CHAPTER VII
ALTON BLUNDERS
Deringham spent several weeks at Somasco without arriving at any understanding with its owner. This, however, did not cause him any great concern, because he had at his doctor's recommendation decided on a somewhat lengthy absence from England, and found himself regaining health and vigour with every day he passed in the pleasant valley. He was also desirous of gaining time, because he had left negotiations for the formation of a company to take over an enterprise he was interested in in train, and, while these could proceed as well without him, a favourable termination would, by relieving him from immediate financial anxiety, enable him if it seemed advisable to adopt a firmer tone in any discussion respecting Carnaby. Alton had in the meanwhile quietly avoided the subject.
Affairs were in this position when he sat one evening with his daughter on the verandah, glancing now and then down the valley. It was very still and peaceful, and trails of white mist crept about the pines, while, though the paling light still lingered high up upon the snow, a crescent moon was growing into visibility against the steely blueness behind the eastern shoulder of a hill. Deringham, however, was listening for the thud of hoofs, and wondering if the mounted man sent down to the settlement would bring any letters for him. His daughter sat close by him, dreamily watching the darkness roll higher about the pines. She had not as yet grown tired of Somasco, and found its owner an interesting study. He was of a type that was new to her, and the girl of a somewhat inquiring disposition.
Presently she turned to her father. "How long shall we stay here?" she said.
"I don't know," said Deringham. "It depends upon the Canadian, and in the meanwhile I am picking up a good deal of useful information about the mineral resources of this country. Alton of Somasco seems to be a somewhat intelligent man."
"Yes," said the girl thoughtfully. "It is a little difficult to dislike him."
"I," said her father, smiling, "do not know that there is any great necessity, or notice signs of a marked endeavour on your part to do so."
The girl glanced at him inquiringly. "You mean?" said she.
"Nothing," said Deringham. "Only the Canadian is also a man. Well, we shall be going on to Vancouver presently."
The girl laughed a little. "That is incontrovertible," she said. "Why not go on now?"
"There are reasons," said Deringham somewhat gravely. "For one thing I hope to be in a position shortly to make terms with him."
"But Carnaby is his," said the girl.
"Yes," said Deringham, "unless he gives it up."
His daughter appeared thoughtful. "I scarcely think he will!"
Deringham laughed a little. "It might be possible to find means of inducing him."
Alice Deringham shook her head. "From what I have seen of Mr. Alton, I fancy it would be difficult."
"Well," said Deringham dryly, "we shall see."
He had scarcely spoken when a soft drumming sound came out of the stillness. It grew steadily louder, was lost in the roar of the river, and rose more distinct again, while the girl, who realized that a man was riding up the valley, wondered with unusual curiosity what news he would bring. She also grew impatient, for that staccato drumming seemed to jar upon the harmonies of the evening, and she walked to the balustrade when the sound swelled into a thudding beat of hoofs. The man was crossing the oatfield at a gallop now. Then the sound rose muffled out of the gloom of the orchard the trail ran through, and she felt curiously expectant when once more the rider swung out into the shadowy clearing. She afterwards remembered the vague apprehension with which she watched and listened, for it seemed to her that some intangible peril was drawing nearer with the galloping horse. A minute or two later Seaforth came into the verandah with a packet of letters in his hand.
"There are several for you, sir," he said, handing Deringham some of them, and passed into the house shouting, "Harry."
Deringham glanced through his budget, and his face changed a little, while his daughter noticed the set of his lips and the clustering wrinkles about his eyes. There was a telegraphic message, but he put it aside and opened a bulky envelope whose stamp he recognized. Then the missive he took out rustled a little in his hand as he read:
"I'm afraid negotiations are not progressing well. Mortimer, as you will see by enclosed copies of correspondence, demands a revaluation which would not be advisable before he will underwrite any of the capital."
Deringham laid down the letter, and his daughter turned suddenly at his exclamation. "The fools should have bought him off!" he said.
Then he took up the telegraphic message and read, "Scheme impracticable. Cannot compromise with Mortimer. Harper and the Syndicate against us. Details following."
Deringham said nothing, but sat staring before him with a face that seemed to have grown suddenly grey and haggard, until his daughter spoke to him.
"Have you had bad news, father?" she said.
The man, who had been sitting so that the light which shone out from the room behind them fell upon him, moved. "I have," he said. "This message informs me that at least ten thousand pounds have been virtually taken out of my pocket. As it happened, I wanted the money somewhat badly."
He rose, and entering the house met Alton coming out of it. The Canadian brushed past him with a letter in his hand, and Deringham turned a moment and looked after him. The financier's face was not pleasant just then, and there was a curious glitter in his eyes, while Seaforth, who was following his comrade, stared at him as he passed, and came up with Alton on the verandah.
"What has gone wrong with Deringham?" he said.
"I don't know," said Alton lightly. "Do you think anything has?"
"That," said Seaforth, "is what I am asking you. He looked condemnably ugly just now. One could have fancied that he contemplated killing somebody."
Alton laughed. "Got a little business trip up, I expect," he said, and moved forward as he spoke. "Here's word from Mrs. Jimmy. She wants to know when I'm going to begin. Women are very persistent, Miss Deringham, but this one has some reason."
"They usually have," said the girl. "I do not, however, know Mrs.
Jimmy."
"Of course," said Alton, smiling. "Still, I expect you'll see her up here presently."
It was a day or two later when Alton returned to the topic of Mrs. Jimmy, and he was then kneeling in the stern of a canoe which slid with a swift smoothness down the placid lake as he dipped the glistening paddle. Miss Deringham was seated forward on a pile of cedar-twigs, with a wet line in her fingers, and in no way disturbed by the fact that she had caught nothing. Such expeditions had become somewhat frequent of late, and though the girl sometimes wondered what she found to please her in the company and conversation of the bush rancher, the fact that she usually went with him when he crossed the lake remained.
"I have seen that trail of smoke up there before. Where does it come from?" she said languidly, pointing to a distant film of vapour that drifted in a faint blue wreath along the slope of a hill.
"That," said Alton, "is the Tyee mine."
"I have heard of it. They find silver there?"
"Yes," said Alton dryly. "They find a little."
"There is silver in those mountains, then?" said Miss Deringham.
Alton nodded. "Lots of it. Still, it costs a good deal to get out, and then it doesn't pay for the mining occasionally. That's the trouble with the Tyee."
"Still, it must pay somebody, or they would not go on," said Miss
Deringham.
Alton laughed a little. "Oh, yes," he said dryly. "It pays a man called Hallam and some others of his kind who got up the company. Still, sometime and somehow, I think he will be sorry he stole poor folks' money."
"You," said Miss Deringham, smiling, "are an optimist, then?"
