The girl seemed to shiver. "Is there nothing to say on the other side?" she said.
"Well," said the teamster reflectively, "I think he means well, and never took more than his right from any man, while there are people who would as soon have his word as its value in dollar bills."
"You seem to know him suspiciously well," said Miss Deringham sharply.
"I do," said Harry simply, as he stood up. "Anyway, as well as most people. You know where I fixed your bed up, sir, when you want to turn in. There's nothing in this bush, miss, that would hurt you."
He stepped back into the shadows, and the camp seemed lonely without him, while as the girl shivered in the cold wind, Deringham glanced at her curiously.
"Well?" he said.
Then the red crept into his daughter's cheeks and a sparkle Into her eyes. "It will take a very long time to get used to. I could almost hate the man," she said,
"It is hard to lose one's inheritance," said Deringham dryly.
The flush grew a trifle plainer in his daughter's cheek. "It is not the value of the land," she said. "But think of such a man, a brutal, cattle-driving boor, ruling at Carnaby where my mother lived."
"Still," said Deringham, "the value is not inconsiderable, and Carnaby would have been yours some day."
The girl made a gesture of impatience. "That is not my complaint," she said. "I could have let it pass without bitterness to an Englishman who would have lived in it in accordance with the traditions of his race, but this man——"
"Will no doubt cut down the timber, open the fireclay pits, and desecrate the park with brickworks," he said. "That is, unless he has convivial proclivities, and, finding himself ostracized, fills Carnaby with turf and billiard-room blacklegs."
The girl ground her heel viciously into the mould. "Have you any reason for going into these details?" she said.
Deringham watched her closely. "I only wished you to understand the position, and to remember that you and I are both to some extent at the mercy of our rancher kinsman," he said.
He left her presently to seek the couch the teamster had prepared for him, and Miss Deringham retired to the wagon. She found the bed of cedar-twigs comfortable, but it was some time before she slept and dreamed that a stranger dressed in coarse blue jean was holding high revel in the Carnaby she loved. She was awakened by the howl of a wolf, and lay still shivering, until she saw the tall, dusky figure of the Canadian approach the fire and stand there as if on guard with the red light upon him. Then with a curious sense of security she went to sleep again.
CHAPTER IV
HALLAM OF THE TYEE
The morning was still and warm when the driver of the wagon pulled up his team where four trails met in the shadow of the bush. Miss Deringham had somewhat to her astonishment passed the night very comfortably and enjoyed the breakfast their companion provided. The bracing cold of sunrise, when all the bush was steeped in fragrance and a wonderful freshness came down from the snow, had also brought her a curious exhilaration, as well as a tinge of colour into her cheeks, and now she was sensible of a faint regret and irritation when the man glanced towards her deprecatingly.
"It would please me to drive you straight through to the settlement, but there's a load of things I want at Calhoun's up yonder," he said.
He pointed to a trail that turned off sharply, and the girl glanced at her father somewhat blankly. "And what are we to do?" said she.
"Well," said the man, "you can wait here until Barscombe comes along. He'll be riding in to the settlement presently, and would be glad to take you for a dollar or two."
"But we might have to wait a long time," said the girl with a trace of imperiousness. "It would suit us considerably better to go on with you."
"Sorry!" said the man gravely. "I can't take you. Calhoun's a busy man, and he'll be waiting up at the ranch for me. I told him I was coming."
There was now no doubt about the colour in Miss Deringham's face. Few of her wishes bad been denied her hitherto, and most of the men she had met had been eager to do her bidding, while the scarcely qualified refusal of this one came as a painful astonishment. The fact that she should be left in the lonely forest to avoid keeping some rude rancher waiting was distinctly exasperating.
Deringham, however, smiled a little as he took a wallet from his pocket. "I can understand it, because I am also a busy man when I'm at home," he said. "It is a question of the value of your time and Mr. Calhoun's apparently?"
Though he possibly did not realize it Deringham's tone was a trifling condescending, and there was something in it which suggested that he believed anything could be bought with money. He was, however, a little astonished when the man regarded him gravely out of eyes that closed a trifle.
"That's just where you're wrong," said he. "If I could have taken you on to save the lady waiting it would have pleased me. As it is, I can't, you see."
He said nothing more, but dismounting pulled the boxes out of the wagon and laid some travelling wraps upon one of them, while Miss Deringham affected not to see what he was doing. "And how long will it be before Barscombe passes?" said she.
"It can't be more than two hours," said the teamster quietly. "All you have to do is to sit there and wait for him."
He took off his broad hat when the others alighted, and Miss Deringham noticed there was a trace of courtliness in his simplicity. Then he strode past her father, who was taking something out of his wallet, and swung himself lightly into the wagon. He spoke to the team, there was a creak and rattle, and next moment the vehicle was lurching down the trail. Deringham stood still a moment, his fingers inside the wallet and mild wonder in his eyes, and then smiled a little as his daughter turned towards him. There was a faint pink flush of anger in her cheeks.
