CHAPTER XII

THE SACRIFICE

Charnock hesitated about meeting Sadie at breakfast, but found her calm and apparently good-humored. He felt embarrassed and his head ached, but she made him some strong coffee in a way he liked. Sadie did not often sulk, and he was grateful because she said nothing about what had happened on the previous night. Indeed, he was on the point of telling her so, but her careless manner discouraged him and he resolved instead that he would stop gambling and keep as steady as he could. After all, Sadie was really treating him well; she might, for example, have stopped his getting liquor. He meant to brace up and give her no more trouble.

He kept his resolve for a fortnight, and then, one morning, a man brought him a note from Wilkinson, asking him to drive over to the range. Charnock told the man he could not go, but presently put down his pen and looked out of the open window of the office of the store. The last of the snow had vanished some time since, and round white clouds drifted across the sky. Flying shadows streaked the wide plain, which gleamed like silver in the sunshine, and the bleached grass rolled in long waves before the breeze. There was something strangely exhilarating in the air and the dusty office smelt of salt-pork and cheese. It was a glorious day for a drive, he need not stay long at Wilkinson's, and the team needed exercise. Moreover, Sadie was not about and would not come home until afternoon; he might get back before her. He hesitated for a few minutes and then sent an order to the stable.

At midnight he had not returned, and Sadie sat in the office at the hotel, making futile efforts to fix her attention on a newspaper. The guests had gone to bed and the building was very quiet, but she had kept the ostler up. He might be needed and she could trust him not to talk.

At length she heard the sound she listened for. A beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels came down the street. It was their team, she knew their trot, but she wondered anxiously whether Bob was driving. When the rig stopped she went to the door, where the ostler stood with a lantern, and caught her breath as Wilkinson got down. There was nobody else on the seat of the light wagon, and Charnock had set off with a different rig.

"Where's Bob?" she asked in a strained voice.

"We put him inside," said Wilkinson. "He wasn't quite able to sit up. I'd have kept him all night only that I reckoned you might be scared."

Sadie, putting her foot on the wheel when the ostler held up the light, saw Charnock lying on a bundle of sacks. He was in a drunken stupor.

"Help Bill bring him, in," she said with stony calm.

Wilkinson and the other lifted the unconscious man, and staggering along a passage, awkwardly climbed the stairs. They put him on his bed and were going out when Sadie stopped them.

"Thank you, Bill; hold the team for a few minutes," she said and turned to Wilkinson. "I want you to wait in the office."

Then she shut the door, and after unfastening Charnock's collar and vest stood looking at him for a minute or two. He had not wakened, but she had seen him like this before and was not alarmed. His face was flushed and the veins on his forehead were prominent; his clothes were crumpled and sprinkled with bits of hay. Sadie studied him with a feeling of helplessness that changed to contemptuous pity. Her romantic dreams and ambitions had vanished and left her this——

As she turned away her mood changed again. After all, he was her husband and she had schemed to marry him. She was honest with herself about this and admitted that Bob had not really loved her much. But he needed her and she must not fail him. There was some comfort in remembering that he had sought no other woman; her rivals were cards and liquor, and she did not mean that they should win. Obeying a sudden impulse, she turned back and kissed his hot face, and then, noting the smell of whisky, flushed and went out with a firm step.

When she entered the office, however, her face was hard and white. She did not sit down, but leaned against a desk opposite Wilkinson.

"Why did you ask Bob out to the range?"

Wilkinson did not like her look. It hinted that she was in a dangerous mood, but he answered good-humoredly: "I thought he wanted a change. You hold him too tight, Mrs. Charnock. Bob won't stand for being kept busy indoors all day; he won't make a clerk."

"He won't," said Sadie. "I'm beginning to see it now. But you don't care a straw for Bob. You wanted a pick on me because I made you cut out your game that night."

"No," said Wilkinson, with a gesture of protest. "I certainly thought you were too smart, although it was not my business. Anyhow, if you let him have a quiet game with his friends at home—"

"Pshaw! I know you, Jake Wilkinson, better than Bob does. You meant to make him drunk this evening and empty his wallet, and I guess you didn't find it hard."

Wilkinson's face got red, but he saw he would gain nothing by denial. Besides, there was a matter he was anxious about.

"It wasn't hard to empty his wallet, because he had only a few small bills."

"Yes; I fixed that. How much did you win from him when he was drunk?"

"He got drunk afterwards," Wilkinson objected. "Then I didn't win it all; there were three or four others."

Sadie smiled rather grimly. "How much?"

She got a jar when Wilkinson told her, but she fixed him with steady eyes.

"You knew what he had in his wallet, but let him go on? You thought Keller's would stand for the debt?"

"Yes," said Wilkinson, with some alarm; "we certainly thought so."

"Very well. Keller's makes good. Take the pen and right out a bill like this—R. Charnock, debtor in losses on a card game."

"You know it's never done."

"It's going to be done now, or you won't get your cheque. I know what I'm up against in you and your gang."

Wilkinson hesitated, but he needed the money and made out the bill. After examining it, Sadie wrote a cheque.

"I've paid you once, for Keller's sake, but you had better stop the card games after this. Bob's not my partner in the business, and no more of my dollars will go on gambling."

"Ah!" said Wilkinson sharply, "you're smarter than I thought!"

Sadie gave him a searching glance and he noted an ominous tenseness in her pose and her drawn-back lips. He said afterwards that she looked like a wild cat.

"Anyhow, I think I have you fixed. There's nothing doing in making Bob drunk again, but you had better understand what's going to happen if you try. The next time you drive over to the settlement after my husband I'll whip you in the street with a riding quirt."

Wilkinson put the cheque in his pocket and picked up his hat.

"On the whole, I guess I'd better not risk it," he said and went out.

Sadie let him go, and then went limply upstairs. She felt worn out and her brain was dull. She could not think, and a problem that demanded solving must wait until the morning. After looking into the room where Charnock lay and seeing that he was sleeping heavily, she went to bed.

Next morning she shut herself in the office at the store and gave the clerks strict orders that she was not to be disturbed. Opening a drawer, she took out a rough balance sheet, which showed that the business was profitable and expanding fast. Things were going very well, in spite of Bob's extravagance, and she thought she had prevented his wasting any more money. In three or four years she could sell the hotel and store for a large sum and, as she thought of it, give herself a chance.

She was young, clever, and attractive, and had recently tried to cultivate her mind. It was laborious work and she had not much time, but the clergyman of the little Episcopal church gave her some guidance and she made progress. For one thing, she was beginning to talk like Bob and thought he noticed this, although she had not told him about her studies. She meant to be ready to take her part in a wider and brighter life when she left the settlement. Knowing little about large towns, she exaggerated the pleasures they could offer. Montreal, for example, was a city of delight. She had been there twice and had seen the Ice Palace glitter against the frosty sky, the covered skating rinks, the jingling sleighs, and the toboggans rushing down the long, white slides. Then she remembered afternoon drives in summer on the wooded slopes of the Mountain, and evenings spent among the garish splendors of Dominion Park, where myriads of lights threw their colored reflections upon the river. Since then, however, her taste had got refined, and she now admitted that if she lived at Montreal it might be better to cut out Dominion Park.

But she pulled herself up. It looked as if these delights were not for her. She could enjoy them, if she wanted, in a few years' time, but the risk was great. Bob might go to pieces while she earned the money that would open the gate of fairyland. Although she had checked the pace a little, he was going the wrong way fast. Sadie knitted her dark brows as she nerved herself to make a momentous choice.

On the one hand there was everything she longed for; on the other much that she disliked—monotonous work, the loneliness of the frozen prairie in the bitter winter, the society, at very long intervals, of farmers who talked about nothing but their crops, and the unslackening strain of activity in the hot summer. Sadie thought of it with shrinking; she would soon get old and faded, and Bob, for whose sake she had done so, might turn from her. Yet there was danger for him if they stayed at the settlement. He had too many friends and whisky was always about. She must save him from the constant temptation and must do so now.

For all that, she struggled. There were specious arguments for taking the other course. Bob had failed as a farmer and would certainly fail again if left to himself; but farming was the only occupation on the lonely prairie. Loneliness was essential, because he must be kept away from the settlements. But she saw the weak point in this reasoning, because Bob need not be left to himself. She would, so to speak, stand over him and see he did his work. Well, it looked as if she must let her ambitions go, and she got up, straightening her body with a little resolute jerk.

"Tell the boss I want him," she said to the clerk.

Charnock came in, looking haggard and somewhat ashamed, and Sadie knew she had made the right choice when he sat down where the light touched his face. For a moment he blinked and frowned.

"I wish you'd pull down that blind," he said. "The sun's in my eyes, and I can't get round the desk."

Sadie did so, and then silently gave him Wilkinson's bill. He gazed at the paper with surprise, and colored.

"I'd no idea I lost so much. Why did you pay him?"

"Because you can't," said Sadie. "He thought you had a share in the business when he risked his dollars."

