women,
too, feel more drawn to the persons upon whom they confer a benefit
than to those from whom they receive one. Laura Waynefleet, he
realized, would have urged him to make some attempt to reach the
_Tillicum_, and in all probability would have insisted on taking a
share in it, while his companion desired only to lean on him. After
all, Laura's attitude was more pleasant to the subconscious vanity
that was in his nature, and in this respect he probably differed but
little from most of his fellows.

"You won't be very long away?" she said.

Nasmyth reassured her upon this point, and floundered down to the
beach, where he carefully laid out to dry the little block of sulphur
matches that he carried. Then he crawled among the boulders near
low-water mark, and, since oysters are tolerably plentiful along those
beaches, succeeded in collecting several dozen of them. After that he
sat down and gazed seaward for a minute or two. There was no sign of
the _Tillicum_, only a strip of dingy, slate-green sea smeared with
streaks of froth, which shone white beneath a heavy, lowering sky.
Close in front of him the sea hove itself up in rows of foam-crested
ridges, which fell upon the boulders and swirled over them and among
them a furious white seething. He fancied that it was near sunset, and
it was clear that the breeze was a little lighter. It seemed to him
just possible that four capable seamen might keep the gig afloat close
enough to the beach for one to wade out to her, though there would be
a certain peril in such a proceeding. Still, there were not four
capable seamen on board the _Tillicum_!

Gathering up his matches, which had dried, Nasmyth went back to the
bark shelter. He was pleasantly conscious of the relief in Miss
Hamilton's eyes when he reached it, and fancied that she was too
overwrought and anxious to care whether he noticed it or not; but he
set about making a fire, and she helped him to collect brittle
undergrowth and fallen branches. Then they sat down and ate the
oysters that he had laid among the embers. He thought they were not in
season, and they were certainly burnt and shrivelled, as well as
somewhat gritty; but one is glad to eat anything after a long day of
exertion, and Nasmyth watched his companion with quiet appreciation as
she handled the rough shells daintily with little delicate fingers.
Her evident reliance upon him had its effect.

He carried an armful of branches to the beach, and started another
fire where it could be seen from seawards, after which he went back
and sat outside the shelter near Miss Hamilton, while darkness crept
up from the eastwards across the Bush. It grew dim and solemn, and the
doleful wailing of the pines was curiously impressive. The girl
shivered.

"The wind is very chilly," she said, with a tremor in her voice. "You
will stay here where I can see you. You won't go away?"

"Only to keep up the fire on the beach," Nasmyth answered reassuringly.

She crept into the shelter, and he could see her dimly when the
flickering light blazed up, but he could never remember how many
journeys he made to the fire upon the beach before his eyes grew heavy
as he sat amid the whirling smoke. He endeavoured to keep awake, and
resolutely straightened himself once or twice, but at last his eyes
closed altogether, and he did not hear the shriek of the _Tillicum's_
whistle ring far across the shadowy Bush. Indeed, he did not waken
when Acton and Wisbech came floundering into the light of the fire;
and the two men looked at each other when they stopped beside it and
saw him lying there, and then discovered the girl inside the shelter.
Acton raised his hand warningly, while a faint twinkle crept into his
eyes.

"I guess there's no reason why anybody else should hear of this," he
said. "It seems to me that Miss Hamilton would be just as well pleased
if we were not around when she awakens."

He stooped and shook Nasmyth's shoulder as Wisbech disappeared among
the shadows.

"Get up," said Acton. "Wait until I get away, and then waken her."

It was a minute before Nasmyth, who stood up stiffly, quite understood
him, and then the blood rose to his face as he crept into the shelter
and touched the girl. She sprang to her feet with a little cry and
clutched his arm. Then she suddenly let her hand fall back, and her
cheeks flushed crimson.

"The steamer's close by," said Nasmyth reassuringly. "They have sent
for us at last."

They went out together, and it was a minute or two later when they
came upon Wisbech and Acton in the Bush. Nasmyth entered into confused
explanations as they proceeded towards the beach. The sky was a little
lighter when they reached it, and standing near the sinking fire,
they could dimly see the gig plunging amidst the froth and spray. Then
George's voice reached them.

"Can't you let us have them, Mr. Acton? It's most all we can do to
keep her off the beach," he said.

Acton glanced at the strip of tumbling foam--through which he had
waded waist-deep--between them and the boat, and Nasmyth turned
towards Miss Hamilton, who, to his astonishment, recoiled from him.
Acton, however, made him a sign of command.

"I guess," he said, "she'd be safer with you."

Nasmyth said nothing, but he picked the girl up, as unconcernedly as
he could, for the second time that day, and staggered down the rough
beach with her. He contrived to keep his footing when a frothing sea
broke against him, and, floundering through the seething water,
reached the lurching boat. George seized his burden, and gently
deposited it in one of the seats. Scrambling on board, Nasmyth groped
for an oar, and in another minute or two they laboriously drove the
gig out towards the blinking lights of the _Tillicum_.




CHAPTER XVIII

TRANQUILLITY


The afternoon was very hot when Nasmyth plodded down a steep hillside
through the thick red dust of the waggon trail. A fire had swept the
undergrowth away, and there was no shade among the trees which,
stripped of their branches, towered about him, great charred and
blackened columns. Close ahead the primeval Bush rose in an unbroken
sombre mass, and Nasmyth, who quickened his pace a trifle, sat down
with a gasp of satisfaction when he reached the first of the shadow.
It was fresh and cool there. The Bush was scented with the odours of
pine and cedar, and filled with the soft murmur of falling water,
while he knew that just beyond it Bonavista stood above the sparkling
sea.

He was on his way from the railroad depot. It was just a fortnight
since he had left the _Tillicum_ at the little mining town, on the day
after the one he and Violet Hamilton had spent on the beach, and he
had not seen her before he went. Now he fancied that a welcome awaited
him, and he felt sincerely pleased to be back again. As he sat beneath
a great cedar filling his pipe, it seemed to him only appropriate that
he should approach Bonavista through that belt of cool, sweet-scented
Bush. It made it easier to feel that he had left behind him all that
associated him with the strife and bustle of the hot and noisy cities.
At Bonavista were leisure, comfort, and tranquillity, which were,
after all, things that made a strong appeal to one side of his nature,
and he had made no progress in the city. There was also no doubt that
both Mr. and Mrs. Acton were glad to entertain him for a time. He sat
still a few minutes, and then went on slowly beneath the towering
redwoods and cedars until he came out of the forest, and saw the
sunlight stream down on the shingled roof of Bonavista close ahead.

The house appeared to be empty, and he had shed his dusty city clothes
in his room and had dressed again before he came upon Mrs. Acton,
sitting half asleep on a secluded strip of veranda. She roused herself
and smiled when she saw him.

"So you have come back at last. We have been expecting you all the
past week," she said.

"That," returned Nasmyth, "was remarkably good of you. In fact, I have
wondered now and then, with some misgivings, whether you have not seen
too much of me already."

Mrs. Acton laughed. "You needn't worry yourself on that point. We have
all our little hobbies. My husband's is the acquisition of dollars and
the opening of mines and mills. Mine is the amusing of my friends, or,
rather, the permitting them to amuse themselves, which is why I had
Bonavista built. I make only one stipulation--it is that when you stay
with us, you are amused."

With a little sigh of content, Nasmyth settled himself in a canvas
chair, and glanced out between the slender pillars of the cool veranda
at the wall of dusky forest and the flashing sea.

"Ah," he replied, "can you doubt it, my dear lady? After logging camp
and mine and city, this is an enchanted land. I think it is always
summer afternoon at Bonavista."

Mrs. Acton smiled at him graciously. "That," she observed, "was quite
nice of you. Things haven't gone just as you would have liked them to
go, in the city?"

"They haven't," admitted Nasmyth whimsically. "As a matter of fact,
they very seldom do. Still, I wouldn't like you to think that was the
only reason I am glad to get back."

Mrs. Acton's eyes twinkled. "I imagine I am acquainted with the other.
You were rather tactful in going away."

"I went because Mr. Acton handed me a letter which said that a
business man in Victoria would like a talk with me."

"In any case, Miss Hamilton seems to be under the impression that it
was nice of you."

"Nice of me to go away?" and Nasmyth's tone was mildly reproachful.

"One would not resent a desire to save one any little embarrassment."

"Still," observed Nasmyth, with an air of reflection, "the trouble is
that I couldn't contrive to keep out of her sight continually even if
I wanted to, and"--he lowered his voice confidentially--"as it
happens, I don't."

Mrs. Acton laughed. "I don't know of any particular reason why you
should do that. Violet has probably quite recovered her equanimity and
decided on her attitude towards you." Then she changed the subject
abruptly. "I wonder if I may point out that there has been a change in
you, since my husband brought you here. For one thing, you are much
more amusing. Even your voice is different."

Nasmyth bowed. "But not my hands," he said; and as he held up one
hand, she noticed the scars on it and the coarseness of his nails.
"That tells a tale, I think. My dear lady, I scarcely think you quite
realize all that you have given me. You have never seen how we lived
in the lonely logging camps--packed like cattle in a reeking shed--and
you do not know the grim side of our life in the Bush. It would be no
great use to tell you that I have now and then limped for days
together over the ballast of a railroad track, wondering where my next
dollar was to come from. These are the things one could not expect you
to understand."

Mrs. Acton's face softened a little. "Still, I think my husband does,"
she replied. Then she smiled at him. "It almost seems to me that you
need never go back to that life again unless you like it. I mean, of
course, that, for one thing, your uncle has his views concerning you.
He has to some extent taken Mr. Acton into his confidence."

Nasmyth made no comment, and Mrs. Acton sank down a little further
into her long chair. "The others are down on the beach," she announced
drowsily. "I really think I was going to sleep when you made your
appearance."

Nasmyth could take a hint, and he strolled away down the veranda
stairway and around the edge of the wide clearing in the shadow of the
Bush, until he stood looking down upon the sea from the crown of the
bluff. Then he felt a little thrill, for some twenty or thirty feet
beneath him was a patch of something white in the shadow of the
shrubbery. He went down quietly until he stopped, and, stooping,
touched Violet Hamilton's shoulder. She looked around with a start,
and a faint trace of embarrassment crept into her face at the sight of
him.

"Oh," she said, "I thought you were in Victoria."

Nasmyth stretched himself out upon a ledge of rock near her feet.
"Mrs. Acton was good enough to imply that she had been expecting me
more or less anxiously for several days," he rejoined in a tone of
reproach. "In fact, she used the plural pronoun, which led me to
believe that somebody else must have shared her anxiety. She did not,
however, point out who it was that she meant."

"Her husband, in all probability. She could, at least, speak for
him."

Nasmyth appeared to ponder over this, though his heart was beating
faster than usual, for the suggestion of confusion which he had
noticed in the girl's manner had its significance for him.

"Well," he conceded, "it may have been Acton, but I almost ventured to
believe she meant somebody else. In any case, I shouldn't like to
think you were displeased at my reappearance. If you are, I can, of
course, go away again."

"I am not the only person at Bonavista. Wouldn't anybody else's wishes
count--Mr. Acton's, for instance?"

"No," asserted Nasmyth reflectively. "At least, not to anything like
the same extent."

Violet laughed. "The difficulty is that nobody can tell how much you
really mean. You are so seldom serious." She cast a quick glance at
him. "You were not like that when you first came here."

"Then," said Nasmyth, "you can blame it on Bonavista. As I have been
trying to explain to Mrs. Acton, who made a similar observation, there
is glamour in this air. It gets hold of one. I was, no doubt, a
tediously solemn person when I left the Bush, but you will remember
that soon after I arrived here, you and I sailed out together into the
realms of moonlight and mystery. I sometimes feel that I must have
brought a little of the latter back with me."

Violet said nothing for half a minute, during which she lay resting on
one elbow, looking down upon the cool, green flashing of the water a
hundred feet below, and again Nasmyth felt a little thrill run through
him. She was so very dainty in speech and thought and person, a woman
of the world he had once belonged to, and which it now seemed he might
enter again. Her delicately chiselled, half-averted face matched the
slight but finely moulded figure about which the thin white draperies
clung. She turned and looked at him.

"You certainly can't be serious now," she declared.

"I assure you that when I mentioned the glamour and mystery, I was
never half so serious in my life. They are, after all, very real
things."

He was, as a matter of fact, grimly serious for the moment as he
wondered at the change that had come over him. His life in the silent
Bush, the struggle with the icy river, and even Laura Waynefleet, who
had encouraged him in his work of rehabilitation, had by degrees
become no more than a dim, blurred memory. He knew that he could
recall it all, but he had no wish to make the effort, for it was more
pleasant to hear the sighing of the summer wind about the firs of
Bonavista, and wonder languidly what his companion thought.

"I haven't thanked you for taking care of me the day we were left
behind on the beach," said Violet.

Nasmyth made a sign of protest. "I don't think you are under any very
great obligation to me. As a matter of fact, my efforts on your behalf
nearly resulted in my drowning you. Besides, you see, there was really
not the slightest cause for uneasiness. Acton certainly would have
sent for us when the wind dropped."

"But it might have blown for days."

"Then," said Nasmyth, with a twinkle in his eyes, "we would have lived
on salmon and berries until it stopped. One really can live on them
for a considerable time, though they are not remarkably palatable when
one has anything else to eat; in fact, it's a thing I've done."

Salmon is not esteemed in that country, except for the purpose of
sending East in cans, and it is seldom that anybody eats it except the
Indians. There is probably no diet that more rapidly grows satiating.

"Ah," exclaimed the girl, with a shiver, "it would have been
horrible."

She was evidently not thinking of the salmon, but of the dreary,
dripping Bush, and Nasmyth looked at her with reproach in his eyes.

"I really don't think it would have been," he said. "In fact, I believe
we could have lived there for a little while very contentedly--that is,
when I had fixed things up a bit. After all, there is a certain
glamour in the Bush when one gets used to it."

He saw the faint colour creep into her face, and, though it cost him
an effort, laid a restraint upon himself.

"Well," he said, "I at least would not have felt that I had any cause
to complain, though, no doubt, it would have been different with you.
You see"--and he made an expressive gesture--"I have had a long tough
tussle since I came to Canada, and experiences of that sort have their
effect on one. In fact, they set one apart from those who haven't
undergone them. It seems to have struck you that I was prematurely
solemn and serious when I came to Bonavista."

He thought he saw sympathy in Violet Hamilton's eyes, and her next
observation made it clear that her mind was busy with the suggestion
that he had conveyed.

"After all," she said softly, "you cannot be very much older than I
am."

"Four years, perhaps," returned Nasmyth, with a trace of grimness.
"That is, in one sense. In another, I think I am double your age. You
see, you have never been brought into contact with the realities of
life. If you had been, you would probably not be so ready to take me
for what you think I am, as I believe you have graciously done. After
all, you know so very little about me."

He felt that he was doing no more than discharging an obligation in
giving her this warning. He desired to afford her every opportunity of
satisfying herself concerning him, for he was not a fool, and he had
seen for a moment or two a suggestive softness in her face. It is
possible that she did not know it had been there, but he felt that if
he roused himself and made the effort, he might sweep away the
barriers between them.

Violet appeared troubled by his words. She sat silent, while Nasmyth
wondered what she would say. He was aware that a good deal depended
upon her next remark. Then there were footsteps on the slope behind
them, and, turning suddenly, he saw Acton and another man approaching
them. He rose with a little start when he recognized the second man as
Gordon, who was neatly attired in city clothes. Gordon looked down at
Nasmyth with a faint sardonic smile.

"Mr. Gordon turned up half an hour ago," Acton said. "It appears that
he was going into the city, and got off the cars to talk over things
with you. I believe he had a notion of going on again to-night, but
Mrs. Acton won't hear of it."

Gordon bowed in the direction of his host.

"I'd have put up a more vigorous protest against troubling Mrs. Acton
than I did, if I had felt it would have been of any use," he said.

"Well," replied Acton, smiling, "I guess they'll be getting supper
ready, and we were sent here to bring our friend and Miss Hamilton
in."

They went back to the house together, where they found the long table
spread. It was characteristic of the owner of Bonavista that he still
called the evening meal supper. There were, besides Nasmyth and
Wisbech, five or six other guests from Victoria and one of the rising
cities on Puget Sound, and Gordon speedily made himself very much at
home. Most of his new acquaintances found what he had to say
entertaining, but Miss Hamilton was, as Nasmyth noticed, somewhat
silent. Nasmyth, on his part, felt slightly restless, for his old
comrade's presence had an unsettling effect on him. It was, however,
not until an hour or two later that he and Gordon were able to discuss
their own affairs. They sat on the veranda looking down upon the sea,
while the dusk slowly crept up from the east.

"Now," said Gordon, "I should like to hear what you have done."

"I'm afraid it's not a great deal," replied Nasmyth. "The Crown land
authorities appear disposed to sell the land instead of leasing it,
which of late has been the more usual course; but they insist on
counting a certain proportion of the hillside and big timber in. I may
get one or two concessions, and I'm still keeping the affair before
them. In the meanwhile I've been seeing what can be done to raise
enough capital to take up all the land, but haven't met with any great
success. The folks I've been in communication with, as usual, want all
the profit; in fact, I almost fancy it might be as well to raise what
money we can around the settlement, and content ourselves with
locating a portion of the valley."

Gordon nodded. "You can't do much about the fall until after the
autumn freshets, anyway, and there's a good deal you can't get at
until the frost sets in," he declared. "In the meanwhile the offers
Wheeler and I made you hold."

They discussed the matter until Mrs. Acton appeared on the veranda and
shook her head at them.

"What are you two doing here when there are pretty girls in the house
waiting for a dance?" she inquired.

"I'm afraid we have been very remiss," apologized Nasmyth, when they
joined her. "Still, we didn't know, and we had some business to talk
about."

"There will be plenty of time for that to-morrow."

"The trouble is that I shall be in the city then," said Gordon.

Mrs. Acton laughed. "Oh, no!" she contradicted. "We are all going for
a sail on the straits to-morrow, and we certainly expect you to join
us. In the meanwhile, I believe there are two young women waiting for
partners."

She silenced Gordon's objections as they turned back towards the
house. They found the dancing had commenced, and Nasmyth failed to
secure Miss Hamilton as a partner for any time in the evening. He
could not help a fancy that she had taken some little trouble to bring
about this result.




CHAPTER XIX

NASMYTH HEARS THE RIVER


Darkness had settled down on Bonavista next evening when Nasmyth lay
in a canvas chair on the veranda, while Gordon leaned against the
balustrade in front of him with a cigar in his hand. A blaze of light
streamed out from one of the long open windows a few yards away, and
somebody was singing in the room behind it, while the splash of the
gentle surf came up from the foot of the promontory in a deep
monotone. Now and then a shadowy figure strolled into the veranda or
crossed it to the terrace below, but for the time being nobody
disturbed the two men.

"I haven't had a word with you since last night," said Nasmyth. "How
are the boys at the settlement?"

"Hustling along as usual." Gordon laughed. "Is there anybody else you
feel inclined to ask about?"

"Yes," said Nasmyth, "there certainly is. How is Miss Waynefleet?"

Gordon looked down at his cigar. "Well," he said, "I'm a little
worried on her account. She was attempting to do a great deal more
than was good for her when I last saw her. They have no longer a hired
man at the ranch. Waynefleet, I understand, is rather tightly fixed
for money, and, as you know, he isn't the kind of man who would deny
himself. He was talking of selling some stock."

Nasmyth suddenly straightened himself, and closed one hand rather hard
on the arm of his chair.

"What right have you and I to be lounging here when that girl is
working late and early on the ranch?" he asked. "Gordon, you will
have to buy two or three head of that stock at double value for me."

"It's rather a big question;" and Gordon's tone was serious. "In fact,
I fancy it's one that neither you nor I can throw much light upon.
Anyway, I may as well point out that I arrived here only yesterday,
and I'm going on again in the morning. As to the other matter, Laura
Waynefleet has friends who will stand by her."

"Don't you count me one of them?" Nasmyth demanded. "That girl saved
my life for me."

Gordon glanced round sharply, for there were light footsteps on the
veranda, and he almost imagined that a white figure in filmy draperies
stopped a moment. It, however, went on again and vanished in the
shadow.

"I believe she did," he admitted. "Well, if there's anything that can
be done, you may rely on me." He made an abrupt gesture, and as he
turned, the light from the window fell upon his face, showing the
curious smile on it. "What are you doing here?"

He flung the question at his comrade, and Nasmyth, who knew what he
meant, sat for a moment or two with wrinkled forehead. There was no
reason why he should not stay there so long as Mr. and Mrs. Acton
desired his company, but it did not seem fitting that he should spend
those summer days in luxurious idleness while Laura Waynefleet toiled
late and early at the lonely ranch. Again, he seemed to see her steady
eyes with the quiet courage in them, and the gleam of her red-gold
hair. Even then she was, he reflected, in all probability occupied
with some severe drudgery. It was a thing he did not like to
contemplate, and he almost resented the fact that Gordon should have
brought such thoughts into his mind. His comrade had broken in upon
his contentment like a frosty wind that stung him to action. Still, he
answered quietly.

"I am within easy reach of the city here," he explained. "Acton, who
has once or twice given me good advice, is acquainted with most of the
folks likely to be of any use to us, and has laid the scheme before
one or two of them. That, at least, is one reason why I am staying at
Bonavista. It's perfectly evident that it wouldn't be any benefit to
Miss Waynefleet if I went back to the Bush."

"No," agreed Gordon grimly; "if you were likely to be of any use or
consolation to her, you'd go, if I had to drag you."

Nasmyth smiled. He was too well acquainted with his comrade's manner
to take offence at this remark, and the man's devotion to the girl
who, he knew, would never regard him as more than a friend also had
its effect.

"Well," he said, "since plain speaking seems admissible, you are
probably aware that Laura Waynefleet has nothing beyond a kindly
interest in me. She is, I needn't point out, a remarkably sensible
young lady."

He stopped somewhat abruptly, for Wisbech emerged from the shadows
beneath the pillars, and sat down in a chair close by.

"Yes," said Wisbech, "I heard, and it seems to me Derrick's right in
one respect. Though I don't know how far it accounts for the other
fact he has just impressed on you, Miss Waynefleet certainly possesses
a considerable amount of sense. She is also a young lady I have a high
opinion of. Still, if he had gone back to the Bush merely because you
insisted on it, I think I should have cast him off."

Gordon appeared to ponder over this, and he then laughed softly. "It's
quite natural, and I guess I sympathize with you," he remarked. "In
one way, however, your nephew's acquitting himself creditably,
considering that there are apparently three people anxious to exert a
beneficent influence upon him. The effect of that kind of thing is apt
to become a trifle bewildering, especially as it's evident their views
can't invariably coincide."

"Three?" said Wisbech, with a twinkle in his eyes. "If you count me
in, I almost fancy there are four."

Nasmyth said nothing, though he felt his face grow hot. Gordon
smiled.

"As a matter of fact," he admitted, "I had a notion that Miss Hamilton
resented my being here. Any way, she didn't take any very noticeable
trouble to be pleasant to me to-day. No doubt she considers any
influence she may choose to exert should be quite sufficient."

"It should be," said Nasmyth. "That is, to any man who happened to be
a judge of character, and had eyes in his head."

Gordon waved one hand. "Oh," he averred, "she's very dainty, and I
think there's a little more than prettiness there, which is a very
liberal admission, since I'm troubled with an impression that she
isn't quite pleased with me. Still, when the woods are full of pretty
girls, I guess it's wisest of a man who has anything worth while to do
in front of him to keep his eyes right on the trail, and go steadily
ahead." He turned to Wisbech deprecatingly. "We don't mind you, sir.
We regard you as part of the concern."

"Thanks," said Wisbech, with a certain dryness. "I believe I am
interested in it--at least, financially."

"Well," said Gordon, "when I break loose, as I do now and then, I
quite often say a little more than is strictly advisable without
meaning to. It's a habit some folks have. Your observation, however,
switches us off on to a different matter. I've been telling your
nephew we leave him to handle the thing and stand by our offers."

"That is precisely what I mean to do. The affair is Derrick's. He must
take his own course," declared Wisbech.

Gordon grinned as he turned to Nasmyth. "There will be no reinforcements.
You have to win your spurs." Then he looked at Wisbech. "If you will
not be offended, sir, I would like to say I'm pleased to notice that
your ideas coincide with mine. He'll be the tougher afterwards if you
let him put up his fight alone."

"The assurance is naturally satisfactory," said Wisbech with quiet
amusement. Then he held up one hand. "It seems to me the person at the
piano is playing exceptionally well."

They sat silent while the crashing opening chords rang out from the
lighted room, and then Nasmyth, who was a lover of music, found
himself listening with a strained attention as the theme stole out of
them, for it chimed with his mood. He had been restless and disturbed
in mind before Gordon had flung his veiled hints at him, and the
reality underlying his comrade's badinage had a further unsettling
effect. He did not know what the music was, but it seemed in keeping
with the throb of the sea against the crag and the fitful wailing of
the pines. There was a suggestion of effort and struggle in it, and,
it seemed to him, something that spoke of a great dominant force
steadily pressing on; and, as he listened, the splash of the sea grew
fainter, and he heard instead the roar of the icy flood and the crash
of mighty trees driving down upon his half-built dam. These were
sounds which sometimes haunted him against his will, and once or twice
he had been a little surprised to find that, now that they were past,
he could look back upon the months of tense effort with a curious,
half-regretful pleasure. He was relieved when the music, that swelled
in a sonorous crescendo, stopped, and he saw Gordon glance at
Wisbech.

"I think that man has understanding and the gift of expressing what he
feels," said Wisbech. "The music suggested something to you?"

"The fast freight," confessed Gordon.--"When she's coming down the big
canyon under a full head of steam. I don't know if that's quite an
elegant simile, in one way. Still, if you care to think how that
track was built, it's not difficult to fancy there's triumph in the
whistles and the roar of the freight-car wheels."