Alton gravely glanced about him, and the girl fancied she understood him as she followed his gaze from snowpeak down the great pine-shrouded hillside to the river frothing in the valley. "I don't know, but one feels there's something beyond all that," he said. "It didn't come there by accident, and it has all its work to do. Sun and frost and sliding snow grinding up the hillside very sure and slow, and the river sweeping what it gets from them way down the valley to spread new wheatfields out into the sea."
"But," said Miss Deringham, smiling, "we are speaking of men, and I don't quite see the connection."
"Well," said Alton, "they have their place in the great machine too, and must work like the rest, and do something to make it more fruitful, in return for the food the good earth gives them."
"A good many men don't seem to realize the obligation," said Miss
Deringham.
Alton nodded. "No, but I can't help thinking they'll be dealt with somehow. They're just stealing from the others."
"You are a socialist, then?"
"No," said Alton, "I don't think I am. It seems to me that every man is entitled to all the dollars he can get by working for them honestly, and there's a place somewhere in this great world for him, if he has the grit to get up and look for it as he was meant to do, but it has no use for the man who wants to sit still and think about his dinner while other folks work for him."
"Still, he may have earned the right to do so," said the girl.
"Well," said Alton grimly, "most of that kind I've met with seemed to have stolen it, and one or two of them had, for a few thousand dollars, sent good men to their death. When you've seen your comrades sickening and starving on rotten provisions in the snow, or washed out down the valley by the bursting of a dam that was only built to sell, you begin to wonder whether it would be wrong to wipe out some of that crowd with the rifle."
The veins swelled on his forehead, and there was a smouldering fire in his eyes, while the girl suspected he was alluding to some especial member of the class, and noticed that his eye seemed to follow the smoke of the Tyee. Then he laughed.
"I guess I'm talking nonsense again, but there's a little behind it, and I feel that you can pick it out," he said. "Now I'm not good at amusing women, but you and Mrs. Jimmy seem to understand me."
"Who is Mrs. Jimmy, and does her husband belong to Somasco?" asked the girl, with a smile.
Alton laid down the paddle, and took off his hat. "Jimmy," he said solemnly, "is dead. He was my partner, and his wife is a friend of mine. She was in some ways very like you."
"They had a ranch up here?" said Miss Deringham languidly.
"No," said Alton. "It wasn't often they had ten dollars. She was a lady bar-keep down in Vancouver before she married Jimmy. He was a trail-chopper in this country. I don't know what he was in the old one."
"And," said Miss Deringham, "Mrs. Jimmy resembles me?"
She regretted it next moment when she saw Alton's face. It expressed subdued surprise, and the girl felt irritated with herself.
"Yes," he said gravely. "Human nature's much the same at the bottom, whether it has gold on the top of it or the dints of the hammer, and Mrs. Jimmy was good all through."
"That," said Miss Deringham, "is distinctly pretty."
"Well," said Alton smiling, "I didn't mean it that way. Work was scarce in the province, and I'd lost my cattle when Jimmy went up with me into the ranges to look for silver. He brought his wife along, because he had no dollars or anywhere to leave her, and it was a mighty tough place for a woman where we camped under the big glacier. We stayed right there most of the winter. There was only frost and snow, and the wind that whirled it about the pines, and, until it froze up, we lived a good deal on salmon from the river. They were dead when we got them, and some of them rotten."
Miss Deringham shivered. "And when the river froze?" she said.
"Then," said Alton gravely, "there were days when we lived on nothing, and worked until we couldn't hold the pick to keep from thinking. Still, we got a deer now and then, and we had a very little flour. It was mouldy when we bought it, but we hadn't dollars enough for anything better. Mrs. Jimmy got sick and thin, but she never grumbled, and was always waiting bright and smiling when we crawled back into the shanty. Anyway, we found no silver that would pay for the getting, though we knew it was there."
"How did you know that?" said Miss Deringham.
"Well," said Alton, "a Siwash told us something. He crawled in starving one day, and though we hadn't much over we fed him. For another thing we felt it in us that we were on the right trail."
"That," said the girl, "does not sound possible."
Alton nodded. "No," he said. "Still, one gets taught up there in the bush that there's more in a man than what some folks think of as his reason. Well, we made a tough fight, and were beaten."
Miss Deringham glanced at him covertly, and noticing his quiet, bronzed face, steady eyes, and big brown hands, felt that the struggle had been very grim and stubborn. "So you gave it up?" she said.
"Yes," said Alton, "for a time, and I had my hands full with other things when Jimmy went back again. He had piled up a few dollars and left the woman behind him. He took the trail with a good outfit and a pack-horse, but he didn't come down again, and when Mrs. Jimmy got anxious I went up to look for him. It was a good while before I found him sitting under a pine, and he had found the silver, though it wasn't much use to him."
"Was it a rich vein?" said the girl.
"Yes," said Alton solemnly, "I think it was, from the specimens he had brought along, but, and it's difficult sometimes to see why things should happen that way, he couldn't tell me where it was. Jimmy was dead, you see."
The girl shivered visibly. "It must have been horrible."
"No," said Alton gravely. "He was sitting there very quiet in the snow with his hand frozen on the rifle, and there was a big dead panther not far away; but I was more sorry for Mrs. Jimmy than I was for him. Jimmy hadn't always been a trail-chopper, and one could see he had been carrying a heavy load he brought out from the old country. I think he was tired."
"And the silver still lies hidden up there?" said Miss Deringham.
Alton nodded. "Yes," he said. "I've hunted for it twice, but couldn't find Jimmy's trail. By and by, and because the woman wants it, I'm going back again."
"But it would belong to anybody who found it now," said Miss Deringham.
"No," said Alton quietly. "A half of what I get there belongs to Mrs.
Jimmy. The dead man has a claim."
"I am not sure that most men would think so. You are generous," said the girl.
"No," said Alton. "I'm just where I can, and it hurts me to owe anybody anything, whether it's a favour, or the other thing."
Miss Deringham understood him, and reflected as she glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes that her father would do well if he dealt openly with this man. She fancied he could be remorseless in a reckoning, and she had now and then of late had unpleasant suspicions respecting Deringham's intentions concerning him.
Alton took up the paddle, and the pair found Deringham waiting them when they landed. They crossed the valley together, and the girl, who had seen little of industrial activity, became interested when at her father's desire they followed Alton into the mill. A cloud of pungent smoke hung about it, and the steady pounding of an engine jarred through the monotone of the river, which was low just then, while there was a pleasant fragrance in the open-sided building where brawny men moved amidst the whirling dust with the precision of the machines they handled. Alice Deringham could see with untrained eyes that there was no waste of effort here. The great logs that slid in at one end passed straight forward over the rattling rollers, and made no deviation until they went out as planking. Silent men and whirring saws, whose strident scream changed to a deeper humming as they rent into the great redwood trunks, alike did their work with swift efficiency, and once more the girl glanced with a little wonder at the man who had organized it all.