"I suppose that means you told him I wasn't your partner?"

"It does."

"I see," said Charnock, with some dryness. "You thought he'd leave me alone if he knew I wasn't worth powder and shot? Well, I believe it's very possible." Then he paused and smiled. "I can imagine his astonishment when you asked for a bill, and must admit that you're a sport. All the same, it's humiliating to have my friends told you don't trust me with money."

"The trouble is I can't trust you. Now you listen, Bob. This tanking and gambling has got to be stopped."

"I'm afraid I've given you some bother," Charnock answered penitently. "For all that, I'm not so bad as I was. In fact, I really think I'm steadying down by degrees, and since you have paid my debts I don't mind promising—"

"By degrees won't do; you have got to stop right off. Besides, you know how much your promises are worth."

Charnock colored. "That's rather cruel, Sadie, but I suppose it's deserved."

"I don't mean what you think; not your promise to Miss Dalton," Sadie answered with some embarrassment. "You told me you wouldn't drive over to Wilkinson's again, and the first time I wasn't about you went. Very well. Since I can't trust you round the settlement, we're going to quit. I've decided to sell out the business as soon as I can get the price I want."

"Sell the store and hotel!" Charnock exclaimed. "I suppose you know you'd get three or four times as much if you held on for a few years."

"That's so. But what's going to happen to you while I wait?"

Charnock turned his head for a moment, and then looked up with a contrite air.

"By George, Sadie, you are fine! But I can't allow this sacrifice."

"You won't be asked," Sadie rejoined with forced quietness. She was moved by Charnock's exclamation, but durst not trust him or herself. There was a risk of his persuading her to abandon the plan if he knew how deeply she was stirred.

"Well," he said, "what do you propose to do?"

"Take a farm far enough from town to make it hard for you to drive in and out. Donaldson's place would suit; he quits in the fall, you know, and we hold his mortgage."

Charnock got up and walked about the floor. Then he stopped opposite his wife.

"You mean well, Sadie, and you're very generous," he said with some emotion. "Still you ought to see the plan won't work. I had a good farm and made a horrible mess of things."

"You won't do that now. I'll be there," Sadie rejoined.

Charnock did not answer, but gave her a curious look, and she pondered for a moment or two. He was obviously moved, but one could not tell how far his emotions went, and she knew he did not want to listen. She understood her husband and knew he sometimes deceived himself.

"No!" He resumed; "it's too big a sacrifice! You like people about you and would see nobody but me and the hired man, while I admit I'm enough to jar a woman's nerves. Then think of the work; the manual work. You couldn't live as the bachelors live among dust and dirt, and it's a big undertaking to keep a homestead clean when you can't get proper help. Besides, there's the baking, cooking, and washing, while you have done nothing but superintend. I'd hate to see you worn and tired, and you know you're not so patient then. I get slack if things go wrong, and if I slouched about, brooding, when I ought to be at work, it would make you worse."

Sadie smiled. "That's very nice, Bob; but how much are you thinking about me and how much about yourself?"

"To tell the truth, I don't know," Charnock replied with naive honesty. "Anyhow, I am thinking about you."

"That is what I like, but there's no use in talking. Since I can make this business go I can run a farm, and see no other way. My plan's made and I'm going to put it over."

Charnock was silent for some moments and then turned to her with a look in his face she had not seen.

"I don't want to farm, but if you can stand it for my sake, I must try. You will need some patience, Sadie—I may break out at times if the strain gets too hard. One can't help running away when one is something of a cur. But I'll come back, ashamed and sorry, and pitch in again. Since you mean to stand by me, perhaps I'll win out in the end."

Bending down suddenly, he kissed her and then went to the door. She heard it shut, and sat still, but her eyes filled with tears. Bob had not promised much, but she thought he meant to keep his word now, and doubts that had troubled her melted away. She did not grudge the sacrifice she had made, for a ray of hope had begun to shine. It was, however, characteristic that after musing for a minute or two she took out some notepaper and began to write. Since the business must be sold, there was nothing to be gained by delay, and she gave a Winnipeg agent clear instructions. Then she went out and hid her annoyance when she saw Charnock sitting languidly on the hotel veranda.

"Has Wilkinson sent back our rig?" she asked.

"He has, but the team has done enough. Where are you going?"

"To look at Donaldson's farm. I want you to come along. Go across and ask Martin if he'll let you have his team."

Charnock got up with a resigned shrug. "You are a hustler, Sadie. It's not many minutes since you decided about the thing."

"I don't see what I'd get by waiting, and you may as well make up your mind that you're going to hustle, too. Now get busy and go for Martin's team."



CHAPTER XIII

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

It was a bright afternoon and white-edged clouds rolled across the sky before a fresh north-west wind when Helen Festing rode up to a birch bluff on the prairie. The trees made a musical rustling as they tossed their branches, tufted with opening leaves. The sweep of white grass was checkered by patches of green that gleamed when the light touched them and faded as the shadows swept across the plain. There was something strangely invigorating in the air, but when she reached the bluff Helen pulled up her horse and looked about.

She missed the soft blue haze that mellowed the landscape among the English hills. Every feature was sharp and the colors were vivid; ocher, green, and silver gleaming with light. Distant bluffs stood out with sharp distinctness. She thought the new country was like its inhabitants; they were marked by a certain primitive vigor and their character was clearly defined. Neither the land nor the people had been tamed by cultivation yet. One missed the delicate half-tones on the prairie, but one heard and thrilled to the ringing note of endeavor.

When she looked west the land was empty to the horizon, and a flock of big sand-hill cranes planed down the wind. An animal she thought was an antelope moved swiftly through the waves of rippling grass. When she turned east she saw a plume of black smoke roll across the sky and the tops of three elevators above the edge of the plain. It was a portent, a warning of momentous change, in which she and her husband must play their part. What that part would be she could not tell, but the curtain was going up, and on the whole she approved the stage and scenery.

Helen had been some time in Canada and did not feel daunted. The sunshine and boisterous winds were bracing; one felt optimistic on the high plains, and the wide outlook gave a sense of freedom. She had many duties, but did not find them burdensome, or feel the strain of domestic labor she had been warned about. For one thing, her money had enabled Festing to arrange his household better than he had expected and hire useful help.

She took a rough trail through the bluff, picking her way among the holes and rotting stumps, and as she rode out the horse plunged. After calming the startled animal she saw a dirty handkerchief snapping in the wind at the top of a stick. Close by a team cropped the grass and the end of a big plow projected from the back of a wagon. There seemed to be nobody about, but after riding on a few yards she saw a man lying among some bushes with a pipe in his mouth. He looked half asleep, but got up as she advanced, and she stopped her horse with a jerk and tried to preserve her calm. Charnock stood looking at her with a half-embarrassed smile.

"Bob!" she exclaimed. "I didn't think I'd ever meet you."

"I hope it wasn't a shock, and we were bound to meet sooner or later. The distance between our homesteads isn't great."

Helen had heard where his homestead was. Indeed, Festing had told her that if he had known Charnock was coming to Donaldson's farm, he would have located farther off. She would sooner have avoided the meeting, but since it had happened, she must not cut it too short.

"But what is the handkerchief for?" she asked. "And why were you lying there?"

"It's a signal of distress. Another trail crosses the rise a mile off, and I was waiting in the hope that somebody might come along."

Helen now noted that a wheel of the wagon leaned to one side, and he remarked her glance.

"The patent bush has got loose in the hub," he resumed. "I took the pin out and then saw I might have trouble if the wheel came off. It has been threatening to play this trick for some time."

"Then why didn't you put the bush right before you started?"

"I don't know. I expect you think it's typical."

Helen laughed. Bob was taking the proper line, and she studied him with curiosity. He looked older than she thought, but remembering Festing's hints, she did not see the mark of dissipation she had expected. Indeed, Charnock, having spent a sober month or two under Sadie's strict supervision, looked very well. His face was brown, his eyes twinkled, and his figure was athletic. He did not seem to need her pity, but she felt compassionate. After all, she had loved him and he had married a girl from a bar.

"But where were you taking the plow?" she asked.

"To the smith's; one of the free preemptors has a forge some distance off, and if I'm lucky, I may find him at home."

"You won't find him at home if you stop here."

"That's obvious," said Charnock. "Still, you see, the plow's too heavy for me to lift out. Unless I do get it out, I can't try to put the wheel right."

"Then why not take it to pieces?"

"The trouble is you need a bent spanner to get at some of the bolts."

"They give you spanners with the plows, and there's a box on the frame to put them in. I've seen Stephen use the things."

"Just so," Charnock agreed. "Stephen's methodical, but when I want my spanner it isn't in the box."

"You never were very careful," Helen remarked.

"I don't know if there's much comfort in feeling that I've paid for my neglect."

Helen smiled; she was not going to be sentimental. "If you mean that you lost the spanner, you don't seem to have suffered much. I think you were asleep when I rode up. But I was surprised to hear you had begun to farm again. Do you like it? And how are you getting on?"