Wisbech made a sign of comprehension, and Gordon looked hard at
Nasmyth. "It's your call."

"I heard the river," said Nasmyth. "In fact, I often hear it, and now
and then wish I didn't. It's unsettling."

Gordon laughed in a suggestive fashion. "Well," he declared, "most of
us hear something of that kind at times, and no doubt it's just as
well we do. It's apt to have results if you listen. You have been most
of a month in the city one way or another. You took to it kindly?"

"I didn't," Nasmyth answered, and it was evident that he was serious.
"I came back here feeling that I had had quite enough of it."

"Bonavista is a good deal more pleasant?" And there was a certain
meaning in Gordon's tone. "You seemed to have achieved some social
success here, too."

He saw the flush in Nasmyth's face, and his gaze grew insistent.
"Well," he said, "you're not going to let that content you, now you
can hear the river. You'll hear it more and more plainly frothing in
the black canyon where the big trees come down. You have lived with the
exiles, and the wilderness has got its grip on you. What's more, I
guess when it does that it never quite lets go."

He broke off abruptly, and just then Acton stepped out from the
window. "Mr. Gordon," he said, "it's my wife's wish that you should
come in and sing."

Gordon said that he was in Mrs. Acton's hands, and then turned to
Nasmyth.

"I've had my say," he observed. "If there's any meaning in my remarks,
you can worry it out."

He went away with Acton, and Wisbech looked at his nephew over his
cigar.

"Mr. Gordon expresses himself in a rather extravagant fashion, but I'm
disposed to fancy there is something in what he says," he commented.

Nasmyth did not answer him. He was, on the whole, glad that Gordon had
gone, but he still seemed to hear the river, and the restlessness that
had troubled him was becoming stronger. He retired somewhat early, but
he did not sleep quite so soundly as usual that night. As it happened,
Gordon rose before him next morning. Gordon went out of doors, and
presently came upon Miss Hamilton, who was strolling bareheaded where
the early sunshine streamed in among the pines. It struck him that he
was not the person whom she would have been most pleased to see, but
she walked with him to the crown of the promontory, where she stopped
and looked up at him steadily.

"Mr. Gordon," she inquired, "what is Laura Waynefleet?"

Gordon started, and the girl smiled.

"I crossed the veranda last night," she told him, when he hesitated
before answering her.

The man looked down on her with an unusual gravity. "Well," he said
simply, "Laura Waynefleet is quietness, and sweetness, and courage. In
fact, I sometimes think it was to make these things evident that she
was sent into this world."

He thought he saw a gleam of comprehension in the girl's eyes, and
made a gesture of protest. "No," he assured her, "I'm not fit to brush
her little shoes. For that matter, though he is my comrade, Nasmyth
isn't either. What is perhaps more to the purpose, I guess he is quite
aware of it."

A delicate tinge of colour crept into Violet Hamilton's face, and the
man realized that in case his suppositions were correct, what he had
implied could hardly be considered as a compliment. He could also
fancy that there was a certain uneasiness in her eyes.

"Ah," she said, "perhaps it is a subject I should not have ventured to
inquire into."

Gordon smiled reassuringly. "I don't know of any reason why you
shouldn't have done so, but I have scarcely told you anything about
her yet. Miss Waynefleet lives at a desolate ranch in the Bush.
Sometimes she drives oxen, and I believe she invariably makes her own
clothes. I don't think Nasmyth would feel any great diffidence in
speaking about her."

He believed this, or at least he strove to convince himself that he
did, but he was relieved when the appearance of Acton, who strolled
towards them, rendered any further confidential conversation out of
the question. Gordon set out for Victoria that afternoon, and Nasmyth,
who went with him to the railroad, returned to Bonavista in a restless
mood, and almost disposed to be angry with his comrade for having
rudely broken in upon his tranquillity. In fact, he felt disinclined
to face his fellow-guests, which was one reason why he was sauntering
towards the inlet when he came upon Wisbech sitting with a book in the
shadow of the pines. Wisbech looked up at his moody face.

"You are annoyed because Gordon wouldn't stay?" he suggested.

"No," said Nasmyth. "In fact, I'm a little relieved that he has gone
away. I naturally like Gordon, but just now he has an unsettling
effect on me."

Wisbech made a gesture of comprehension. "That man," he said, "is in
some respects fortunate. He has a simple programme, and is evidently
more or less content with it. His work is plain in front of him. You
are not quite sure about yours yet. To some extent, you feel yourself
adrift?"

"I have felt something of the kind."

Wisbech thought for a moment. "I suppose," he said, "it hasn't
occurred to you that your classical features--they're Nasmyth
features--might be of some assistance to you in your career?"

Nasmyth felt the blood rise into his face, but he laughed. "They
certainly haven't proved of any great benefit to me hitherto. It is
scarcely likely that they will do so either in the canyon."

"Then you are still determined on directing operations in person? I
was commencing to wonder if you had any reason for modifying your
plans."

The man's tone was dry, but Nasmyth met his gaze, which was now
inquisitive.

"If it is in my power to do it, I shall certainly run the water out of
the valley," said Nasmyth.

Then he swung round and strolled away, while Wisbech smiled in a
fashion which suggested that he was pleased. It was some little time
later when Nasmyth, pacing moodily over the white shingle beside the
winding inlet, came upon Violet Hamilton sitting in the shadow of a
great boulder. The girl's light dress matched the rock's pale tinting,
and he did not see her until he was within a yard or two of her. He
stopped abruptly, with a deepened colour in his face. Violet made a
sign, which seemed to invite him to sit down, and he stretched himself
out upon the shingle close in front of her.

"It is very hot in the house this afternoon, but it is cool and quiet
here," she observed.

Nasmyth glanced at the still water and the shadow that the pines which
clung in the crevices flung athwart the dark rock's side.

"Stillness sometimes means stagnation. Miss Hamilton," he said.

The girl flashed a quick glance at him. "Well," she rejoined, "I
suppose it does; but, after all, that is a question we need not
discuss. What were you thinking of so hard as you came along? You
didn't see me until you almost stepped upon my dress."

"That," said Nasmyth, with a laugh, "is proof that I was thinking very
hard indeed. It's not a thing I often indulge in, but I was thinking
of the Bush."

"You sometimes feel you would like to be back there?"

"No," answered Nasmyth reflectively; "I suppose I ought to feel that,
but I'm not sure that I do."

"Ah," Violet remarked, "you have told me a good deal at one time or
another about your life and friends there, but I almost fancied now
and then that you were keeping something back. After all"--and she
smiled at him--"I suppose that would have been only natural."

Nasmyth raised himself on one elbow, and looked hard at her. "Well,"
he admitted, "there was one thing I did not tell you, though I had
meant to do so sooner or later. You see, there was nothing to warrant
it in the meanwhile."

"Ah," queried the girl, "it concerns Miss Waynefleet?"

Nasmyth's face grew suddenly grave. He did not ask himself how she
came to know. Indeed, for the time being, that did not seem to matter.
There was, it seemed, only one course open to him, and he adopted it.

"Yes," he answered, "I will tell you about her."

He had meant to be brief and matter-of-fact in his narrative, but as
he proceeded, the subject carried him away. Indeed, he was scarcely
conscious that Miss Hamilton was intently watching him, for once more
he seemed to feel Laura Waynefleet's eyes fixed upon his face, and
they were clear and brave and still. He spoke with a certain dramatic
force, and it was a somewhat striking picture he drew of the girl.
Violet could realize her personality and the self-denying life that
she led. It is possible that Nasmyth had told her more than he
intended, when he broke off for a moment with a startling abruptness.

"I believe she saved my life," he added. "She certainly gave me back
my courage, and set me on my feet again."

Violet looked at him with a strained expression in her eyes. "And
because of that she will have a hold upon you while you live."

Nasmyth seemed to consider this. "I think I shall always realize what
I owe to her. Still--and how shall I say it?--that recognition is the
most I would venture to offer, or that she would accept from me."

He stopped for a moment, and then went on a trifle hastily. "Laura
Waynefleet could never have taken more than a half-compassionate
interest in me," he asserted. "There could scarcely be any doubt upon
that point."

"You said half-compassionate?"

"Yes," replied Nasmyth; "I almost think that describes it. You see, I
am naturally aware of my own disabilities."

"Still," persisted Violet, "she nursed you when you were very ill,
and, as you said, set you on your feet again. That would probably
count for a good deal with her."

Nasmyth made a hasty gesture. "You don't understand. She would no
doubt have taken pity on any dumb creature. She did it because she
could not help it. One could fancy that kind of thing was born in
her."

Violet did not speak for a moment or two. Although it still remained
uncertain whether the girl in the Bush had any tenderness for the man
she had set upon his feet again, he had spoken of her in a manner
which did not quite please Violet.

"Well," she ventured, with a little diffident glance at him, "some day
you will go back into the Bush."

Nasmyth nodded. "Yes," he said, "I think that's certain. In fact, it's
probable that I shall go back very soon. As it happens, I have
undertaken a big and rather difficult thing, which will give me a
considerable lift up if I am successful."

He lay silent for a minute before he turned to her again. "You see, I
have been some time in this country, and never have done anything
worth mentioning. Chopping trees and driving cattle are no doubt
useful occupations, but they don't lead to anything. I feel that I am,
so to speak, on my probation. I have still to win my spurs."

"I wonder if that is one of the ideas Miss Waynefleet gave you?"

Nasmyth smiled. "I really believe it originated with her, but, as a
matter of fact, it might have gone no further, which is an admission.
Still, the desire to win those spurs has been growing so strong of
late that I can't resist it. In one way, I scarcely think that is very
astonishing."

Violet looked away from him, for she saw the gleam in his eyes, and
fancied she understood what the new motive he had hinted at might be.
Still, he did not appear disposed to mention it.

"Then you would have to go away?" she asked.

A flush crept into Nasmyth's face. She was a woman of his own caste,
and probably without intending it, she had shown him in many ways that
she was not averse from him. He felt his heart beat fast when for a
moment she met his gaze.

"The trouble is that if I do not go I shall never have the right to
come back again," he told her.

"Then," replied the girl very softly, "you wish to come back?"

"That is why I am going. There are those spurs to win. I have to make
my mark."

"But it is sometimes a little difficult to make one's mark, isn't it?
You may be ever so long, and it must be a little hazardous in that
horrible canyon."

"If it gives me the right to come back, I think it will be very well
worth while."

"But suppose you don't succeed, after all?"

"That," admitted Nasmyth, "is a thing I daren't contemplate, because,
if it happened, it is scarcely likely that any of my friends at
Bonavista would ever be troubled with me again."

Violet looked away from him. "Ah," she said, "don't you think that
would be a little hard on them? Is it very easy for you to go away?"

The restraint Nasmyth had imposed upon himself suddenly deserted him.
He moved a little nearer to her, and seized one of her hands. She sat
still, and made no effort to draw it away from him.

"I had never meant to say what I am going to say just now," he
declared. "I had meant to wait until there was something successfully
accomplished to my credit. I am, you see, a thriftless, wandering
adventurer--one who has taken things as they came, and never has been
serious. When I have shown that I can also be something else, I shall
ask you formally if you will marry me. Until then the thing is, of
course, out of the question."

He broke off for a moment, and held her silent by a gesture until he
went on again. "I have been swept away, and even if you were willing
to make it, I would take no promise from you. Until I have won the
right to come back you must be absolutely free. Now you know this, it
would be very much wiser if I went away as soon as possible."

"Ah," the girl answered with a thrill in her voice, "whenever you come
back you will find me ready to listen to you."

Nasmyth let her hand go. "Now," he asserted, "I think I cannot fail.
Still, it must be remembered that you are absolutely free."

He would have said something more, but there was just then a laugh and
a patter of feet on the path above, and, looking up, he saw two of
Mrs. Acton's guests descending the bluff.




CHAPTER XX

NASMYTH GOES AWAY


Mrs. Acton was sitting on the veranda next morning when Nasmyth,
fresh from a swim in the deep cold water of the inlet, came up
across the clearing. It had brought a clear glow into his bronzed
skin and a brightness to his eyes, and as he flung a word to a man
who greeted him, his laugh had a clean, wholesome ring. He walked
straight toward the veranda, and Mrs. Acton, sitting still, favoured
him with a very keen and careful scrutiny. He was dressed in light
flannels, which, she admitted, became him rather well; but it was
the lithe gracefulness of his movements that she noticed most. His
easy, half-whimsical manner had their effect on her; they won her
favour. He was the kind of guest she had pleasure in welcoming at
Bonavista.

He went up the veranda stairway, and, stopping near where she was
sitting, looked down at her with a curious little glow in his eyes.
She started, for she had not expected to see it there so soon.

"You seem unusually satisfied with everything this morning," she
observed. "There is probably some cause for it?"

Nasmyth laughed. "I believe I am. As I dare say you have noticed,
tranquil contentment is one of my virtues. It is, however, one that is
remarkably easy to exercise at Bonavista."

"Still, contentment does not, as a rule, carry a young man very far in
this country. In fact, it is now and then a little difficult to
distinguish between it and something else that is less creditable to
the man who possesses it."

Nasmyth smiled good-humouredly. "Well," he replied, "I have discovered
that if you worry Fortune too much she resents it, and flies away from
you. It seems to me there is something to be said for the quietly
expectant attitude. After all, one is now and then given much more
than one could by any effort possibly deserve."

Mrs. Acton noticed the faint ring in his voice. "Ah," she said, "then
something of that kind has befallen you? Hadn't you better come to the
point?"

Nasmyth became grave. "Madam," he said, "I have a confession to make.
I am very much afraid I lost my head yesterday, and I should not be
astonished if you were very angry with me."

He spoke with a certain diffidence, and Mrs. Acton, who straightened
herself in her chair, watched him steadily while he made his
confession. He paused with a gesture of deprecation.

"In one sense, it is a preposterous folly, but I am not quite sure
that folly is not now and then better than wisdom," he added. "It has
certainly proved to be so in my case."

"No doubt." Mrs. Acton's tone was suggestive. "It is, however, Miss
Hamilton I am most interested in."

Nasmyth spread one hand out forcibly. "I want you to understand that
she is absolutely free. I have only told you because you once
mentioned that you considered her a ward of yours. Nothing will be
said to anybody else, and, if she should change her mind, I will not
complain. In fact, I have decided that it would be most fitting for me
to go away."

"I think," asserted Mrs. Acton, "you have been either too generous or
not quite generous enough. The trouble with men of your kind is that
when for once they take the trouble to reflect, they become too
cautious."

"I'm afraid I don't quite grasp the point of that."

"You should either have said nothing, which is the course you ought to
have adopted, or a little more. I fancy Violet would have been just as
pleased if you had shown yourself determined to make sure of her."

Nasmyth stood silent, and Mrs. Acton, who surveyed him again with
thoughtful eyes, was not surprised that he should have appealed to the
girl's imagination. The man was of a fine lean symmetry, and straight
of limb. The stamp of a clean life was on him, showing itself in the
brightness of his eyes and his clear bronzed skin, while he had, as
Wisbech had said, the classical Nasmyth features. These things, as
Mrs. Acton admitted, counted for something, while the faint lines upon
his face, and the suggestive hardness that now and then crept into it,
were, she decided, likely to excite a young woman's curiosity.

"Well," she said, "I feel myself considerably to blame, and I may
admit that I had at first intended to make my husband get rid of you.
I really don't know why I didn't. You can make what you like of
that."

Nasmyth bowed with a deferential smile, and she laughed.

"Still," she said, "you must go away. Violet must be free to change
her mind, and, after all, it's consoling to reflect that she has not
seen so very much of you yet. In one way, it would please me if she
did. It would free me of a rather heavy responsibility."

She stopped a moment, and looked at him with softening eyes. "Go and
run the water out of that valley, or do anything else that will make a
mark," she advised.

Nasmyth's face was set as he replied: "If the thing is in any way
possible, it shall be done. I think I will go into Victoria again
to-day."

He turned away and left her, and it was an hour later when she came
upon Violet sitting alone in a shady walk beneath the pines. She
looked at the girl severely.

"If I had been quite sure of what was going on, I should have sent
that young man away," she remarked. "As it is, I am very glad that he
is going to Victoria."

Violet slipped an arm about Mrs. Acton's neck and kissed her shyly.
"You would never have been so cruel, and now you are going to be my
friend," she said. "I don't want him to go back to that horrible
canyon."

Mrs. Acton smiled. "I almost feel that I could shake both of you, but
I suppose I shall have to marshal my forces on your behalf."

She set about her plans that evening, when she invaded Acton's
smoking-room, and her husband listened to her with a little dry
smile.

"I guess this is about the first time I have ever known you to do a
real foolish thing," he observed.

"Well," said Mrs. Acton, "it is, perhaps, to my credit that I have
done one now. Anyway, I like the man."

Acton nodded. "Oh, yes;" he agreed, "that's quite comprehensible.
There's a good deal of tone about him, but except with women that's
not a thing that counts in this country. It's the bulldog grip and
grit that goes farthest here--anyway, when a man has no money behind
him."

"You wouldn't consider Nasmyth a weak man?"

"Not in one way. When he's right up against it, he'll stiffen himself
and fight, but when the strain slackens a little his kind are apt to
let go too easily."

This, as a matter of fact, was more or less correct, but Mrs. Acton's
intention was not to discuss Nasmyth's character, and she smiled at
her husband.

"Well," she announced; "I expect you to take a hand in the thing."

Acton's gesture was expressive of resignation. "I guessed it. However,
it seems to me that young man has quite enough friends to give him a
shove here and there already. To begin with, there's Wisbech."

"What would Wisbech do?"

"Not much." And Acton smiled understandingly. "He means to let his
nephew feel his own feet. He's a sensible man. Then there's that man
Gordon from the Bush, and it seems I'm to do my share, too. Guess if I
was Nasmyth, I'd say 'thank you,' and go right ahead without listening
to one among the crowd of us."

"That," Mrs. Acton said, "isn't quite the question. I think I pointed
out what I expect from you."

Acton's eyes twinkled. "You did," he assured her. "I'll try to set
things in train the first time I go down to the city."

This was somewhat vague, but Mrs. Acton was satisfied. Nevertheless,
she said nothing to Nasmyth on the subject, and next afternoon he left
Bonavista for Victoria. A day or two later he called by appointment at
the office of a certain land exploitation agency, and found Hutton
waiting for him. Hutton, who sat with his elbows on the table, pointed
to a chair.

"You have taken my view of the thing?" he said in a questioning tone.
"If you'll sit down a minute, I'll call my clerk in, and he'll get the
papers ready."

Nasmyth smiled. "I don't think you need trouble to do that just yet.
You see, I haven't the least intention of closing with your offer."

It is just possible that Hutton had expected this, but, in any case,
he betrayed no astonishment. He leaned forward, regarding his visitor
with an almost expressionless face.

"Then," he returned, "I'll hear your proposition."

"What do you think of the one I had the pleasure of making you some
time ago?" Nasmyth inquired.

"Quite out of the question."

Nasmyth smiled. "That," he remarked, "is in one sense a pity, as I
couldn't repeat it to-day. If we are to do business together, I should
have to ask you for a considerably larger share of the profit. In
fact, I was wondering if you could see your way to offer half as much
again."

Hutton gazed at him with sardonic amusement. "Oh," he replied, "has
somebody left you a fortune, or are they going to run a railroad
through that valley?"

Nasmyth sat silent a moment or two, and it happened that his easy
indifference served him tolerably well. Had he been a keener man, the
anxiety to get about his work in the canyon, of which he was certainly
sensible, might have led to his undoing; but he was not one who often
erred through undue precipitancy. The waiting fight was, perhaps, the
one for which he was particularly adapted. If anything, he was rather
too much addicted to holding out his hand, and he realized that it
behooves the man without capital to be particularly wary in his
negotiations with the one in possession of money. His recent interview
with Violet Hamilton also had a stirring effect on him, and now he sat
quietly prepared to hold his own.

"No," he declared, "there has been no particular change in my affairs.
I have only been thinking things over, and it seems to me I ought to
get the terms I mentioned."

"Then you had better try. It won't be from any of the accredited land
agencies."

Nasmyth noticed the faint ring in his companion's voice. This, it
seemed to him, was not bluff. The man, he believed, meant what he
said.

"You seem quite sure of it," he observed.

As a matter of fact, Hutton was, but he felt annoyed with himself.

"Well," he said, "I naturally know what they would think of any
proposition like the one you made me. Anyway, as I suggested, all you
have to do is to try them."

Again Nasmyth, conscious that his companion was unobtrusively
watching him, sat silent a moment or two. He knew that if he broke
with Hutton he might have considerable difficulty in raising the money
he required from any corporation interested in such matters in that
city; but he had also another plan in his mind. He was far from sure
that the scheme would prove successful, and it was at least certain
that it would cost him a good deal of trouble to carry it out.

"Then I don't think I need keep you any longer," he told Hutton after
a long pause. "I'll leave the thing over for a day or two, and you can
send across to my hotel if you wish to discuss it again."

He rose and reached out for his hat, and Hutton, who watched him cross
the room, was once or twice on the point of calling him back. Hutton
did not speak, however, since he fancied that Nasmyth would presently
return of his own accord--which was an expectation that proved
unwarranted.

The office was on the second floor of a big stone building, and, as he
descended the stairway, Nasmyth fancied he caught sight of Martial in
the entrance-hall. Before he could be quite sure, the man turned down
a corridor, and Nasmyth, who did not trouble himself about the matter,
went out into the street. He was not altogether satisfied that he had
done wisely, but he meant, at least, to wait until events should prove
him wrong.

A few minutes later, Martial strolled into the office where Hutton
sat, and smiled at him suggestively. He was also, as Acton had once
told Nasmyth, interested in the land exploitation business, and it was
evident that Hutton had expected him.

"Nasmyth has been here," Martial observed; "I saw him on the stairway.
I suppose you got hold of him?"

Hutton's gesture was forcibly expressive of annoyance. "As a matter of
fact, I didn't," he confessed. "The man's either considerably smarter
than I gave him credit for being, or a thick-headed, obstinate fool.
The one's as hard to handle as the other. I don't know which he is,
and it doesn't greatly matter. The result's the same."

"I guess it's the latter;" and Martial laughed. "Well, since you can't
come to terms, have you any notion what his programme is?"

"It's not a sure thing that he has one. Anyway, he didn't mention it.
We'll let him wait a day or two. It's quite likely he'll try the
Charters people."

Both of them smiled, for it was then not an unusual thing for the men
interested in such affairs to put their heads together and take a
joint hand in any deal that seemed to warrant it, and when they did
so, the results were not, as a rule, encouraging to the outsider.

Martial looked at his comrade suggestively.

"I had a talk with Charters yesterday," he said. "He told me that if
there was anything in it, he didn't expect us to let the thing go."

Hutton thought for a moment. "One could sell quite a few ranches in
the valley; but it's going to cost considerable to run the water out,
and I can't quite put my hand on anybody I'd feel like trusting with
the work in the canyon. It's going to be difficult. Besides, Nasmyth
has what you might call a first option on the land. Nobody else seems
to want it, and the Crown people have evidently given way on a point
or two. It's a sure thing they'd make no concession if we show our
hands." He broke off for a moment, and flung a quick glance at his
visitor. "You don't like the man?"

"I don't," said Martial--"that's a solid fact. Still, it's not going
to count for much. This"--and he waved his hand--"is a matter of
business."

He sat still for a moment or two, with a curious look in his face; for
he had called at the hotel Acton's party had visited on the night that
he had endeavoured to crawl unobserved on board the _Tillicum_. He had
no difficulty in discovering that Mrs. Acton and Miss Hamilton had
spent the night there, which made it evident that the girl could not
have been on board the steamer. He had, however, not made the
inquiries until business took him to the hotel several weeks
afterwards, and Acton's manner, when they met in the city, convinced
him that the schooner men had been communicative. On thinking the
matter over, it became clear that Nasmyth and the skipper had played a
trick on him; and, since it had cost him Mrs. Acton's good-will,
without which he could not approach Miss Hamilton, he cherished a
bitter grievance against Nasmyth.

"Well," he inquired, "in case he tries to raise the money elsewhere,
what do you suggest?"

"I guess we'll let him try," answered Hutton. "He's not going to raise
much when things are humming and every man with capital is putting it
into mines and mills. Besides, the work in the canyon's evidently a big
undertaking, and it's going to run into a long bill for labour. A
thing of that kind usually costs four times as much as the man who
starts it figures. Well, we'll leave him to it, and when his money
runs out we'll chip in."

Martial laughed. "That's very much my notion. Let him do the work, and
then jump in and put up our dummies to locate all the land he can't
take hold of. Once we get a ranch or two recorded, there would be a
dozen ways we could get a grip on him. Between us and Charters, we
ought to break him."

They smiled at each other, but in a moment or two Hutton looked
thoughtful again.

"You want to understand," he said, "it's not my business to break
Nasmyth. It's the money I'm out for. In fact, if there's an easier way
than the one I suggested, I'm going to take it; and with that in view,
I'll send up a man or two I can rely on to investigate."

"If they get crawling round that canyon and up and down the valley, it
will set the blame settlers talking. We want the thing run quietly,"
Martial cautioned.

"I guess it can be done," replied Hutton. "They'll go camping out for
pleasure. In fact, to make the thing more like it, I'll send them
fishing." Martial rose. "Anyway," he said, "I'll leave it with you in
the meanwhile."