"This appears to be a remarkably well-laid-out mill," said her father.
Alton laughed a little. "We shall have a bigger one by and by," he said. "The only thing I'm proud of is the planer, and she cost me a pile of dollars. I had to cut down all round before I could buy the thing, and then I pulled her all to pieces, and fixed her up myself."
Alice Deringham followed her father towards a big, humming machine that was tearing off the surface of the planks fed to it and flinging them out polished into whiteness. Alton glanced at it admiringly.
"Yes, I'm proud of that," he said. "It was a tight fit buying her, and now she's saving me dollars every day." Then he turned to a stooping man. "You're crowding her a little."
Alice Deringham noticed the resentment in the man's face, which was not a pleasant one, and that, in place of relaxing the pressure, he seemed to thrust a little more strenuously upon the plank he guided; but that was all she saw, for the next moment there was a crash and a loud whirring, and a cloud of woody dust was flung all over her.
Alton sprang forward through it, and a big leather belt suddenly stopped, but the girl could never clearly remember what happened next, for the dust still whirled about her. There, however, appeared to be a brief altercation, and as Alton moved towards him the other man dropped his hand to his belt. Guessing what the action meant, Alice Deringham shrank back with a little shiver, and her father appeared to grasp the man's shoulder. Alton swayed suddenly sideways, and then hurled himself forward, while next moment two men fell violently against the wrecked machine. One of them seemed to be helpless in the grasp of the other, and staggering clear of the planer they went reeling through the mill. Then there was a splash in the river, and Alton returned alone, breathless and somewhat white in face.
"Sorry, but there was no other way out of it," he said a trifle hoarsely. "Now I've got to size up the ruin, if you'll excuse me."
Deringham turned away with his daughter in time to see a dripping object crawl out on the opposite side of the river. "Are you still pleased with your tame bear?" he said ironically.
The girl laughed a little, though her colour was perhaps a trifle higher than usual. "There is a good deal of the beast still unsubdued in him," she said.
Deringham nodded. "Still, he had some provocation, and I think he was right. So far as I could follow the discussion, the other man meant to question his ability to dismiss him, with the pistol."
Alice Deringham said nothing further upon the subject until Alton joined them as they sat out on the verandah that night. "You are not pleased with me?" he said.
"There is nothing to warrant me telling you so, and I may have been mistaken," said the girl reflectively.
"No," said Alton, "that's the pity; but couldn't you remember just now and then that you are friends with me?"
"Things of this kind make it a little difficult," said Miss Deringham.
"Well," said Alton, "that machine cost me twelve months' grim self-denial, and the fellow broke it out of temper because I spoke to him."
"It was," said Miss Deringham, "sufficiently exasperating, but was the rest justifiable because you were a stronger or bolder man than him?"
Alton laughed a little. "You don't understand. I did it because I was afraid," said he. "Now if I hadn't been, I'd have backed that man right into the river without touching him."
The girl glanced at him and then lapsed into a ripple of laughter.
"I'm afraid I must give you up," said she.
Just then Deringham came into the verandah, and Alton turned towards him. "It's a little difficult to put it as I would like to, but I'm glad it was you. You know what I mean."
Deringham appeared a trifle embarrassed. "I'm not sure that you are indebted to me at all," he said. "I only seized his shoulder, and you would not have expected me to look on?"
Alton shook his head. "I don't think he would have missed if you hadn't done it, and I will not forget," he said. "This thing will always count for a good deal between you and me."
He went away, and Alice Deringham glanced at her father with a flush in her face. "I did not understand before. The man had a pistol and you took it from him?"
"No," said Deringham, with a curious little laugh. "I meant to knock his arm up, and am not sure that I did it. It was, considering all things, a somewhat disinterested action."
CHAPTER VIII
HALLAM'S CONFEDERATE
It was about the middle of the afternoon of the day following Alton's affray with the workman when the cook came limping into the verandah of the Somasco ranch, where Deringham leaned, cigar in hand, against a pillar talking to his daughter. She lay in a hide chair Alton had found for her, listening more to the drowsy roar of the river than to her father, but she lifted her head when the man appeared. He carried a tray whereon were displayed a badly dinted metal teapot of considerable size, two large, flat cakes of bread, a can of condensed milk, and a saucer swimming with partially melted butter, which had resolved itself into little lumps of whitish grease and a thin golden fluid under the afternoon sun. He laid them on the table, and after deftly picking out one or two dead flies from the butter turned to the girl with a grin in which pride was evident, though it was apparently meant to be deprecatory.
"I guess this is the kind of thing you were used to in the old country, Miss," he said. "You have only got to tell me if you would fancy a piece of cold pork or other fixings."
Alice Deringham dared not glance at her father, who seemed to be gazing fixedly down the valley, but her lips quivered a little as she turned towards the man.
"I do not think we shall want anything else," she said with a serenity that cost her an effort, though it was excellently assumed.
The man limped away with the tray, though he stopped again at the foot of the stairway. "If you take a notion of that pork after all, hammer on the iron roofing sheet there, and I'll bring it right away," he said.
Alice Deringham waited until he was out of sight, and then lay back in her chair and laughed when her father glanced at her with a little grim smile.
"Savages, my dear!" he said. "Still, their intentions are evidently kindly, which is unfortunate because it involves us in a difficulty."
"A difficulty?"
Deringham nodded. "I have a suspicion that our estimable kinsman, who seems to consider that what is good enough for Somasco should content anybody, might be offended if we slighted his hospitality, and that teapot apparently contains at least three pints of strong green tea," he said. "I do not know whether you feel equal to consuming half of it, but if it is the same as I had at breakfast I must be excused. One could also fancy from their solidity that those cups had been intended for breaking stones with."
"I can at least pour the tea over the balustrade," said the girl. "It is the bread that presents the difficulty. It would crumble in your pocket, and you will presumably have to eat a little to save appearances."
Deringham made a gesture of resignation. "On condition that you do as much. I am not going to be the only victim, though I fancy you could not crumble that bread in a stamp battery. This meal, and what we have otherwise seen at Somasco, confirms my theory that the folks who make money in the Colonies could save as much, or more, in England if they lived in a similar fashion."
"Would it be worth while?" asked the girl with a little smile.
"It is a question of temperament," said Deringham. "Personally, I do not think it would. Indeed, one could fancy that a man of taste would sooner be interred decently, which is why I will take a very little of the tea. You see, our mode of life in England, unfortunately, depends to some extent upon my retaining the good will of Mr. Alton of Somasco. He will, however, have to excuse me from tasting his butter."