"I like a number of things better, but that's not allowed to make much difference. Sadie has decided that farming is good for me. However, I am making some progress, though as you know my temperament, I'll admit that I'm being firmly helped along."

There was silence for a few moments and Helen pondered. Bob had generally been tactful and she thought his humor was rather brave. He, no doubt, imagined she would soon learn all about his affairs and meant to make the best of things.

In the meantime, Charnock quietly studied her. She looked very fresh and prettier than he thought. Although she had not ridden much in England, he noted the grace and confidence with which she managed the spirited range horse. For all that, he was rather surprised by his sensations. He had expected to feel some embarrassment and sentimental tenderness when they met, but she left him cold; his pulse had not quickened a beat. Still it would be good for Sadie to know Helen, who could teach her much, and she unconsciously gave him a lead.

"Well," she said, "I must get home. I shall, no doubt, see you now and then."

"Not often, if you leave it to accident," he replied with a smile. "If you like to arrange the thing, there's a nice point of etiquette. You occupied your homestead before we came to ours, but you see we were on the prairie first. Anyhow, I'd be glad if you will let me bring Sadie over."

Helen thought he was going too far. She did not want to arrange for a meeting and would sooner not receive his wife. After all, the girl had supplanted her. Still she was curious and could not refuse.

"I'm often busy and daresay Mrs. Charnock is, while Stephen does not stop work until late. However, if you like to take your chance——"

"Thank you," said Charnock; "we'll take the risk of finding you not at home. Now perhaps it wouldn't be much trouble if you told Jasper I'm in difficulties. You'll see his place when you cross the ravine near the bluff."

Helen rode away, but when she saw Jasper's farm it was a mile off the trail and she had to cross a broken sandy belt. For all that, she smiled as she made the round. It was typical of Bob to send her. He might have tethered his horses and walked the distance, but he had a talent for leaving to somebody else the things he ought to do.

After supper she sat on the veranda, while Festing leaned against the rails. The house was built of ship-lap boards, with a roof of cedar shingles, and wooden pillars supporting the projecting eaves. It had been improved and made comfortable with Helen's money, and with the land about it, registered as belonging to her. Festing had insisted on this, rather against her will, because she had meant to make it a gift to him. The wind, as usual at sunset, had dropped, and clear green sky, touched with dull red on the horizon, overhung the plain. The air was cold and bracing; sound carried far, and the musical chime of cowbells came from a distant bluff. There were not many cattle in the neighborhood, but the Government was trying to encourage stock-raising and had begun to build creameries.

Helen meditatively studied her husband. Festing had been plowing since sunrise and looked tired. Something had gone wrong with his gasoline tractor, and she knew he had spent two or three hours finding out the fault. This had annoyed him, because time was valuable and he was impatient of delay. Helen approved his industry and the stubborn perseverance that led to his overcoming many obstacles, but sometimes thought he took things too hard and exaggerated their importance. Now as he leaned against the balustrade he had the physical grace of a well-trained athlete, but she thought his look was fretful and his mind too much occupied.

"I met Bob by the long bluff as I rode home," she said.

Festing looked up sharply. "Well, I suppose you were bound to meet him before long. What was he doing at the bluff?"

"Waiting for somebody to help him with his wagon," Helen answered with a laugh. "A wheel was coming off."

"That was like Bob. He has a rooted objection to helping himself when it means an effort."

"For all that, you were a friend of his."

"I'm not his friend now. I've done with the fellow."

"It's rather awkward," Helen remarked thoughtfully. "He asked if he might bring his wife over, and although I wasn't very gracious, I could not refuse."

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. As I won't have a minute until the sowing is finished, I'll be out when he comes. If he stayed with his work just now, it would be better for him."

Helen was silent for a moment. Stephen was made of much finer stuff than Bob, but he had not the latter's graceful humor and his curtness jarred.

"There's no reason you should resume your friendship if you don't like," she said. "All the same, I think you ought to be polite to my guests."

"I can't pretend. The house is yours, but I don't want the fellow here."

"But why do you dislike him so much?"

"I don't think you need ask me that. It's dangerous ground, but you see——"

"I have forgiven him," Helen answered, smiling. "Indeed, if I hadn't done so long since, it would be easy to forgive him now. At first, I did feel dreadfully humiliated, but I soon saw what he had saved me from. And, of course, if he had kept his promise, I could not have married you."

Festing looked at her with surprise. In spite of her refinement, Helen would now and then talk calmly about matters he shrank from mentioning. But after the lead she had given him he could be frank.

"Well," he said, "I haven't forgiven him yet; I couldn't pretend friendship with anybody who had slighted you. Besides, when I found out how he had cheated me it was the worst moment of my life. I thought you would never speak to me again because, through the fellow's treachery, it was I who hurt you."

"You're very nice, Stephen," Helen replied, coloring. "But that's all finished. Don't you like Bob's wife? I really don't want to meet her, but one mustn't be a coward."

"You couldn't be a coward. Sadie has her virtues and is certainly much too good for Bob, but I don't want her here for all that. Frankly, she's not your sort, and she's meddlesome. I'm not afraid she'll make you discontented, but I can't have a girl like that telling you how your house ought to be run. Although you're a beginner, you manage very well, and I'd object to improvements on somebody else's plan."

Helen smiled. "When you talk like that, you're charming; but we'll say no more about it. You look tired. Are you sure you are not working too hard? The last time Jasper came he seemed surprised when he saw the ground you had broken. I imagined he thought you were trying to do too much."

As she spoke she glanced at the wide belt of plowing that broke the delicate green and silver of the grass. In the foreground, the rows of clods shone with an oily gleam in the fading light. Farther off, the rows converged and melted into a sweep of purple-brown that narrowed as it crossed a distant rise. There were two other belts; one where white grasses broke through the harrow-torn sod, and another flat and smooth where the land-packer had rolled in the seed. All told of strenuous effort in which sweating men and horses had been aided by tractor machines.

"Jasper's conservative and I feel I ought to do as much as I can," Festing replied. "When you bought the place you rather put me on my mettle."

Helen gave him a sharp glance. "I note that you spoke of it as my house when you ought to have said ours. I don't like that, Stephen."

"It is yours. I let you buy it because it's value must go up and the money's safe. I'm glad, of course, that you have comforts I couldn't have given you, but it's my business to support my wife, and I've got to increase my capital. I want to give you things you like, bought with money I have earned."

"You really want to feel independent of me," Helen suggested with a smile. "I suppose it's an honest ambition, but isn't the distinction you try to make ridiculous?"

"Perhaps, in a way," Festing agreed. "All the same, your help makes it my duty to do my best. I don't want to feel I might be forced to fall back on your dollars."

"You are ridiculous, Stephen," Helen rejoined. "However, let's talk about something else."

The talked good-humoredly until the dew and growing cold drove them in. Next morning Helen got up while the sun rose from behind a bluff on the edge of the plain, but when she went out on the veranda she saw the gasoline tractor and gang-plow lurch across the rise. This indicated that Festing had been at work for some time, and she looked thoughtful as she went back into the house.

Stephen was doing too much, and she wondered whether he could keep it up. Things, however, might be easier when the crop was sown, and if not she must insist upon his hiring extra help. She liked to see him keen about his work, but for the last few weeks he had scarcely had a minute to talk to her, and she could not allow him to wear himself out. After all, her money gave her some power, and there was no reason she should not use the power for her husband's benefit.



CHAPTER XIV

SADIE FINDS A FRIEND

The sun shone hot on the rippling grass, but it was cool on the shady veranda where Helen sat in a basket chair. A newspaper lay close by and the loose leaves fluttered now and then, but she did not notice that it was in some danger of blowing away. She had been occupied since early morning, but was not quite asleep, for she was vaguely conscious of a rhythmic drumming. By and by she raised her head with a jerk and glanced at the watch on her wrist. It was three o'clock and she had been dozing for an hour. Then the drumming fixed her attention and she saw a rig lurch along the uneven trail. The horses were trotting fast and there were two people in the light wagon.

Helen saw that one was Charnock. The other, who held the reins, was, no doubt, his wife, and Helen was sorry that Festing was at work beyond the rise. She would have liked him to be there when she received her visitors, but did not think it prudent to send for him. The rig was near the house now, and as she got up her dress moved the newspaper, which was caught by a draught and blew down the stairs and across the grass. It flapped in the fresh wind and fell near the horses' feet.

This was too much for the range-bred animals to stand, and they reared and plunged, and then began to back away from the fluttering white object. Charnock jumped out and ran towards their heads, but Sadie raised her whip with a gesture of command.

"Don't butt in, Bob; I'm going to take them past."

Charnock stood back obediently, though his alert pose hinted that he was ready to run forward if he were needed, and Helen studied his companion.