CHAPTER XXI

THE MEN OF THE BUSH


A cool shadow fell upon the descending trail that wound in among the
towering firs, and Nasmyth checked his jaded horse as he entered on
the last league of his long ride from the railroad. The red dust had
settled thick upon his city clothes, and for the first time he found
the restraint of them irksome. The band of his new hat had tightened
unpleasantly about his forehead, and in scrambling up the side of the
last high ridge which he had crossed, one neatly-fitting boot had
galled his foot, while he smiled with somewhat sinister amusement as
he felt the grip of the tight jacket on his shoulders. These were, as
he recognized, petty troubles, and he was rather astonished that he
should resent them, as he certainly did. He remembered that a little
while before he had made no complaint against the restraints of
civilization, and had, indeed, begun to shrink from the prospect of
going back to the untrammelled life of the wilderness.

But, as he straightened himself in his saddle and gazed down the deep
valley through which the trail twisted, he felt the shrinking melt
away. After all, there was something in the wilderness that appealed
to him. There was vigour in the clean smell of it, and the little
breeze that fanned his face was laden with the scent of the firs. The
trees rolled away before him in sombre battalions that dwindled far up
the rocky sides of the enfolding hills, and here and there a flood of
sunlight that struck in through the openings fell in streams of
burning gold upon their tremendous trunks. Beyond them the rugged
heights rose, mass on mass, against the western sky.

He rode into the shadow, and, though he thought of her, it was curious
that Violet Hamilton seemed to become less real to him as he pushed on
down the valley. He vaguely felt that he could not carry her with him
into the wilderness. She was a part of the civilization upon which he
had once more, for a time at least, turned his back, and he could not
fit her into the environment of that wild and rugged land. Indeed, he
remembered with a compassionate tenderness how she had shrunk from it
and clung to him--a forlorn, bedraggled object, in her tattered
dress--the day they floundered through the dripping Bush, and he
subconsciously braced himself for conflict as he thought of it. The
sooner his work was over, the sooner he could go back to her; but
there was, as he remembered, a great deal to be accomplished first.

Wrapped in thought as he was, he was surprised when he saw a faint
blue cloud of wood-smoke trailing out athwart the sombre firs in the
hollow beneath him. Then two figures became visible, moving upwards
along the strip of trail, and he drove the jaded horse forward as he
recognized them. He lost sight of them for a few minutes as he turned
aside to avoid a swampy spot, but when he had left it behind they were
close ahead in the middle of the trail, and it was with a thrill of
pleasure that he swung himself stiffly from the saddle.

With a smile on his bronzed face, Gordon stood looking at him. Gordon
was dressed in soil-stained garments of old blue duck, with a patch
cut from a cotton flour-bag on one of them. Laura Waynefleet stood a
little nearer, and there was also a welcome in her eyes. Nasmyth
noticed how curiously at home she seemed amidst that tremendous
colonnade of towering trunks. He shook hands with her, but it was
Gordon who spoke first.

"You have come back to us. We have been expecting you," he said.
"After all, store clothes and three well-laid meals a day are apt to
pall on one."

Nasmyth turned to Laura. "I should like to point out that this is the
man who urged me to go," he said. "One can't count on him."

"Oh, yes," admitted Gordon, "I certainly did urge you, but I guess I
knew what the result would be. It was the surest way of quieting you.
Anyway, you don't seem sorry to be back again?"

Nasmyth glanced at Laura.

"No," he said; "in some respects I'm very glad."

He became suddenly self-conscious as he saw Gordon's significant
smile. It suggested that he had, perhaps, made too great an admission,
and he wondered for the first time, with a certain uneasiness, whether
Gordon had mentioned Miss Hamilton to Laura, and, if that was the
case, what Miss Waynefleet thought about the subject.

Laura talked to him in her old friendly fashion as they walked on
towards the settlement, until Gordon broke in.

"I've called the boys together, as you suggested, and fixed up the
meeting for to-night," he said. "They'll be ready to give you a
hearing, after supper, in the hotel."

Laura left them on the outskirts of the settlement, and Gordon,
stopping a moment, looked hard at Nasmyth.

"I suppose you pledged yourself to that girl at Bonavista before you
came away?" he said.

"I did," Nasmyth admitted.

Gordon was silent for a moment or two. "Of course, I partly expected
it," he observed. "In fact, when I was talking to Miss Waynefleet
about you, I ventured to predict something of the kind."

The two men looked at each other for a moment, and then Nasmyth
smiled.

"You haven't anything else to say," he suggested.

"No," answered Gordon,--"at least, nothing that's very material.
Anyway, until we're through with the business we have on hand, you'll
have to put that girl right out of your mind."

They went on towards the little wooden hotel, and Nasmyth felt
unusually thoughtful as he walked beside his jaded horse. He
recognized that his comrade's last observation was more or less
warranted, and it was to some extent a relief to him when they reached
the veranda stairway and Gordon led the horse away toward the
stables.

It was rather more than an hour later when a specially invited company
of men who had, as they said, a stake in the district assembled in the
big general room of the hotel. There was about a dozen of them, men of
different birth and upbringing, though all had the same quiet brown
faces and steadiness of gaze. For the most part, they were dressed in
duck, though Waynefleet and the hotel-keeper wore city clothes. The
room was barely furnished, and panelled roughly with cedar-boards; but
it had wide casements, from which those who sat in it could look out
upon a strip of frothing river and the sombre forest that rolled up
the rocky hills. The windows were wide open, and the smell of
wood-smoke and the resinous odours of the firs flowed in. A look of
expectancy crept into the men's faces, and the murmur of their
conversation suddenly fell away, when Nasmyth sat down at the head of
the long table with Gordon at one side of him.

"Boys," said Nasmyth, "one or two of you know why Gordon asked you
here to meet me, but I had better roughly explain my project before I
go any further. I'll ask you to give me your close attention for the
next three or four minutes."

When he stopped speaking there was a very suggestive silence for a
moment. Those who heard him had not the quick temperament of the men
of the Western cities. They lived in the stillness of the Bush, and
thought before they undertook anything, though, when they moved, it
was usually to some purpose. One of the men stood up with a
deprecatory gesture.

"Well," he declared, "it's a great idea. Boys, wouldn't you call us
blame fools for not thinking of it before?"

He sat down suddenly, before anybody answered him, and the men were
still again until another of them rose.

"Nasmyth's not quite through yet," he said. "We'll ask him to go
ahead."

Gordon leaned forward, and touched his comrade's arm.

"Pitch it to them strong. You're getting hold," he whispered
encouragingly.

For another five minutes Nasmyth spoke as he felt that he had never
spoken before. He was intent and strung up, and he knew that a great
deal depended upon the effect he could make. He had failed with the
men of the cities, who wanted all the profit. He felt sure that he
would henceforward have one or two of them against him, and it was
clear that he must either abandon his project or win over these
hard-handed men of the Bush. With them behind him, there was, he felt,
little that he need shrink from attempting. A ring crept into his
voice as he went on, for he knew that he was getting hold as he saw
their lips set and the resolute expression of their eyes. They were
men who, by strenuous toil, wrung a bare living out of the forest, and
now there was laid before them a scheme that in its sheer daring
seized upon their attention.

"Boys," Nasmyth concluded, "I am in your hands. This thing is too big
for me to go into alone. Still, it's due to you to say that, while I
meant to give you an option of standing in, it seemed to me it would
simplify the thing if I raised most of the money before I came to you.
Money is usually scarce in the Bush."

"That's a fact," agreed the shrewd-faced hotel-keeper, who also
conducted the store. "Anyway, when you have to trade with folks who
take twelve months to square up their bills in."

Nobody seemed to heed him, and Nasmyth added:

"Well, I found I couldn't do it--that is, if I wanted to keep anything
for myself. I want you to come in, and as soon as I hear you're ready
to give it your attention, I'll lay a proposition before you."

He sat looking at them, in a state of tense anxiety, until one of them
rose to his feet.

"I guess you can count upon every one of us," he announced.

A reassuring murmur ran along the double row of men, and Nasmyth felt
a thrill of exultation.

"Thank you, boys," he said with evident gratitude. "Now, there are
difficulties to be grappled with. To begin with, the Crown authorities
would sooner have leased the valley to me, and it was some time before
they decided that as a special concession they would sell it in six
hundred and forty acre lots at the lowest figure for first-class
lands. The lots are to be laid off in rectangular blocks, and as the
valley is narrow and winding, that takes in a proportion of heavy
timber on the hill bench, and will not include quite a strip of
natural prairie, which remains with the Crown. The cost of the land
alone runs close on twenty thousand dollars, of which, one way or
another, I can raise about eight thousand."

He looked at Wheeler, who sat near the lower end of the table, and he
nodded.

"My offer stands," he said.

"You want another twelve thousand dollars," said the hotel-keeper
dubiously. "It's quite a pile of money."

There was a little laughter from the men. "Well," said one of them, "I
guess we can raise it somehow among us, but it's going to be a pull."

"Then," said Nasmyth, "we have provided for the cost of the land, but
before we lower the fall and cut the drainage trenches in the valley
we will run up a big bill--that is, if we hire hands. My notion is
that we undertake the work ourselves, and credit every man with his
share in it to count as a mortgage on the whole land that belongs to
us."

Waynefleet stood up and waved his hand. "I want to point out that this
is very vague," he objected. "The question will arise where the labour
is to be applied. It would, for instance, be scarcely judicious to
give a man a claim on everybody else for draining his own land."

He would have said more, but that Tom of Mattawa laid a hard hand on
his shoulder and jerked him back into his chair.

"Now," Tom admonished, "you just sit down. When Nasmyth takes this
thing in hand he'll put it through quite straight. What you'd do in a
month wouldn't count for five dollars, anyway."

Everybody laughed, and Wheeler spoke again. "We'll get over that
trouble by cutting so many big trenches only for the general benefit.
In the meanwhile Mr. Nasmyth said something about trustees."

"I did," said Nasmyth. "The Crown will sell in rectangular six hundred
and forty acre blocks. My proposition is that we take them up in three
separate names. You have to understand that the man who registers in
the Crown deed is legal owner."

"Then we're sure of two of them," declared the hotel-keeper. "Nasmyth
takes the first block, and Wheeler the other."

Wheeler laughed. "I guess I stand out. As a United States citizen, I'm
not sure I'm eligible to record Crown lands. Still, since Nasmyth and
I are putting up a good many of the dollars, I'll nominate Gordon."

As one man they decided on that, but there appeared to be a difficulty
about the third trustee until Nasmyth turned to them.

"As you don't seem sure about him, I would like to suggest Mr.
Waynefleet, boys," he said. "He is a man who has an extensive
acquaintance with business and legal affairs."

There was dead silence for several moments, and the men looked at one
another uneasily. It was evident that the suggestion was unwelcome to
most of them, and Nasmyth was quite aware that he was doing an
unpopular thing. In the meanwhile dusk had crept up the valley, and
the room was growing dim. Perhaps Waynefleet could not see his
companions' faces very well, but it is also possible that, had he been
able to do so, he would not have troubled himself about the hesitation
in most of them. There are men of his kind who appear incapable of
recognizing the fact that they are not regarded with general favour.

Finally one of the men spoke. "Seeing that the scheme is Nasmyth's, I
guess it's only reasonable to fall in with his views as far as we
can," he said. "We'll fix on Waynefleet."

There was a murmur of very dubious agreement, and Waynefleet, who
stood up, smiled on the assembly patronizingly. His manner suggested
that he was about to confer a favour.

"Our friend was warranted in mentioning that I have been accustomed to
handling affairs of a somewhat similar nature, but of considerably
greater magnitude," he said. "I have pleasure in placing what
abilities I possess at your disposal, gentlemen."

Though it was growing dark, Nasmyth saw the amused light in Gordon's
eyes. "I'm with you in this," said Gordon. "Still, I scarcely figured
the boys would have stood him."

They discussed the scheme at length, and when the assembly broke up,
Waynefleet approached the table where Gordon, Nasmyth and Wheeler sat
under a big lamp.

"There is a point I did not mention at the time. It seemed to me it
was one that could, perhaps, be arranged," said Waynefleet. "It is, of
course, usual for a director of any kind to hold a certain financial
interest in the scheme."

He looked at Nasmyth, and made a significant gesture. "Unfortunately
there are not at the moment more than a very few dollars at my
disposal. The fact, you will recognize, is likely to hamper my efforts
in an administrative capacity."

"Precisely!" said Nasmyth. "It is a matter I have provided for. You
will be placed in possession of a holding of the size the others fixed
upon as convenient when the blocks are divided off."

"No larger?"

"No," answered Nasmyth; "I am afraid you will have to be content with
that."

Waynefleet went out, and Gordon turned to Nasmyth. "It's going to cost
you something," he said. "You can't charge it on the scheme. I'll
divide it with you."

There was a slight restraint in Nasmyth's manner. "I'm afraid I can't
permit it. It will be charged against my claim. Considering
everything, it was a thing I felt I had to do."

Then Wheeler, who had been quietly watching them, broke in.

"What did you put that image up for, anyway?" he asked.

Gordon smiled in a significant fashion. "It's our friend's affair, and
I guess he's not going to tell you why he did it. Still, in one sense,
I 'most think it was up to him."

Wheeler let the matter drop, and in a few more minutes they went out,
and Nasmyth and Gordon turned into the trail that led to Gordon's
ranch.




CHAPTER XXII

NASMYTH SETS TO WORK


It was a scorching afternoon on the heights above, where rocky slope
and climbing firs ran far up towards the blue heavens under a blazing
sun, but it was dim and cool in the misty depths of the canyon. There
was eternal shadow in that tremendous rift, and a savage desolation
rolled away from it; but on this afternoon the sounds of human
activity rang along its dusky walls. The dull thud of axes fell from a
gully that rent the mountain-side, and now and then a mass of
shattered rock came crashing down, while the sharp clinking of the
drills broke intermittently through the hoarse roar of the fall. Wet
with the spray of the fall, Nasmyth, stripped to blue shirt and old
duck trousers, stood swinging a heavy hammer, which he brought down
upon the head of the steel bar that his companion held so many times a
minute with rhythmic precision. Though they changed round now and
then, he had done much the same thing since early morning, and his
back and arms ached almost intolerably; but still the great hammer
whirled about his head, and while he gasped with the effort, came down
with a heavy jar upon the drill. So intent was he that he did not
notice the three figures scrambling along the narrow log-work staging
pinned against the rocky side above the fall, until his companion
flung a word at him. Turning with a start, he dropped his hammer.

He saw Gordon hold out a hand to Laura Waynefleet, who sprang down
from the staging upon the strip of smooth-worn stone that stretched
out from the wall of the canyon above the fall. Wheeler was a few
paces behind them. Nasmyth looked around for his jacket, and,
remembering that he had left it in the gully, he moved forward to
shake hands with his visitors.

"I scarcely expected to see any of you here. You must have had a hard
scramble," he said.

Gordon waved his hand. "You don't say you're pleased, though after the
trouble we've taken, it's a sure thing that you ought to be," he
declared. "Anyway, I'm not going back up that gully until I've had
supper. Wheeler's held up because his folks haven't sent him some
machines, and I came along to see if I'd forgotten how to hold a
drill. I don't quite know what Miss Waynefleet came for."

Laura laughed good-humouredly. "Oh," she said, "I have my excuse. My
father is at Victoria, and I have been staying with Mrs. Potter for a
day or two. She lent me a cayuse to ride over to Fenton's ranch, and
the trail there leads close by the head of the gully."

Mattawa looked up at Gordon with a grin. "If you want to do some
drilling, you can start right now," he remarked. "Guess Nasmyth
doesn't know he has a back on him."

Gordon took up the hammer, and, when Wheeler went back to the gully to
inquire whether one of the men at work there would undertake some
timber-squaring he wanted done at the mill, Laura Waynefleet and
Nasmyth were left together. It was wetter than was comfortable near
the fall, and, scrambling back across the staging, they sat down among
the boulders near the foot of the rapid that swirled out of the pool.
Nasmyth looked at Laura, who smiled.

"I am afraid I have taken you away from your work, and I haven't
Gordon's excuse," she said. "He, at least, is able to drill."

Nasmyth laughed. "I observe that Tom seems very careful of his
hands," he returned. "As to the other matter, I am very glad you did
come. After all, drilling isn't exactly a luxurious occupation; and
while, as Tom remarked, I'm a little uncertain about my back, I'm
quite sure I'm in possession of a pair of arms, because they ache
abominably. Besides"--and his gaze was whimsically reproachful--"do
you really think any excuse is needed for coming to see me?"

"In any case, I have one; there is something I want to say. You see, I
have not come across you since the meeting at the settlement."

"I suppose you object to your father taking any share in our crazy
venture?"

A faint flicker of colour crept into Laura's cheek. "You know I
don't," she replied. "It is the one thing I could have wished for him;
indeed, I shall be thankful if he takes a sustaining interest in the
scheme, as he seems disposed to do. It will be of benefit to him in
many ways. He grows moody and discontented at the ranch."

She broke off for a moment, and her voice had changed when she went on
again. "There is one point that troubles me--you provided my father
with the money to take his share in the venture."

"No," explained Nasmyth; "I think I can say that I didn't. I have
merely set apart for him so many acres of swamp and virgin forest. He
will have to earn his title to them by assisting in what we may call
the administration, as well as by physical labour."

Laura looked at Nasmyth with quiet eyes. "Would you or Gordon consider
it a good bargain to part with a single acre for all the advice he can
offer you?" she asked.

Nasmyth sat silent a moment, gravely regarding her. There was a little
more colour in her face, but her composure and her fearless honesty
appealed to him. She was attired very plainly in a print dress, made,
as he knew, by her own fingers. The gown had somehow escaped serious
damage in the scramble down the gully. It harmonized with the
pale-tinted stone, and it seemed to him that its wearer fitted
curiously into her surroundings. He had noticed this often before, and
it had occurred to him that she had acquired something of the strength
and unchangeableness of the wilderness. Perhaps she had, though it is
also possible that the quiet steadfastness had been born in her, and
perfected slowly under stress and strain.

"Well," Nasmyth broke out impulsively, "if it had been you to whom we
made that block over, I could have abdicated with confidence and have
left it all to you."

Laura smiled, and Nasmyth became sensible that his face had grown a
deeper red.

"Whatever made you say that?" she asked.

"I don't quite know." Nasmyth's manner was deprecatory. "After all,
it's hardly fair to hold a man accountable for everything he may
chance to say. Anyway, I think I meant it."

Something in his voice suggested that he was of the same mind still,
but Laura glanced at him again.

"Aren't we getting away from the subject?" she queried. "The land you
made over to my father must have cost you something. It is a thing I
rather shrink from mentioning, but have you any expectation of ever
getting the money back?"

Nasmyth did not exactly understand, until a considerable time
afterwards, why he was so deeply stirred by what she had said, and he
was quite mistaken in fancying that it was merely her courage that
touched his heart. In the meanwhile, he was clearly sensible of at
least a great pity for her.

"Well," he told her, "we can look at things openly, and not try to
persuade ourselves that they're something else. I think that is one of
the things that you have taught me. Now, suppose I haven't any
expectation of the kind you mention. How does that count? Didn't you
take me in when you found me lying in the snow? Isn't it practically
certain that I owe my life to you? Admitting all that, is there any
reason why you shouldn't permit me to offer you a trifling favour, not
for your own sake, but your father's?"

He broke off for a moment with a forceful gesture. "I might, no doubt,
have suppressed all this and made some conventional answer, but, you
see, one has to be honest with you. Can you persuade yourself that I
don't know what you have to bear at the ranch, and how your father's
moody discontent must burden you? Isn't it clear that if he takes an
interest in this project and forgets to worry about his little
troubles, it will make life easier for both of you?"

Laura looked at him curiously. "After all, it is my life. Why should
you be so anxious to make it easier?"

The question troubled Nasmyth. It seemed to go beyond the reason he
had offered her a moment or two earlier. Indeed, it flashed upon him
that the fact that he certainly owed a good deal to her was not in
itself quite sufficient to account for the anxiety he felt.

"Well," he answered, "if the grounds I mentioned don't appear to
warrant my doing what I did, I can't at the moment think of anything
more convincing. It's one consolation that you couldn't upset the
little arrangement now, if you wanted to. Your father's going into the
thing headlong."

Somewhat to his astonishment the girl appeared embarrassed as she
glanced away from him. It was a moment or two before she looked around
again.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I don't want to upset it. He has not been so
well and contented for several years. It has lifted him out of his
moodiness." Then she leaned a little toward him. "I dare not refuse
this favour from you."

Nasmyth was puzzled by a vague something in her manner.

"I certainly can't see why you should want to; but we'll talk of
something else," he replied. "As you have noticed, I have set to work,
though I expect it will be winter before we make any very great
impression."

Laura glanced up the gloomy canyon, which was filled with the river's
clammy, drifting mist. "Winter," she said, "will be terrible here.
Then you are not going back to the coast or Victoria for some time?"

"Certainly not, if I can help it."

Nasmyth spoke without reflection, but he felt what he said, and it was
a moment before he realized that he might have expressed himself less
decisively. He saw the smile on Laura's lips.

"So you have heard?" he asked. "There was, of course, no reason why
Gordon shouldn't have told you. It was a thing I had meant to do
myself, only, as it happened, I haven't seen you. After that last
speech of mine, I must explain that I feel there is a certain
obligation on me to stay away. Miss Hamilton, as a matter of fact, is
not engaged to me. Nothing can be settled until I carry out this
project successfully."

Laura Waynefleet's face was very quiet, and he sat silent a moment or
two, wondering somewhat uneasily what she was thinking. He was also
slightly surprised at himself, for he realized that, after all, he had
found it considerably easier to stay away than he had expected.
Indeed, during the last few weeks, when every moment of his time had
been occupied, he had thought of nothing except the work before him.
It occurred to him for the first time that it was curious that he had
been able to do so.

"You see," he made haste to explain, "in the meanwhile I must
endeavour to put everything except this scheme out of my mind."

Again he was troubled by Laura Waynefleet's little smile.

"Yes," she said; "in one way, no doubt, that would be the wisest
course. I'm not sure, however, that everybody would have sufficient
strength of will."

Nasmyth said nothing further for a while, but--though he was probably
not aware of this--his face grew thoughtful as he gazed at the river
until his companion spoke again.

"Was it Miss Hamilton's wish that you should make your mark first?"
she inquired.

"No," answered Nasmyth decisively; "I want you to understand that it
was mine. She merely concurred in it."

He changed the subject abruptly. "Tell me about yourself."

"There is so little to tell. One day is so much like another with me,
only I have been rather busier than usual lately. My father has had to
cut down expenses. We have no hired man."

Nasmyth set his lips and half-consciously closed one hand. It seemed
to him an almost intolerable thing that this girl should waste her
youth and sweetness dragging out a life of unremitting toil in the
lone Bush. Still, while her father lived, there was nothing else she
could look forward to, and he could imagine how the long colourless
years would roll away with her, while she lost her freshness and grew
hard and worn with petty cares and labour that needed a stronger arm
than hers. She might grow discontented, he fancied, and perhaps a
trifle bitter, though he could not imagine her becoming querulous.

As yet there was a great patience in her steady eyes. Then it became
evident that she guessed what he was thinking.

"Sometimes I feel the prospect in front of me is not a very attractive
one," she responded in answer to his thoughts. "Still, one can get
over that by not regarding it as a prospect at all. It simplifies the
thing when one takes it day by day."

She smiled at him. "Derrick, you have done wisely. I think you need a
sustaining purpose and a woman to work for."

Nasmyth's face paled. "Yes," he agreed dryly; "it is, perhaps, rather
a significant admission, but I really think I do."

It was a relief to both of them that Wheeler came floundering along
the shingle just then with a box and a coil of wire in his hand.

"I've brought you a little present, Nasmyth," he announced. "Firing by
fuse is going to be uncertain when there's so much spray about, and I
sent down for this electric fixing. We can charge it for you at any
time at the mill. Have you put in any giant-powder yet?"

Nasmyth said they had not fired a heavy charge about the fall, but
that there were several holes ready for filling, and Wheeler's eyes
twinkled.

"I'm quite anxious to try this little toy," he said. "When I was
young, a rancher gave me an old played-out shot-gun, and I was out at
sun-up next morning to shoot something. That's the kind of being a man
is, Miss Waynefleet. Put any kind of bottled-up power in his hands,
and he feels he must get up and make a bang with it. After all, I
guess it's fortunate that he does."

"Are all men like that?" Laura asked with a strange undertone in her
voice.

"Most of them," said Wheeler, with an air of reflection. "Of course,
you do run across one here and there who would put the bottled power
carefully away for fear that, when it went off, it might hurt him or
somebody. The trouble is that when a man of that kind at last makes up
his mind to use it he's quite likely to find that the power has
gradually leaked out of the bottle. Power's a very curious thing. If
you don't use it, it has a way of evaporating."

Gordon had joined them in the meanwhile, and Laura looked at him.

"You agree with that?" she asked.

Gordon's smile was suggestively grim. "Oh, yes," he said. "I guess our
friend now and then says some rather forceful things. Anyway, he has
hit it with this one. For instance, there was that little matter of
the man who was sick at his mill. A surgeon with nerve and hands could
have fixed him up. We"--and he made an expressive gesture--"packed him
out to Victoria."

He laughed harshly as he went on: "Well, that's partly why we're going
to set our mark on this canyon, if it's only to make it clear that
we're not quite played out yet. You'll ram that hole full of your
strongest powder, Derrick."

Nasmyth turned and waved his hand to a man at the foot of the gully.

"Bring me down the magazine!" he ordered. "We're going to split that
rock before supper."

The man, who disappeared, came back again with an iron box, and for
the next few minutes Nasmyth, who scrambled about the rocks above the
fall, taking a coil of thin wire with him, was busy. When he rejoined
his companions, he led them a little further down the canyon until he
pointed to a shelf of rock from which they had a clear view of the
fall. A handful of men had clambered down the gully, and now they
stood in a cluster upon the strip of shingle. Nasmyth indicated them
with a wave of his hand before he held a little wooden box with brass
pegs projecting from it up to Laura.

