Kitabı oku: «Blake's Burden», sayfa 4

"I'm glad I didn't miss you, but I had an errand to do," she said. "You are going now; by the Vancouver express?"

"Yes," said Blake, stopping beside a pillar; "I was feeling rather gloomy until I saw you. Harding's at the station, and it's depressing to set off on a long journey feeling that nobody minds your going."

"Mrs. Keith will mind," said Millicent. "I'm sure she was very friendly and gave you her good wishes."

Blake looked at her with a smile. "Somehow they didn't seem enough. I think I wanted yours."

She coloured, but met his glance. "Then," she said, "you have them. I haven't forgotten what happened one evening in London, and I wish you a safe journey and success."

"Thank you," he answered with feeling. "It will be something to remember that you have wished me well." Then as his eyes rested upon her he forgot that he was a marked man. She looked very fresh and desirable; there was a hint of regret and pity in her face and a trace of shyness in her manner. "I suppose I can't ask you to think of me now and then; it would be too much," he went on. "But won't you give me something of yours, some trifle to keep as a memento."

Millicent hesitated and then took a tiny bunch of flowers from the lace at the neck of her white dress. "Will these do?" she asked, and added with a smile: "They won't last very long."

"They will last a long time, well taken care of, but what you said had a sting. Did you mean that you wouldn't give me anything more enduring?"

"No," she said shyly, "not that altogether. I think I meant that they would last as long as you might care to remember our acquaintance."

Blake bowed. "My memory's good. When I come back I will show you your gift as a token."

"But I shall be in England then."

"I bore that in mind. It is not very far off, and I'm a wanderer."

"Well," she said with faint confusion, "unless you hurry you will miss your train. Good-bye and good fortune!"

He took the hand she gave him and held it a moment. "I wonder whether your last wish will ever be realized, If so, I shall come to thank you, even in England."

Then he turned and went out with hurried steps, wondering what had led him to break through the reserve he had prudently determined to maintain. What he had said might mean nothing, but it might mean much. He had seen Millicent Graham for a few minutes in her father's house, and afterwards met her every day during the week spent in Montreal, but brief as their friendship had been, he had yielded to her charm. Had he been free to seek her love he would eagerly have done so, but he was not free. He was an outcast, engaged in a desperate attempt to repair his fortune. Miss Graham knew this, and had probably taken his remarks for what they were worth as a piece of sentimental gallantry, but something in her manner suggested a doubt and the trouble was that he did not wish her to regard them in this light. It looked as if he had made a fool of himself, but he had promised to show her the flowers again some day, and he carefully placed them in his pocket book.

The train was ready to start when he found Harding impatiently waiting him on the platform and a few moments later the long cars were swiftly rolling west.

CHAPTER VII
MRS. CHUDLEIGH GATHERS INFORMATION

It was a fine morning when Mrs. Keith sat on the saloon deck of a river boat steaming with the ebb tide down the St. Lawrence. The terraced heights of Quebec had faded astern; ahead a blaze of sunshine rested on the river, up which a big liner with crowded decks and her smoke-trail staining the clear blue sky moved majestically. To starboard dark pinewoods, with here and there a sawmill stack, were faintly marked upon the lofty bank; to port rose rugged hills with wooden villages at their feet. The light wind that rippled the blue water was pleasantly cool, and Mrs. Keith, laying down the book she had been reading, looked about with languid enjoyment.

"I suppose I'm neglecting my opportunities, but this is very delightful and I don't think they have anything finer than the river in Canada," she said. "Its width impresses one; the French villages with their church spires are so picturesque – I wonder how many churches there are in this part of the country. One sees them everywhere."

"You were urged to see the Ontario forests and the prairie," Millicent remarked.

"One cannot do everything, and I'm not insatiable. I'm getting too old to stand the shaking in the hot and dusty cars, and I can't accustom myself to going to bed in public, without undressing. No doubt, it's a matter of prejudice, but I've been used to more room for taking my clothes off than they give you behind the flapping curtain."

Millicent laughed as she remembered their experiences during a journey on a crowded express.

"Getting up is worse," she said. "However, they told us it was very pretty and generally cool at Saguenay. Then you'll have somebody to talk to, as Mrs. Chudleigh is coming. But didn't she make up her mind rather suddenly?"