Sadie, dressed in black and white, with a black feather in her white hat, was braced back on the driving seat, with one hand on the reins while she used the whip. There was a patch of bright color in her face, her eyes flashed, and the rigidity of her figure gave her an air of savage resolution. She looked a handsome virago as she battled with the powerful horses, which plunged and kicked while the wagon rocked among the ruts. Helen watched the struggle with somewhat mixed feelings. This was the girl for whom Bob had given her up!

After an exciting minute or two Sadie forced the horses to pass the fluttering paper, and then pulled them up.

"Where's Stephen?" she asked.

Helen said he was harrowing on the other side of the rise, and Sadie, getting down, signed to Charnock.

"Put the team in the stable, and then go and look for Festing. Don't come back too soon."

Then she came towards the house and Helen felt half-annoyed and half-amused. Stephen did not like to be disturbed when he was busy, and she knew what he thought of Bob. Moreover, she wondered with some curiosity what Mrs. Charnock had to say to her. Sadie sat down and waited until she recovered breath.

"You know who I am," she remarked presently. "Bob can drive all right, but he's too easy with the team. I don't see why I should get down before I want because the horses are scared by a paper."

"Perhaps it was better to make them go on, but they nearly upset you," Helen agreed with a smile.

Sadie gave her a steady, criticizing glance, but her naive curiosity softened her rudeness.

"Well, I wanted to see you. Looks as if Bob was a fool, in one way, but I guess I can see him through what he's up against on the prairie better than you."

Helen had been prejudiced against Mrs. Charnock, but her blunt sincerity was disarming. Besides, she had expected something different; a hint of defiance, or suspicious antagonism.

"It's very possible," she said. "Everything is strange here. I feel rather lost sometimes and have much to learn."

Sadie studied her closely, and after pondering for a few moments resumed: "When I was driving over I didn't know how I was going to take you; in fact, I've been bothering about it for some time. I thought you might be dangerous."

"You thought I might be dangerous!" Helen exclaimed with rising color. "Surely you understand—"

"Now you wait a bit and let me finish! Well, I might have come now and then, found out what I could, and given you a hint or two, until we saw how things were going to be. But that's not my way, and I reckon it's not yours. Very well. We have got to have a talk and put the thing over. To begin with, I somehow feel I can trust you, and needn't be disturbed."

"Then I'm afraid you are rash," Helen rejoined with a resentment that was softened by a touch of humor. "You can't form a reliable opinion, because you don't know me."

"That's so, but I know Bob."

Helen laughed. She ought to be angry, for Mrs. Charnock was taking an extraordinary line. But perhaps it was the best line, because it would clear the ground. She said nothing and Sadie went on:

"How do you like it here?"

"Very much. I like the open country and the fresh air. Then I think I like the people, and one has so much to do that there is not time to feel moody. It's bracing to find every minute occupied by something useful."

"If you feel that way about it, you'll make good. And you've got a fine man for your husband. When Festing first came to the bridge I didn't know if I'd take him or Bob. In fact, I thought about it for quite a time."

Helen's eyes sparkled. Mrs. Charnock was going too far, but she controlled her resentment.

"After all, were you not taking something for granted?"

"Well," said Sadie thoughtfully, "if I'd tried hard, I might have got Steve then, but I don't know if I'd have been any happier with him. He'd have gone his own way and taken me along; a good way, perhaps, but it wouldn't have been mine. Bob's different; sometimes he has to be hustled and sometimes led, but you get fond of a man you must take care of. Then everybody likes Bob, and he kind of grows on you. I don't know how it is, but you can't get mad with him."

Helen thought there was something humiliating to Bob in his wife's patience, but she was moved. Mrs. Charnock loved her husband, though she knew his faults. Then Sadie resumed in a harder voice:

"Anyhow, he's mine and I know how to keep what belongs to me."

"I imagine you will keep him. I have no wish to take him away."

"Well, that's why I came. I wanted to see you, and now I'm satisfied. Bob needs a friend like your husband and he puts Steve pretty high. If you can see your way to let us drive over now and then evenings——"

Helen pondered this. Stephen might object, but he was not unreasonable, and his society would certainly be good for Bob. She was not altogether pleased by the thought of the Charnocks' visits, but Sadie's resolve to help her husband had touched her. Then there was something flattering in the hint that she and Stephen could take a part in his reformation.

"Very well," she said. "I hope you will come when you like. It will do Stephen no harm to get a rest instead of hurrying back to work after supper."

Sadie looked grateful. "We'll certainly come. I've talked to you as I'd have talked to nobody else, but you know Bob most as well as I do. But perhaps there's enough said. Won't you show me the house?"

Helen realized that she had made an alliance with Mrs. Charnock for Bob's protection, and was conscious of a virtuous thrill. The work she had undertaken was good, but she remembered with faint uneasiness that she had pledged her husband to it without his consent. She showed Sadie the house, and while there was much the latter admired, she made, from her larger knowledge of the plains, a number of suggestions that Helen thought useful. By and by Bob returned with Festing for supper, and stopped for another hour. When he and Sadie had gone Festing frowned as he glanced at his watch.

"It's too late to finish the job I wanted to do tonight," he said, and indicated the dark figures of a man and horses silhouetted against the sunset on the crest of the rise. "There's Jules coming home. He couldn't get on without me."

Helen pretended not to notice his annoyance. "After all, you're not often disturbed, and a little relaxation is good. I've no doubt you had an amusing talk with Bob."

"Bob bored me badly, though we didn't talk much. I was driving the disc-harrows and he lay in the grass. I had to stop for a few minutes every time I reached the turning and listen to his remarks."

"And you feel you deserve some sympathy?" Helen said with a laugh. "Well, I suppose it was an infliction to be forced to talk."

Festing's annoyance vanished. "I mustn't make too much of it. I really don't object to talking when I've finished my work."

"When do you finish your work, Stephen?"

"That's a fair shot! In summer, I stop when it's too dark to see. The annoying thing wasn't so much the stopping as Bob's attitude. He lay there with his pipe, looking as if nothing would persuade him to work, and his smile hinted that he thought delaying me an excellent joke. I believe I was polite, but certainly hope he won't come back."

Helen thought it was not the proper time to tell him about the invitation she had given Sadie, and she said, "Idleness seems to jar you."

"It does. I dislike the man who demands the best to eat and drink and won't use his brain or muscle if he can help. In this country, the thing's immoral; the fellow's obviously a cheat. We live by our labor, raising grain and cattle—"

"But what about the people in the towns?"

"A number of them handle our products and supply us with tools. Of course, there are speculators and real-estate boomsters who gamble with our earnings, but their job is not as easy as it looks. They run big risks and bear some strain. Still, if it was left to me, I'd make them plow."

Helen laughed. "You're rather drastic, Stephen; but if one takes the long view, I dare say you are right."

"Then let's take the narrowest view we can. When a farmer who hasn't much money loafs about the poolroom and lies on his back, smoking, it's plain that he's taking advantage of somebody else. Perhaps the thing's shabbiest when he puts his responsibilities on his wife. That's what Bob does."

"I'm afraid he does," Helen admitted, and mused, while Festing lighted his pipe.

Stephen was not a prig and she recognized the justice of his arguments, but he was rather hard and his views were too clear-cut. He saw that a thing was good or bad, but could not see that faults and virtues sometimes merged and there was good in one and bad in the other.

"Well," she said, "I like Mrs. Charnock, and she is certainly energetic and practical. She went over the house and suggested some improvements. For example, you are building a windmill pump for the cattle, and it wouldn't cost very much to bring a pipe to the house. A tap is a great convenience and would save Jules' time filling up the tank."

"It will need a long pipe and cost more than Sadie thinks, but I'll have it done. However, I wish I had thought of it and she hadn't made the suggestion. I don't want Sadie interfering with our house."

"But you don't dislike Mrs. Charnock."

"Not in a way; but I don't know that I want to see her here. Sadie has a number of good points, but she's rather fond of managing other folks' affairs. Then she's not your kind."

On the whole, Helen was not displeased. Mrs. Charnock's bold statements that she could have got Stephen if she had wanted had jarred, but it looked as if she had made an empty boast.

"I thought you were a democrat," she remarked, smiling.

"So I am, in general; but when it's a matter of choosing my wife's friends, I'm an exclusive aristocrat. That's the worst of having theories; they don't apply all round."

Helen thought his utilitarian dislike of idleness was open to this objection, but it was not the time to urge Bob's cause. She would wait for another opportunity, when Stephen had not been delayed, and she made him a humorous curtsey.

"Sometimes you're rather bearish, and sometimes you're very nice," she said, and went into the house.

The Charnocks returned a week later and came again at regular intervals, while Helen rode over to their house now and then. Festing refused to accompany her and sometimes grumbled, but on the whole tolerated Charnock's visits so long as they did not delay his work. Nothing must be allowed to interfere with that, for he was uneasily conscious that he had set himself too big a task. His dislike to using his wife's money had spurred him on, and he had sown a very large crop at a heavy expense for labor, horses, and machines. Now he must spare no effort to get his money back, and much depended on the weather. Indeed, he was beginning to feel the strain of the unrelaxing exertion and care about details, and this sometimes reacted upon his temper. Still he must hold out until the crop was reaped, after which he could go easy during the winter months.