"It's the first big charge we have fired, and they seem to feel it's
something of an event," he said. "In one way, it's a declaration of
war we're making, and there is a good deal against us. You fit this
plug into the socket when you're ready."

"You mean me to fire the charge?" inquired Laura.

"Yes," answered Nasmyth quietly. "It's fitting that you should be the
one to set us at our work. If it hadn't been for you, I should
certainly not have taken this thing up, and now I want to feel that
you are anxious for our success."

A faint flush of colour crept into Laura Waynefleet's face. For one
thing, Nasmyth's marriage to the dark-eyed girl whom Gordon had
described to her depended on the success of this venture, and that was
a fact which had its effect on her. Still, she felt, the scheme would
have greater results than that, and, turning gravely, she glanced at
the men who had gathered upon the shingle. They looked very little and
feeble as they clustered together, in face of that almost overwhelming
manifestation of the great primeval forces against which they had
pitted themselves in the bottom of the tremendous rift. It seemed
curious that they did not shrink from the roar of the river which rang
about them in sonorous tones, and then, as she looked across the mad
rush of the rapid and the spray-shrouded fall to the stupendous walls
of rock that shut them in, the thing they had undertaken seemed almost
impossible. Wheeler appeared to guess her thoughts, for he smiled as
he pointed to the duck-clad figures.

"Well," he declared, "in one way they're an insignificant crowd. Very
little to look at; and this canyon's big. Still, I guess they're
somehow going through with the thing. It seems to me"--and he nodded
to her with sudden recognition of her part in the project--"it was a
pretty idea of Nasmyth's when he asked you to start them at it."

Laura remembered that the leader of the men had once said that he
belonged to her. She smiled, and raised the hand that held the firing
key.

"Boys," she said, "it's a big thing you have undertaken--not the
getting of the money, but the beating of the river, and the raising of
tall oats and orchards where only the sour swamp-grasses grew." She
turned and for a moment looked into Nasmyth's eyes, as she added
simply: "Good luck to you."

She dropped her hand upon the little box, and in another moment or two
a rent opened in the smooth-worn stretch of rock above the fall. Out
of it there shot a blaze of light that seemed to grow in brilliance
with incredible swiftness, until it spread itself apart in a dazzling
corruscation. Then the roar of the river was drowned in the
detonation, and long clouds of smoke whirled up. Through the smoke
rose showers of stones and masses of leaping rock that smote with a
jarring crash upon the walls of the canyon. After that came a great
splashing that died away suddenly, and there was only the hoarse roar
of the river pouring through the newly opened gap. Laura turned and
handed the box to Nasmyth.

"Now," she said, "I have done my part, and I am only sorry that it is
such a trifling one."

Nasmyth looked at her with a gleam in his eyes.

He answered softly: "You are behind it all. It is due to you that I am
making some attempt to use the little power in my possession, instead
of letting it melt away."




CHAPTER XXIII

THE DERRICK


A bitter frost had crept down from the snow-clad heights that shut the
canyon in, and the roar of the river had fallen to a lower tone, when
Nasmyth stood one morning shivering close by the door of his rude log
shanty at the foot of the gully. The faint grey light was growing
slightly clearer, and he could see the clustering spruces, in the
hollow, gleam spectrally where their dark masses were streaked with
delicate silver filigree. Across the river there was a dull glimmer
from the wall of rock, which the freezing spray had covered with a
glassy crust. Though it had not been long exposed to the nipping
morning air, Nasmyth felt his damp deer-hide jacket slowly stiffening,
and the edge of the sleeves, which had been wet through the day
before, commenced to rasp his raw and swollen wrists.

He stood still for a minute or two listening to the river and
stretching himself wearily, for his back and shoulders ached, and
there was a distressful stiffness in most of his joints that had
resulted from exposure, in spray-drenched clothing, to the stinging
frost. This, however, did not greatly trouble him, since he had long
realized that physical discomfort must be disregarded if the work was
to be carried on. Men, for the most part, toil strenuously in that
wild land. Indeed, it is only by the tensest effort of which flesh and
blood are capable that the wilderness is broken to man's domination,
for throughout much of it costly mechanical appliances have not as yet
displaced well-hardened muscle.

In most cases the Bushman who buys a forest ranch has scarcely any
money left when he has made the purchase. He finds the land covered
with two-hundred-feet firs, which must be felled, and sawn up, and
rolled into piles for burning by his own hand, and only those who have
handled trees of that kind can form any clear conception of the labour
such work entails. It is a long time before the strip of cleared land
will yield a scanty sustenance, and in the meanwhile the Bushman must,
every now and then, hire himself out track-grading on the railroads or
chopping trails to obtain the money that keeps him in tea and pork and
flour. As a rule, he expects nothing else, and there are times when he
does not get quite enough work. Men reared in this fashion grow hard
and tireless, and Nasmyth had been called upon to lead a band of them.
He had contrived to do it, so far, but it was not astonishing that the
toil had left a mark on him.

He heard the drifting ice-cake crackle, as it leapt the fall, and the
sharp crash of it upon the boulders in the rapid. It jarred on the
duller roar of the river in intermittent detonations as each heavy
mass swept down. There was, however, no other sound, and seizing a
hammer, he struck a suspended iron sheet until a voice fell across the
pines from the shadowy gully.

"Guess we'll be down soon as it's light enough," it said.

Then another voice rose from the shanty.

"The boys won't see to make a start for half an hour," it said. "I
don't know any reason why you shouldn't shut the door and come right
in. Breakfast's ready."

Nasmyth turned and went into the shanty, conscious that it would cost
him an effort to get out of it again. A stove snapped and crackled in
the one room, which was cosily warm. Gordon and Waynefleet sat before
the two big empty cases that served for table, and Mattawa was ladling
pork on to their plates from a blackened frying-pan, Nasmyth sat down
and ate hastily, while the light from the lamp hanging beneath the
roof-beams fell upon his face, which was gaunt and roughened by the
sting of bitter spray and frost. His hands were raw and cracked.

"I want to get that rock-dump hove out of the pool before it's dark,"
he said. "One can't see to crawl over those ice-crusted rocks by
firelight."

Gordon glanced at Mattawa, who grinned. "Well," said Mattawa, "it was
only yesterday when I fell in, and I figured Charly was going right
under the fall the day before. Oh, yes, I guess we'd better get the
thing through while it's light."

"I have felt inclined to wonder if it wouldn't be advisable to suspend
operations if this frost continues," said Waynefleet reflectively.

"Our charter lays it down that the work is to be carried on
continuously," answered Gordon. "Still, on due notice being given, it
permits a stoppage of not exceeding one month, owing to stress of
weather or insuperable natural difficulties. As a matter of fact, even
with the fire going, it's practically impossible to keep the frost out
of the stone."

Nasmyth looked up sharply. "The work goes on. There will be no
stoppage of any kind. We can't afford it. The thing already has cost
us two or three times as much as I had anticipated."

Gordon looked amused, though he said nothing further. Nasmyth was up
against it, with his back to the wall, but that fact had roused all
the resolution there was in him, and he had shown no sign of
flinching. It was evident that he must fight or fail ignominiously,
and he had grown grimmer and more determined as each fresh obstacle
presented itself while the strenuous weeks rolled on. There was
silence for a few minutes, and then Mattawa grinned at Waynefleet.

"I guess you've got to keep that rock from freezing, and the fire was
kind of low when I last looked out," he remarked.

With a frown of resignation Waynefleet rose wearily and went out, for
it was his part to keep a great fire going day and night. This was one
of the few things he could do, and, though it entailed a good deal of
sturdy labour with the axe, he had, somewhat to his comrades'
astonishment, accomplished it reasonably well. In another minute or
two Nasmyth followed him, and when the rest of the men came clattering
down from the shanty, higher up the gully, they set to work.

There was just light enough to see by, and no more, for, though the
frost was bitter, heavy snow-clouds hung about the hills. Shingle and
boulders were covered with frozen spray, and long spears of ice
stretched out into the pool below the fall. Now and then a block of
ice drove athwart them with a detonating crackle. The pool was lower
than it had been in summer, and the stream frothed in angry eddies in
the midst of it, where shattered masses of rock rent by the blasting
charges lay as they had fallen. It was essential that the rock should
be cleared away, and a great redwood log with a rounded foot let into
a socket swung by wire rope guys above the pool. Another wire rope
with a pair of iron claws at the end of it ran over a block at the
head of the log to the winch below, and the primitive derrick and its
fittings had cost Nasmyth a great deal of money, as well as a week's
arduous labour.

They swung the apparatus over the pile of submerged rock, and, when
the claws fell with a splash, they hove at the winch, two of them at
each handle, until a mass of stone rose from the stream. Then one guy
was slackened, and another hauled upon, until the rock swung over the
shingle across the river, where they let it fall. Part of the growing
pile would be used to build the road by which they brought supplies
down the gully.

In itself the work was arduous enough, since four men alone could toil
at the winch, and some of the masses they raised were ponderous.
Indeed, there was scarcely room for four persons on the shelf hewn out
above the tail of the pool, and the narrow strip of stone was slippery
with ice. Fine spray that froze on all it touched whirled about the
workers, and every now and then a heavy fragment that slipped from the
claws fell with a great splash. Nasmyth's wrists grew raw from the
rasp of the hide jacket, and wide cracks opened in his fingers.

"I remember it as cold as this only once before," he said. "It was
during the few days I spent between the logging camp and Waynefleet's
ranch."

Mattawa, who hove on the same handle, grinned. "Well," he said, "this
is a tolerable sample of blame hard weather while it lasts, but we get
months of it back East. Still, I guess we don't work then. No, sir,
unless we're chopping, we sit tight round the stove."

Mattawa was right in this. Excepting the loggers and the Northwest
Police, men do not work in the open at that temperature back East, nor
would they attempt it on the Pacific Slope were the cold continuous.
In the western half of British Columbia, however, long periods of
severe weather are rare. It is a variable zone, swept now and then by
damp, warm breezes, and men tell of sheltered valleys where flowers
blow the year round, though very few of those who ramble up and down
the Mountain Province ever chance upon them. But there are times when
the devastating cold of the Polar regions descends upon the lonely
ranges, as it had done upon the frost-bound canyon.

Those who toiled with Nasmyth were hardened men, and they held on
with cracked hands clenched on the winch-handles, or they splashed
through the icy shallows with the water in their boots, until, a
little before their dinner-hour, when three of them stood straining by
Nasmyth's side beneath the derrick as a mass of rock rose slowly to
the surface of the pool. Mattawa glanced at this weight dubiously, and
then up at the wire guy that gleamed with frozen spray high above his
head.

"I guess we've dropped on to a big one this time," he said. "She's
going to be heavier when we heave her clear of the river."

This, of course, was correct, and it was clear to Nasmyth that it was
only by a strenuous effort that his comrades were raising the stone
then. Still, it must be lifted, and he tightened his grasp upon the
handle.

"Heave! Lift her out!" he said.

The veins rose swollen on their foreheads, and they gasped as they
obeyed him, but as the stone rose dripping there was an ominous
creaking overhead.

"Guess she's drawing the anchor-bolts," cried one. "We'll fetch the
whole thing down. Shall I let her run?"

Nasmyth flung a sharp glance at the big iron holdfast sunk in the rock
above. There would, he knew, be trouble if that or the wire guy gave
way, but it was only at some hazard that anything could be done in the
canyon.

"Hold on!" he said hoarsely. "Slack that guy, and let her swing."

There was a clink and jar as the clutch took the weight off them; a
wire rope set up a harsh rasping, and as Gordon jerked a guiding-line
across the river, the great boom swung, trailing the heavy stone just
above the water. Then the ominous creak grew sharper, and one of them
shouted.

"Jump!" he said. "She's going!"

Two of them sprang on the instant into the pool, and washed out with
the crackling ice-cake into the rapid at the tail of it. It was
precisely what most men who could swim would have done, but Nasmyth
stayed, and Mattawa stayed with him. Nasmyth did not think very
clearly, but he remembered subconsciously what the construction of
that derrick had cost him. There was a lever which would release the
load and let it run. He had his hand on it when he turned to his
companion.

"Strip that handle, Tom," he said.

The iron crank that would have hurled him into the river as its span
fell with a rattle, and that was one peril gone; but the lever he
grasped was difficult to move, and his hands were stiff and numb.
Still he persisted, and Mattawa watched him, because there was only
room for one, until there was a crash above them, and the tilted top
of the great boom came down. Mattawa, flattened against the rock side,
held his breath as the mass of timber rushed towards the pool, and
next moment saw that Nasmyth was no longer standing on the shelf.
Nasmyth lay partly beneath the shattered winch, and his face was grey,
except for a red scar down one side of it. His eyes, however, were
open, and Mattawa gasped with relief when he heard the injured man
speak.

"It cleared my body. I'm fast by the hand," said Nasmyth.

Three or four minutes had slipped by before the rest scrambled upon
the ledge with handspikes, and then it cost them a determined effort
before they moved the redwood log an inch or two. Gordon, kneeling by
Nasmyth's side, drew the crushed arm from under it. Nasmyth raised
himself on one elbow, and lifted a red and pulpy hand that hung from
the wrist. With an effort that set his face awry, he straightened it.

"I can move it," he said. "I don't know how it got under the thing, or
what hit me in the face."

"It doesn't matter, either," said Gordon quietly. "Can you get up?"

Nasmyth blinked at him. "Of course," he answered. "As a general thing,
I walk with my legs. They're not hurt."

Nasmyth staggered to his feet, and, while Gordon grasped his shoulder,
floundered over the log staging laid athwart the fall and back to the
shanty. Gordon was busy with him there for some time. After the
crushed hand had been bound up Gordon flung the door open and spoke to
the men outside.

"It's only his hand, and there's nothing broken," he announced. "You
can get your dinner. We'll see about heaving the derrick up when
you've eaten."

He went back and filled Nasmyth's pipe.

"I expect it hurts," he said.

Nasmyth nodded. "Yes," he replied, "quite enough."

"Well," said Gordon, "I don't know that it's any consolation, but if
you expose it at this temperature, it's going to hurt you considerably
more. You can't do anything worth while with one hand, and that the
one you don't generally use, either. There's a rip upon your face that
may give you trouble, too. I'm going to pack you out to-morrow."

"The difficulty is that I'm not disposed to go."

"Your wishes are not going to be consulted. If there's no other way,
I'll appeal to the boys. I'd let you stay if you were a reasonable
man, and would lie quiet beside the stove until that hand got better;
but since it's quite clear that nobody could keep you there, you're
starting to-morrow for Waynefleet's ranch."

Gordon turned to Waynefleet. "We'll lay you off for a week. There's a
little business waiting at the settlement, anyway, and you can see
about getting the new tools and provisions in."

Waynefleet's face was expressive of a vast relief. The few bitter
weeks spent in the canyon had taken a good deal of the keenness he had
once displayed out of him.

"I certainly think the arrangement suggested is a very desirable one,"
he agreed "I am quite sure that Miss Waynefleet will have much
pleasure in looking after Nasmyth."

Gordon turned to Nasmyth. "Now," he said, "you can protest just as
much as you like, but still, as you'll start to-morrow if we have to
tie you on to the pack-horse, it's not going to be very much use. You
can nurse your hand for a week, and then go on to Victoria and see if
you can pick up a boring-machine of the kind we want cheap."

Nasmyth, who was aware that the machine must be purchased before very
long, submitted with the best grace he could, and, though his hand was
painful, he contrived to sleep most of the afternoon. Now that he was
disabled and could not work, he began to feel the strain. He set out
with Waynefleet at sunrise next morning, and they passed the day
scrambling over the divide, and winding in and out among withered fern
and thickets as they descended a rocky valley. Here and there they
found an easier pathway on the snow-sheeted reaches of a frozen
stream, and only left it to plunge once more into the undergrowth when
the ice crackled under them. They had a pack-horse with them, for now
and then one of the men made a laborious journey to the settlement for
provisions, and in places a fallen tree had been chopped through or a
thicket partly hewn away. That, however, did little to relieve the
difficulties of the march, for the trail was rudimentary, and the
first two leagues of it would probably have severely taxed the
strength of a vigorous man unaccustomed to the Bush.

But they pushed on, Waynefleet riding when it was possible, while
Nasmyth plodded beside the horse's head, until a cloud of whirling
snow broke upon them as they floundered through a belt of thinner
Bush. The snow wrapped them in its filmy folds, gathering thick upon
their garments and filling their eyes, and Nasmyth grew anxious as the
daylight suddenly died out. They were in a valley, out of which they
could not very well wander without knowing it, and they stumbled on,
smashing into thickets and swerving round fallen trees, until they
struck a clearer trail, and it was with relief that Nasmyth saw a tall
split-rail fence close in front of him. He threw a strip of it down,
and then turned to Waynefleet when he dimly made out a blink of light
in the whirling haze of snow.

"If you will go in and tell Miss Waynefleet, I'll try to put the horse
up," he said.

Waynefleet swung himself down stiffly and vanished into the snow. He
was half frozen, and it did not occur to him that Nasmyth had only one
hand with which to loose the harness. It is also possible that he
would have made no protest if it had.

Nasmyth reached the stable, and contrived to find and to light the
lantern, but he discovered that it would be difficult to do anything
more. His sound hand was numbed. His fingers would not bend, and the
buckles of the harness held, in spite of his efforts, but he
persisted. The struggle he was waging in the canyon had stirred him
curiously, and each fresh obstacle roused him to a half-savage
determination. Though the action sent a thrill of pain through him, he
laid his bound-up hand upon the headstall, and set his lips as he tore
at a buckle. He felt that if the thing cost him hours of effort he
would not be beaten.

He had, however, let his hand fall back into the bandage that hung
from his neck, when the door opened and Laura Waynefleet came in. She
saw him leaning against the side of the stall, with a greyness in his
face, which had an angry red scar down one side of it, and her eyes
shone with compassion.

"Sit down," she said. "I will do that."

Nasmyth, who straightened himself, shook his head. "I can manage it if
you will loose the buckles," he said. "One feels a little awkward with
only one hand."

They did it together, and then Nasmyth sat down, with his face drawn
and lined. Laura stood still a moment or two with the lantern in her
hand.

"The snow must be deep on the divide, and it is a very rough trail. I
suppose you walked all the way?" she said.

Nasmyth contrived to smile. "As it happens, I am used to it."

There was a flash of indignation in the girl's eyes, for she had,
after all, a spice of temper, and she was naturally acquainted with
her father's character. Her anger had, however, disappeared next
moment.

"You are looking ill," she remarked anxiously.

Nasmyth glanced down at the bandage. "I've been working rather hard of
late, and this hand is painful." He made a deprecatory gesture. "I
don't know what excuse to offer for troubling you. Gordon insisted on
sending me."

"You fancy I require one from you?"

Nasmyth looked at her with heavy eyes. "No," he answered, "it is
evident that you don't. After all, perhaps I shouldn't have wished to
make any excuse. It seems only natural that when I get hurt, or find
myself in any trouble, I should come to you."

He did not see the colour that crept into her face, for his
perceptions were not clear then; but he rose with an effort, and
together they went back to the house through the snow. There Nasmyth
changed his clothes for the dry garments he had brought in a valise
strapped to the pack-saddle, and an hour after supper he fell quietly
asleep in his chair. Then Laura turned to her father.

"You let him walk all the way when he is worn-out and hurt!" she said
accusingly.

Waynefleet waved his hand. "He insisted on it; and I would like to
point out that there is nothing very much the matter with him. We have
all been working very hard at the canyon; in fact, I quite fail to
understand why you should be so much more concerned about him than you
evidently are about me. I am, however, quite aware that there would be
no use in my showing that I resented it."

Laura said nothing further. She felt that silence was wiser, for,
after all, her patience now and then almost failed her.




CHAPTER XXIV

REALITIES


Though there was bitter frost in the ranges, it had but lightly
touched the sheltered forests that shut in Bonavista. The snow seldom
lay long there, and only a few wisps of it gleamed beneath the
northern edge of the pines. Mrs. Acton, as usual, had gathered a
number of guests about her, and Violet Hamilton sat talking with one
of them in the great drawing-room one evening. The room was
brilliantly lighted, and the soft radiance gleamed upon the polished
parquetry floor, on which rugs of costly skins were scattered. A fire
of snapping pine-logs blazed in the big English hearth, and a faint
aromatic fragrance crept into the room.

Miss Hamilton leaned back in a softly padded lounge that was obviously
only made for two, and a pleasant-faced, brown-eyed young Englishman,
who had no particular business in that country, but had gone there
merely for amusement, sat at the other end of it, regarding her with a
smile.

"After all," he said reflectively, "I really don't think I'm very
sorry the snow drove us down from our shooting camp in the ranges."

Violet laughed. She had met the man before he went into the mountains,
and he had been at Bonavista for a week or two now.

"It was too cold for you up there?" she queried.

"It was," answered the man, "at least, it was certainly too cold for
Jardine, who came out with me. He got one of his feet nipped sitting
out one night with the rifle on a high ledge in the snow, and when I
left him in Vancouver the doctor told him it would be a month before
he could wear a boot again."

He laughed. "I have a shrewd suspicion that one has to get hardened to
that kind of thing, and, surely, this is considerably nicer."

"This," repeated Violet, who fancied she understood what he meant, "is
very much the same thing as you are accustomed to in London, except
that the houses are, no doubt, more luxuriously furnished, and the
company is more brilliant and entertaining."

"You would not expect me to make any admission of that kind?" and the
man looked at her reproachfully. "In any case, it wouldn't be
warranted."

"Then," said Violet, "I must have some very erroneous notions of your
English mansions."

The man smiled. "Ah!" he said, "I was referring to the company."

He had expressed himself in a similar fashion once or twice before,
but Violet did not resent it. She admitted that she rather liked him,
and she did not know that, although he had been a week or two at
Bonavista, he had only intended to stay there a few days. It had
naturally occurred to Mrs. Acton that there might be a certain
significance in this, but she was misled by the open manner in which
another young woman had annexed him.

There were other guests in the room, and among them was a little
bald-headed man, whom Violet had heard had philanthropic tendencies,
and was connected with some emigration scheme. This man was talking to
Acton. He spoke in a didactic manner, tapping one hand with his
gold-rimmed spectacles, and appeared quite content that the rest
should hear him.

"There is no doubt that this country offers us a great field," he
said. "In fact, I have already made arrangements for settling a number
of deserving families on the land. What I am particularly pleased
with is the manner in which the man who makes his home here is brought
into close contact with Nature. The effect of this cannot fail to be
what one might term recuperative. There is a vitality to be drawn from
the soil, and I have of late been urging the manifold advantages of
the simple life upon those who are interesting themselves in these
subjects with me."

Violet glanced at her companion, and saw the amusement in his eyes.

"Do you all talk like that in England?" she inquired.

The man raised his hand reproachfully. "I'm afraid some of us talk a
good deal of rubbish now and then. Still, as a matter of fact, we
don't round up our sentences in that precise fashion, as he does. Just
now we're rather fragmentary. Of course, he's right to some extent.
I'm fond of the simple life--that is, for a month or so, when I know
that a two days' ride will land me in a civilized hotel. The trouble
is that most of the folks who recommend it would certainly go all to
bits in a few weeks after they tried it personally. Can you fancy our
friend yonder chopping tremendous trees, or walking up to his knees in
snow twelve hours with a flour-bag on his back?"

Violet certainly could not. The man was full-fleshed, plethoric, and
heavy of foot, and he spoke with a throaty gasp.

"The tilling of the soil," he went on, apparently addressing anybody
who cared to listen, "is man's natural task, and I think Nature's
beneficent influences are felt to their fullest extent in the primeval
stillness of these wonderful Western woods."

Violet's companion looked up at her with a smile.

"The primeval stillness sounds rather nice, only it isn't still except
you go up into the snow upon the peaks," he said. "In most of the
other places my trail led through you can hear the rivers, and they
make noise enough for anything. Now, there's a man yonder I haven't
seen before, who, I fancy, could tell us something about it if he
liked. His face suggests that he knows. I mean the one talking to Mrs.
Acton."

Violet followed his glance, and saw a man standing beside Mrs. Acton
near the great English hearth; but his face was turned away from her,
and it was a moment or two before he looked round. Then she started,
and the blood crept into her cheeks as she met Nasmyth's gaze.

He had changed since she last saw him--changed, she felt, in an almost
disconcerting fashion. He wore plain city clothes, and they hung about
him with a suggestive slackness. His face was darkened and roughened
by exposure to the winter winds; it had grown sharp and stern, and
there was a disfiguring red scar down one side of it. His eyes were
keen and intent, and there was a look in them that she did not
remember having noticed before, while he seemed to have lost his
careless gracefulness of manner. Even his step seemed different as he
moved towards her. It was, though neither exactly understood why, a
difficult moment for both of them when he stopped close by her side,
and it was made no easier by the fact that they were not alone. Violet
turned to her companion, who rose.

"Mr. Carshalton, from the Old Country," she said. "This is Mr.
Nasmyth."

Carshalton nodded. "Glad to meet you. Won't you sit down?" he said.
"As it happens, I had just pointed you out to Miss Hamilton. We were
talking about the wilderness--or, to be more precise, the great
primeval stillness. I ventured to suggest that you could tell us
something about it."

Nasmyth smiled significantly. "Well," he replied, "I have certainly
spent a few months in the wilderness. That is one of the results."

He meant to indicate the hand that hung by his side in a thick, soft
glove by the gesture he made, but it was the other one that Violet and
Carshalton glanced at. It was scarred and battered, and had opened in
raw red cracks under the frost.

"Ah!" said Carshalton, "I think I was quite warranted in assuring Miss
Hamilton that it was a good deal nicer here. You see, I was up in the
ranges for a week or two. I had to come down with my comrade, who sat
out one night in the snow. The primeval stillness didn't agree with
him."