The girl poured a little of the tea into the cups, and then emptied the pot over the balustrade, which was, as it happened, a blunder, because while she endeavoured to crumble a small portion of the bread so as to convey the impression that she had been eating it, Alton and Seaforth came into the verandah.
The latter glanced at her, and, for he could not help it, a little smile flickered in his eyes.
"It is a very long while since I had afternoon tea, and I am not sure that Harry ever indulged in it in his life," he said. "I will bring some more cups if you will give us some."
Deringham looked at his daughter reproachfully, though his eyes twinkled, and for just a moment a flush crept into the girl's face, but she laughed as she said, "Then I must trouble to ask the cook for more water."
Alton hammered upon the suspended iron sheet, and in a minute or two the cook appeared again with a large plateful of sliced pork which he laid down before Miss Deringham.
"I was figuring you would change your mind, and if you want any more you have only to ask for it," he said.
It cost the girl an effort to repress a shiver of disgust, but though she succeeded Alton saw her face, and she noticed that the bronze grew a trifle darker in his forehead. It seemed that he guessed her thoughts, but the fact that he offered no explanation and made no excuse for the uninviting fare pleased her. She fancied she understood his reticence, and that it became him.
"Take that pork away, and bring more water!" he said, and there was a faint ring in his voice, as he turned to the cook.
The man, who took up the teapot, shook it, and then, as though still incredulous, lifted the lid and gazed inside it.
"More water?" he said.
"Yes," said Alton, a trifle harshly. "Get it right now!"
The man went away, and there was for almost a minute a somewhat unpleasant silence. Even Seaforth did not seem to know what to say, though he felt an absurd desire to laugh, and Alice Deringham was at once relieved and somewhat astonished when Alton put an end to it by a whimsical story of a raw Englishman's camp cookery. Seaforth followed it with a better one, and the whole four were laughing when the cook came back again. He smiled at them reassuringly as he put the teapot down.
"I guess there's enough this time," he said. "It's that full I could scarcely get the lid on."
The tea was strong, and acrid with the sting of the wood smoke, but there was no avoiding another cupful, and Deringham drank determinedly, while his daughter felt that she had made full atonement when she set her cup down half empty. Then Alton, who explained that he had something to attend to, went away, and Seaforth smiled at the girl when Deringham went in for another cigar.
"I wonder if one might venture to congratulate you on your resolution?" he said.
"If I knew exactly what you meant I could answer more readily," said
Alice Deringham.
"Well," said Seaforth reflectively, "I fancy you do, and, if it's any comfort to you, I think Harry does too. He is considerably less of a fool than folks who do not understand this country might suppose him to be; but the point is, that if he can prevent it you will not suffer an infliction of this kind again."
"I wonder why you thought it worth while to tell me," said Alice Deringham. "Have I admitted that it was an affliction, or do you suppose I am very frightened of a little indifferent tea?"
Seaforth laughed. "I can't fancy you so fond of it as the cook seems to conclude, and I don't think indifferent was exactly the word. A stronger one would have been appropriate. Still, though I am not sure that you will understand me, I told you because I felt it was due to Harry. You see, his attitude was really the correct one, and taking him all round I am rather proud of him."
"Hasn't that an appearance of unnecessary patronage?" asked Miss
Deringham, who was slightly nettled.
Seaforth nodded. "It has," he said. "Only that the feeling is shared by everybody in this district, it would be sheer presumption. Good wine, you know, needs no bush."
He went away because he had a suspicion that Alton would be wanting him, which was borne out when he found his comrade saddling a horse.
"Where are you going, Harry? We are not half way through with the sawlogs," he said.
"No," said Alton dryly. "Still, if you work hard enough, you and Tom should get them into the water before it's dark to-night. I'm going right down to Horton's."
Seaforth laughed. "I thought you would. Horton has, however, as much taste in china as the average mule. Don't leave it to him."
"How did you guess that?" and Alton stared at him.
"That," said Seaforth, "was delightfully simple. It is a little more difficult to decide what Miss Deringham, who is a quick-witted young woman, did with the tea. As you are quite aware, she did not drink it. Still, that is not the question. I'll write you out a little list of what is wanted—I used to know a little about china once, you see, and you tell Horton to send it on to Vancouver. How much would you care to spend, Harry?"
"Just whatever is necessary, but get the best," said Alton. "Write another list of cakes and jellies and things of that kind, too. Put down plenty."
Seaforth returned by the time the horse was saddled, with an envelope, and Alton, who took it, rode out at a gallop, for it was a long way to the settlement, and the evenings at the ranch had of late become very pleasant to him. He did not wish to lose a minute of one of them. He drew bridle, however, when he came up with two men standing in the narrow trail, one of whom signed to him. He was a small rancher, but it was not until the impatient horse plunged that Alton recognized the other, who moved aside, as the man he had thrown into the river. The rancher saw the glance that passed between them.
"Hallo!" he said. "Then you two had trouble when you split? Now,
Damer was telling me he'd got kind of tired of saw milling."
Alton laughed. "That's quite likely," he said. "He showed it by breaking up my planer in a fit of temper, and I fired him."
Then he touched the horse with his heel, and Damer's gaze grew venomous as he watched him ride away down the shadowy trail. The rancher evidently noticed it.
"Now I begin to understand how you got your jacket tore up and that lump on your forehead," he said. "I wasn't quite sure about your tale, anyway, and if Harry fired you it was for something mean. You'll get no horse from me."
The other man said nothing as he turned away, but his face was not pleasant as he plodded down the trail, and those words of Alton's were to cost him dear, for if Damer had obtained the horse he wanted to carry him to the railroad he would in all probability have left the country, which would have prevented a good deal of trouble. As it was, however, he restrapped the roll of blankets on his back, and trudged on with bitterness in his heart under the heat of the afternoon. He had when he left the Somasco mill headed in the direction of the Tyee mine, and passed the night in the woods; but with the morning reflection came, and he had doubled on his trail and was then making for the railroad, stiff with fatigue. Each time he stumbled into a rut and the jolt shook him he remembered his last grievance against Alton, who had sent him on foot, and his frame of mind was not an enviable one when he limped into sight of the settlement as dusk was closing down.
He had made a long journey that day, and a good deal depended on the fact that he was weary and his boots galled him, because it had been his intention to push on to a ranch beyond the settlement before he slept, and hire a horse there. Damer was not especially sensitive, but he felt no great desire to encounter the badinage of the men generally to be found about the store, who, he surmised, would have heard by this time what had happened at the Somasco mill. Still, he was hungry and weary, and stopped a moment when he caught a blink of light between the trees. The bush behind him was very black and still, the dampness of the dew was on his dusty garments, and he shivered a little in the faint cold breeze that came down from the snow. Then more lights twinkled into brightness, a cheerful murmur of voices and a burst of laughter came out of the shadows, and the glow that broke out from the windows of Horton's store seemed curiously inviting. Damer, however, dallied still, and fumbled for his tobacco. He would sit down where he was and smoke, he said, and then attempt that last toilsome league.