One hot afternoon, he lay under a mower in a sloo where the melted snow had run in spring and the wild grass now grew tall. It made good hay and the fierce sun had dried it well, so that he had only to cut and haul it home; but something had gone wrong with the machine, and after taking out the broken knife he dismantled the driving gear. When he crawled out, with a greasy cogwheel in his hand, he was soaked with perspiration and his overalls were stained by oil. The mosquitoes, that did not as a rule venture out in the strong wind and sun, had bitten him badly while he lay in the grass.

"You had better wait for ten minutes and take a smoke," said Charnock, who had come up quietly and sat in the shade of the partly-loaded wagon. "You'll get on faster when you have cooled down."

"You believe in waiting, don't you?" Festing rejoined.

Charnock laughed. "I feel justified in going slow just now. Sadie has given me a day off, and when she doesn't think I ought to work it certainly isn't necessary. It saves you some bother if you can leave that sort of thing to your wife."

"Pshaw!" said Festing. "You make me tired."

He picked up the broken knife and looked at Charnock. Bob was bantering him, exaggerating his slackness. As a matter of fact, the fellow was not so lazy as he pretended; Sadie was beginning to wake him up. Stephen did not know if he had forgiven him or not, but they had gradually dropped back into something like their old relations.

"You might take off the broken blades," he resumed. "You'll find new ones in the box. They ought to be riveted, but if you use the short bolts and file down the nuts, I dare say they'll run through the guides."

Then he crawled back under the machine and did not come out until he head a rattle of wheels. Wilkinson, whom he knew and disliked, stopped his team close by and began to talk to Charnock. This annoyed Festing, because he was nearly ready to replace the knife.

"I called at your place and found you were out," Wilkinson remarked. "They told me where you had gone, and when I saw Festing's wagon I reckoned you might have gone with him. You come here pretty often, don't you?"

"Steve's patient," Charnock replied with a twinkle. "I'm not sure he enjoys my visits, but he puts up with them."

"Well, I want you to drive over to-morrow evening. A man you know from Winnipeg is coming to see me about a deal in Brandon building lots. The thing looks good and ought to turn out a snap."

"The trouble is I haven't much money to invest," Charnock answered, and Festing thought he was hesitating. It looked as if Wilkinson had not seen him yet, for he was standing behind the machine.

"I understand you have a bigger interest in the farm than you had in the hotel and something might be arranged. Anyhow, come over and hear what our friend has to say."

"You'll be a fool if you go, Bob," Festing interposed.

"I don't know that this is your business," Wilkinson rejoined. "I haven't suggested that you should join us."

"You know I wouldn't join you. I had one deal with you, and that's enough. No doubt you remember selling me the brown horse."

"You tried the horse before you bought him."

"I did. He was quiet then, but I've since suspected that he was doped. Anyhow, he nearly killed my hired man."

Wilkinson laughed. "You had your trial and backed your judgment. Know more about machines than horses, don't you?"

"I didn't know the man I dealt with then. You warranted the brute good-tempered and easy to drive. I'll give you five dollars if you'll take him out of the stable and harness him now."

"I haven't time," said Wilkinson. "Didn't charge you high and guess you've got to pay for learning your business. The trouble is you're too sure about yourself and reckoned you'd make a splash at farming without much trouble. Anyhow, I don't want to sell Charnock a horse; he's a better judge than you."

"He's not much judge of building lots. If your friend has got a safe snap, why do you want to let Charnock in?"

Wilkinson began to look impatient. "I came over to talk to Charnock, and if he likes the deal it's not your affair."

"It is my affair if you stop him when he's helping me," Festing rejoined. "If he's a fool, he'll talk to you some other time; if he's wise, he won't. Just now I'd sooner you drove off my farm."

Wilkinson gave him a curious look. "Very well. I reckon the place is yours; or your wife's." Then he turned to Charnock. "Are you coming over, Bob?"

"No," said Charnock, irresolutely, "I don't think I will."

He lighted his pipe when Wilkinson started his team, and presently remarked: "On the whole, I'm glad you headed him off, because I might have gone. You mean well, Stephen, but that man doesn't like you, and I've sometimes thought he doesn't like Sadie."

"It doesn't matter if he likes me or not," said Festing. "Let's get on with the mower."



CHAPTER XV

THE CHEQUE

The North-west breeze was fresher than usual when, one afternoon, Helen rode through a belt of sand-hills on her way to the Charnock farm. Clouds of dust blew about the horse's feet, and now and then fine grit whistled past her head. She had her back to the boisterous wind, but she urged the horse until they got behind a grove of scrub poplars. Then she rolled up her veil and wiped her face before she looked about.

Round, dark clouds rolled across the sky, as they had done since spring, but for nearly a month none had broken. A low ridge, streaked by flying shadows, ran across the foreground, and waves of dust rose and fell about its crest. Sandy belts are common on parts of the prairie, and when they fringe cultivated land are something of a danger in a dry season, because the loose sand travels far before the wind.

Beyond the sand-hills, the level grass was getting white and dry, and in the distance the figures of a man and horses stood out against a moving cloud of dust. Helen supposed he was summer-fallowing, but did not understand the dust, because when she last passed the spot the soil looked dark and firm. She remembered that Festing had been anxious about the weather.

Riding on, she saw the roof of the Charnock homestead above a straggling bluff, and her thoughts centered on its occupants. Strange as the thing was, she had come to think of Sadie as her friend. Her loyalty and her patience with her husband commanded respect, and now it looked as if they would be rewarded. Bob was taking an interest in his farm and had worked with steady industry for the last month or two. Helen thought she deserved some credit for this; she had had a part in Bob's reformation and had made Stephen help.

Sadie trusted her, and no suspicion or jealousy marked their relations. Indeed, Helen wondered why she had at one time been drawn to Bob. Were she free to do so, she would certainly not marry him now. Still she had loved him, and this gave her thoughts about him a vague, sentimental gentleness. It was a comfort to feel that she had done something to turn his wandering feet into the right path.

When she reached the homestead she found Sadie looking disturbed. Her face was hard, but her eyes were red, and Helen suspected that she had been crying. It was obvious that something serious had happened, because Sadie's pluck seldom broke down.

"I'm glad you came," the latter said. "I'm surely in trouble."

Helen asked what the trouble was, and Sadie told her in jerky sentences. Charnock had started for the railroad early that morning, and after he left she discovered that he had written a cheque, payable to Wilkinson.

"It's not so much the money, but to feel he has cheated me and broken loose when I thought he was cured," she concluded. "He has been going steady, but now that brute has got hold of him he'll hang around the settlement, tanking and betting, for a week or two. Then he'll be slack and moody and leave the farm alone, and I'll have to begin the job again."

Sadie paused, with tears in her eyes, and then pulled herself together. "Pshaw!" she said, "I'm a silly fool. Before you came I thought I'd quit and let Bob go his own way; but I'm not beaten yet. If Wilkinson wants him, there's going to be some fight. Now, I want you to ride over with me to the fellow's place."

Helen felt sympathetic. Sadie's resentment was justified, and she looked rather refined when angry. Her stiff pose lent her a touch of dignity; her heightened color and the sparkle in her eyes gave her face the charm of animation. Moreover, her want of reserve no longer jarred. Reserve is not very common on the plains.

"But you must tell me something about it first," Helen replied. "How did you find out he had written the cheque?"

"I suspected something after he'd gone and looked for his cheque-book. He'd torn out a form, but hadn't filled up the tab. Bob's silly when he's cunning and didn't think about his blotter. The top sheet was nearly clean and I read what he'd written, in a looking-glass."

"Why did he give Wilkinson the money?"

"I guess it's to speculate in wheat or building-lots, and Bob will certainly lose it all; but that's not what makes me mad. After all, it's his money; he's been saving it since he steadied down. I can manage Bob if he's left alone, and thought I'd cut out the friends he shouldn't have. Wilkinson was the only danger left, but he's a blamed tough proposition."

Helen knew Festing disliked the man, but she felt puzzled. "The sum is not very large," she said. "I don't quite see why Wilkinson thought it worth while——"

"It shows he's pinched for money, and there's some hope in that. Then he doesn't like me, and I imagine he has a pick on your husband. Stephen froze him off one day when he was getting after Bob. Anyhow, I mean to get the money back."

"But can you? It is Bob's cheque."

"I'm going to try. The bank deals with me," Sadie answered. "But come along; I hear the hired man bringing the rig."

When they got into the vehicle, Helen remarked that Sadie had brought a flexible riding whip. Since the quirt was useless for driving, Helen wondered what she meant to do with it. The trail they took ran through the grass, a sinuous riband of hard-beaten soil that flashed where it caught the light. It was seamed by ruts and fringed by wild barley but in places the grass had spread across it, leaving gaps, into which the horses' legs and the wheel sank. The smell of wild peppermint rose from among the crackling stalks as the team brushed through. Now and then a prairie-hen got up, and small animals, like English squirrels, squatted by the trail until the wheels were nearly upon them, and then dived into holes.