He met Violet's eyes, and next moment glanced across the room.

"I don't think I've spoken to Mr. Acton this evening," he said. "We'll
have a talk about the wilderness by-and-by, Mr. Nasmyth."

He strolled away, and Nasmyth sat down by Violet's side.

"I fancied the man meant to stay," he remarked.

Violet leaned back in the lounge, and looked at him a moment or two
silently. Her thoughts were confused, and she was uneasy. In the first
place, she almost wished it had not been so easy to make Carshalton
understand that she wished him to go away; for the fact that she had
been able to do so by merely looking at him suggested that there was
at least a certain confidence between them, and she was unwilling to
admit that such was the case. That, however, was only a minor point.
While Carshalton had spoken of the simple life, and admitted that a
few weeks of it was quite enough for him, she had thought with a
certain tenderness of the man who had spent months of strenuous toil
in the misty depths of the canyon. She was glad of this, and felt a
slight compunction over the fact that she had seldom thought of him
of late. Still, when she saw him bearing the marks of those months of
effort on his body and in his worn face, she was sensible that she
shrank from him, as she had once done from the dreary, dripping
wilderness. This was disconcerting, but she could not drive out the
feeling. His worn face vaguely troubled her, and she was sorry for
him, but she would not have liked to touch his scarred and roughened
hands. She glanced at the injured hand inquiringly.

"It is almost well again. It was crushed beneath a mass of timber," he
told her briefly.

Conscious that the meeting so far left a good deal to be desired,
Violet sat still a moment. It certainly had not afforded her the
pleasure she might reasonably have expected, and she subconsciously
resented the fact. There was also, as she noticed, a suggestion of
uneasiness in the man's scarred face.

"I have been in Victoria a few days," he explained. "There was a
machine I had to buy, and one or two other matters had to be attended
to. Then I got a letter forwarded from Waynefleet's ranch, from which
it appeared that Mr. Acton wished to see me."

A faint sparkle crept into Violet Hamilton's eyes. "It is evident,"
she observed, "that we both find it a little difficult to say the
right thing."

"I'm afraid I am now and then a little remiss in that respect. Still,
how have I offended?"

Violet contrived to smile. "I'm not sure it was particularly judicious
of you to explain so fully what brought you here. Couldn't you have
left me to suggest another reason that would have been a little more
satisfactory?"

Nasmyth laughed. "My dear, you know I have been longing to see you."

"Ah!" exclaimed Violet, "I am not altogether sure. Indeed, I could
almost fancy that you have been thinking of nothing beyond what you
are doing in that horrible canyon."

Nasmyth raised his hand in protest, though Violet was quick to notice
the uneasiness in his face; but now the worn look in it roused her
pity.

"Well," she said, "you can show how anxious you were by staying here
at least a week. I want you to stay. Besides, you must for another
reason--you are looking almost ill."

There was, for the first time, a softness in her voice that stirred
the man, but the uneasiness that had troubled him did not disappear.
Indeed, it seemed to grow stronger as he glanced about the room, which
was furnished artistically, and flooded with light. Mrs. Acton's
guests were of the station to which he had belonged, and he would once
have found the sound of their voices and their light laughter
pleasant. These, however, were things that no longer appealed to him,
and he was conscious of a feverish impatience to get back to his work
again in the misty canyon.

"I'm afraid," he replied gravely, "it will be out of the question for
me to stay just now. There is so much to do at the canyon; and I think
you know why I am so anxious to carry the work through."

The girl looked at him in a curious fashion, and though she was
probably not aware of it, there was doubt in her eyes. For the moment
she was troubled with a sense of comprehension, and she could not be
quite sure whether it was only on her account that he was so
determined to carry out the project.

"Well," she told him, "I know that Mr. Acton and your uncle are
anxious to see you. In fact, I believe they have some suggestions to
put before you, and though I do not know exactly what it is, I imagine
that you need not go back to the Bush if you will do what they wish."
She broke off and glanced at him wistfully. "Derrick, you won't decide
rashly. I don't want you to stay away from me."

Nasmyth smiled reassuringly; but one of Violet's companions
approached them just then, and when she leaned upon the back of the
lounge and spoke to the girl, Nasmyth rose. He crossed the room, and a
few minutes later, in the big cedar hall, came upon a man connected
with the Crown land agency. There was an open fire in the hall, and
the man, who sat down by it, offered Nasmyth a cigar.

"Mrs. Acton will excuse us for a few minutes," the Stranger remarked.
"You are evidently fresh from the Bush. How are you getting on
there?"

Nasmyth told him, and the man looked thoughtful.

"You don't hold all the valley," the man said. "I wonder if you
know that folks are taking an interest in the land that's still
unrecorded?"

"I don't," said Nasmyth. "It's mostly heavy timber that would cost a
deal to clear. Any way, as we couldn't take up any more than we hold,
it doesn't appear to affect me at all."

"Well," returned his companion, "that's a point I'm not quite sure
about. You only hold a provisional charter to lower the river. There's
only one unworked holding near the valley, and, as you couldn't injure
anybody's property, we permitted you to go ahead. Still, if any
parties supplied us with a sufficient reason for withdrawing that
permission, we might have to listen to them." He broke off for a
moment and waved his hand. "Of course, I'm not speaking officially.
I'm merely giving you a hint that may be useful. Some persons might
take up that land with the object of putting the screw on you. You
see, it would be possible to get over any difficulty they might raise
by buying them out."

Nasmyth's lips closed firmly. He was quite aware that, in view of the
state of his finances, the course suggested was not one that he could
adopt.

"What kind of people are they?" he inquired.

His companion laughed in an ominous fashion. "Small ranchers, though
it's just possible that there may be some of the big men connected
with the land business behind them. The big promoters occasionally
prefer to act through a dummy. Our object is, of course, to get men
who will cultivate the land, and keep it out of the hands of anyone
who merely wants to hold it. Now, while I'm far from sure my superiors
would be pleased to hear I'd said so much to you, there's one piece of
advice I can offer." He leaned forward and looked at Nasmyth
confidentially. "Get that work through as soon as you can. Once you
lower the level of the river, nobody could compel you to put it back
again. Any man who wanted land would have to buy it as it was."

"A man who wished to start a ranch would naturally prefer it with the
water run out of it."

"Precisely!" argued Nasmyth's informant. "That is why you got the
charter. Still, I wasn't contemplating the man who merely wished to
ranch."

His smile suggested that he intended to say no more upon that subject,
and when he turned and glanced through the doorway into the lighted
room, Nasmyth saw that he was looking at Violet Hamilton. Nasmyth also
noticed that Carshalton was once more seated beside the girl.

"I rather like that Englishman," declared the stranger. "Acton
apparently gets on with him, too. He seems to have been here some
time. In fact, while it's nobody else's business, I've been inclined
to wonder what Miss Hamilton thinks of him."

Nasmyth made no reply, but the observation slightly troubled him. A
little later Acton crossed the hall.

"If you can give us a few minutes, your uncle and I have something to
put before you," he said. "I'll go along with you to my room."




CHAPTER XXV

NASMYTH DECIDES


A shaded lamp stood on the table of Acton's room, and, as Nasmyth
entered, he saw Wisbech, whom he had not met since his arrival,
sitting just inside the light of it in a lounge-chair. He strode
forward and shook hands with his uncle.

"Until I got your letter I almost fancied you were in Japan," he
said.

Wisbech smiled at him. "I shall probably start very shortly. In fact,
I never expected to stay here half so long as I have done, but I found
a good deal to interest me in this country, and it's twenty years
since I have been away from business for more than a week or two. The
works were mine until very recently, but there are times now when I'm
not altogether sorry I'm merely a director of the company."

Acton laid a handful of cigars on the table, and drew out a chair for
Nasmyth.

"Well," he replied reflectively, "there is a good deal in this country
that would interest a sensible man, but I'm not sure that's exactly
what has kept Mr. Wisbech so long in Victoria. I've a point or two to
mention later, but I'll let him speak first. It's his affair."

Nasmyth sat down, and he did not immediately notice that while Acton
had placed his chair where the light struck full upon his face,
Wisbech sat a little farther back in the shadow cast by the shade of
the lamp. After a moment Acton sought the dimmer part of the room.
Wisbech turned to Nasmyth.

"I understand that you expect to marry Miss Hamilton by-and-by," he
said. "No doubt you have thought over the question of what you're
going to keep a wife on?"

"I admit that it's one that has caused me a good deal of anxiety;" and
Nasmyth leaned forward, with his elbows on the table. "Still, it
hasn't troubled me quite so much of late. If I succeed with the scheme
I have in hand, it will bring me money enough to make a start with a
larger venture of the kind, or to enable me to undertake ranching on a
reasonably extensive scale. When the land is ready for cultivation,
and you haven't to face the initial cost of getting rid of heavy
timber, the business is a profitable one."

"It is possible that Miss Hamilton would not care to live at even a
tolerably extensive ranch. She has been accustomed to comfort of every
kind and cheerful society, and there can't be very much of either in
the Bush; while, if you undertake any further work of the kind you
suggest, it would be a few years before you made your mark. Now, I'm
not sure it would be reasonable to expect a young woman like Miss
Hamilton to wait indefinitely."

Nasmyth flushed a little. "I think," he replied, "that is a question
which concerns Miss Hamilton and me alone."

Acton leaned forward in his chair. "Mrs. Acton seems to fancy it
concerns her, too. In fact, that's one reason why I wrote to you.
Well, I'm going to lay before you a business proposition. You have
probably heard of the Hecla Mineral Exploitation concern? It's run by
two friends of mine, who have made a great deal of money out of their
claims. They're getting elderly, and are open to take in a younger
man--a man of education, who has some acquaintance with the work
that's done in the Bush. He must take hold now, and hold stock in the
concern. Here's the last letter they wrote me."

He passed it across to Nasmyth, whose face grew eager, and then
suddenly hardened again. The concern in question was, as he had heard,
one of excellent repute, and supposed to be carrying on a profitable
mining business.

"It's out of the question that I should raise the capital," he said.

"The money can be raised," Wisbech broke in quietly. "I'll buy that
stock for you, and, if you insist on it, you can treat it as a loan."

Nasmyth sat very still for a moment or two, and slowly closed one hard
hand. He had never expected such an offer from Wisbech, and he
recognized that it would free him of all his difficulties if he
accepted it. There was, however, an obstacle in the way.

"Well," asked Wisbech very dryly, "isn't the Hecla Minerals good
enough for you?"

Nasmyth looked at Acton. "I must go there--now?"

"That is one of the conditions. They want to fix the thing before
Kekewich, who hasn't been well lately, starts East on a trip to
Montreal. I promised to wire if you were willing to go down and see
them to-morrow."

Nasmyth turned to Wisbech, and his voice was strained.

"I am under many obligations to you already, sir, but I'm sorry I
can't profit by your generosity in this case," he said.

"Why?" queried Wisbech sharply.

"It's a little difficult to explain. You see, the idea of lowering the
river was mine. Some of the boys up yonder have mortgaged their
ranches, and put every dollar they could raise in that way into the
scheme. They look to me to put the thing through; so that they may get
their money back again."

"Is there no one else who could do that?" Acton asked. "It seems to me
there's nothing wrong with that man Gordon. I guess you could leave it
to him."

Nasmyth felt that Wisbech was watching him with a curious intentness.

"Gordon," he answered slowly, "is at least as well fitted to lead the
boys as I am. In fact, I might go farther than that. After all,
however, there is a little more to be said."

He stopped abruptly, and sat silent a moment or two, leaning with one
elbow on the table, and the light full upon his face. There was
trouble in his expressive eyes, but his mouth was tense and grimly
resolute. He remembered the pleasant summer days that he and Violet
Hamilton had spent together, but he also heard the roar of the river
in the misty depths of the canyon, and the crash of stream-driven
pines. The familiar sounds rang in his ears, rousing him to action,
and something in his nature responded. In the meanwhile there was a
heavy silence in the room. His companions watched him closely, and
Acton, who looked round for a moment, noticed the suggestive glint in
Wisbech's eyes.

Nasmyth straightened himself suddenly. "I know what I am turning my
back upon," he added. "It is very probable that I shall never get
another opportunity of this kind again. Still, I owe the boys
something, and I feel I owe a little to myself. This scheme in the
canyon is the first big thing I have ever undertaken. I can't quite
make the way that I look at it clear to you, but"--and he brought one
hand down on the table in an emphatic fashion--"I feel that I must go
on until it breaks me or I put it through."

Wisbech noisily thrust his chair back, and Acton laughed--a laugh that
had a faint ring in it.

"Well, I guess I partly expected this," said Acton. "Mr. Nasmyth, it's
a sure thing that river's not going to break you."

Nasmyth looked embarrassed, but next moment Wisbech laid a hand upon
his shoulder.

"Derrick," he said simply, "if you had closed with my offer, I
wouldn't have blamed you, but I'd have felt I had done my duty then,
and I'd never have made you another. As it is, when things are going
wrong, all you have to do is to send a word to me."

Then, to the relief of his companions, Acton, whose expression changed
suddenly, broke in again. "Well," he commented, "I'm not quite sure
that Miss Hamilton will look at the thing from Nasmyth's point of
view. I guess we'll leave him to explain it to her and Mrs. Acton."

Nasmyth fancied that the explanation would not be an easy task. In
fact, it was one he shrank from, but it had to be undertaken, and,
leaving the others, he went back to the drawing-room. Violet Hamilton
was surrounded by several companions, and he did not approach her
until she glanced at him as she slipped out into the big cedar hall.
She sat down on a lounge near the fire, and he leaned upon the arm of
it, looking down on her with grave misgivings. He recognized that it
was scarcely reasonable to expect that she would be satisfied with the
decision he had made.

"You have seen your uncle and Acton?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Nasmyth; "I have something to tell you."

The girl turned towards him quickly. "Ah!" she said, "you are not
going to do what they proposed?"

"I'm sorry the thing they suggested was out of the question. You will
let me tell you what it was?"

Violet made a sign of assent, and Nasmyth spoke quietly for a minute
or two. Then a faint flush crept into the girl's cheeks and a sparkle
into her eyes.

"You said no!" she interrupted.

"I felt I had to. There seemed no other course open to me."

Violet looked at him in evident bewilderment, and Nasmyth spoke again
deprecatingly. "You see," he explained, "I felt I had to keep faith
with those ranchers."

"Didn't it occur to you that you had also to keep faith with me?" she
inquired sharply.

"I think that was the one thing I was trying to do."

Violet showed no sign of comprehension, and it was borne in upon
Nasmyth then that, in her place, Laura Waynefleet would have
understood the motives that had influenced him, and applauded them.

"My dear," he said, "can't you understand that you have laid an
obligation on me to play a creditable part? I couldn't turn my back on
my comrades now that they have mortgaged their possessions, and,
though I think Gordon or one of the others could lead them as well as
I could, when I asked them to join me, I tacitly pledged myself to
hold on until we were crushed or had achieved success."

He looked at her wistfully when he stopped speaking; but she made a
gesture of impatience.

"The one thing clear to me is that if you had done what Mr. Acton
suggested you could have lived in Victoria, and have seen me almost
whenever you wished," she declared. "Some of those ranchers must know
a good deal more about work of the kind you are doing than you do,
and, if you had explained it all to them, they would have released
you."

Nasmyth sighed. Apart from the obligation to his comrades, there were
other motives which had influenced him. He vaguely felt that it was
incumbent on him to prove his manhood in this arduous grapple with
Nature, and, after a purposeless life, to vindicate himself. The
wilderness, as Gordon had said, had also gotten hold of him, and that
described what had befallen him reasonably well. There are many men,
and among them men of education, in those Western forests who, having
once taken up the axe and drill, can never wholly let them go again.
These men grow restless and morose in the cities, which seldom hold
them long. The customs of civilization pall on them, and content comes
to them only when they toil knee-deep in some frothing rapid, or hew
the new waggon-road through a stupendous forest. Why this should be
they do not exactly know, and very few of them trouble themselves
about the matter. Perhaps it is a subconscious recognition of the
first great task that was laid on man to subdue the earth and to make
it fruitful. Nasmyth, at least, heard the river. Its hoarse roar rang
insistently in his ears, and he braced himself for the conflict that
must be fought out in the depths of the canyon. These, however, were
feelings that he could not well express, and once more he doubted
Violet's comprehension.

"My dear," he told her humbly, "I am sorry; but there was, I think,
only one thing I could do."

Violet, looking up, saw that his face was stern, and became sensible
of a faint and perplexing repulsion from him. His languid gracefulness
had vanished, and he was no longer gay or amusing. A rugged elemental
forcefulness had come uppermost in him, and this was a thing she did
not understand. Involuntarily she shrank from this grave, serious man.
There was a disfiguring newly healed cut on one of his cheeks, and his
hand was raw and horribly scarred.

"You have changed since you were last here," she said, looking at him
with disapproval. "Perhaps you really are a little sorry to leave me,
but I think that is all. At least, you will not be sorry to get back
to the canyon."

Nasmyth started a little. It was a thing that he would at one time
certainly not have expected, but he realized now that he was driven by
a fierce impatience to get back to the work he had undertaken.

"I think that is not astonishing in one respect," he replied. "I told
you why I feel that I must carry the project through. The sooner I am
successful, the sooner I can come back to you."

The girl laughed somewhat bitterly. "If you would only be sensible,
you need not go away. Are you quite sure it is not the project that
comes first with you?" she questioned.

Nasmyth felt the blood creep into his face, for it suddenly dawned on
him that the suggestion she had made was to some extent warranted.

"My dear," he answered quietly, "you must try to bear with me."

Violet rose. "Well," she said, "when do you go away?"

"In the morning."

There was resentment in the girl's expression. "Since you have made up
your mind to go, I will make no protest," she declared. Then, with a
swift change of manner, she turned and laid her hand upon his arm.
"After all, I suppose you must go. Derrick, you won't stay away very
long!"

They went into the drawing-room together, and half an hour had passed
when Mrs. Acton beckoned to Nasmyth, and he followed her into an
adjoining alcove. She sat down and looked at him reproachfully.

"I am very angry with you," she asserted; "in fact, I feel distinctly
hurt. You have not come up to my expectations."

"I'm sorry," replied Nasmyth quietly. "Still, I'm not astonished. Your
indignation is perfectly natural. I felt at the time Mr. Acton made me
the offer that he had been prompted by you. That"--and he made a
deprecatory gesture--"is one reason why I'm especially sorry I
couldn't profit by it."

Mrs. Acton sat silent a moment or two, regarding him thoughtfully.
"Well," she declared, "from now I am afraid you must depend upon
yourself. I have tried to be your friend, and it seems that I have
failed. Will you be very long at the canyon?"

"If all goes as I expect it, six months. If not, I may be a year, or
longer. I shall certainly not come back until I am successful."

"That is, of course, in one sense the kind of decision I should expect
you to make. It does you credit. Unfortunately, I'm not sure that it's
wise."

Nasmyth looked at her with quick apprehension. "I wonder," he said,
"if you would tell me why it isn't?"

Mrs. Acton appeared to weigh her words, "My views are, naturally, not
always correct," she answered. "Even if they were, I should scarcely
expect you to be guided by them. Still, I think it would not be wise
of you to stay away very long."

She rose, and smiled at him. "It is advice that may be worth taking.
Now I must go back to the others."

Nasmyth pushed aside the portieres for her, and then sauntered into
the hall, where in a very thoughtful mood, he sat down by the fire.




CHAPTER XXVI

ONE NIGHT'S TASK


Daylight was dying out in a flurry of whirling snow, when Nasmyth, who
led a jaded horse, floundered down from the steep rock slopes of the
divide into the shelter of the dark pines about the head of the gully.
It was a little warmer there, and he was glad of it, for he was
chilled, in spite of the toilsome climb. The dark boughs wailed above
him, tossing athwart his path a haze of sliding snow, but he caught a
faint and reassuring clink of drills, and straightened himself as he
clambered down between the trees. The sound had a bracing effect on
him, and he felt a curious little thrill as the clamour of the river
came up to him in long pulsations. The sound of the waters was growing
louder when Gordon, with a big axe in his hand, materialized out of
the shadows, and strode forward impulsively at the sight of him.

"Hand better? We're glad to see you; but you might have stayed another
day or two," he said.

Nasmyth laughed. "Well," replied he, "perhaps it's a little curious,
considering everything, but I was impatient to get back again. In
fact, I feel more at home each time I scramble down from the divide."

He glanced round through the sliding snow at the dim white range and
ranks of towering pines, and, as he did so, the roar of the river and
the wail of trees that swayed beneath a fierce wind filled the
rock-walled hollow. Then the persistent clink of drills and thud of
axes broke out again, while here and there the blurred white figure of
a toiling man emerged from the snow. It was a picture that a man
unused to the wilderness might have shrunk from, but Gordon understood
his comrade. They were engaged in a great struggle, with the powers of
savage Nature arrayed against them; but it was with a curious
quickening of all the strength that was in them, mental and physical,
that they braced themselves for the conflict.

"I have a thing or two to tell you, but we'll get into the shanty and
have supper first. The boys are just quitting work," remarked Gordon.

They clambered down over a practicable trail, though part of it was
covered deep with snow, crept in and out among the boulders by the
light of a great fire that blazed above the fall, and found Mattawa
laying a meal out when they reached the shanty. Neither Nasmyth nor
Gordon said anything of consequence until after the meal, and then
Nasmyth, who had put on his deer-hide jacket and duck trousers, flung
himself down in an empty packing-case that was stuffed with soft
spruce twigs, and looked about him with a smile of contentment. A lamp
hung above him, and its light gleamed upon axes, drills, iron wedges,
and crosscut saws, and made a chequered pattern of brightness and
shadow on the rude log walls. A glowing stove diffused a cosy warmth,
and the little room was filled with the odours of tobacco and drying
boots and clothes.

"I suppose you saw Wisbech?" observed Gordon. "Miss Waynefleet told
one of the boys, who was through at the settlement, that she had a
note from him asking if she'd get a letter he or Acton had written
into your hands as soon as possible. He seems to be making quite a
stay in this country."

"He has stayed several months longer than he intended," replied
Nasmyth. "I believe he did it on my account; but he's going on again
in a week or two. I saw him at Bonavista. Where's Waynefleet?"

"I guess he's in Victoria."

"I didn't come across him. What took him there?"

Gordon laughed. "He said it was business. Wanted to see if we couldn't
get our tools and powder cheaper. As a matter of fact, it would be a
relief if that could be done. Any way, he has been working quite hard,
and has hung on rather longer than I expected. Administration's his
strong point. He doesn't like chopping." Gordon's face grew grave. "In
one way it's rather a pity he's fond of talking. I'm 'most afraid
somebody may start him discoursing on what we're doing over a glass of
wine and a cigar. I like a man of that kind where I can put my hand on
him. He's one of our weak spots."

Nasmyth nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't know he was in the city," he said.
"How are you getting on?"

"Satisfactorily, so far as the work goes. We have pushed the blasting
heading well under the fall, but there's a thing that has been
worrying me. I'd gone across the range to see what the boys in the
valley had done, when a man came in. It appears he resented our trying
to lower the river. Mattawa saw him."

Mattawa looked up with a grin. "He said he'd a claim up at the head of
the valley, and we had got to quit work right away. If we didn't he'd
get the Crown people or the court to stop us. He liked plenty of water
round his ranch. Some of the boys got a little riled with him, and
they took him up the gully and put him on his horse."

"I never heard of a claim up yonder," declared Nasmyth gravely.

"Well," said Gordon, "I believe there is one. Somebody recorded it a
long while ago, and did nothing on it, but, as it was bought land, his
title stands. Potter says he understood the man was dead. It may be an
attempt to get some money out of us."

Nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a moment or two.

"One of the Crown people hinted at something of the kind," he said.
"Now I scarcely think any of the boys would go back on us by selling
out his land?"

"Not one. Any way, I guess they could hardly do it without the consent
of the trustees. You and I are not likely to give ours." He paused for
a moment. "Well," he added, "I guess Waynefleet could be depended
on."

Nasmyth said nothing for almost a minute, and both recognized that the
silence was significant. Then he rose abruptly.

"In one shape or other the trouble you suggested is one we will have
to face," he commented. "That's why I'm going to fire a big charge in
the blasting heading to-night. You can bring the giant-powder along,
Tom."

Mattawa appeared to be amazed, and Gordon stared at his comrade
curiously.

"If you fire that charge now, you'll naturally make an end of the
heading, and I understood your notion was to drive right under the
fall and blow the whole ledge out at one time," objected Gordon.
"Guess if you just rip the top of the rock off, as far as we have
gone, it will take us quite a while to make another tunnel, and money,
as I needn't remind you, is running out."

"Exactly!" agreed Nasmyth. "That extra work will have to be faced, but
if I can get a big charge in to-night I can cut down the ridge a foot
or two. Two feet less water will count for something in the valley,
and I'm going to make sure of it. It seems certain that somebody will
try to stop us by-and-by."

Gordon noticed the hard glint in Nasmyth's eyes, and knew that now
when he was being pushed back to the wall he meant to fight, and would
not shrink from a sacrifice. They had driven that uncompleted heading
at a heavy cost, cutting at first an open gallery in the face of the
rock, drenched with the spray of the fall. Then they had crawled into
the dripping tunnel hewn out by sheer force of muscle, for it was
seldom that powder could be used, and they had only a worn-out
machine, and had toiled crouching with scarcely room to bring a hammer
down on wedge or to hold the drill, while from odd fissures the icy
river poured in on them. Now, it seemed, all that severe effort was to
be practically thrown away, but he recognized that his comrade was
right. It was wiser to make sure of two feet than to wait until
somebody set the law in motion and stopped the work.

"Yes," he assented simply; "I guess it has to be done."