As it happened, he could not find the tobacco, and having a hazy recollection of laying it on the ground the last time he filled his pipe, he shook his aching shoulders and trudged on. The loss of the tobacco decided him, and with a malediction on Alton he made for Horton's. It was also a fateful decision with far-reaching results he made just then. Supper had long been cleared away when he entered the general room of the hotel, and then stopped a moment with his hand on the door, for the one man who sat under the big lamp was the last person he desired to meet. He had, however, some papers spread out in front of him, and Damer decided to slip away quietly, but as he moved the blankets on his shoulders struck the door, which rattled, and the man looked up sharply. He had a fleshy face, and black beady eyes, which he fixed on Damer, who stood still, with a little, unpleasant smile.
"Come right in!" he said.
Damer smothered an anathema as he recognized the command in the tone. "No," he said. "If you don't mind, Mr. Hallam, I'll be getting on again."
"Come in!" said Hallam, a trifle more sharply, but for just a moment Damer remained motionless. A few steps would take him down the verandah stairway, and then the shadowy bush lay before him. Had he had a horse, he would have obeyed the impulse which prompted him to avoid the encounter; but, as it happened, owing to the fact that Alton had met the rancher who would otherwise have lent him one, he had none. So with evident unwillingness he came slowly forward, and dropping his bundles on the floor flung himself into a chair.
"Well," he said, "I'm here."
Hallam, who had been watching him, nodded reflectively. "I guess you didn't expect to find me, or you wouldn't have come," he said. "Where were you going?"
"To the railroad," said Damer. "Out of the country!"
"Without telling me? That was kind of foolish of you. Still, you haven't much sense, anyway. You had quite a well-paid job at Somasco."
"Well," said Damer dryly, "I haven't got it now."
Hallam laughed, though the glint in his eyes did not express good will. "You have got a temper that will be the ruin of you, and don't know when a man's too big for you, while, now I come to look at you, there's a lump on your forehead that makes the thing quite plain. You have been fooling with Alton, and he has 'most pounded the life out of you. Still, what do you want to leave the country for, anyway?"
Damer set his lips, and drummed with his fingers on the table. Then he made a little deprecatory gesture, and glanced at Hallam.
"You'll hear it all by and by, but there's one point where you're wrong," he said. "Now, I'm not scared too easily, but I kind of feel it in me I'll make nothing but trouble for myself by worrying Alton. Still, it's not the man himself I'm afraid of. I've met tougher ones, and come out ahead of them."
Hallam sat silent a moment, for he knew the prospectors and survey packers who passed their lives amidst the desolate ranges and in the shadowy bush and their superstitions.
"You have had trouble with him before?" he said.
"Yes," said Damer, "I have. He cut my partner down with an axe back there in Washington. It was in the big rush in the Baker foothills, and we had a hard crowd standing in with us; but I had to pull out, and Alton and another man made most of five thousand dollars out of the claim I left."
"The Bluebird?" said Hallam reflectively. "I remember that rush. Alton did himself well. Wasn't there a man called Nailer mixed up in the affair?"
"There was," said Damer, who seemed to shiver a little. "He was my partner. We'd have had the claim, and Alton wouldn't have worried anybody again, if Nailer had kept his nerve that night. Something went wrong with the spring of his Winchester.—and Alton didn't give him another chance."
The silence that followed was, somewhat impressive. Hallam was trying to remember what he had read about the affray in question in a Tacoma paper, while Damer once more saw in fancy a man spring half-dressed through the wisp of smoke that drifted about a little tent. He remembered with an unpleasant distinctness the crash of the rifle shot that rang amidst the shadowy pines, and the grim face of the man who whirled an axe that glinted in the moonlight about his head. He saw the flash of its descent—and then brushing the memories from him stretched out a hand that shook a little towards the whisky on the table.
"Well," he said, "I owe Alton a good deal, and that's why I went up to Somasco when you told me, but he has been too much for me again, and now I feel it in me that if I'm wise I'll let that man alone."
He drank a little whisky, and sat still, staring vacantly before him with a vague apprehension in his eyes, while the strained tenseness of his expression and attitude was not without its effect on Hallam, and it was unfortunate he did not yield to the impulse which prompted him to let Damer go. He, however, shook off the fancy with a little, impatient laugh.
"It's not going to suit me to have you slipping out of the country," he said. "I want you right here, though it would be quite easy to find a man with twice the grit you have in you. You let Alton whip you off your claim in Washington, and—for I've a notion of what has happened—'most pound the head off you yesterday. Now you want to light out, leaving him to laugh at you?"
Damer flushed a little, and a look of vindictive malice crept into his eyes as he rose.
"That's about enough!" he said. "You're quite a different man from
Alton. I'm going on."
"Sit down!" said Hallam sharply. "I'm quite as dangerous to you. Take some more whisky, and listen to me, though I didn't think it would be necessary to go into the thing again. I was with the men who found Gordon at the bottom of his shaft on the Quatchigan."
Damer appeared irresolute, but he sat down. "Nobody knows how he got there."
"No? Well, I have a notion, and I guess Tom Winstanley and one other man could tell."
"Winstanley's dead."
Hallam laughed. "Still, the other man is on my pay-roll, but where you can't get at him unless I want you to. Now, are you going to gain anything by kicking against me?"
Damer was evidently astonished, and sat for almost a minute as though lost in reflection. Then he made a little gesture as one who abandons a struggle.
"I guess that takes me. What do you want?" he said.
"Nothing very much in the meanwhile. They'll start you rock-drilling at the Tyee, but it's quite likely I'll send you up into the ranges prospecting by and by. Still, I don't want any of the folks down here to know you're with me, and you'll start out by the railroad trail to-morrow, and wait at the lake until I come up with you. There's somebody coming now!"
Damer moved abruptly, for there was a step on the stairway, and as he reached the verandah a man brushed past him. He stopped, and for a moment Damer and Alton stood face to face. The latter, however, passed on, and swept his glance round the room, seeing only a man he did not recognize sitting at the opposite end with his back to him. Then he swung round again, and went down the stairway shouting, "Horton!" until a man came out from a shed at the back of the store.
"Well," he said, "I'm here. You needn't raise the whole place, Harry."
Alton laughed. "I've been up to Grantly's, and he's going in to the railroad to-morrow. You can send that order for the crockery along with him. Dollars are no object so long as it's pretty. The tea is to be the best they keep in Vancouver, too."