"I thought so, since she didn't speak of going until I sent you for the tickets. Still, Sedgwick was sent to Ottawa, where she doesn't know anybody, which may have had something to do with it."

Millicent, who looked very pretty in her light summer dress as she leaned back in a deckchair, did not reply. Sun and wind had brought a fine warm colour into her face, but her brown eyes were grave, for there was a point upon which she must try to form a correct judgment and she distrusted her inexperience. She was young and had a natural love of pleasure, as well as a certain longing for excitement and a willingness to take a risk which she had inherited from her gambling father. Mrs. Keith had prevented her indulging these tendencies, and the girl, thrust for the most part into the society of older people, suffered at times from a feeling of depressing monotony.

Then she had met Captain Sedgwick, who paid her rather marked attention, at Quebec, and at first had been attracted by the handsome soldier and flattered by his singling her out among women of higher station and maturer beauty; but the attraction did not last long. There was a vein of sound sense in Millicent, and when she tested Sedgwick by it, he did not ring true, and when Mrs. Chudleigh openly claimed him as her property she acquiesced. Afterwards she met Blake on board the steamer and the gratitude and admiration which a chivalrous act of his had roused suddenly revived. Moreover she was sorry for him and felt that he had been unjustly blamed, while, though it was generally hidden by his careless manner, she thought she saw in him a strong sincerity. Now she wondered whether she was foolish in letting her thoughts dwell on him, and if he would soon forget her. Recalling his words when he said good-bye she knew he had been stirred, but before this she had been conscious of a certain restraint in his manner which had only broken down at the last moment. By and by Mrs. Keith disturbed her reflections.

"It looks as if we were to be favoured with Mrs. Chudleigh's society," she remarked with ironical amusement. "Mine appears to have become more valuable during the last few days."

Millicent saw Mrs. Chudleigh moving towards them, followed by a steward carrying a folding chair and a maid who brought a book, a bunch of flowers, an ornamental leather bag, and several other odds and ends. Mrs. Chudleigh was elaborately attired, but the large plumed hat and dress cut in the extreme of the current fashion became her. She made a stately progress along the deck with her burdened attendants in her train, and it took a few minutes to arrange her belongings to her satisfaction. Then she sank into the big chair with marked grace of movement and smiled at Mrs. Keith.

"A delightful morning. I ought to have been writing letters, but the sunshine brought me out."

Mrs. Keith agreed and Mrs. Chudleigh went on: "I have enjoyed this visit greatly and find Canada a most interesting country. In fact, I wish I could stay another month or two, but, of course, when one has duties."

As Mrs. Chudleigh had neither husband nor children, Margaret Keith wondered what her duties were, unless she considered the taking a part in a round of social amusements as such.

"After all," she remarked, "I imagine that one doesn't see very much of the real Canada from the Frontenac or a big hotel in Montreal."

"True," said Mrs. Chudleigh. "I must confess that I didn't come out to study the country, though I'm charmed with all I've seen. I'm afraid I belong to a frivolous set and find a change refreshing. Then several old friends of mine were going to take a part in the celebrations at Quebec – Captain Sedgwick among others."

"Is Captain Sedgwick a very old friend?" Mrs. Keith asked, willing to give the other the lead she seemed to wish for.

"Oh, yes; I met him first as a subaltern in India, when he was very raw and troubled by a seriousness he has since grown out of, but I thought he would make his mark."

Mrs. Keith pondered the explanation. She could not imagine her companion's patronizing a callow young lieutenant, but this was not important. Admitting that a hint might have been intended for Millicent's benefit, Mrs. Chudleigh's boldness in laying claim to the man by suggesting that she had come out for his sake was puzzling. It was not in good taste, but although Mrs. Chudleigh's position was assured, there was something of the audacity of the adventuress about her. Margaret Keith, however, had no admiration for Sedgwick, whom she thought of as second-rate, and she was glad to believe that Millicent did not wish to dispute the woman's right to him.

"Are you going home soon?" she asked.

"Before long, I think. There is a round of visits I have promised to make and I may stay some time with the Fosters in Shropshire near Colonel Challoner's place. I believe he is a friend of yours."

"He is. Have you met him?"