Mattawa entered with the magazine, and Nasmyth laid out several sticks
of giant-powder near the stove. There was a certain risk in this, but
giant-powder freezes, and when that happens one must thaw it out. It
is a singularly erratic compound of nitro-glycerine, which requires to
be fired by a powerful detonator, and, if merely ignited, burns
harmlessly. One can warm it at a stove, or even flatten it with a
hammer, without stirring it to undesired activity--that is, as a
rule--but now and then a chance tap with a pick-handle or a little
jolt suffices to loose its tremendous potentialities. In such cases
the men nearest it are usually not shattered, but dissolved into their
component gases.

Nasmyth was quite aware of this as he sat by the stove kneading the
detonators into the sticks that he held up to warm. His lips were set,
but his scarred hands were steady, for another risk more or less did
not count for very much in the canyon. Once, however, Mattawa ventured
a protest.

"I guess that stick's quite hot enough," he observed.

Nasmyth said nothing, but went on with his work, until at length he
laid the sticks and fuses in the magazine, and signalling to the
others, moved towards the door. The snow beat into their faces when
they went outside, and the glare of the fire above the fall
emphasized the obscurity. Now the flames flung an evanescent flash of
radiance across the whirling pool and the dark rock's side, and then
sank again to a dim smear of yellow brightness while a haze of vapour
whirled amidst the snow, for a high wind swept through the canyon.
Sometimes they could see the boulders among which they stumbled, and
the river frothing at their feet, but for the most part they saw
nothing, and groped onward with dazzled eyes, until at last Nasmyth
swung himself up on the narrow staging that overhung the pool beneath
the fall, and Gordon heard the sticks of giant-powder jolt against the
side of the magazine. That alone would have sufficed to indicate the
state of his comrade's temper, for so far as it is possible, men
handle giant-powder very tenderly.

There was no rail to the narrow staging, which was glazed with frozen
spray, and when Gordon was half-way along it, the fire flung out a
gush of radiance and sank suddenly. Then thick smoke whirled about
him, and for a moment or two he stopped and gasped, feeling for the
rock with a cautious hand. He was aware that the man who slipped from
the staging would be whirled round with the eddy and drawn down
beneath the fall. A harsh voice came out of the darkness.

"Am I to wait here half the night?" it asked.

Gordon went on circumspectly, bruising his numbed fingers now and then
upon the stone, until once more a blaze broke out, and he saw Nasmyth
floundering in haste over a pile of shattered rock. The magazine was
slung over his shoulder, and now and then it struck his back or the
side of the rock. While Gordon would have been relieved had his
comrade acted more circumspectly, he was not surprised. There were, he
knew, times when men under strain broke out into an unreasoning fury.
He had seen one hewing savagely on the perilous side of a tremendous
tottering tree, and another grimly driving the bolts that could not
save it into the stringers of a collapsing wooden bridge. It was, as
he recognized, not exactly courage that they had displayed, but the
elemental savagery that in the newer countries, at least, now and then
seizes on hard-driven men ground down by mortgage-holders, or ruined
by flood and frost. With man and Nature against them they would make
their last grim protest before they were crushed. Gordon once or twice
had been conscious of the same fierce desire. He could sympathize with
Nasmyth, but, after all, he wished he would not bang the giant-powder
about in that unceremonious fashion.

"Leave the magazine yonder, and we'll bring it along," he cried.

Nasmyth made no answer, but he waited until Gordon and Mattawa joined
him, and they lowered themselves down from a rock shelf on to a pile
of broken rock, about which the eddy swirled. The spray of the fall
beat upon them, and the roar of it was bewildering, but the noise was
softened when they crawled into the entrance of a narrow tunnel.
Mattawa, with considerable difficulty, struck a match, and a pale
light streamed out from the little metal lamp he fastened in his hat.
The light showed the ragged roof of the tunnel and the rivulet of icy
water that flowed in the bottom of it. They crawled forward through
the water for a few yards, vainly trying to avoid the deluge which
broke upon them from the fissures, and finally sat down dripping on a
pile of broken rock. Nasmyth took out his pipe, and was lighting it
when Gordon drew the magazine away from him.

"You might just as well have done that before you opened the thing,"
he remarked. "Anyway, if you merely want to sit down, it would have
been quite as comfortable in the shanty."

Nasmyth was silent for several moments; then he turned to the other
two men with a wry smile.

"I don't quite know how we drove this heading with the tools we had,
but I can't think of any means of saving it," he said. "There are men
with money--Martial, and more of them--in the cities waiting to take
away from us what we expect to get, and since we have to fight them,
it seems to me advisable to strike where it's possible." He laughed
harshly. "There'll be two feet less water in the valley before the
morning."

"But no heading," cried Mattawa.

"Well," replied Nasmyth simply, "we'll start another one. I notice two
holes yonder. We'll drill a third one, Tom."

Nasmyth had been in the saddle since sunrise, in bitter frost and
whirling snow, but he picked up a hammer, and Mattawa seized a drill.
There was no room to swing the hammer, and Nasmyth struck half
crouching, while, chilly as the heading was, the perspiration dripped
from him, and the veins rose swollen on his forehead. He was up
against it, and a man strikes hardest when he is pressed back to the
wall. Gordon sat and watched them, but--for the rock rang with each
jarring thud--he wrapped the magazine in his wet jacket, and it was a
relief to him when Nasmyth finally dropped the hammer.

"Now," said Nasmyth, "we'll fill every hole ram to the top."

Mattawa placed the giant-powder in the holes, and they crawled back,
trailing a couple of thin wires after them, until they reached the
strip of shingle near the gully, when Nasmyth made the connection with
the firing-plug.

A streak of vivid flame leapt out of the rock, and the detonation was
followed by the roar of the river pouring through the newly opened
gap. Nasmyth turned without a word and plodded back to the shanty. A
group of men who had scrambled down the gully met him.

"You were a little astonished to see me, boys?" he said with a
question in his voice. Then he laughed.

"I've fired a big charge, and I guess you'll have to start another
heading as soon as it's sun-up."

It was evident that the men were disconcerted, and an expostulatory
murmur rose from them. It ceased, however, when Nasmyth waved his
hand.

"I had to do it, boys," he declared.

It had cost them strenuous toil to drive that heading, but one could
have fancied that they were satisfied with the terse assurance he
offered them. He had proved himself fit to lead them, and they had a
steadfast confidence in him.

"Well," commented one of the men, "in that case, I guess all we have
to do is to start right off at the other one."

Nasmyth opened the door of the shanty. "I felt you'd look at it that
way, boys," he said. "I'll explain the thing later. I'm a little
played out to-night."

The men plodded away up the gully, and in another few minutes Nasmyth
was sound asleep.




CHAPTER XXVII

TIMBER RIGHTS


They set to work on the new heading at sunrise next morning, but it
was a week or two before they had made much of an opening in the rock
beneath the fall. Though Nasmyth had lowered the level of the river a
little, the smooth-worn stone still rose sheer from the depths of the
whirling pool, and the blasting had obliterated every trace of their
previous operations. They were compelled to make new approaches, and
they toiled, drenched with the icy spray, on frail, slung stages,
cutting sockets for the logs to hold a heavier platform for the little
boring-machine Nasmyth had purchased in Victoria. When the platform
was built, the working face was narrow, and the rock of a kind that
yielded very slowly to the cutting-tool. They had no power but that of
well-hardened muscle, and none of the workers had any particular
knowledge of engineering.

They pushed the new heading toilsomely beneath the fall, working in
rock fissured by the last explosion, through which the water poured in
on them, while the river rose when the frost broke up and was
succeeded by a week or two of torrential rain. The water swirled high
among the boulders, and had crept almost to the mouth of the heading,
when one evening Wheeler walked into the shanty. He said nothing of
any consequence until supper was over, and he then took a newspaper
out of his pocket.

"Have you had any strangers round?" he asked.

"No," answered Nasmyth, with a dry smile. "That is, they didn't get
any farther than the head of the gully. Two of them turned up one wet
day, and when they found they couldn't get down, they explained rather
forcibly what they thought of me."

Wheeler nodded, and handed the paper across to him.

"I guess you did quite right," he said. "This should make it clear
that some of the city men with money are on our trail."

Nasmyth glanced at the paper, and saw a notification that certain
timber rights in the forest belt surrounding the valley had been
applied for.

"The Charters people!" he declared. "When I was in Victoria I had a
talk with them. I partly expected something of the kind. By the way, I
got a notification from the rancher I mentioned that, if I continued
operations, proceedings would be begun against me."

"They mean business," commented Wheeler, with a snap in his dark eyes.
"It seems to me there are several of them in the thing, and they
evidently expect to get their hands on the valley one way or another.
In all probability their idea is to let you get most of the work in,
and then scare you into selling out for what they like to offer. Have
you had any big trees coming along lately?"

"Yes," answered Mattawa, "one or two went over the fall this
afternoon."

"Drift logs?"

"Two had the branches chopped off them."

Wheeler made a sign of comprehension. "Well," he predicted, "you're
going to see a good many more of that kind before very long." He
turned to Nasmyth. "I'm going to stay over to-morrow. The mill's held
up again. We had an awkward break, and I can't get the new fixings in.
You can tell me how you're getting on."

They talked until late that night, and on awakening next morning found
the river higher and thick with shattered ice. It had also crept into
the heading, and the men who worked in it were knee-deep in water.
They, however, went on as usual, and it was in the afternoon that
several great trees leapt the fall, and, driving down the rapid,
whirled away into the black depths of the canyon. Wheeler, who stood
watching attentively, nodded as the trees drove by.

"Hemlock. That's not going to count for milling purposes," he
observed.

Nasmyth, who came up dripping wet, sat down on a boulder and took out
his pipe.

"Did you expect anything else?" he asked.

Wheeler laughed. "I'm not sure that I did. It seems to me the men who
want those timber rights don't figure on doing much milling." He
looked up sharply. "This one's red cedar."

Another great trunk leapt the fall, swept round the pool, and then
brought up with a crash upon the pile of shattered rock which still
lay athwart the head of the rapid. Nasmyth rose and straightened
himself wearily.

"It's a trifle unfortunate I hadn't hove that rock out with the
derrick. We'll have to take hold if the log won't swing clear," he
said.

The tree swung a little, and then the thinner head of it drove in
among the boulders and stuck fast. In another moment a shout rose from
a man standing on the ledge above the fall.

"Quite a batch of big logs coming along!" he called.

Nasmyth thrust his pipe into his pocket, and Wheeler, who watched him,
nodded.

"They'll jam and pile up," said Wheeler. "I guess that's what the
other folks wanted. You have got to keep them clear."

In another few moments Nasmyth was beating a suspended iron sheet, and
while its clangour broke through the roar of the river the men
floundered towards him over the shingle. One or two of them had axes,
and the rest, running into the shanty, brought out saws and
handspikes. In the meanwhile a huge log crashed upon the one held
fast, and there was no need to tell any of the men that those which
followed would rapidly pile up into an inextricable confusion of
interlocked timber. There was only one thing to be done, and that was
to cut away the first log, which would hold them back, as soon as
possible.

The men set to work, two or three of them running recklessly along the
rounded top of the slippery trunk, which rolled a little as it
hammered upon the rock. Mattawa, with a big crosscut saw, crouched on
the half-submerged pile of stone, and a comrade, who seized its
opposite handle, held himself somehow on the second trunk by his
knees. It was difficult to understand how they could work at all, but
they were accustomed to toiling under embarrassing conditions. The saw
had hardly bitten through the bark when another log drove grinding
against the rest, and Mattawa's companion, who let the handle go, fell
forward on his face. He was up again in a moment, and after that stuck
fast while log after log drove smashing upon the growing mass.
Sometimes the one he clung to rose up under him, and sometimes it sank
until he crouched in the water while another great butt crept up upon
it, and it seemed that he must be crushed between them. Still, the saw
rasped steadily through the heaving, grinding timber. It was perilous
work, but it was clear to all of them that it had to be done.

In the meanwhile Nasmyth and Gordon stood knee-deep amidst the white
foam of the rapid. The water was icy cold, and it was with difficulty
they kept their feet, while every now and then a shower of spray that
leapt out from among the timber fell upon them. The logs were already
two deep at that spot, and one great top ground steadily forward over
the others as its pressed-down butt was driven on by those behind.
One could almost have fancied it was bent on escaping from the
horrible confusion of piled-up trunks that moved on one another under
the impact of the flood. More were sweeping on, and crash after crash
rang through the hoarse clamour of the fall.

Nasmyth felt very feeble as he whirled the heavy axe about his head,
for that mass of timber was impressively big. He had torn off his
deer-hide jacket, and his soaked blue shirt gaped open to his waist at
every heave of his shoulders. He stood in icy water, but the
perspiration dripped from him as he swung with every blow. Though some
men with good thews and sinews can never learn to use the axe to any
purpose, he could chop, and the heavy blade he whirled rang with a
rhythmic precision in the widening notch, then flashed about his head,
and fell with a chunk that was sharp as a whip-crack into the gap
again. In between Gordon's axe swept down, and the blades flashed
athwart each other's orbits without a check or clash. It requires
years to acquire that kind of proficiency with the axe, but the result
is a perfecting of the co-operation between will and hardened muscle.

It was fortunate that both could chop, for the men with the crosscut
appeared in difficulties. The tree bent on the pile of rock, and in
straining closed the cut upon the saw. Another man who had joined them
was endeavouring to hammer a wedge in, but with that crushing weight
against him the attempt seemed futile. He persisted, however, and
stood above the white froth of the rapid, a puny figure dwarfed by the
tremendous rock wall, whirling what appeared to be a wholly
insignificant hammer. His comrades were scattered about the grinding
mass making ineffective efforts to heave a butt or top clear of the
others with their handspikes, but there was clearly only one
vulnerable point of attack, and that was the one Nasmyth and Gordon
were hewing at. Wheeler, who felt the tension, watched them, clutching
hard upon an unlighted pipe. He was aware that if the mass of timber,
which grew rapidly larger, once wedged itself fast, it might be a
month or two before a flood broke it up; but he had also sense enough
to recognize that, since most of the men's efforts were futile, he
might just as well sit still.

The trunk was partly hewn through when the top of it bent outwards,
and Gordon flashed an anxious glance at it. It was evident that if
none of the others wedged themselves in upon and reinforced it the
weight behind would shortly rend the trunk apart. Then the position
would become a particularly perilous one, for the whole mass would
break away in chaotic ruin, and he and his comrade stood close in
front of it; but he could not tell how much further strain the tree
would bear, and he recognized that it was desirable to hew the notch
as deep as possible before he relinquished chopping. The axes rang for
another two minutes, and then there was a sudden crash, and a cry from
Wheeler that was drowned in the tumult of sound that rose from the
liberated timber.

Great logs reared their butts or tops out of the heaving mass. Some
rolled round and disappeared beneath those that crept upon them, but
for a moment or two the shattered trunk, jammed down by the weight
upon it, held them back from the plunge into the rapid. It smashed
among the rocks that ground and rent it as it slowly gave way, and
Wheeler ran his hardest towards a strip of shingle that projected a
little into the river. He saw Nasmyth, who had evidently lost his
footing, driving downstream towards it, and knew that in another
moment or two the logs would be upon him.

Nasmyth was not exactly swimming. In fact, strictly speaking, one
cannot swim in a rapid, nor when there is only three or four feet of
water can one get upon one's feet. He rolled over and over, went down
and came up again, until Wheeler, floundering into the foaming water,
clutched him, and held on desperately, though he felt that his arm was
being drawn out of its socket. He would probably have been swept away,
too, had not somebody grabbed his jacket, and he heard a hoarse voice
behind him.

"Heave!" it said--"heave!"

The strain on Wheeler's arm became intolerable, but somehow he held
fast, and just then there was an appalling crash and roar. He felt
himself being dragged backwards, and in another moment fell heavily
upon the shingle with Nasmyth across his feet. Blinking about him half
dazed, he saw the logs drive by, rolling, grinding, smashing, and
falling on one another. Then, as they whirled down the rapid, and the
roar they made began to die away, he looked round, and saw several
gasping men standing close behind him.

"Guess that was quite a near thing," said one of them. "Any way, in
this kind of contract you can sure figure on trouble."

This, as a matter of fact, was perfectly correct, for it is only at
considerable peril to life and limb that saw-logs are driven down the
rivers to a Western mill. They must be guided through each awkward
pass and frothing rapid, and the men who undertake it spring with pike
and peevie from one to another while the rolling trunks tumultuously
charge on.

Nobody, however, troubled himself any further about the matter, and in
a few more minutes the men had set to work again heaving the rocks
that had held up the first log out of the river with the derrick. It
was not until supper was over, and he sat with his companions in the
shanty, that Wheeler referred to the affair again. He looked at
Nasmyth with a smile.

"I guess it's fortunate you got those logs away," he said. "It's
probably a little more than the men who turned them loose on you
figured you could do."

"That," agreed Nasmyth, "is very much my own opinion."

Wheeler filled his pipe. "Now," he said reflectively, "anybody can
apply for timber rights, and bid for them at public auction, but the
man who secures them must cut up so many thousand feet every month.
Since that's the case, it's quite evident that nobody is likely to bid
for timber rights round the valley, except the Charters people, who
have a little mill on the Klatchquot Inlet, and they'd probably get
the timber rights 'most for nothing, though they might have to put in
a new saw or two with the object of satisfying the Legislature."

"It's rather difficult to see how they expect to make a profit on
hemlock in view of what it would cost them to get the logs there,"
Gordon broke in.

"They don't want to make a profit." Wheeler smiled. "Seems to me it's
their programme to get hold of the rights cheap, and then worry you
because they can't run the logs through this canyon. The Legislature
won't give you land or rights to do nothing with, and it's quite
likely the Charters people will file a notification that your workings
are the obstacle. Still, they'd probably make you an offer first. If
you let them in on the ground-floor--handed them a big slice of the
valley or something of the kind--they'd let up on their timber rights.
I'm not sure they could run good milling fir to that mill at a
profit."

A grim look crept into Nasmyth's face. Difficulties were crowding
thick upon him, and though he was as determined as ever on proceeding
with the work, he almost felt that it would be only until they crushed
him.

"It seems to me we are in the hands of the Charters people, unless I
can keep the canyon clear," he commented.

Wheeler's eyes twinkled. "Well," he returned, "they're smart. I
have, however, come across smart folks who missed a point or two
occasionally. Now, I saw a couple of red cedar logs among that
hemlock."

He glanced at Mattawa. "Tom, you've been round the head of the valley.
Did you strike any trees of that kind up yonder?"

"A few," answered Mattawa. "It's quite likely there are more."

"A sure thing. You and I are going out timber-right prospecting at
sun-up to-morrow. Just now they can't get red cedar shingles fast
enough on to the Eastern markets."

Nasmyth looked up and Gordon laughed a soft laugh, while Wheeler waved
his hand.

"Anyone can bid for timber rights," he declared. "Now, our folks are
open for any business, and we have got a mill. It's not going to cost
much to put a shingle-splitting plant in. We have easy water-carriage
to the Inlet, where a schooner can load, and the Charters people would
have to tow their raw material right along to their mill. Besides,
that Inlet's a blame awkward place to get a schooner in. It's quite
clear to me we could cut shingles way cheaper than they could." He
paused for a moment. "Yes," he said, "if there's milling cedar near
the valley, our folks will make their bid. If Charters wants those
rights, he'll have to put up the money, and it's quite likely we'll
take them up in spite of him if I'm satisfied with my prospecting. In
that case, we're not going to worry you about the canyon. In fact, we
would probably make you a proposition at so much the log for running
the trees down for us."

He filled his pipe again, and Nasmyth looked at him with relief in his
eyes.




CHAPTER XXVIII

A PAINFUL DUTY


Three months had slipped away since the evening on which Wheeler had
discussed the subject of shingle-splitting with his companions.
Nasmyth stood outside the shanty in the drenching rain. He was very
wet and miry, and his face was lined and worn, for the three months of
unremitting effort had left their mark on him. Wheeler had secured the
timber rights in question, and that was one difficulty overcome, but
Nasmyth had excellent reasons for believing that the men who had cast
covetous eyes upon the valley had by no means abandoned the attempt to
get possession of at least part of it.

He had had flood and frost against him, and his money was rapidly
running out. A wild flood swept through the canyon. The heading was
filled up, so that no one could even see the mouth of it, and half the
rock he had piled upon the shingle had been swept into the rapid,
where it had formed a dam among the boulders that could be removed
only at a heavy expenditure of time and powder when the water fell. He
was worn out in body, and savage from being foiled by the swollen
river at each attempt he made, but while the odds against him were
rapidly growing heavier he meant to fight.

A Siwash Indian whom he had hired as messenger between the canyon and
the settlement had just arrived, and Gordon, who stood in the doorway
of the shanty, took a newspaper out of the wet packet he had brought.
Gordon turned to Nasmyth when he opened it.

"Wheeler's getting ahead," he said. "Here's his announcement that his
concern is turning out a high-grade cedar shingle. That's satisfactory
so far as it goes. I don't quite know how we'd have held out if it
hadn't been for the money we got from him for running the logs down."
Then his voice grew suddenly eager. "Try to get hold of the
significance of this, Derrick: 'We have got it on reliable authority
that certain propositions for the exploitation of the virgin
forest-belt beyond the Butte Divide will shortly be laid before the
Legislature. It is expected that liberal support will be afforded to a
project for the making of new waggon-roads, and we believe that if the
scheme is adopted certain gentlemen in this city will endeavour to
inaugurate a steamboat service with the Western inlets.'" He waved his
hand. "When this particular paper makes an assertion of that kind,
there's something going on," he added. "It's a sure thing that if
those roads are made, it will put another thirty or forty cents on to
every dollar's worth of land we're holding."

"Exactly," replied Nasmyth, whose tense face did not relax. "That is,
it would, if we had run the water out of the valley; but, as it
happens, we haven't cut down very much of the fall yet, and this thing
is going to make the men we have against us keener than ever. They're
probably plotting how to strike us now. Get those letters open."

There was anxiety in his voice, and Gordon started when he had ripped
open one or two of the envelopes.

"This looks like business," he remarked, as he glanced at a letter
from a lawyer who had once or twice handled Nasmyth's affairs in the
city. "It's from Phelps. He says he has been notified that, unless an
agreement can be arrived at, proceedings will be taken by a man called
Hames, who claims to hold one hundred acres on the western side of the
valley, to restrain you from altering the river level. Atterly--he's
the man we've heard from already--it seems, is taking action, too."

"Hames?" repeated Nasmyth. "I've never heard of him. Any way, he can't
hold land on the western side. We haven't sold an acre." He stopped a
moment, and looked hard at Gordon. "That is, I haven't sanctioned it,
and I believe there's nobody holding a share in the project who would
go back on us."

Gordon made a gesture indicating his doubt in the subject, and they
looked at each other for half a minute.

"I'm afraid I can't go quite as far as that," he replied, and laughed
harshly. "As it stands recorded, the land could be transferred to
anyone by Waynefleet. Any way, it seems to be in his block. Phelps
cites the boundary-posts."

Nasmyth closed one hand tight. Waynefleet, who had found the constant
wetting too much for him, had left the canyon a week or two before this
morning, on which it was evident a crisis of some sort was near. He
had complained of severe pains in his back and joints, and had sent
them no word after his departure.

"Is there anything from him?" asked Nasmyth.

Gordon picked out an envelope and opened it. "Here's a note from Miss
Waynefleet. She desires you to ride across at once."

With a troubled face Nasmyth stood still in the rain another minute.

"I'll take the pack-horse and start now," he said after a brief
silence. "When I have seen Miss Waynefleet, I'll go right on to
Victoria." He turned and gazed at the river. "If one could get into
the heading by any means, I'd fire every stick of giant-powder in it
first. Unfortunately, the thing is out of the question."

In a few moments he was scrambling up the gully, and Gordon, who went
into the shanty and lighted his pipe, sat gazing at the letters very
thoughtfully. They had no money to spare for any legal expenses.
Indeed, he was far from sure they had enough to supply them with
powder and provisions until their task was accomplished. During the
long grim fight in the canyon they had borne almost all that could be
expected of flesh and blood, and it was unthinkable that the city man,
who sat snug in his office and plotted, should lay grasping hands upon
the profit. Still, that seemed possible now that somebody had betrayed
them.

Meantime, Nasmyth had swung himself into the pack-saddle, and, in the
rain, was scrambling up the rocky slopes of the divide. He had not
changed his clothing, and it would have availed him little if he had,
since there was a long day's ride before him. The trail was a little
easier than it had been, for each man who led the pack-horse along it
had hewn through some obstacle, but it was still sufficiently
difficult, and every here and there a frothing torrent swept across
it. There were slopes of wet rock to be scrambled over, several
leagues of dripping forest thick with undergrowth that clung about the
narrow trail to be floundered through, and all the time the great
splashes from the boughs or torrential rain beat upon him. In places
he led the pack-horse, in places he rode, and dusk was closing in when
he saw a blink of light across Waynefleet's clearing. In another few
minutes he had led the jaded horse into the stable, and then, splashed
with mire, and with the water running from his clothes, had limped to
the homestead door.

Nasmyth opened the door and saw Laura Waynefleet sitting by the stove.
She started as he came in.

"I have been expecting you," she said. She gave him her hand and her
eyes met his with a look of anxiety. She noticed his appearance of
weariness and the condition of his clothing. "I can get you something
dry to put on," she added.

"No," said Nasmyth, "you must not trouble. I would be quite as wet
again, soon after I leave here. If I can borrow a horse, I must push
on to the railroad in an hour."

"To-night?" asked Laura. "After riding in from the canyon, it's out of
the question. Besides, you could never get through the Willow Ford.
Listen to the rain."

Nasmyth sank wearily into the nearest chair, and heard the deluge lash
the shingled roof.