He swung himself into the saddle, and shook the bridle, while Damer leaned on the verandah balustrade gazing up the dusky trail he had taken until the last faint beat of horsehoofs sank into the silence of the bush. It was now very black and solemn, but away beyond it the snow still shone faintly cold and white against the sky, and once more Damer shivered a little as he turned towards the lighted store. He had meant to leave the country, but fate had been too strong for him, and remembering what Hallam had told him about the prospecting he wondered if he and Alton would meet again under that cold gleam of snow amidst the great desolation of the ranges.
CHAPTER IX
MISS DERINGHAM FEELS SLIGHTED
The morning was still and almost unpleasantly warm, but Miss Deringham looked very fresh and cool in her long white dress as she lay in a deerhide chair on the verandah of the Somasco ranch. She had hung her hat on the back of the chair, and a shaft of sunlight called up an answering brightness from the coils of lustrous hair. One foot in the scantiest form of slipper rested on the lowest rail of the balustrade, and she had slightly curled herself up in the chair in a fashion which implied a languid content with her surroundings, and that there was no longer any need for ceremony between herself and her companion. It is possible that Miss Deringham was aware of this, even if she had not intended to convey that impression.
Alton, who now wore a new jean jacket buttoned right up to the neck, leaned against a pillar, answering the questions of the girl, who glanced at him with a smile occasionally. He had, as usual, a good deal to do that day, and now and then turned his eyes towards the sun, as though noticing its height above the cedars, which did not, of course, escape Miss Deringham's attention. Still, he lingered upon the verandah, and what she deduced from this was not unpleasant to the girl. Though it still returned at increasing intervals, she had almost forgotten her antipathy to the man, and the fact that he was rapidly yielding to her refining and sometimes chastening influence was indirectly flattering. Miss Deringham experienced the more gratification in using it because he was quick-witted, and a veiled rebuke would bring a little darker colour into his sun-darkened face, and she could forgive his offences, which were indeed not frequent, for the sake of his penitence.
"You have been very patient," she said at length.
"No," said Alton with a twinkle in his eyes, "I don't think that is a thing anybody could bring up against me."
"Still," said the girl, "you have been an hour here talking to me, when you must have been dying to get away."
Alton laughed, and Miss Deringham found something pleasant in his naive directness. "Now, that's not fair. If I had been I should have gone," said he. "It would please me to stay right here and talk to you all day."
Miss Deringham shook her head reproachfully. "One should imply such things and not put them into words. Still, I scarcely think you will much longer have an opportunity. We are going on to Vancouver very shortly."
Alton's face grew clouded. "Why?" he said.
The girl laughed softly. "We have inconvenienced Mrs. Margery a good deal already, and it is evident that we cannot stay here for ever."
Alton moved abruptly, and his companion fancied she heard a stifled sigh. "No," he said gravely. "It's a pity; but you could wait for another month or two."
Alice Deringham smiled a little. "You and Charley will miss us, then?"
Alton nodded gravely, but there was a subdued brightness in his eyes, and the girl wished he would open them fully. She fancied he was putting considerable restraint upon himself. "I don't know about Charley. He can talk better than I can for himself, but I shall miss you all the time," he said. "This has been a revelation to me, and I feel that it is good for me to talk to you. Then, before you came I had a kind of bitter feeling against all my father's folks in England. I figured they were wrapped up in their cast-iron pride, and ready to trample on anybody who got in their way; but you have started me thinking differently, and it seems my duty to know more of them. After all, I am an Alton of Carnaby."
The girl smiled again. "You fancy you may have been wrong?"
The man's face flushed a little, and there was once more evidence of the self-restraint. "Yes," he said simply. "I know I was a fool."
He might have said a good deal more, and lessened the effect, for Miss Deringham had seen his face and read the respect in it. Its sincerity touched her, and she felt with a vague uneasiness that it would not be pleasant to face his contempt if he found it misplaced.
"And yet you take your father's part?" he said.
"Of course," said Alton simply. "What would any son do? But it seems to me there might be a little allowance for my grandfather, too, and I think he and my father have fixed up that quarrel long ago."
"They are both dead," said the girl with a little curiosity.
"Yes," said Alton, "and they kept their word, and died unyielding. Well, I think they were each right from their way of looking at the thing, and that being so they could only do what they did, and would respect each other for it when they meet where the long trail ends. My father was right in holding to the woman who loved him, and I think Tristan Alton knew it when he left Carnaby to me."
Miss Deringham seemed thoughtful. The man's grim code of honour, inflexible as it was primitive, caused her, for no apparent reason, indefinite misgivings, and she made a little gesture of weariness. "I think," she said, "it would be better if we did not talk of Carnaby, and I was wondering if it would be possible to catch a trout if there is a little more wind presently."
This was scarcely a correct rendering of her thoughts, for she was in reality desirous of ascertaining whether the man would, to afford her pleasure, thrust his work aside.
"Well," he said eagerly, "I shouldn't wonder if it would. Now, there's the planer to fix up, but that could wait a little, and—but here's someone coming!"
Miss Deringham was conscious of a trace of annoyance when a girl rode out of the orchard on a wiry little pony. She was dressed neatly and rode well, though the somewhat scanty skirt was evidently not the work of a habitmaker and had seen lengthy service, while the plain straw hat could not at the limit have cost more than a dollar; nor did she wear any gloves, and her hands were brown, while her face betokened exposure to frost and wind and sun. It was, however, a comely face, and Miss Deringham noticed that the girl carried herself gracefully. It was also curious that she was not wholly pleased when Alton went forward to greet the newcomer with his hat in his hand, and, she fancied, offered more assistance than was absolutely necessary in helping her down. Then they entered the verandah together, and Alice Deringham smiled in a fashion which did not pledge her to any extreme good-will when Alton presented the stranger.
"Miss Townshead, from the ranch back yonder," he said.
Miss Deringham said something of no importance, and waited with slightly unusual curiosity for the girl's answer, which somewhat astonished her. The voice was nicely modulated, and the intonation free from Western harshness and unmistakably English.
"You will come over and see us. It is a long time since we had a visit from anybody from England," she said. "Are you pleased with this country?"
Miss Deringham glanced at Alton. "I grow almost enthusiastic about it at times," she said. "Its inhabitants are also especially kind."
The man did not, however, respond as he might have done. "It's a tolerably good country," he said gravely, and then glanced at the stranger. "Nothing wrong at the ranch, I hope, Miss Nellie?"
"No,", said the girl. "We have, however, heard that Jack is seriously ill, and I rode over because the spotted steer has broken away, and I found the trail led into the Somasco valley. It was one of the beasts father was sending down to sell."
Alton became suddenly intent. "Then it has not gone far. I saw its trail an hour ago," he said. "Well, we must head the beast off before it gets into the thick timber under the range, and there's no time to lose. I'll be ready in two minutes. Would you like to follow with Charley, Miss Deringham?"