"The gophers are surely plentiful," Sadie remarked. "Don't know that I've seen so many around before, and that's going to be bad for the grain. They're generally worst when the crop is poor."

"Do you think the crop will be poor?"

Sadie glanced at the sky, which was a dazzling blue, flooded with light, except where the scattered clouds drove by.

"We didn't get the June rains, and the frost-damp has gone down pretty deep. Then we have had very few thunder-storms, and the sand is blowing bad. It makes trouble in parts of Manitoba, but the scrub trees in our sand-hills generally hold it up. What does Steve think?"

"He hasn't told me. Sometimes he looks anxious, but he doesn't talk about it much."

"That's Steve's way. I don't know if it's a good way. He sees when he's up against a hard thing and makes his own plans. Now I want to know my husband's troubles. You feel better when you can talk."

Helen agreed with Sadie; she often wished Stephen would talk to her about his anxieties. He wanted to save her and had confidence in himself, but she felt that he left her out too much.

"How does the sand damage the wheat?" she asked.

"Cuts the stalk. Takes time, of course, but the sharp grit puts down the grain like a binder knife, if it blows through the field long enough. However, I'm not worrying much about that; there are worse things than the sand and drought. We're fools and make our real troubles; that's what's the matter with us."

Helen smiled. Sadie was amusing when philosophized, but Helen thought her views were sound. She had chosen a stern country, but its stinging cold and boisterous winds were invigorating, and with pluck one could overcome its material obstacles. It was human weaknesses that made for unhappiness.

"Well," she said, "we must hope the rain will come; but hadn't we better go by the long bluff? The new man has put a fence across the other trail."

Sadie left the trail, and as they crossed a hollow the tall grass rustled about the horses' legs. It had lost its verdure; the red lilies and banks of yellow flowers had withered on their parched stalks. When they reached the level the grass was only a few inches high and the wide plain rolled back in the strong light, shining pale-yellow and gray. It was only when the shadows passed that one could see streaks and patches of faded green. In the distance a cluster of roofs broke the bare expanse, and Helen knew they marked the Wilkinson ranch. A horse and buggy approached it, looking very small, and she glanced at Sadie, who said nothing, although her face was stern. By and by the latter stopped her team in front of the homestead and fastened the reins to a post.

"Now," she said, "you sit on the veranda and wait for me. It was Wilkinson's rig we saw, and I'll find him in."

Wilkinson looked up from the table at which he was writing when Sadie entered the room. He was, on the whole, a handsome man, but was rather fat, and his black eyes were unusually close together. This perhaps accounted for the obliquity of his glance, which, some believed, conveyed a useful hint about his character. He was neatly dressed in light, summer clothes, although the farmers generally wore brown overalls. As he got up his look indicated that he was trying to hide his annoyance.

"This is something of a surprise, Mrs. Charnock," he said politely. "However, if there's anything I can do—"

"You can sit down again in the meantime," Sadie replied, and occupied a chair opposite, with the quirt on her knee. "To begin with, if you're writing to your Winnipeg friend, you had better wait a bit."

"I'm not writing to Winnipeg; but don't see what this has to do with your visit."

"Then you haven't sent off Bob's cheque yet! I mean to get it back."

Wilkinson saw that he had made a rash admission. Mrs. Charnock was cleverer than he thought.

"If Bob wants it back, why didn't he come himself?"

"He doesn't know I have come," Sadie answered calmly.

Wilkinson studied her and did not like her look. Her face was hard, her color higher than usual, and her eyes sparkled ominously.

"Well," he said, "you told me you would pay no more of your husband's debts, but this is not a debt. Besides, the money must be Bob's, since he gave me the cheque."

"Why did he give it you?"

The question was awkward, because Wilkinson did not want to state that he had persuaded Bob to join him in a speculation. This was the best construction that could be put upon the matter, and he did not think it would satisfy Mrs. Charnock.

"Why does a man give another a cheque?" he rejoined, with a look of good-humor that he did not feel.

"The best reason I know of is—for value received. But this doesn't apply. You allowed it wasn't a debt, so Bob has got no value."

"One sometimes pays for value one expects to get."

Sadie laughed scornfully. "If that's what Bob has done, he'll get badly stung. There's nothing coming to him from a deal with you. I guess you don't claim he made you a present of the money?"

"I don't," said Wilkinson, with a frown, for he thought he saw where she was leading him.

"Very well. One pays for something one has got or is going to get, and as we can rule out both reasons, the cheque is bad. In fact, it's not worth keeping. Better give it me back."

"Your argument looks all right, Mrs. Charnock, but you don't start from sure ground. How do you know there's nothing coming to your husband?"

"I know you," Sadie rejoined. "Anyhow, the cheque is certainly bad. They'll turn it down if you take it to the bank."

Wilkinson made an abrupt movement. "You can't stop your husband's cheque. You don't mean he hasn't the dollars to meet it?"

"I don't," said Sadie, with an angry flush. "Bob is honest. The money's there, but if you think the bank will pay when I tell them not, go and see. The manager knows me and he knows you."

Wilkinson saw that he was beaten, but tried to hide his anger. "Well, it looks as if Bob was lucky. He has a wife who will take care of him, and I reckon he needs something of the kind. However, here's the cheque; I want a receipt."

Sadie wrote the receipt and he noted that her hand shook. As she got up he glanced at the quirt.

"Did you ride over? I thought I heard a rig."

"I drove," said Sadie. "Looks as I needn't have brought the quirt. Well, I'm glad you agreed about the cheque being bad. I meant to get it anyhow."

Wilkinson gave her a curious look, but said nothing and she went out.

"I've saved Bob's money," she told Helen as she started the team. "Wilkinson saw my arguments and didn't kick as much as I expected, but he certainly doesn't like me any better. I think he'll make trouble if he can."

"That seems unlikely," Helen remarked. "I imagine that as you have beaten him he'll be glad to let the matter drop. No doubt he wanted the money and was vexed because he had to give it up, but I hardly think he'll try to revenge himself on you. Men don't do these things."

"My husband and yours don't, but Wilkinson is different," Sadie answered.

Charnock had not returned when she reached the farm, and after Helen left she sat on the veranda, feeling disturbed. Bob had told her he was going to the railroad to bring out some goods, but he could have got back two or three hours earlier. Then Wilkinson no doubt knew where he had gone. A small settlement, with two new hotels, had sprung up round the station, and as the place was easily reached by the construction gangs there was now and then some drunkenness and gambling. For all that, Sadie did not mean to anticipate trouble, and set about some household work that her drive had delayed. It got dark before she finished, but Bob did not come, and she went outside again.

The night was clear and refreshingly cold after the scorching day. The wind had dropped, everything was very quiet, and she could see for some distance across the plain. The hollows were picked out by belts of darker shadow, and the scattered bluffs made dim gray blurs, but nothing moved on the waste, and she did not hear the beat of hoofs she listened for.

For a time she sat still, lost in gloomy thought. Bob's relapse had been a bitter disappointment, because she had begun to hope that the danger of his resuming his former habits was past. He had stuck to his work, which seemed to absorb his interest, and had looked content. There was ground for believing that with a little judicious encouragement he might make a good farmer, and Sadie did not grudge the patient effort necessary to keep him in the proper path. Now he had left it again and might wander far before she could lead him back.

For all that, she did not mean to give up. She had fought hard for Bob and was resolved to win, while there was a ray of comfort. The woman she had at first thought a danger was her best friend, and she felt for Helen Festing a grateful admiration that sometimes moved her deeply. Helen had many advantages that she could not have combated had they been used against her: grace, polish, and a knowledge of the world in which Bob had lived. But Helen was on her side. Sadie's admiration was perhaps warranted, but she undervalued her own patience and courage.

At length she got drowsy and forgot her troubles. She did not think she really went to sleep, but after a time she got up with a start. A beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels had roused her, and she saw a rig coming towards the house. For a minute or two she stood shivering and trying to brace herself. If Bob was driving, things might be better than she thought; but when the horses stopped another man got down.

"Perhaps you'd better rouse out your hired man, Mrs. Charnock," he said awkwardly. "I've got your husband here, but it's going to take two of us to bring him in."

Sadie brought a lamp and, with her mouth firmly set, looked into the rig. Bob lay upon some sacks in an ungainly attitude, and the jolting had not broken his heavy sleep. It was some time since he had come home like this, and Sadie felt dejected and tired. Then with an effort she went to waken the hired man.

They carried Charnock in, and when she had given the driver some money she sat down and indulged her passionate indignation. Wilkinson had sent the rig, but had not been prompted by kindness when he told the man to drive Bob back; it was his revenge for his defeat. He had found Bob, made him drunk, when there was nothing to be gained by doing so, and sent him home like this. The fellow was poison-mean, but she thought him rash. He had struck her a cruel blow, but she did not mean to sit still and nurse the wound. She must strike back with all the force she could use and make him sorry he had provoked her to fight. Then, putting off her half-formed plans until next day, she went to bed.