"I'm afraid it must be done," he declared.

Laura laid supper upon the table, and insisted that he should eat
before she made any reference to the object she had in hand. Then,
while he sat beside the stove with his clothes steaming, she looked at
him steadily, and a little colour crept into her face.

"I wonder if you can guess why I sent for you?" she said.

"Where is your father?" Nasmyth asked abruptly.

"In Victoria. He left six days ago. I suppose he sent you no word that
he was going."

"No," answered Nasmyth very dryly, "he certainly didn't. I don't think
I could have expected it from him."

He sat silent for almost a minute, looking at her with a troubled air,
and though Laura was very quiet, her manner was vaguely suggestive of
tension. It was Nasmyth who broke the silence.

"I believe you have something to tell me, Miss Waynefleet," he said.
"Still, I would sooner you didn't, if it will hurt you. After all,
it's rather more than possible that I can arrive at the information by
some other means."

The tinge of colour grew plainer in Laura's face, but it was evident
that she laid a firm restraint upon herself. "Ah!" she cried, "it has
hurt me horribly already. I can't get over the shame of it. But that
isn't what I meant to speak of. I feel"--and her voice grew tense and
strained--"I must try to save you and the others from a piece of
wicked treachery."

She straightened herself, and there was a flash in her eyes, but
Nasmyth raised one hand.

"No," he protested, almost sternly, "I can't let you do this. You
would remember it ever afterwards with regret."

The girl seemed to nerve herself for an effort, and when she spoke her
voice was impressively quiet.

"You must listen and try to understand," she said.

"It is not only because it would hurt me to see you and the others
tricked out of what you have worked so hard for that I feel I must
tell you. If there was nothing more than that, I might, perhaps, never
have told you, after all. I want to save my father from a shameful
thing." Her voice broke away, and the crimson flush on her face
deepened as she went on again. "He has been offering to sell land that
can't belong to him," she asserted accusingly.

Nasmyth felt sorry for her, and he made an attempt to offer her a
grain of consolation.

"A few acres are really his," he said. "I made them over to him."

"To be his only if he did his share, and when the scheme proved
successful," Laura interrupted. "I know, if he has sold them, what an
opportunity of harassing you it will give the men who are plotting
against you. Still, now you know, you can, perhaps, break off the
bargain. I want you to do what you can"--and she glanced at him with a
tense look in her eyes--"if it is only to save him."

"That," replied Nasmyth quietly, "is, for quite another reason, the
object I have in view. I would like you to understand that I have
guessed that he had failed us already. It may be some little
consolation. Now, perhaps, you had better tell me exactly what you
know."

Laura did so, and it proved to be no more than Nasmyth had suspected.
Letters had passed between Waynefleet and somebody in Victoria, and
the day after he left for that city two men, who had evidently crossed
him on the way, arrived at the ranch. One said his name was Hames, and
his conversation suggested that he supposed the girl was acquainted
with her father's affairs. In any case, what he said made it clear
that he had either purchased, or was about to purchase from
Waynefleet, certain land in the valley. After staying half an hour,
the men had, Laura understood, set out again for Victoria.

When she had told him this, Nasmyth sat thoughtfully silent a minute
or two. Her courage and hatred of injustice had stirred him deeply,
for he knew what it must have cost her to discuss the subject of her
father's wrongdoing with him. He was also once more overwhelmingly
sorry for her. There was nobody she could turn to for support or
sympathy, and it was evident that if he succeeded in foiling Hames, it
would alienate her from her father. Waynefleet, he felt, was not
likely to forgive her for the efforts she had made to save him from
being drawn into an act of profitable treachery.

"Well," he said after a moment's thought, "I am going on to Victoria
to see what can be done, but there is another matter that is troubling
me. I wonder if it has occurred to you that your father will find it
very difficult to stay on at the ranch when the part he has played
becomes apparent. I am almost afraid the boys will be vindictive."

"I believe he has not expected to carry on the ranch much longer. It
is heavily mortgaged, and he has been continually pressed for money."

"Has he any plans?"

Laura smiled wearily. "He has always plans. I believe he intends to go
to one of the towns on Puget Sound, and start a land agency." She
made a dejected gesture. "I don't expect him to succeed in it, but
perhaps I could earn a little."

Nasmyth set his lips tight, and there was concern in his face. She
looked very forlorn, and he knew that she was friendless. He could
hardly bring himself to contemplate the probability of her being cast
adrift, saddled with a man who, it was evident, would only involve her
in fresh disasters, and, he fancied, reproach her as the cause of
them. A gleam of anger crept into his eyes.

"If your father had only held on with us, I could have saved you
this," he observed.

There was a great sadness in Laura's smile.

"Still," she replied, "he didn't, and perhaps you couldn't have
expected it of him. He sees only the difficulties, and I am afraid
never tries to face them."

Nasmyth felt his self-control deserting him. He was conscious of an
almost overwhelming desire to save the girl from the results of her
father's dishonesty and folly, and he could see no way in which it
could be done. Then it was borne in upon him that in another moment or
two he would probably say or do something that he would regret
afterwards, and she would resent, and, rising stiffly, he held out his
hand.

"I must push on to the railroad," he said, and he held the hand she
gave him in a firm clasp. "Miss Waynefleet, you saved my life, and I
believe I owe you quite as much in other ways. It's a fact that
neither of us can attempt to disregard. I want you to promise that you
will, at least, not leave the ranch without telling me."

Laura flashed a quick glance at him, and perhaps she saw more than he
suspected in his insistent gaze, for she strove to draw her hand away.
He held it fast, however, while his nerves thrilled and his heart
beat furiously. He remembered Violet Hamilton vaguely, but there came
upon him a compelling desire to draw this girl to whom he owed so much
into his arms and comfort her. They both stood very still a moment,
and Nasmyth heard the snapping of the stove with a startling
distinctness. Then--and it cost him a strenuous effort--he let her
hand go.

"You will promise," he insisted hoarsely.

"Yes," answered Laura, "before I go away I will tell you."

Nasmyth went out into the blackness and the rain, while Laura sat
trembling until she heard the beat of his horse's hoofs. Then she sank
lower, a limp huddled figure, in the canvas chair. The stove snapped
noisily, and the pines outside set up a doleful wailing, but, except
for that, it was very still in the desolate ranch.

Nasmyth rode on until he borrowed a fresh horse from a man who lived a
few miles along the trail. There was a cheerful light from the windows
as he rode into a little settlement, and the trail to the railroad led
through dripping forest and over a towering range, but he did not draw
bridle. He was aching all over, and the water ran from his garments,
but he scarcely seemed to feel his weariness then, and he pushed on
resolutely through the rain up the climbing trail.

He remembered very little of that ride afterwards, or what he thought
about during it. The strain of the last few minutes he had passed
at Waynefleet's ranch had left him dazed, and part of his numbness,
at least, was due to weariness. Several times he was almost flung
from the saddle as the horse scrambled down a slope of rock.
Willow-branches lashed him as he pushed through the thickets, and in
one place it was only by a grim effort that he drove the frightened
beast to ford a flooded creek. Then there was a strip of hillside to
be skirted, where the slope was almost sheer beneath the edge of the
winding trail, and the rain that drove up the valley beat into his
eyes. Still he held on, and two hours after sunrise rode half asleep
into the little mining town. There was a train in the station, and,
turning the horse over to a man he met, he climbed, dripping as he
was, into a car.




CHAPTER XXIX

A FUTILE SCHEME


There was bright sunshine at Bonavista when Nasmyth, who had been told
at the station that Acton had arrived from Victoria the day before,
limped out from the shadow of the surrounding Bush, and stood still a
moment or two, glancing across the trim lawn and terrace towards the
wooden house. The spacious dwelling, gay with its brightly painted
lattice shutters, dainty scroll-work, and colonnades of wooden
pillars, rose against the sombre woods, and he wondered with some
anxiety whether Mrs. Acton had many guests in it. He had no desire to
fall in with any strangers, for he was worn out and aching, and he
still wore the old duck clothing in which he had left the canyon. It
might, he fancied, be possible to slip into the house and change
before he presented himself to Mrs. Acton, though he was by no means
sure that the garments in the valise he carried in his hand were dry.
He could see nobody on the terrace, and moved forward hastily until he
stopped in consternation as he crossed one of the verandas. The
sunlight streamed in, and Mrs. Acton and Violet Hamilton sat upon the
seat which ran along the back of it. The girl started when she saw
him, and Nasmyth stood looking down on her, worn in face and
heavy-eyed, with his workman's garb clinging, tight and mire-stained,
about his limbs. There was, however, a certain grimness in his smile.
He had seen the girl's start and her momentary shrinking, and it
occurred to him that there was a significance in the fact that it had
not greatly hurt him.

"I must make my excuses for turning up in this condition," he
apologized. "I had to start for the railroad at a moment's notice, and
it rained all the way, while, when I reached it, the train was in the
depot. You see, my business is rather urgent."

Mrs. Acton laughed. "Evidently," she said. "I think we were both a
trifle startled when we saw you. I should be sorry to hear that
anything had gone seriously wrong, but you remind one of the man who
brought the news of Flodden."

Nasmyth made a quick gesture of denial. "Well," he announced bravely,
"our standard is flying yet, and I almost think we can make another
rally or two. Still, I have come for reinforcements. Mr. Acton is
in?"

"He is. As it happened, he came up from Victoria yesterday. I believe
he is discussing some repairs to the steamer with George just now.
I'll send you out a plate of something and a glass of wine. You can't
have had any lunch."

Mrs. Acton rose, and Nasmyth, who sat down, looked at Violet with a
smile. She was evidently not quite at ease.

"You really haven't welcomed me very effusively," he remarked.

The girl flushed. "I don't think I could be blamed for that," she
returned. "I was startled."

"And perhaps just a little annoyed?"

The colour grew plainer in Violet's cheeks. "Well," she averred, "that
isn't so very unnatural. After all, I don't mind admitting that I wish
you hadn't come like this."

Nasmyth glanced down at his attire, and nodded gravely. "It's
certainly not altogether becoming," he admitted. "I made that hole
drilling, but I fancied I had mended the thing. Still, you see, I had
to start on the moment, and I rode most of twenty-four hours in the
rain. I suppose"--and he hesitated while he studied her face--"I might
have tidied myself at the depot, but, as it happened, I didn't think
of it, which was, no doubt, very wrong of me."

"It was, at least, a little inconsiderate."

Nasmyth laughed good-humouredly, though he recognized that neither his
weariness nor the fact that it must manifestly be business of some
consequence that had brought him there in that guise had any weight
with her. He had, after all, a wide toleration, and he acknowledged to
himself that her resentment was not unreasonable.

"I've no doubt that I was inconsiderate," he said. "Still, you see, I
was worried about our affairs in the canyon."

"The canyon!" repeated Violet reproachfully. "It is always the canyon. I
wonder if you remember that it is at least a month since you have
written a line to me."

Nasmyth was disconcerted, for a moment's reflection convinced him that
the accusation was true.

"Well," he confessed, "I have certainly been shamefully remiss. Of
course, I was busy from dawn to sunset, but, after all, I'm afraid
that is really no excuse."

The girl frowned. "No," she said, "it isn't."

It was a slight relief to Nasmyth that a maid appeared just then, and
he took a glass of wine from the tray she laid upon a little table.

"To the brightest eyes in this Province!" he said, when the servant
had gone, and, emptying the glass, he fell upon the food voraciously.

It was unfortunate that in such unattractive guise he had come upon
Violet, and the fashion in which he ate also had its effect on her. In
the last thirty hours he had had only one hasty meal, and he showed a
voracity that offended her fastidious taste. He was worn out and
anxious, and since all his thoughts were fixed upon the business that
he had in hand, he could not rouse himself to act according to the
manner expected of a lover who returns after a long absence. It was,
however, once more borne in upon him that this was significant.

Violet, on her part, felt repelled by him. He was gaunt and lean, and
the state of his garments had shocked her. His hands were hard and
battered. She was very dainty, and in some respects unduly sensitive,
and it did not occur to her that it would have been more natural if,
in place of shrinking, she had been sensible only of a tender pity for
him. Perhaps there were excuses for her attitude. She had never been
brought into contact with the grim realities of life, and it is only
from those whom that befalls that one can expect the wide sympathy
which springs from comprehension. Nasmyth, lounging at Bonavista with
amusing speeches on his lips and his air of easy deference, had been a
somewhat romantic figure, and the glimpses of the struggle in the Bush
that he had given her had appealed to her imagination. She could feel
the thrill of it when she saw it through his eyes with all the
unpleasantly realistic features carefully wiped out, but it was
different now that he had come back to her with the dust and stain of
the conflict fresh upon him. The evidences of his strife were only
repulsive, and she shrank from them. She watched him with a growing
impatience until he rose and laid his empty plate aside.

"Well," he observed, "you will excuse me. I must see Mr. Acton as soon
as I can."

It was not in any way a tactful speech, and Violet resented it. The
man, it seemed, had only deferred the business he had on hand for a
meal. She looked at him with her displeasure flashing in her eyes.

"In that case," she said, "I should, of course, be sorry to keep you
away from him."

Nasmyth gazed at her curiously, but he did not reply. He went away
from her. A few minutes later when he entered Acton's room he was
attired in conventional fashion. His host shook hands with him, and
then leaned back in a chair, waiting for him to speak, which he did
with a trace of diffidence.

"My object is to borrow money," he explained frankly. "I couldn't
resent it in the least if you sent me on to somebody else."

"I'll hear what you have to say in the first case," replied Acton.
"You had better explain exactly how you stand."

Nasmyth did so as clearly as he could, and Acton looked at him
thoughtfully for a moment or two.

"I've been partly expecting this," he observed. "It's quite clear that
one or two of the big land exploitation people have a hand in the
thing. I guess I could put my finger right down on them. You said the
man's name was Hames?"

Nasmyth said it was, and Acton sat thinking for several minutes.

"It seems to me that the folks I have in my mind haven't been quite
smart enough," he declared at length. "They should have put up a
sounder man. As it happens, I know a little about the one they fixed
upon. Mr. Hames is what you could call a professional claim-jumper,
and it's fortunate that there's a weak spot or two in his career."

Acton paused, and Nasmyth waited in tense expectancy until the older
man turned to him again, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I almost think I can take a hand in this thing, and to commence with,
we'll go down to Victoria this afternoon and call on Mr. Hames," he
added. "If he has bought that land, it will probably be registered in
his name. The men you have against you are rather fond of working in
the dark. Then we come to another point--what it would be wisest to
do with Waynefleet, who went back on you. You said he had a mortgage
on his ranch. You know who holds it?"

Nasmyth said he did not know, and Acton nodded. "Any way," he
rejoined, "we can ascertain it in the city. Now, I guess you would
like that man run right out of the neighbourhood? It would be safest,
and it might perhaps be done."

Nasmyth was startled by this suggestion, and with a thoughtful face he
sat wondering what was most advisable. He bore Waynefleet very little
good-will, but it was clear that Laura must share any trouble that
befell her father, and he could not at any cost lay a heavier load
upon her. He was conscious that Acton was watching him intently.

"No," he objected, "I don't want him driven out. In fact, I should be
satisfied with making it impossible for him to enter into any
arrangement of the kind again."

"In that case, I guess we'll try to buy up his mortgage," remarked
Acton. "Land's going to be dearer in that district presently."

Nasmyth looked at him with a little confusion. "It is very kind, but,
after all, I have no claim on you."

"No," agreed Acton, with a smile, "you haven't in one way. This is,
however, a kind of thing I'm more at home in than you seem to be, and
there was a little promise I made your uncle. For another thing"--and
he waved his hand--"I'm going to take a reasonable profit out of
you."

Nasmyth made no further objections, and they set out for Victoria that
afternoon. Hames was, however, not readily traced; and when, on the
following morning, they sat in Acton's office waiting his appearance,
Nasmyth was conscious of a painful uncertainty. Acton, with a smile on
his face, leaned back in his chair until Hames was shown in. Hames was
a big, bronze-faced man, plainly dressed in city clothes, but there
was, Nasmyth noticed, a trace of half-furtive uneasiness in his eyes.
Acton looked up at him quietly, and let him stand for several moments.
Then he waved his hand toward a chair.

"Won't you sit down? We have got to have a talk," said Acton. "I'll
come right to the point. You have have been buying land."

Hames sat down. "I can't quite figure how that concerns you," he
replied. "I'm not going to worry about it, any way."

"I want that land--the block you bought from Waynefleet."

"It's not for sale," asserted Hames. "If you have nothing else to put
before me, I'll get on. I'm busy this morning."

Acton leaned forward in his chair. "When I'm in the city, I'm usually
busy, too," he said; "in fact, I've just three or four minutes to
spare for you, and I expect to get through in that time. To begin
with, you sent Mr. Hutton a note from your hotel when my clerk came
for you. He never got it. You can have it back unopened. I can guess
what's in the thing." He handed Hames an envelope. "Now," he went on,
"you can make a fuss about it, but I guess it wouldn't be wise. Hutton
doesn't know quite as much about you as I do. I've had a finger in
most of what has been done in this Province the last few years, and
it's not often I forget a man. Well, I guess I could mention one or
two little affairs that were not altogether creditable which you had a
share in."

Hames laughed. "It's quite likely."

"Still, what you don't know is that I'm on the inside track of what
was done when the Hobson folks jumped the Black Crag claim. There was
considerable trouble over the matter."

Nasmyth saw Hames start, but he apparently braced himself with an
effort.

"Any way," replied Hames, "that was 'most four years ago, and there's
not a man who had a hand in it in this Province now."

Acton shook his head. "There's one. I can put my hand on your partner
Okanagon Jim just when I want to."

There was no doubt that Hames was alarmed.

"Jim was drowned crossing the river the night the water broke into the
Black Crag shaft," he declared.

"His horse was, and the boys found his hat. That, however, is quite a
played-out trick. If you're not satisfied, I can fix it for you to
meet him here any time you like."

Hames made a motion of acknowledgment. "I don't want to see
him--that's a sure thing! I guess you know it was fortunate that Jim
and two or three of the other boys got out of the shaft that night.
Well, I guess that takes me. If Jim's around, I'll put down my
cards."

"It's wisest," advised Acton. "Now, I'm going to buy that land
Waynefleet sold from you--or, rather, he's going to give you your
money back for it. You can arrange the thing with Hutton--who, I
believe, supplied the money--afterwards as best you can."

Nasmyth fancied Hames was relieved that no more was expected from
him.

"I guess I'm in your hands," observed Hames.

"Then," Acton said, "you can wait in my clerk's office until I'm ready
to go over with you to Waynefleet's hotel."

Hames went out, and Acton turned to Nasmyth. "He was hired with a few
others to jump the claim he mentioned, and there was trouble over it.
As usual, just what happened never quite came out, but that man left
his partner to face the boys, who scarcely managed to escape with
their lives that night. The man who holds Waynefleet's mortgage should
be here at any moment."

The man arrived in a few minutes. After he had sat down and had taken
the cigar Acton offered him, he was ready to talk business.

"You have a mortgage on Rancher Waynefleet's holding in the Bush,"
said Acton. "I understand you've had some trouble in getting what he
owes you."

The man nodded. "That's certainly the case," he said. "I bought up
quite a lot of land before I laid down the mill, but after I did that
I let most of it go. In fact, I'm quite willing to let up on
Waynefleet's holding, too. I can't get a dollar out of him."

"Have you offered to sell the mortgage to anybody?"

"I saw Martial and the Charters people not long ago. They'd give about
eighty cents on the dollar. Hutton said he'd make me a bid, but he
didn't."

"Well," said Acton, "my friend here wants that ranch for a particular
purpose. He'd bid you ninety."

"I can't do it. If the new roads that have been suggested are made,
the ranch ought to bring me a little more. Still, I don't mind letting
you in at what I gave for it."

Acton looked at Nasmyth.

"Then," said Acton, "we'll call it a bargain. You can write me a note
to that effect, and I'll send my clerk across with the papers
presently."

The man went out a few minutes later, and Acton rose.

"I'll charge you bank interest; but if you care to put the mortgage up
for sale, you'll get your money back 'most any time after they start
those roads," Acton said to Nasmyth. "Now we'll go along and call on
Waynefleet."

They went out with Hames, and a little while later came upon
Waynefleet sitting on the veranda of a second-rate hotel. He was
dressed immaculately, and with a cigar in his hand, lay in a big
chair. He started when he saw them. Hames grinned, and sat down close
in front of him.

"I'm going back on my bargain. I want my money and you can keep your
land," he said. "The fact is Mr. Acton has got on my trail, and he's
not the kind of man I have any use for fighting."

There was consternation in Waynefleet's face, but he straightened
himself with an effort.

"I suppose you have brought this man, Mr. Nasmyth, and I scarcely
think it is quite what one would have expected from you--at least,
until you had afforded me the opportunity of offering you an
explanation," he blustered.

"Can you offer me one that any sensible man would listen to?" Nasmyth
asked sharply.

"He can't," Acton broke in. "We're out on business. You may as well
make it clear that we understand the thing."

Waynefleet turned and looked at Acton with lifted brows, and had he
been less angry, Nasmyth could have laughed at his attitude.
Waynefleet's air of supercilious resentment was inimitable.

"You have some interest in this affair?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes," answered Acton cheerfully. "Still, you needn't worry about
me. All you have to do is to hand this man over the money and record
the new sale. We don't want any unpleasantness, but it has to be
done."

Waynefleet appeared to recognize that there was no remedy.

"In that case there is the difficulty that I can't quite raise the
amount paid," he said. "Travelling and my stay in the city have cost
me something."

"How much are you short?"

"About a hundred dollars."

"Then," replied Acton, "I'll take a bill for the money. We'll go along
and record the sale as soon as Mr. Nasmyth's ready. I expect he has
something to say to you."

Acton went into the hotel with Hames, and there was an awkward silence
when they had disappeared. Nasmyth leaned against a wooden pillar, and
Waynefleet sat still, waiting for him to speak. Nasmyth turned to
him.

"It would, perhaps, be preferable to regard this affair from a
strictly business point of view," said Nasmyth. "You are, of course,
in our hands, but to save your credit and to protect Miss Waynefleet
from any embarrassment, we shall probably not insist upon your handing
over the land to anybody else. I think we are safe in doing that. Now
that you have signally failed, you will not have nerve enough to
attempt to betray us again."

Waynefleet waved his hand. "I resent the attitude you have adopted. It
is not by any means what I am accustomed to, or should have expected
from you."

Nasmyth felt a faint, contemptuous pity for the man, who still
endeavoured to retain his formality of manner.

"I'm afraid that hasn't any great effect on me, and my attitude is, at
least, a natural one," he said. "I believe that Gordon and I can
arrange that the boys do not hear of your recent action, and though
you will take no further part in our affairs, you will stay on at the
ranch. I may mention that I have just bought up your mortgage."

A flush of anger showed in Waynefleet's cheeks.

"Is it in any way your business where I live?" he asked.

"No," answered Nasmyth, "not in the least--that is, as far as it
affects yourself. Still, I am determined that Miss Waynefleet shall
have no fresh cause for anxiety. I don't mind admitting that I owe a
great deal to her." He paused for a moment, and then turned to
Waynefleet with a forceful gesture. "When you have bought back the
land from Hames, I don't suppose you will have a dollar in your
possession, and the ranch belongs to me. As I said, you will stay--at
least, until you can satisfy me that you can maintain yourself and
Miss Waynefleet in some degree of comfort if you go away. Now I
believe the others are waiting. We will go along and get the sale
recorded."




CHAPTER XXX

SECOND THOUGHTS


It was getting dusk when Wheeler swung himself from the saddle near
the head of the gully and, with the bridle of the jaded horse in his
hand, stood still a few moments looking about him. A wonderful green
transparency still shone high up above the peaks, whose jagged edges
cut into it sharply with the cold blue-white gleam of snow, but upon
the lower slopes there was a balmy softness in the air, which was
heavy with the odours of fir and cedar. Summer was breaking suddenly
upon the mountain-land, but Wheeler, who had crossed the divide in
bright sunshine, was sensible of a certain shrinking as he glanced
down into the depths of the canyon. A chilly mist streamed up out of
it, and the great rift looked black and grim and forbidding.

Wheeler noticed a dusky figure beneath the firs, and, moving towards
it, came upon a man with a pipe in his hand, sitting upon a fallen
tree. In view of the strenuous activity that was the rule in the
canyon, such leisure was unusual.

"Well," he remarked, "you don't seem busy, any way."

The man grinned. "I'm looking out," he replied. "Guess I've had my eye
on you for the last few minutes, and a stranger wouldn't have got
quite so far. You haven't got any papers from the courts on you?"

"No," said Wheeler, who noticed that there was a rifle lying near the
man, "I haven't. Still, if I'd looked like a lawyer or a court
officer----"

"Then," asserted the man, "it's a sure thing you wouldn't have got in.
The boys have enough giant-powder rammed into the heading to lift the
bottom right out of the canyon two minutes after any suspicious
stranger comes along."

Wheeler laughed, for it was evident to him that Nasmyth had been
taking precautions, and, turning away, he led his horse down the
gully. It grew colder as he proceeded, and a chilly breeze swept the
white mist about him. The trees, that shook big drops of moisture down
on him, were wailing, but he could hear them only faintly through the
clamour of the fall. He left the horse with a man he came upon lower
down, and, reaching the shingle at the water's edge, saw the great
derrick swing black athwart the glare of a big fire. The smoke whirled
about the dark rock wall, and here and there dusky figures were
toiling knee-deep amid the white froth of the rapid. The figures
emerged from the blackness and vanished into it again, as the
flickering radiance rose and fell. Scrambling to the ledge above the
fall, Wheeler found two men standing near the mouth of the heading,
which was just level with the pool.

"Where's Nasmyth, boys?" he inquired.