"Once; I found him charming. A very fine, old-fashioned gentleman, and I understand a famous soldier. Somebody told me he never quite got over his nephew's disgrace and seemed to think it reflected upon the whole family. Very foolish, of course, but one can admire his sense of honour."

Mrs. Keith began to understand why her companion had sought her. She wished to speak about Richard Blake and Mrs. Keith was forced to acquiesce, since he had been seen in her company.

"I suppose you know the nephew was in Montreal," she said.

"To tell the truth, I do. I saw him talking to Bertram Challoner, whom I met in London, and the family likeness struck me. Then I saw his name in the hotel register."

"No doubt you studied him after that. What opinion did you form?"

Mrs. Chudleigh gave her a look of thoughtful candour. "I was puzzled and interested. I don't know him, but he did not look the man to run away."

"He is not," Mrs. Keith declared. "I knew him as a boy, and even then he was marked by reckless daring. What's more, I noticed very little change in him."

"It's strange." Mrs. Chudleigh's tone was sympathetically grave. "I feel much as you do. After all, it may have been one of the affairs about which the truth never quite comes out."

"What do you wish to suggest by that?"

"Nothing in particular; I've no means of forming an accurate conclusion. But the regimental honour was threatened and a scapegoat needed. A mistake may have been made by somebody of greater importance. One hears of some curious things."

"That's true," Mrs. Keith drily agreed. "I believe in Dick Blake, but it must be admitted that he made no defence."

Mrs. Chudleigh pondered this. "One meets men capable of making a great sacrifice, though they're by no means numerous. I suppose Colonel Challoner really felt it a heavy blow?"

"Those who know him can't doubt it, though he never speaks of the matter."

"It must have been a shock. Apart from whatever affection he had for his nephew, there was, in a sense, the stigma reflected upon himself – an old man who has bravely won distinction and retains some influence! I'm told he has friends in administrative circles and that his opinion on Indian subjects still carries weight."

"I believe so," said Mrs. Keith. "He certainly holds his opinions firmly, and was once looked upon as an authority on frontier defence. Indeed, he gave up his command because he could not get some drastic change which events subsequently proved needful adopted. His honesty is remembered by men who hold him in esteem."

"All you have said bears out my impression of him. I must renew our acquaintance when I am in Shropshire. Are you staying here long?"

Mrs. Keith was glad to change the subject, but while they talked a steward appeared with a letter for Millicent, which he explained had been sent on board the steamer at Quebec. As the girl laid down the opened envelope Mrs. Chudleigh recognized Sedgwick's writing and her face grew contemptuously hard. Then she laughed and started a different topic, which she continued for a time. When she went away, Mrs. Keith turned to Millicent.

"I wonder whether I have told her too much, though it's hard to see what use she can make of it. Innocent or not, Dick Blake is a favourite of mine and when I speak of him I'm apt to be unguarded. Of course, it's obvious that she joined us on purpose to talk about him."

"One would have imagined it was Captain Sedgwick. She dragged him in rather pointedly."

"Oh! no. That was by the way, and perhaps intended to put me off the scent. She's a scheming woman."

"But she has not learned much from you."

"She has learned two things," Mrs. Keith answered thoughtfully. "First, that I don't believe Dick Blake failed in his duty; and, secondly, that Colonel Challoner has some influence. I think she was particularly interested in the latter point. I've been incautious and let my tongue run away with me."

Then she took up her book while Millicent read her letter. Though young and to some extent inexperienced, her judgment was generally sound, and she had come to see how Sedgwick really regarded her. She had pleased his eye, and he was a man who would boldly grasp at what delighted him, but love would not be permitted to interfere with his ambitions. He wrote in a tone of forced and insincere sentiment, and his words brought a blush into Millicent's face as well as a rather bitter smile into her eyes. By and by she tore the sheet into pieces and dropped them over the steamer's rail. That affair was ended.

As the fragments of paper fluttered astern Mrs. Keith looked up. "You are treating somebody's letter very unceremoniously."

"Perhaps I am," said Millicent. "It's from Captain Sedgwick."

"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. Keith. "Has he anything of interest to say?"

"He mentions that he is going back to Africa sooner than he expected because the officer above him has suffered so much from the climate that he has asked to be relieved of his post. Captain Sedgwick believes this will give him a chance of advancement."

