"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."