"Inside," answered one of the men. "Guess he's wedging up the heading.
If you want him, you'd better crawl right in."

Wheeler glanced down at the black mouth of the tunnel, on which the
streaming radiance fell. He fancied that the river flowed into it, and
the man's suggestion did not appeal to him.

"Won't you tell him that I'd like a talk with him?" he asked.

The man laughed. "Guess that's not going to bring him. It will be
daylight, any way, before he lets up. You'll have to go right in."

Wheeler dropped cautiously upon a slippery staging, across which the
water flowed, and, crawling into the heading, with a blinking light in
his eyes, fell into a sled that was loaded with broken rock. He crept
round the obstruction, and a few moments later found himself knee-deep
in water before a little dam that had been thrown across the heading.
The heading dipped sharply beyond it, which somewhat astonished him,
and when he had climbed over the barricade, he descended cautiously,
groping towards another light. Big drops of water fell upon him, and
here and there a jet of it spurted out. At last he stopped, and saw
Nasmyth lying, partly raised on one elbow, in an inch or two of water,
while he painfully swung a heavy hammer. The heading was lined with
stout pillars, made of sawn-up firs, and Nasmyth appeared to be
driving a wedge under one of them. Two or three other men were putting
heavy masses of timber into place.

The smoky flame of a little lamp flared upon the rock above, which
trickled with moisture, and the light fell upon Nasmyth's wet face,
which was deeply flushed. Nasmyth gasped heavily, and great splashes
of sand and mire lay thick upon his torn, drenched shirt. He appeared
to see Wheeler, for he looked up, but he did not stop until he had
driven the wedge in. Then he rose to his knees and stretched himself
wearily.

"The rock's badly fissured. We've got to get double timbers in as soon
as we can," he explained. "I'm going to do some boring. We'll go
along."

Wheeler crept after him down the inclined heading until they reached
the spot where Gordon sat crouched over a machine. Gordon did not move
until Nasmyth seized his shoulders.

"You can get back to the wedging, and send two or three boys along to
heave the water out. I'll keep this thing going," he said.

Gordon, who greeted Wheeler, floundered away, and Wheeler sat down in
the dryest spot he could find, while Nasmyth grasped the handle of the
machine.

"There's no reason why you shouldn't smoke," he said.

"That," replied Wheeler, "is a point I'm not quite sure about. How
many sticks of giant-powder have you rammed into this heading? As you
know, it's apt to be a little uncertain."

Nasmyth laughed as he glanced at the flaring lamp above his head.
"There's a hole with a stick in it just at your elbow. I've been
filling the holes as we made them. In view of what I expect those
folks in the city are arranging, it seemed advisable."

Wheeler was sensible of a certain uneasiness as he listened to the
crunch of the boring tool and the jarring thud of the hammers.

"What are you going so far down for?" he asked.

"To get into sounder rock. It's costing us considerable time that we
can badly spare, but once or twice I fancied the whole river was
coming in on us. Now we're getting almost through, I want to make
quite sure."

Wheeler nodded. "I guess that's wise. So far, we have come out ahead
of Hutton and the rest of them," he asserted. "Our people hold the
timber rights, and we have got the shingle-splitting plant in. You
headed him off in Waynefleet's case, and there only remains the man
with the old Bush claim. There's, unfortunately, no doubt about his
title to the ranch, and it's a sure thing the folks in the city will
put him up again. Have you heard from him lately?"

"I have," answered Nasmyth, with a smile. "As you know, I made him
half a dozen different offers to buy him out. He naturally didn't
close with them, but he wrote trying to raise me, and kept the thing
up rather well. Of course, it was evident that his friends were quite
willing to let me get most of the work done before they showed their
hand too visibly. I scarcely fancy they know how near we are to
getting through, though that rancher man's lawyer said something
about taking proceedings a little while ago."

"Suppose they went to court, and served you with a notice to quit what
you're doing?"

Nasmyth, turning, pointed with a wet, scarred hand to several holes in
the side of the heading, from which a wire projected.

"Well," he said, "they'd have to serve it, and while their man was
trying to get down the gully I'd rip most of the bottom out of this
strip of canyon. I'm not sure we haven't gone far enough already to
split up the whole ridge that's holding back the river. Still, I'm
going on a little. I mean to make sure." He bent over the machine.
"You have brought up some letters? The man has, perhaps, been trying
to worry me again."

"Two or three," replied Wheeler. "I called at the settlement for them.
One is evidently from a lady."

Nasmyth swung round again and took the little dainty envelope from
him. He smeared it with his wet hands as he opened it, and then his
voice broke sharply through the thud of the hammers.

"Can't you move? I'm too far from that lamp," he said.

He scrambled by Wheeler and crouched close beneath the smoky,
flickering flame, dripping, spattered with mire, and very grim in
face. The note was from Violet Hamilton, and it was brief.

"I should like to see you as soon as you can get away," it read.
"There is something I must say, and since it might spare both of us
pain, I feel almost tempted to try to explain it now. That, however,
would perhaps be weak of me, and I think you will, after all, not
blame me very greatly."

He flung the note down in the water, and straightened himself
wearily.

"I am invited to go down to Bonavista, and it's tolerably clear that
I have another trouble to face," he announced in a dull tone. "In the
meanwhile there's this heading to be pushed on, and it seems to me
that the thing that counts most is what I owe the boys."

Wheeler, who had heard something from Gordon, looked at him with grave
sympathy, but Nasmyth made an expressive gesture as he glanced down at
his attire.

"Well," he remarked, "I probably look very much what I am--a
played-out borer of headings and builder of dams, who has just now
everything against him. Still, I was fool enough to indulge in some
very alluring fancies a little while ago." He turned to Wheeler with a
sudden flash in his eyes. "You can take those letters to Gordon and
tell him to open them. I've a little trouble to grapple with, and I
don't feel inclined for conversation."

Wheeler could take a hint, and he crawled away along the heading,
while Nasmyth toiled for the next half-hour strenuously at the
machine. The perspiration dripped from him. He gasped as he ripped the
handle around; then he let it go suddenly, and his face became softer
as he picked up the letter again.

"Well," he told himself, "I don't think I can blame her, after all,
and with what she has to say it would hurt if I kept her waiting."

He sat down again at the machine, and the boring tool crunched on
steadily into the rock until after some time, a man took his place,
and, crouching in the narrow heading, swung the heavy hammer as they
wedged the extra timbers fast. A faint grey light was creeping into
the eastern sky when Nasmyth crawled out of the heading and scrambled
back to the shanty. Gordon, who was getting up when he entered, looked
at him curiously.

"I'm going into Bonavista after breakfast," Nasmyth said. "I don't
want to leave the boys now, but I can't help it."

Gordon asked no injudicious questions, for Wheeler had mentioned the
letter, and his comrade's voice had its significance for him.

"Then," he said, "I'll tell Mattawa to have the horse ready."

Nasmyth slept soundly until the meal was laid out. He rode into the
settlement a little before dark that night. It was the next afternoon
when he reached Bonavista, and he found Violet Hamilton sitting upon
the veranda alone. She appeared embarrassed when she saw him, and he
leaned against one of the pillars, quietly looking down on her. For a
moment or two neither of them said anything, and it was Nasmyth who
broke the awkward silence.

"I felt very bitter when I got that note," he said. "When I grappled
with the thing, however, I commenced to realize that you might be
right. Of course, I quite realized all you wished to imply."

"Ah!" answered the girl softly, "then you are not very angry with me."
She leaned forward and met his gaze. "I think we were both very nearly
making a terrible mistake."

"I scarcely think that is a thing you could expect me to admit--that
is, at least, as far as my part in it goes," said Nasmyth.

"Still," replied Violet, "you admitted that you felt I might be
right."

She looked anxious, and Nasmyth realized that, since she might have
written what she had to say, it must have cost her a good deal to
break with him personally. The courage which had prompted her to
summon him appealed to him, and, in place of anger, he was conscious
of a certain sympathy for her.

"In one sense you were certainly right," he said. "We belong to
different worlds, and I should never have spoken to you as I did. That
is a thing you must try to forgive me, and you have no reason to
blame yourself. As I told you at the time, you were free."

"Ah!" cried Violet, "you are very generous. After all, I expected that
from you, and I think it will not hurt you very much to give me up."

"I wonder why?" asked Nasmyth gravely.

Violet sat silent a moment or two, and then looked up at him quietly.

"Oh," she said, "you owe so much to that girl in the Bush! She would
always have come between us. I think you made me recognize it when you
told me about her, though it was only by degrees I came to understand
it clearly."

Nasmyth's face flushed. "That," he queried, "is your reason for
wishing to get rid of me?"

Violet looked away from him, and there was a telltale self consciousness
in her manner when she turned to him again. Nasmyth, who noticed it,
winced.

"Well," he hazarded, "it was, perhaps, not the only one."

"No," confessed Violet very softly, "there was another thing which
influenced me rather more."

Nasmyth, who understood her, stood silent a moment or two, with one
hand tightly closed. "In that case there is nothing to be said, and I
must try to face it gracefully," he told her. "Reproaches are not
exactly becoming in the case of a discarded man." He took off his wide
hat as he held out his hand. "Miss Hamilton, the thing naturally hurts
me, but perhaps I cannot reasonably blame you. I'm not sure you could
expect me to go any further now."

"Ah!" exclaimed Violet, "you have made it easy. I would like to assure
you of my good-will."

He held her hand a moment and swung abruptly away. He met Mrs. Acton
as he went down a corridor. He stopped in front of her, and she
looked at him questioningly when she saw his face.

"I have not come up to expectations. It is, perhaps, fortunate Miss
Hamilton found it out when she did," he said.

"Oh!" Mrs. Acton replied, "I told you it would not be well to stay
away very long."

"I scarcely think the result would have been different in any case,"
Nasmyth declared.

Mrs. Acton was silent for a moment. Then she looked at him sharply.

"Where are you going now?" she asked.

"Back to the world I belong to," answered Nasmyth,--"to the railroad,
in the first case. I'm not sure that Miss Hamilton would like to feel
that I was in the house."

Mrs. Acton made no protest, and ten minutes later he had crossed the
clearing and plunged into the Bush.

Mrs. Acton, crossing the veranda, laid her hand on the girl's
shoulder.

"I naturally don't know what he said to you, but I can't help
believing that he acquitted himself rather well," she observed. "After
all, it must have been a little painful to him."

"Perhaps it was," replied Violet. "Still, I don't think it hurt him
dreadfully."

She was more or less correct in this surmise, for, as Nasmyth walked
on through the Bush, he became conscious of a faint relief.




CHAPTER XXXI

THE LAST SHOT


Laura Waynefleet was preparing breakfast, and the door of the ranch
stood open, when she heard the sharp clatter of the flung-down
slip-rails in the fence across the clearing jar upon the stillness of
the surrounding woods. It was early in the morning, and since it was
evident that, if the strangers who were approaching came from the
settlement, they must have set out as soon as it was light, she
decided that their business was probably urgent. Laying down the
frying-pan in which she was making flapjacks, she moved toward the
door, and stood watching two men ride across the clearing in the
direction of the house. They did not belong to the settlement, for she
had never seen either of them before, a fact which made it clear that
they had not ridden in from the canyon. She had quick eyes, and she
noticed that, although they could not have ridden very far that
morning, their horses appeared jaded, which suggested that they had
made a long journey the previous day. The men appeared weary, too, and
she imagined that they were not accustomed to the Bush.

As she watched them she wondered with a trace of uneasiness what their
business could be, and decided that it was, perhaps, as well that her
father was busy in the stable, where he could not hear them arrive.
Since Gordon usually called at the ranch when he went down to the
settlement, she was more or less acquainted with what was being done
at the canyon and with Nasmyth's affairs, and she was on her guard when
one of the strangers pulled his horse up close in front of her.

"Can we hire a couple of horses here?" he asked. "Ours are played
out."

There was then a cayuse pony in Waynefleet's stable, but it belonged
to a neighbouring rancher, and Laura had no intention of handing it
over to the strangers.

"I'm afraid not," she answered. "The only horse on the ranch does not
belong to us, and I wouldn't care to hire it out unless I had
permission. Besides, I may want it myself. You could have obtained
horses at the settlement hotel."

"We didn't put up there."

"But you must have come through the settlement. You have evidently
ridden in from the railroad."

The man laughed. "Well," he admitted, "we certainly did, but we got
off the trail last night, and they took us in at Bullen's ranch. Soon
after we started out a chopper told us we could save a league by
riding up the valley instead of by the settlement. Does the man you
said the horse belonged to live in the neighbourhood?"

Laura did not answer immediately. She was quick-witted, and she
recognized that, while the man's explanation was plausible, there were
weak points in it. For one thing, the previous night had not been
dark, and it was difficult to understand how anyone could have
wandered off the wide trail to the settlement into the one which led
through thick undergrowth to Bullen's ranch. She guessed that the
strangers must have had an object in not visiting the settlement. Then
there was, it seemed to her, something suggestive in the fact that
Bullen, who had a share in Nasmyth's project, and owned several
horses, had not seized upon the opportunity to aid the travellers,
for, if he had not been willing to lend his horses, it could only have
been because he was a little dubious about the strangers.

"The man who owns the horse lives at least an hour's ride away," she
informed the stranger. "You are going on into the Bush?"

"Yes," answered the man. "Can you tell us the easiest way to reach the
canyon?"

Laura was glad that he had asked for the easiest route, for soon after
the snow had gone, Nasmyth had broken out a shorter and somewhat
perilous trail over the steepest part of the divide. Only the
pack-horses now went round by the longer way. She thought hard for a
moment or two, and then told the man how to find the old trail.

He rode away with his companion, and Laura's face was thoughtful when
she sat down again. She made a hasty breakfast, and went out to the
stable. Waynefleet was still busy when she reached it, and she took
down the side-saddle before she turned to him.

"I have left your breakfast ready, but you must excuse me," she
announced; "I am going to the canyon."

Waynefleet raised his brows and looked at her with his most
precise air, but, seeing that had no effect, he made a gesture of
resignation.

"Very well," he said. "I presume you do not, as usual, think it worth
while to acquaint me with your object."

Laura laughed. "I'm not exactly sure of it myself. I may tell you a
little more when I come back."

She led the horse out, and, crossing the clearing, rode hard for a
league or so, and then made sure by the prints of their horses' feet
that the strangers had followed her instructions before she struck
into the shorter trail. It was scarcely wide enough to ride along, and
for a while dense thickets of fern and undergrowth closed in on it.
Further on, it skirted a quaggy swamp, and led through several rapid
creeks, while here and there great fallen trees compelled her to turn
aside, and there were groves of willows to be painfully struggled
through. The cayuse she rode was, however, more or less accustomed to
that kind of work, and she made tolerable progress until she reached
the foot of the big divide. There she dismounted, and led the cayuse
up a steep gully through which a torrent poured. They stumbled amidst
big boulders and over slippery shingle until they reached the head of
the gully, and then there were almost precipitous slopes of rock to be
faced. They climbed for a couple of hours, and Laura gasped with
relief when at last she stood upon the crest of the divide.

The descent was perilous, but already the sun hung low above the
western hills, and she went down in the saddle with the cayuse
slipping and stumbling horribly, until the roar of the river came
faintly up to her. Then she drew bridle, and glanced ruefully at her
attire. Her skirt was rent in places, and one little shoe had burst. A
branch that had torn her hat off had loosened a coil of gleaming hair,
and, anxious as she was, she stopped for several minutes to set these
matters straight as far as it was possible. There was, she felt, after
all, no reason why Nasmyth should see her in that state. Then she rode
on, and a little later a man appeared among the pines at the head of
the gully. She was very weary when she got down beside him.

"Have two strangers arrived here yet?" she asked.

"They haven't," answered the man.

Laura was glad she had undertaken the journey when she saw the sudden
intentness of his face.

"Two of them are on the trail?" he inquired sharply.

"Yes," said Laura. "They have gone round by the pack-horse trail. I
rode in by the new one."

The man was astonished that she had accomplished the trip, and she saw
that he was troubled.

"Well," he advised, "you had better go right on and tell Nasmyth as
quick as you can. It's my business to see no strangers get in, or I'd
go with you."

Laura left the horse with him, and, descending the gully, found an
unusual number of men busy beside the river. In fact, she believed
that all those who had been at work in the valley must have crossed
the range to the canyon. It was also evident from their faces that most
of them were in a state of eager expectation. Something out of the
usual course was clearly going on. She asked for Nasmyth, and a few
moments later he came scrambling towards her along the log staging.
There was, she was quick to notice, a strained look in his eyes, but
he shook hands with her, and then, remembering the state of her
attire, she coloured a little.

"Do you expect two men from the city to-night?" she asked.

Nasmyth started. "I have, at least, been wondering when they would
turn up," he answered. "There are two men of that kind on the trail?"

His voice was sharp and insistent, and Laura told him hastily about
the men who had called at the ranch.

"From what you say, they can't well be here for another hour or two,"
he said, and there was a determined glint in his eyes. "I fancy we'll
be through by then."

He swung around, and raised a hand to the men. "Boys, you'll get the
last holes filled with giant-powder as quick as you can, and couple up
the firing battery. We'll lift that rock right out when you're
ready."

He turned again to Laura. "I'm not sure you understand all that you
have done," he said. "For one thing, I think, you have saved us from
being beaten when what we have fought for was almost in our hand."

He paused for a moment, and then his voice became hoarse as he
indicated the clustering men with a little forceful gesture.

"They have come in to see the last shot fired. We had arranged to put
in a few more sticks of powder, and then lower the river once for all
in another hour or two. Some of the boys are now getting a big supper
ready to celebrate the occasion, but if you hadn't brought us the
warning, it's scarcely likely that any of us would have felt much
inclined for festivity. In all probability, those strangers are
bringing an order to restrain me from going any further. Once it was
in my hands, I could not have fired the shot. All we have done would
have been thrown away."

"Ah!" cried Laura, "that would be intolerable!"

Nasmyth laughed significantly.

"Any way," he declared, "until the papers are served on me, my charter
stands. We'll have scattered the last strip of rock when those men
ride in."

He made her a grave little bow. "You set us to work," he said. "It is
only fitting that you should once more hold the firing battery."

He moved away abruptly from her and crawled into the heading. It was
half an hour later when he came back, and almost every man who had a
share in the undertaking gathered upon the strip of shingle. Nobody
spoke, however, and there was tense expectancy in the bronzed faces.
Nasmyth beckoned to Laura and moved forward with Gordon, and Wheeler,
who carried the battery. Nasmyth swung his battered hat off as he held
out his hand, and Laura, clinging to him, climbed to a shelf of rock
where she stood still a moment or two, looking about her.

In front the white spray of the fall whirled beneath the tremendous
wall of rock, and about her stood groups of hard-handed men, who had
driven the heading with strenuous, insistent toil. She knew what the
work had cost them, and could understand the look in their steady
eyes. They had faced the river in the depths of the tremendous rift,
borne with the icy winter, and patiently grappled with obstacle after
obstacle. Their money had not sufficed to purchase them costly
machines. They had pitted steadfast courage and hardened muscle
against the vast primeval forces of untrammelled Nature. Laura felt
deeply stirred as she glanced at them. They were simple men, but they
had faced and beaten roaring flood and stinging frost, caring little
for the hazard to life or limb as they played their part in that
tremendous struggle with axe and drill.

Suddenly Laura became conscious that Nasmyth, who held up a little box
from which trailed a couple of wires, was speaking.

"Our last dollars bought that powder. Wish us good luck," he said.

Laura stretched out her hands for the box, and standing upon the rock
shelf, with one shoe burst and her skirt badly rent, raised her voice
as she had done in that spot once before.

"Boys," she said, "you have stood fast against very heavy odds. May
all that you can wish for--orchards, oat-fields, wheat, and cattle--be
yours. The prosperity of this country is founded on such efforts as
you have made."

With a little smile in her eyes, she fitted in the firing-plug, and in
another moment a streak of flame that seemed to expand into a
bewildering brilliancy flashed through the spray of the fall. The
flash of light was lost in rolling smoke and a tremendous eruption of
flying rock that rang with deafening detonations against the side of
the canyon. The smoke rolled higher, and still great shattered
fragments came whirling out of it, striking boulder and shingle with a
heavy crash, until the roar of the liberated river rose in tumultuous
clamour and drowned all other sound.

A great foaming wave swept forward, washing high along the bank, and
poured seething down the rapid. Shingle and boulder were lost in it.
It drove on tumultuously, and a mad turgid flood came on behind. Then
it slowly fell away again, and a man, clambering out, in peril of
being swept away, beneath the dripping rock, flung up a hand. His
voice rang harsh and exultant through the sinking roar of the beaten
river.

"We've cut the last ledge clean away," he said.

A great shout went up, and Nasmyth held out his hand to Laura.

"I owe it all to you," he said with a curious gleam in his eyes.

The men trooped about them both, and, though they were not as a rule
effusive, some of them thumped Nasmyth's shoulder and some wrung his
hand. Half an hour had slipped by before he was free of them.

He and Laura went slowly back up the climbing gully. It was growing
dark, but a light still streamed down between the pines, and Nasmyth,
who pointed to a tree that had fallen, stood close by, looking down
upon the girl.

"I will ride back with you presently, but you must rest first; and I
have something to say, though if we had not beaten the river I think I
should never have had courage enough," he said. "When you found me
lying in the snow, you took me in; you nursed me back to life, gave me
a purpose, and set me on my feet again."

He paused for a moment. A flush dyed his worn face, and his voice was
strained when he went on again.

"One result was that I went back to the world I once belonged to--it
was really you who sent me--and you know what befell me there," he
said. "I don't think I quite forgot what I owed to you, but I was
carried away. Still, she recognized her folly and discarded me."

He stopped again, and Laura looked at him steadily with a tinge of
colour in her face.

"Well," he continued, "that was when I commenced to understand exactly
what you had been all along to me. I don't know what came upon me at
Bonavista; but though the thing must seem preposterous, I believe I
was in love with you then. Now I have nothing to bring you. You know
all my weak points, and I could not complain if you would not listen
to me. But I have come back to you again."

"Ah!" answered Laura very softly, "after all, it was fortunate that
you went away. I think it was a relief to me when Wisbech took you to
the city."

Nasmyth looked at her in surprise, and she smiled at him. "Derrick,"
she said, "once or twice when you were building the dam you fancied
that you loved me. I, however, didn't want you to fancy. That was only
going far enough to hurt me."

Nasmyth stooped toward her. "In the height of my folly I had an uneasy
consciousness that I belonged to you. Afterwards I was sure. It was a
very real thing, but I naturally shrank from coming to you. I don't
quite know how I have gathered the courage now."

Laura sat still, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. Then she turned
and looked up at him.

"Well," she confessed very simply, "I think I loved you in the days
when you were building the dam."

He bent down and kissed her, and neither of them ever remembered
exactly what they said.

A few minutes later there was a clatter in the shadow above them, and
two men came scrambling down, each leading a jaded horse. Nasmyth rose
and turned toward them when they stopped close in front of him.

"You have some business with me?" he inquired.

One of them handed him a sealed paper, and he opened it with
deliberation.

"I may as well tell you that I expected this," he said. He glanced at
Laura. "I am summoned to attend in Victoria and show cause why I
should not be restrained from injuring the holding of a rancher at the
head of the valley. In the meantime I am instructed to carry on the
operations in the canyon no further."

He turned to the men. "You should have come along an hour or two ago.
I don't propose to do anything further in the canyon; in fact, I have
accomplished the purpose I had in hand."

As his meaning dawned on them, the men gazed at each other in evident
consternation, until one of them turned to Laura.

"Well," he commented, "in that case I guess it's quite a pity we
didn't, but I begin to understand the thing. This is the young lady
who told us the trail. She must have taken a shorter way."

Laura smiled at him. "You," she reminded him, "seemed anxious to go by
the easiest one."

The other man looked at Nasmyth. "I'm acting for Hutton, and it seems
you have got ahead of him," he observed. "Still, we're both out on
business, and I don't bear you any ill-will. In fact, if you're open
to make any arrangement, I should be glad to talk to you."

Nasmyth smiled as he answered: "You can at least come and get some
supper. I expect the boys will fix you and your horses for the
night."

They went down the gully together, and a few minutes later walked into
the flickering light of a great fire, near which a rudely bountiful
supper had been laid out. Nasmyth pointed to the strangers.

"Boys," he said, "these are the men we expected, but I don't think
they mean to worry us now, and they've had a long ride." He turned to
the strangers. "Won't you sit down?"

There was a great burst of laughter, and one of the strangers smiled.

"We're in your hands, but I don't know any reason why you shouldn't be
generous, boys," he said.

He sat down, but for a moment or two Nasmyth and Laura stood still in
the glare of the fire, and the eyes of everyone were fixed upon them.
Laura's face was flushed, but Nasmyth was calm with a new dignity.

"We have a little more to do, boys, but we have left the toughest of
our troubles behind," Nasmyth spoke in confident tones. "We'll have
another supper when we're through with it, and I'll expect every one
of you at the biggest event in my life."

There was a great shout that rang through the roar of the rapid and
far across the climbing pines. Then the men sat down, and it was a
little while later when their leader and the girl quietly slipped away
from them. Those who noticed this said nothing, and the men still sat
round the snapping fire when Nasmyth and Laura crossed the ridge of
the divide.

There was a moon above them, and the night was soft and clear, while
the Bush rolled away beneath, shadowy and still. Only the turmoil of
the river came faintly up to them. The muffled sound sent a curious
thrill through both of them, but they were silent as they went down
the long slope among the climbing pines. Laura sat in the saddle,
looking out on the silent forest with eyes that shone softly in the
moonlight, and Nasmyth walked beside her, with his hand on the
pack-horse's bridle. They had both borne the stress and strain, but
now as the pack-horse plodded on they were conscious only of a deep
contentment.

THE END





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