"Then I've no doubt he'll make the most of it. I suppose he doesn't waste much pity on his unfortunate chief? The man's personal interest stands first with him."

"Isn't that the usual thing with men?"

"There are exceptions. Colonel Challoner, for instance, threw up his career when he found he was forced to act against his convictions, and I've a suspicion that another man I know made as great a sacrifice. However, Sedgwick will make every effort to get the vacant post, and I wonder whether he told Mrs. Chudleigh how matters stood. She may have had a letter before you did."

Millicent knew her employer's penetration, but did not understand the drift of her remarks.

"I dare say he wrote to her. She told us they were old friends. But why should it interest you?"

"It does," Mrs. Keith rejoined. "I have a habit of putting things together and drawing my conclusions, though, of course, I'm now and then mistaken. Whether I'm right or not in the present instance time will show, but I must try to watch the woman when we go home." Then she added sharply: "As you have torn it up, you don't mean to answer Sedgwick's letter?"

"No," said Millicent, with a trace of colour; "I don't think it needs a reply."

Mrs. Keith made a sign of agreement. "On the whole," she said pointedly, "I should imagine that to be a wise decision."

On reaching Saguenay, Mrs. Keith spent the first morning sitting outside her hotel. Rugged mountains with dark belts of pines straggling up their sides were spread about her, but she gave the wild grandeur of the landscape scanty attention as she consulted the engagement book in her hand. It contained a list of the friends she wished to entertain and the visits she had thought of making in England during the winter, and she wondered which could be shortened and whom she could put off, because it might be desirable to spend some time in Shropshire.

Margaret Keith was a strong-willed woman who had led a busy life, but now, when she had resolved to retire into the background and rest, it looked as if she might again be forced to take an active part in affairs. She had enjoyed her Canadian trip, but during the last week or two it had begun to lose its interest, and she was conscious of a call to be up and doing. She suspected Mrs. Chudleigh, she doubted Sedgwick, and she was disturbed by the way the unfortunate affair on the Indian frontier had cropped up again. Somehow, she felt Colonel Challoner's peace was threatened, which could not be permitted. For many years she had cherished a warm liking for him, and long ago, when he was a young lieutenant, she could have made him hers. Family arrangements, complicated by the interests of landed property, had, however, stood in the way. Challoner was not free to marry as he pleased; he had been taught that the desire of the individual must be subordinated to the welfare of the line, and when he first met Margaret Keith, who was beautiful then, it was too late for him to rebel. She let him go, but he had always had a place in her heart, and now they were firm and trusted friends.

During her stay at Saguenay, Mrs. Chudleigh made two or three attempts to extract some further information about the Challoners but without success, and one day, soon after she had left, Mrs. Keith sent Millicent for a list of steamer sailings.

"This place is very pretty, but we have been here some time and I'm beginning to think of home," she said.

"One of the Empresses sails next week," said Millicent, returning with the card. "Mr. Gordon told me this morning that Mrs. Chudleigh went in the Salmatian the day before he left Quebec."

"Did she?" Mrs. Keith rejoined. "Well, perhaps you had better write to the Montreal office about our berths." Then, for the call had grown clearer, she smiled as the girl went away, and added: "It might be wiser to keep the woman in sight."

CHAPTER VIII
THE PRAIRIE

A strong breeze swept the wide plain, blowing fine sand about, when Blake plodded beside the jaded Indian pony that drew his Red-river cart. It was loaded with preserved provisions, camp stores, and winter clothes, and he had bought it and the pony because that seemed cheaper than paying for transport. The settlement for which he was bound stands near the northern edge of the great sweep of grass which stretches across central Canada, and means of communication between it and the outer world were scarce. Harding, accordingly, had agreed to the purchase of the animal with the idea of selling it afterwards to one of the settlers.

Since leaving the railroad they had spent four days upon the trail, which sometimes ran plain before them, marked by dints of wheels among the wiry grass, and sometimes died away, leaving them at a loss in a wilderness of sand and short poplar scrub, through which Blake steered by compass. Now it was late in the afternoon and the men were tired of battling with the wind which buffeted their sunburned faces with sharp sand. They were crossing one of the high steppes of the middle prairie towards the belt of pines and muskegs which divides it from the barrens of the North. The broad stretch of fertile loam, where prosperous wooden towns are rising fast among the wheatfields, lay to the south of them, and the arid tract they journeyed through had so far no attraction for even the adventurous homestead pre-emptor.