The time had scarcely been exceeded when he led a horse out of the stable, held his hand out for Miss Townshead to mount by, and then swung himself to the saddle. Then he and the girl swung across the clearing at a gallop, and Alice Deringham endeavoured to assure herself that she was not angry. It appeared that her angling was of considerably less importance than the capture of the steer.
It was possibly for this reason that she was unusually gracious to Seaforth, who came along just then, and though evidently in some haste, stopped to talk to her; while when she had promised to accompany him to witness the chase, and he strode away towards the stable, her father sauntered out of the house and glanced in her direction whimsically.
"It occurs to me that one of us is responsible for some irregularity in the work upon this ranch, and that the beast it a trifle uncertain in his moods," said he.
"It is," said his daughter, "a little difficult to understand you."
Deringham pointed to the two mounted figures just entering the brush, and the girl fancied that something had ruffled him. He could be unpleasant when that happened.
"Alton of Somasco is a somewhat busy man, but both he and his partner seem to have suspended their energies this morning," he said. "No doubt wild-beast taming has its fascination, but one might fancy it was apt to prove a somewhat disconcerting and perilous amusement."
"Yes?" said the girl in a tone of languid inquiry.
Deringham nodded. "One can never tell when the beast may revert to his primitive instincts, and do something unpleasant," he said. "This one is also evidently of somewhat uncertain temperament. We are told that Una had a lion, but the effect of the story would have been diminished if it had been recorded that the king of the forest divided his allegiance."
Miss Deringham was now convinced that her father was not pleased. "I have not noticed anything especially leonine about Mr. Seaforth," she said.
"No," said Deringham dryly. "The Honourable Charley appears to be an admirable young man of the domestic feline species, but I don't know of any reason that would make it advisable to waste powder and shot over him."
Miss Deringham rose languidly, but her father felt he had gone as far as was desirable, and went back to grapple with a financial difficulty from which he could see only one escape, while she rode away with Seaforth, who led out the horse reserved for her use. Alice Deringham could ride, but when they left the clearing and plunged into the bush she found that all she had been taught in England was not much use in British Columbia. There was no perceptible trail, and the horses floundered round great fallen trees, and plunged smashing through thickets of black raspberry and barberry. In places their flanks were brushed by tall, black-stemmed fern, and where the forest was more open treacherous gravel slipped beneath the hoofs that sank from sight amidst the blood-red clusters of the little wineberry. After an hour of it the girl was shaken and breathless, and she contemplated her habit somewhat ruefully when Seaforth drew bridle. Somewhere far up on a hill shoulder there was a smashing in the bush.
"Are you sure you have not lost the way?" she said. "It seems impossible for horses or cattle to get through this forest."
Seaforth laughed. "The bush is really thin here," he said. "Anybody used to it could get through at a gallop, while a good bushman could scarcely make five miles a day walking where it's tolerably thick. I wonder if you know that the ox was originally a denizen of the bush. I didn't until Harry told me. It always seemed to me a tranquil beast adapted for sober locomotion on nice green grass."
"And isn't it?" said the girl with indifference in her eyes. "Mr.
Alton is an authority on cattle?"
"Harry," said Seaforth, smiling, "is, although one might not always fancy so, a complete encyclopaedia on everything useful. Anyway, from the sound up yonder you will presently see some of the primitive habits of the genus bos, and the spectacle may be the more interesting because the beast will if possible head away up that valley into fastnesses where only a prehistoric man with a tail could follow it."
Alice Deringham said nothing further and was glad of the rest. They had pulled their horses up on the slope of a hill which formed one side of a hollow out of which several valleys opened. There were great trees about them, and it was only here and there a ray of sunlight pierced the dim green shadow, while below them a stream went frothing down a miniature canon whose banks were cumbered by fallen timber. It was, the girl fancied, an especially difficult place for a horseman to pick his way through.
Meanwhile the sound above grew louder, and presently an object apparently travelling like a thunderbolt came out of the shadow. It was, notwithstanding the speed it made, gambolling playfully, with head tossed sideways and tail in the air, and when Miss Deringham fancied it must turn aside for a tangled brake, went smashing straight through it. As it emerged with an exultant flourish of head and tail two other objects became visible behind it, and Seaforth pushed forward when the mounted figures came sweeping down the mountain side. Here and there they swung wide round a fallen tree, but they rode straight through raspberry-canes and breast-high fern, and Alice Deringham wondered when she saw that one of them was a girl. She had left her hat somewhere in the bush, her hair streamed about her, the skirt was blown aside; but she held on with set lips and two vivid spots of colour in her warm-tinted face, a length or two behind her companion. He was riding hard, and there was a red smear across his face where a branch had smote him.
Miss Deringham turned to watch them, realizing that whatever the steer risked, its pursuers were in peril of life and limb. Sometimes one horse rose above fern and thicket, or twisted, apparently with the sinuosity of a snake, in and out amidst the clustered trunks, while once the girl lurched forward. Miss Deringham gasped, but part of the fluttering skirt was rent away, and the little lithe figure swept on again. The pair were, it was evident, closing with the steer, and the latter apparently cut off from the valley it made for by the ravine. This was not, however, to prove an insuperable obstacle, for as Miss Deringham with difficulty edged her horse nearer, the beast charged straight at the hollow, and dropped into it. Then, while she regarded its capture as certain, it rose into view again, and floundered up the almost vertical slope on the other side with no very obvious difficulty. Miss Deringham, who found this riding down of a Canadian steer almost as exciting as anything she had seen when following the English hounds, regretted that the ravine with its fringe of undergrowth and litter of netted branches must apparently put a stop to the pursuit. Though the width was not great, no horse, she fancied, would be expected to face it, and she watched the two figures flitting amidst the trunks to see when they would pull up.
There was, however, no sign that they intended to do so, and Miss Deringham gasped a little when Alton glanced for a moment over his shoulder.
"Pull him!" his voice reached her hoarsely, and she held her breath as she saw the man's hand move on the bridle and his heels pressed home. The horse swung clear of the thicket, plunged with head down, flung it up, and straightened itself again; there was a drumming of hoofs, and man and beast had shot forward from the bank. It seemed an appreciable time before they came down amidst the fern, and then Miss Deringham drew in her breath with a little sibilant sigh.
"Oh!" she said softly, and there was a great smashing as man and beast reeled through a brake on the other side.
"Yes," said Seaforth, "it was a tolerably risky thing, but it takes a good deal to turn Harry. Where's Nellie Townshead now?"
"There," said Miss Deringham, instinctively clenching her bridle.
"Surely the girl cannot be going to try it."
"Good Lord!" said Seaforth under his breath, and the second figure rushed with streaming skirt and hair at the gap cleared by Alton's passage.