CHAPTER XVI

A COUNTER-STROKE

When Sadie got up next morning she ordered the buggy to be brought round, and then went to look at Charnock. He was asleep, of which she was rather glad, because there was something to be said and she was highly strung. She could not trust her temper yet and might go too far. Bob was generally docile, particularly when repentant; but it was possible to drive him into an obstinate mood when nothing could be done with him. She was angry, but her anger was mainly directed against Wilkinson.

After breakfast she drove off across the plain. It was about eight o'clock, but the sun was hot. The breeze was not so fresh as usual, and a bank of dark clouds rolled up above the prairie's edge. They looked solid and their rounded masses shone an oily black, and she wondered whether they promised one of the thunder-storms that often broke upon the plains on summer afternoons. She would have welcomed the savage downpour, even if it had spoiled her clothes.

Sadie was getting anxious about the crop. Its failure would mean a serious loss, and she hated to see labor and money wasted; but this was not all. Knowing the risks the farmer ran on newly-broken land, she had not adventured too much of her capital on the first year's harvest; but success might encourage Bob, while failure would certainly daunt him. He would work for an object he was likely to gain, but if disappointed, regretted the exertions he had made, and refused, with humorous logic, to be stirred to fresh effort.

"I'm not convinced that farming's my particular duty," he once said. "When I plow it's in the expectation of cashing the elevator warrants for the grain. If I'm not to reap the crop, it seems to me that working fourteen hours a day is a waste of time that might be agreeably employed in shooting or riding about."

Sadie urged that one got nothing worth having without a struggle. Bob rejoined: "If you get the thing you aim at, the struggle's justified; if you don't you think of what you've missed while you were uselessly employed. Of course, if you like a struggle, you have the satisfaction of following your bent; but hustling is a habit that has no charm for me."

Sadie reflected that the last remark was true. Bob never hustled; his talk and movements were marked by a languid grace that sometimes pleased and sometimes irritated her. It was difficult to make him angry, and she was often silenced by his whimsical arguments when she knew she was right. But he was her husband, and she meant to baulk the man who hoped to profit by his carelessness.

Then she urged the horse. It was a long drive to the settlement where she had kept the hotel, and she had not been there for some time. The goods she and her neighbors bought came from the new settlement on the railroad, which was not far off; but she had an object in visiting the other. It was noon when she reached the hotel and sat down to dinner in the familiar room. She did not know if she was pleased or disappointed to find the meal served as well as before, but her thoughts were not cheerful while she ate. She remembered her ambitions and her resolve to leave the dreary plains and make her mark in Toronto or Montreal. Now her dreams had vanished and she must grapple with dull realities that jarred her worse than they had done.

The dining-room was clean, but unattractive, with its varnished board walls, bare floor, and wire-mesh filling the skeleton door, which a spring banged to before the mosquitoes could get in. There were no curtains or ventilator-fans, the room was very hot, and the glaring sunshine emphasized its ugliness. Then it was full of flies that fell upon boards and tables from the poisonous papers, and a big gramophone made a discordant noise. Sadie remembered Keller's pride in the machine and how he had bought it, to amuse the boys, after hearing an electric organ in a Montreal restaurant. Yet she knew her craving for society must be gratified at such places as this; a rare visit to the settlement was the only change from monotonous toil.

When she offered her meal-ticket at the desk the clerk shook his head.

"You don't need to open your wallet in this house. The boss left word he'd be glad to see you at the store."

Sadie, who had meant to see the proprietor, complied, and found him and his wife in the back office, where she and Bob had often sat. The woman gave Sadie a friendly smile.

"I hope they served you well. When you're in town we want you to use the house like it still belonged to you."

Sadie made a suitable reply. She had charged a good price for the business, but had stuck to the Keller traditions and made a straight deal. Stock and furniture had been justly valued, and when the buyers examined the accounts she had frankly told them which debts were doubtful and which were probably bad. It was about these things they wished to talk to her, and she meant to indulge them.

"How's trade?" she asked, to give them a lead.

"In one way, it's good," replied the man. "We're selling out as fast as we can get the truck; but there's a point I want your views about. The cheque I gave you wiped off most all the capital I had, wholesalers put up their prices if you make them wait, and a number of the boys have a bad habit of letting their bills run on. Now, if you can give me some advice——."

"Certainly," said Sadie, who thought the woman looked anxious. "Suppose you read out the names and what they owe?"

The man opened a ledger, and she told him what she knew about his customers; whom he could trust and whom he had better refuse further credit. Then she looked thoughtful when he said: "Wilkinson, of the range—"

"He didn't deal with us."

"But you know everybody round here and can tell me if he's likely to make good," the man urged.

"How much does he owe you?" Sadie asked.

The man named a rather large sum and she pretended to consider.

"Well," she replied, "the boys have probably told you that Wilkinson's not a friend of mine, and since that's so I'm not going to say much about his character."

"It's not his character we're curious about. Do you know how he's fixed?"

Sadie was silent for a few moments. The others were young and newly married and had admitted that the purchase of the business had strained their resources. It was plain that a large bad debt might involve them in difficulties. Wilkinson had forced her to fight, and she meant to show him no mercy, but she must say nothing that could afterwards be brought up against her.

"Character counts for as much as dollars," she remarked. "That was my father's motto, and he was never afraid to take steep chances by backing an honest man. Although he had debts on his books for three or four years, it was seldom a customer let him down. But he cut out a crook as soon as he suspected what the fellow was. However, you want to know how Wilkinson stands? Well, it's a sure thing he finds dollars tight."

"Anyhow, a man can't disown his debts in this country."

"That's so; but if he's a farmer, the homestead laws stop your seizing his house and land and part of his stock, unless he has mortgaged them to you. If somebody else holds a mortgage, you generally get stung."

"The trouble is that if you're too hard on a customer, he tells his friends, and the opposition gets his trade and theirs."

"Sure," said Sadie, "Keller's let the opposition have that kind of trade. A crook's friends are generally like himself, and there's not much profit in selling goods to folk who don't mean to pay."

"Has Wilkinson given a mortgage?" the man asked.

"If he had, it's got to be registered. You can find out at the record office, and I guess it would pay you to go and see."

"Well, I hear he's just sold a good bunch of horses. That means he'll have some money for a while."

"Then you had better take your bills over and get them paid before the money's gone," Sadie answered in a meaning tone.

"If you had the store, would you risk his being able to pay all right and afterwards dropping you?"

"I certainly would," said Sadie. "I'd harness my team and start for the range right now."

The woman looked at her husband. "That's my notion, Tom; you'd better go," she said, and turned to Sadie. "It would hit us hard if Wilkinson's bill got much longer and he let us down."

Sadie left them and went to a new store farther up the street, after which she called on an implement dealer who occasionally speculated in real estate and mortgages, and one or two others. She knew them all, and they knew that on business matters her judgment was sound. It was plain that they were suspicious about Wilkinson, but, so far, undecided what to do. They had doubts, but hesitated to admit that they had been rash, and shrank from using means that might cost them a customer. Sadie gave one information she had gathered from another, and added hints of what she herself knew. The tact she used prevented their guessing that she had an object, and she did little more than bring their own suspicions to a head; but she was satisfied when she returned to the hotel.

When the horse had rested she drove out of the settlement. For some distance a wire fence ran along the dusty, graded road, but it ended at a hollow, seamed by deep ruts that united on the other side, where a trail emerged. Then for a mile or two, she passed new scattered homesteads with their windmills and wooden barns, until these dropped behind and she drove across the empty wilderness. No rain had fallen, the sky was getting clear and green, and a vivid crimson sunset burned on the edge of the grass. The air was now cool, and although she was anxious about the weather, Sadie felt more cheerful than when she had come.

She had no scruples about what she had done. For one thing, she had kept to the truth when she might have made her hints more damaging by a little exaggeration. Her antagonist had struck her a treacherous blow; he was dangerous, and must be downed. Then she smiled with grim humor as she admitted that she had perhaps done enough for a time. Wilkinson's creditors were on his track; it would be amusing to watch them play her game.

It was dark when she reached the farm and found Charnock waiting on the veranda. He looked dull but not embarrassed, and there was nothing to indicate that he had been disturbed by her absence. Sadie did not tell him where she had been and did not talk much. She had found out that it was better not to make things too easy for Bob.

"I suppose you have a headache; you deserve it," she said. "I'm tired and don't want to hear your excuses now."

"I really haven't begun to make excuses," Charnock answered.

"Then don't begin. It's late, and you have got to start for the bluff at sun-up and haul those fence-posts home. The job has been hanging on too long and must be finished to-morrow."

"It will be finished before dinner," Charnock replied. "As a matter of fact, I brought in most of the posts to-day."

Sadie's look softened, but she did not mean to be gracious yet.