They found it a bleak and cheerless country, crossed by the ravines of a few sluggish creeks, the water of which was unpleasant to drink, and dotted at long intervals by ponds bitter with alkali. In places, stunted poplar bluffs cut against the sky, but, for the most part, there was only a rolling waste of dingy grass. The trail was heavy, the wheels sank deep in sand as they climbed a low rise, and, to make things worse, the rounded, white-edged clouds which had scudded across the sky since morning were gathering in threatening masses. This had happened every afternoon, but now and then the cloud ranks had broken, to pour out a furious deluge and a blaze of lightning. Harding anxiously studied the sky.

"I guess we're up against another thunderstorm," he said. "My opinion of the mid-continental climate is singularly mean, but I'd put this strip of Canada near the limit. Our Texan northers are fierce when they come along, but here it blows all the time."

"We'll make camp, if you like; I don't feel very fresh," Blake replied.

"Not here," snapped Harding, "Where I stop I sleep, and I've no use for sheltering under the cart. Last time we tried it the pony stampeded and the wheel went over my foot. The tent's no good; you'd want a chain to stop its blowing away. We'll go on until we bring up to lee of a big, solid bluff."

"Very well," Blake agreed. "I daresay we ought to find one in the hollow we got a glimpse of from the last rise, but we haven't had to put up with much discomfort yet."

"It's a matter of opinion; you haven't limped forty miles on a bad foot, but I'm not complaining," Harding rejoined, "In fact, I've most been happy since we left the depot. It's something to feel that you have started; doing nothing takes the sand out of me."

Blake had once or twice suggested that his comrade should ride, but the pony was overburdened and Harding refused. He explained that they could not expect to sell it in a worn-out condition, but his partner suspected him of sympathy for the patient beast.

They crossed the ridge and seeing a wavy line of trees in the wide hollow, quickened their pace. The soil was firmer, the scrub the wheels crushed through was short, and the trail led smoothly down a slight descent. This was comforting, because half the sky was barred with leaden cloud and the parched grass gleamed beneath it lividly white, while the light that struck a ridge-top here and there had a sinister luridness. It was getting cold and the wind was dropping, which was not a favourable sign.

Pushing the cart through the softer places, dragging the jaded pony by the head, they hurried on and at length plunged through a creek with the trees close in front. A few minutes later they tethered the pony to lee of the cart and set up their tent. Then, while Blake was rummaging out provisions and Harding searching the bluff for dry sticks, they heard a beat of hoofs and a man rode up, leading a second horse. He got down and throwing a bundle off his saddle hobbled the beasts before he turned to Blake.

"From the south? You're for Sweetwater?" he said.

Blake told him he had guessed correctly, and asked how far they had still to go.

"You ought to make it in a day and a half," said the other. "I'll ride in with you; run a store and hotel there, but feel I want to get out on the prairie now and then, and as a horse was missing I went after him. A looker, isn't he?"

Blake admired the animal, and suggested that the stranger had better join them instead of cooking a separate supper. The fellow, who told them that his name was Gardner, had a good-humoured, sunburned face and an honest look. The prairie was now wrapped in inky gloom, and there was an impressive stillness except for the occasional rustle of a leaf, but when Harding came out of the bluff with a load of wood a puff of icy wind suddenly stirred the grass. The harsh rustle it made was followed by a deafening crash, and a jagged streak of lightning fell from the leaden clouds; then the air was filled with the roar of driving hail. It swept the wood, rending leaves and smashing twigs, while the men crouched inside the straining tent and a constant blaze of lightning flickered about the grass. By and by the thunder died away and the hail gave place to torrential rain, while the slender trees rocked in the blast and small branches drove past the tent. This lasted some minutes, after which the rain ceased suddenly and a fierce red light streamed along the saturated grass from the huge sinking sun. Harding, who had brought the wood into the tent, took it out and with the stranger's help soon made a fire.

It was getting dark, though a band of transcendental green still burned upon the prairie's western edge when they finished supper and, sitting round the fire, took out their pipes. The hobbled horses were quietly grazing near them.