Then the man turned his head, and it was a moment before he looked round again, very white in face. "Thank Heaven!" he said hoarsely. "She's over."
Miss Deringham glanced at him curiously, and then laughed a little. "Miss Townshead is evidently a determined young woman," she said, with something in her manner which led Seaforth to fancy that this was not intended as a compliment. "But what is Mr. Alton doing?"
"Getting the rope ready," said Seaforth. "It's scarcely used in this country, but Harry once did some stock-riding on the prairie. We'll push on a little."
It became evident as they did so that the position favoured the pursuers now. A rock it was apparently incapable of climbing prevented the flight of the steer in one direction, and Miss Townshead had ridden forward ready to turn the beast if it attempted escape in another. It stopped with lowered head as though meditating an onslaught upon her, then wheeled again and came back towards Alton, who rose a trifle in his stirrups, whirling the rope about his head. It shot forward presently, uncoiling in a curve, and then the man swung backwards, wheeling his horse, and there was a crash as the steer went down amidst the fern.
"That should take a good deal of the friskiness out of it," said Seaforth. "We'll go across and join them. There's a way over somewhere."
The steer was roped to a tree when they came up with the pair, and Seaforth noticed with some inward amusement the way in which the two girls glanced at each other, and the contrast between them. Miss Deringham was almost too serene, and, he fancied, might have stepped out of a picture. Miss Townshead's cheeks were crimson, her skirt was rent, and, though she had evidently found opportunity to effect some alteration, loose wisps of hair still hung about her shoulders. They were, however, of a fine silky brown, and it seemed to Seaforth, might have been arranged in a more unbecoming fashion.
"I wonder if I might venture to congratulate you. We seldom witness horsemanship of this description in England," said Miss Deringham, with an inflection in her voice which Seaforth guessed the meaning of, and seemed to bring a slightly warmer tinge into the already carmine cheeks of the girl.
Still, she looked at the speaker with a little smile. "There is a difference between the two countries, and the scarcity of dollars in this one explains a good deal," she said.
Alton glanced at both of them with a slightly bewildered expression. "Of course!" said he. "The thing's quite simple. That steer is worth so many dollars to Miss Townshead's father, and he couldn't afford to lose them."
Alice Deringham turned aside with a just perceptible gesture of impatience, which Seaforth noticed and fancied he understood, though it was not apparent to the others, and while she rode on with him, Alton appeared thoughtful as he did something to his bridle. When he had finished it he saw that his companion was smiling at him.
"It seems to me there are a good many things I don't know," said he.
"Of course," said the girl lightly. "Still, I don't think I would worry over them if I were you. They are very trivial!"
Alton nodded sagely, and odd fragments of his conversation reached Miss Deringham. "We'll send someone back for the steer," he said. "Jack's no better?"
"No," said the girl, with a little quiver in her voice. "I am afraid the work is too hard for him up there."
Alton seemed thoughtful. "I wonder if he would come down and do something for me," he said. "I could find a use for another man or two, you see."
Again the little flush of crimson crept into Miss Townshead's cheeks. "I don't think so; he seems to fancy he can get into the C.P.R. service when he is better."
"Well," said Alton, "I'm going to take a liberty. Jack wouldn't have gone up yonder if you hadn't wanted the dollars?"
Nellie Townshead looked down a moment, then swiftly raised her head, and though her fingers seemed to tighten on the bridle there was a curious steadiness in her eyes. "There is," she said, "no use in denying what everybody knows."
Alton nodded. "I know that kind of worry, and it's a bad one. Has
Hallam got a hold upon the ranch?"
Miss Townshead appeared astonished, and did not answer for a moment. "I fancied you did not know, but he has," she said. "He came up to see my father a week ago, and that is why we are selling the stock."
Alton's face darkened. "That man's of the same breed as the panther, only the panther lets up when he's full. Well, you needn't tell me any more. Interest's high in this country, but it's a pity your father———"
He stopped a moment, and appeared a trifle embarrassed when the girl regarded him with a little flash in her eyes. "My father has done his best," she said.
"Of course!" said Alton hastily. "Well, now, Hallam wants your ranch, and when that man wants a thing it's bad to keep him from getting it, but it wouldn't please me to see him take the ranch. I wonder if you can figure what his next move will be?"
The girl's fingers trembled, but there was patience and courage in her eyes. "I am afraid I can," said she. "We shall be sold up and driven out very shortly."
Alton shook his head. "I wouldn't count too much on that. Hallam's bad all through, but there are one or two other men who will have a finger in what's going to be made out of this country, and it would be a favour if when he shuts down on you, you send word to me."
The girl did not look at the man, but rode silent for a while. "I think I understand you, and you are very kind—but it is impossible."
"No," said Alton grimly. "You don't understand me. There's not room enough up here for Hallam and me, and I've a deal to square off with him already. Now when you get your notice you will send word to me?"
"Yes," said the girl, as one making a swift decision, and there was a sudden flash of hope in her eyes.
"That is a bargain," said Alton, with the little soft laugh of his. "Then when the deal's fixed up all the winnings will not be counted over by Mr. Hallam."
Miss Deringham heard nothing further, and understood very little of what had reached her, while though unusually gracious to Seaforth she found him distinctly unresponsive.
She, however, lent Miss Townshead a hat when they reached the ranch, and made no comment when Seaforth rode home with her. It was late that night when the latter found Alton smoking in a somewhat dubious mood upon the verandah.
"Is there anything worrying you?" said he.
"Oh, yes," said Alton grimly. "There's work of all kinds waiting, and nothing done to-day. Somehow women seem to play the devil with a man's plans, Charley."
"Yes," said Seaforth, "they not infrequently do."
"Well," said Alton, "I wouldn't mind so much if I'd pleased anybody, but I haven't, you see. I was talking at large about something after we'd got the steer, when Miss Nellie turned right round on me. Then I came back here, and Miss Deringham didn't seem pleased with me."
"Did she tell you so?" said Seaforth, smiling, and Alton turned upon him savagely.
"No, sir, she did not," said he. "Anyway, it wasn't necessary. You understand these folks from the old country, Charley?"
"It is," said Seaforth dryly, "a tolerably bold venture to assert that one understands anybody."
"Well," said Alton, "you know what I mean. Now do you think Miss Deringham was vexed because she didn't get that fishing? You see she is tolerably keen on it. Of course, if I had thought of it I might have sent you with her."
"No," said Seaforth, smiling. "I should scarcely fancy that was the reason, and I don't fancy the arrangement suggested would have given Miss Deringham any great pleasure. Nor do I think I should have gone."
"No?" said Alton inquiringly.
"No," said Seaforth dryly. "I'm not Alton of Somasco—and Carnaby—you see."