"I reckoned you'd be loafing round the house and finding fault," she said and left him.

When she had gone Charnock smiled. Sadie would, no doubt, come round to-morrow, and it was lucky she knew nothing about the cheque he had given Wilkinson; but he wondered where she had been. Now he came to think of it, Wilkinson had said nothing abut the cheque when they met at the railroad settlement; but after all there was perhaps no reason he should do so.

About seven o'clock one evening a fortnight later, Festing threw down the cant-pole he had been using to move a big birch log, and lighting his pipe, stopped and looked about. A shallow creek flowed through a ravine at the edge of the tall wheat, and below the spot where he stood its channel was spanned by the stringers of an unfinished bridge. The creek had shrunk to a thread of water, but Festing, who had been wading about its bed, was wet and splashed with mire. Moreover he had torn his threadbare overalls and his hot face was smeared where he had rubbed off the mosquitoes with dirty hands.

The evening was hot, he felt tired and moody, and his depression was not relieved when he glanced at the wheat. There was no wind now, but the breeze had been fresh, and the ears of grain that were beginning to emerge from their sheaths dropped in a sickly manner. The stalks had a ragged look and fine sand lay among the roots. The crop was damaged, particularly along its exposed edge, although it might recover if there was rain. Festing, studying the sky, saw no hope of this. The soft blue to the east and the luminous green it melted into, with the harsh red glare of the sinking sun, threatened dry and boisterous weather. Unless a change came soon, the wheat would be spoiled.

It was obvious that he had sown too large a crop, and the work this implied had overtaxed his strength. He had felt the strain for some time, and now things were going against him it got worse. Hope might have braced him, but the thought of failure was depressing. For all that, there were economies he must practise at the cost of extra labor, and bridging the creek would lessen the cost of transport and enable him to sell one of his teams. He was late for supper, but wanted to finish part of the work before he went home.

By and by he saw Helen stop at the edge of the ravine. Her face was hot, as if she had been walking fast, and she looked vexed.

"You have kept us waiting half an hour and don't seem ready yet," she said.

"I'm not ready," Festing replied, and stopped abruptly. "Very sorry; I forgot all about it," he resumed.

Helen made a gesture of annoyance. She had invited some of their neighbors to supper and had spent the day preparing the feast. Things, however, had gone wrong; the stove had got too hot and spoiled her choicest dishes.

"You forgot!" she exclaimed. "It really isn't often I trouble you with guests."

"That's lucky, because I haven't much time for entertaining people. I'm overworked just now."

Helen hesitated because she was afraid she might say too much. She admired his persevering industry, but had begun to feel that he was slipping away from her and devoting himself to his farm. Sometimes she indulged an angry jealousy, and then tried to persuade herself it was illogical.

"Then why give yourself another task by building the bridge?" she asked.

"I tried to explain that. I can get the thing done with less trouble when the creek is nearly dry, and if we had to use the ford when hauling out the grain, it would mean starting with a light load or keeping a team of horses there. When I've built the bridge and graded back the road we can take the full number of bags across, and that makes for economy. It looks as if I'll have to be severely economical soon."

Helen colored. She thought he did not mean to vex her, but he had ventured on dangerous ground.

"You know that what is mine is yours," she said.

"In a way, it is, but I put all my capital into the stock and crop, and must try to get it back. I can't ask my wife for money if I loaf about and lose my own."

"You don't loaf," Helen rejoined. "But if you lose your crop from causes you can't prevent happening, there is no reason you shouldn't accept my help."

"I know you're generous and would give me all you had but—"

Helen shook her head. "You don't see the matter in the right way yet; but we'll let it go. Get your jacket and come back at once."

"Must I come?" Festing asked irresolutely.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I don't think so. Can't you tell the folks I'd forgotten and started something I must finish?"

"I can't," said Helen sharply. "It hurts to know you had forgotten. The farm is lonely and I haven't many friends; but I can't tell outsiders how little that matters to you."

"I'm sorry," Festing answered with some embarrassment. "Still I think you're exaggerating; nobody would look at it like that. Our neighbors know one has to stay with one's work."

"Bob finds time to go about with his wife."

"He does," said Festing dryly. "Driving about is easier than farming, and Bob has no scruples about living on his wife's money. I expect that was his object when he married her. There's another thing I forgot; he's coming to-night."

"He and Sadie have been at the house some time."

Festing made a sign of resignation. "I could stand the others better. They know what we may have to face, but nothing bothers Bob, and it's hard to play up to his confounded cheerfulness when you're not in the mood. Then I suppose I've got to put on different clothes?"

Helen forced a smile. When they first came to the homestead, Stephen had changed his clothes for supper and afterwards devoted himself to her amusement, sometimes playing chess, and sometimes listening while she sang. Then, as the days got longer, he had gradually grown careless, contenting himself with changing his jacket and half an hour's talk, until at length he sat down to the meal in dusty overalls and hurried off afterwards. Helen had tried to make excuses for him, but felt hurt all the same. Stephen was getting slovenly and neglecting her.

"It's plain that you must take off those muddy overalls," she said.

They went back, and supper was delayed while Festing changed. He forced himself to be polite when he joined his guests, but it cost him something, and the dishes Helen had carefully prepared were spoiled. On the whole, he felt grateful to Sadie and Bob, who kept the others in good-humor and relieved him from the necessity of leading the talk; but he was glad when they left.

When the rigs melted into the shadowy plain he stood on the veranda and yawned.

"Well," he remarked, "that's over, and it will be some time before they need come back. I hope none of them will think they have to ask us out in return."

"You gave them a very plain hint," Helen said bitterly.

Festing did not answer and went into the house. He felt he had not been tactful, but he was very tired, and if he ventured an explanation might make things worse. Besides, he must get up at four o'clock next morning.

Helen sat still for some time, looking out on the prairie. She was beginning to feel daunted by its loneliness. Except for Sadie Charnock, visitors seldom came to the farm. Her neighbors lived at some distance, but she had hoped to plan a round of small reunions that would break the monotony. Stephen, however, had shown her that she could expect no help from him, and had actually forgotten her first party. She felt wounded; it was hard to think that so long as he had work to do she must resign herself to being left alone.



CHAPTER XVII

FESTING USES FORCE

A week or so after the supper party Festing started for the settlement with some pieces of a binder in his wagon. He had bought the machine second-hand, and meant to replace certain worn parts before harvest began, although he doubted if this was worth while. The drought was ripening the grain prematurely and some of it was spoiled, but he must try to save as much as possible. Reaching the edge of the wheat, he stopped the team irresolutely, half tempted to turn back, because it seemed unlikely that the old binder need be used.

The wind had fallen; the mosquitoes were about and bit his face and neck. Everything was strangely quiet, it was very hot, and masses of leaden cloud darkened the horizon. Festing, however, had given up hoping for rain, which would not make much difference if it came now.

The front of the wide belt of grain was ragged and bitten into hollows by the driving sand. The torn stalks drooped and slanted away from the wind, while others that had fallen lay about their roots. Farther in, the damage was less, but the ears were half-filled and shriveled. The field was parti-colored, for the dull, dark green had changed to a dingy, sapless hue, and the riper patches had a sickly yellow tinge instead of a coppery gleam.

Festing's face hardened. If he thrashed out half the number of bushels he had expected, he would be lucky. He had staked all he had on the chances of the weather and had lost. It was his first failure and came as a rude shock to his self-confidence. He felt shaken and disgusted with himself, for it looked as if he had been a rash fool. Still, if rain came now, he might save enough to obviate the necessity of using Helen's money. She would give him all he asked for, but this was a matter about which he felt strongly, and she knew his point of view.

Driving on, he met the mail-carrier, who gave him a letter. It was from Kerr, his former chief on the railroad, who had been moved to a new section on the Pacific Slope. He told Festing about certain difficulties they had encountered, and the latter felt a curious interest. Indeed, he looked back with a touch of regret to the strenuous days he had spent at the construction camps. The work was hard, but one was provided with the material required and efficient tools. Then there was freedom from the responsibility he felt now; one did one's best and the company took the risk.

Festing's interest deepened when, at the end of the letter, Kerr told him about a contract for which nobody seemed anxious to tender. It was a difficult undertaking, but Kerr thought a bold, resourceful man could carry it out with profit. He did not know if it would appeal to Festing, although prairie farmers sometimes went to work with their teams on a new track when their harvest was poor. Kerr ended with the hope that this was not the case with Festing.

The latter sat still for a few minutes with his brows knit and then started his team. It was too late to think of railroad contracts; he had chosen his line and must stick to it, but his look was irresolute as he drove on.

Some time after Festing reached the settlement, Wilkinson and three or four others sat, smoking, in the poolroom. This supplied a useful hint about their character, because supper would not be ready for an hour or two, and industrious people were busily occupied. The room was hot, the floor and green tables were sprinkled with poisoned flies, and the wooden chairs were uncomfortably hard, but it was cooler than the sidewalk, and the men lounged with their feet on the empty stove.