"That's undoubtedly a fine animal," Blake remarked. "Is it yours?"

"No; it belongs to Clarke's Englishman."

"Who's he? It's a curious way to speak of a fellow."

"It fits him," said the other. "Guess he's Clarke's, hide and bones, and that's all there'll be when the doctor has done with him. He's a sucker the doctor taught farming and then sold land to."

"Then who's the doctor?" Harding inquired.

"That's not so easy to answer, but he's a man you want to be friends with if you stay near the settlement. Teaches farming to tenderfoot young Englishmen and Americans; finds them land and stock to start with, and makes a mighty good thing out of it. Goes to Montreal now and then, but whether it's to look up fresh suckers or on the jag is more than I know."

"We met a fellow called Clarke at the Windsor not long since. What's he like?"

Gardner described him and Harding said, "That's the man."

"Then I can't see what he was doing at the Windsor; an opium joint would have been more in his line."

"Does the fellow live at Sweetwater?" Blake asked.

"Has a farm, and runs it well, about three miles back, but he's away pretty often in the North and at a settlement on the edge of the bush country. Don't know what he does there, and they're a curious crowd; Dubokars, Russians of sorts, I guess."

Blake had seen the Dubokars in other parts of Canada and had found them an industrious people, leading, from religious convictions, a remarkably primitive life. There were, however, fanatics among them, and he understood that these now and then led their followers into outbreaks of emotional extravagance.

"They make good settlers, as a rule," he said. "But, as they don't speak English, how does the fellow get on with them?"

"Told me he was a philologist, when I asked him; then he allowed two or three of them were mystics and he was something in that line. He was a doctor once and got fired out of England for something he shouldn't have done. Anyhow, the Dubokars are like the rest of us, good, bad, and pretty mixed, and the crowd back of Sweetwater belong to the last. At first some of them didn't believe it was right to work horses and made the women drag the plough, and they'd one or two other habits that brought the North-West Police down on them. After that they've given no trouble, but they get on a jag of some kind now and then."

Blake nodded. He knew that the fanatic with untrained and unbalanced mind is liable under the influence of excitement to indulge in crude debauchery; but it was strange that a man of culture, such as Clarke appeared to be, should take a part in these excesses. He had, however, no interest in the fellow and turned the talk on to other matters, and when it got cold they went to sleep.

Starting early next morning, they reached Sweetwater after an uneventful journey and found it by no means an attractive place. South of it rolling prairie ran back, greyish white with withered grass, to the skyline; to the north straggling poplar bluffs and scattered Jack-pines crowned the summits of the ridges. A lake gleamed in a hollow, a slow creek wound across the foreground in a deep ravine, and here and there in the distance one could see an outlying farm. A row of houses followed the crest of the ravine, the side of which formed a dumping ground for domestic refuse. Some were built of small logs, and some of shiplap lumber which had cracked with exposure to the sun, but all had a neglected and poverty-stricken air. The land was poor and the settlement located too far from a market. With leaden thunderclouds hanging over it, the place looked as desolate as the sad-coloured waste.

Following the deeply-rutted street, which had a narrow, plank sidewalk, they reached the Imperial hotel; a somewhat pretentious, double-storeyed building of unpainted wood, with a verandah in front of it. Here Gardner took the pony from them and gave them a room which had no furniture except a chair and two rickety iron beds. Before he went out he indicated a printed list of the things they were not allowed to do. Harding studied it with a sardonic smile.

"I don't see much use in prohibiting folks from washing their clothes in the bedrooms when they don't give you any water," he remarked. "This place must be about the limit in the way of cheap hotels."

"It isn't cheap," said Blake; "I've seen the tariff, but on the whole I like the fellow who keeps it."

They found their supper better than they had reason to expect, and afterwards sat out on the verandah with the proprietor and one or two of the settlers who boarded at the hotel. The sun had set and now and then a heavy shower beat upon the shingled roof, but the western sky was clear and flushed with vivid crimson, towards which the prairie rolled away in varying tones of blue. Lights shone in the windows behind the verandah, and from one which stood open a hoarse voice drifted out, singing in a maudlin fashion snatches of an old music-hall ditty.