"The dollar does not appear to retain its usual influence in this part of Canada," he said dryly. "Possibly, however, the man was too embarrassed by your evident displeasure to remember his hire."
Miss Deringham saw the twinkle in her father's eyes and laughed a little. "I don't think he was," she said. "Had that been the case one could have forgiven him more easily. Well, I wonder how long Barscombe will keep us waiting."
Deringham made a whimsical gesture of resignation. "In the meantime I notice that our late conductor has arranged a comfortable seat for you," he said.
The girl sat down, and looked about her. It was very still in the bush, and the sound of running water drifted musically out of the silence. From somewhere in the distance there also came a curious drumming which she did not know then was made by an axe, but it presently ceased, and the song of the river rose alone in long drowsy pulsations. In front of and behind her stretched the rows of serried trunks which had grown to vastness of girth and stateliness with the centuries, and the girl, who was of quick perceptions, felt instinctively the influence of their age and silence. There was, it seemed, something intangible but existent in this still land of shadow which reacted upon her pleasantly after the artificial gaieties and glitter of surface civilization. Her impatience and irritation seemed to melt, and the time slipped by, until she was almost drowsy when with an increasing rattle another wagon came jolting down the trail.
Its driver pulled up, and regarded them with placid astonishment, but he was amenable to the influence of Deringham's wallet, and they took their places in the vehicle. There was nothing remarkable about the man, and he ruminated gravely when as they stopped to let the horses drink Deringham asked him a question concerning their late companion.
"It might have been Thomson," he said. "A big man, kind of solid and homely?"
"No," said Miss Deringham reflectively. "I should scarcely describe him as homely."
"Well," said the other, "if you told me the kind of wagon I might guess at him."
Deringham described the vehicle as well as he was able, and the stranger nodded. "That's Jimmy Thomson's outfit all right," said he. "What did he charge you?"
Miss Dillingham laughed. "It is curious that he charged us nothing," said she.
"Well," said the stranger gravely, "that was blame unlike Jimmy. There's only one man in this country would do that kind of thing, and as he hasn't a wagon to fit what you're telling me, it couldn't he him."
Miss Deringham had purposed asking who the man in question was, but the driver started his team just then, and an hour later drove them into the sleepy settlement and carried their boxes into Horton's hotel. He gravely invited Deringham to drink with him, and appearing mildly astonished went about his business when the latter declined. Deringham smiled at his daughter.
"There are, as one might expect, men of somewhat different type in this country, but I prefer the first one," said he.
Miss Deringham also fancied that she did so, though she did not admit it, and that evening was made acquainted with yet another and more different one. Horton as usual served supper at six o'clock, and all his guests were expected to partake of reasty pork, potatoes, flapjacks, green tea and fruits at the same table. To this he made no exception, and would not have done so for the premier, and when a small company of axemen and free prospectors filed in Deringham and his daughter took their places amidst the rest.
The room was long and bare, boarded with rough-sawn cedar, and furnished chiefly by the benches that ran down either side of the plain table; but the aromatic smell of the wood was stronger than that of stale tobacco, and the company avoided more than quietly respectful glances at the daintily-dressed Englishwoman.
They were quiet men with grave and steady eyes, and though they ate as if feeding was a serious business, and they had no time to waste, there was nothing in their converse that jarred upon the girl. Indeed, she saw one break off in a story whose conclusion she fancied might not have pleased her when a comrade glanced at him deprecatingly. In another ten minutes they filed out again, and Deringham smiled at his daughter. "What do you think of them?" he said.
The girl laughed. "Ostriches," she said. "Of course, I guess your thoughts. You were wondering if my kinsman resembles them. How long do we stay here?"
Deringham glanced at her covertly, and noticed the faint sparkle in her eyes and the scornful set of her lips. "That depends," he said, "partly upon our kinsman's attitude, for if he offered us hospitality we should probably stay a little. You were also right, my dear, as usual."
The girl's pose grew a trifle more rigid, and the fingers of one hand seemed to close vindictively. "It is grotesque—almost horrible, isn't it?" she said.
Her father nodded. "It might be," he said. "Still, as you know, the Carnaby affairs are involved, and there is a possibility of contesting his claim under the somewhat extravagant will. It is not altogether improbable that I shall find means of persuading him to stay here with his cows and pigs."
Deringham slightly accentuated part of the sentence, and again a faint tinge of colour crept into the face of the girl and vindictiveness into her eyes, for she understood him. The man who had on his deathbed bequeathed Carnaby to his grandson had driven out the young man's father years ago, and approaching dissolution had possibly somewhat clouded his faculties when he made the will. Deringham, who had married into the Alton family, and figured as a legatee, was, with the exception of the disinherited, the nearest of kin, and it had been generally expected that Carnaby would fall to his daughter; but perhaps in an endeavour to treat both sides fairly, its dying owner had, in the face of his lawyer's protests, inserted one clause which, for financial reasons, rendered a second union between the houses of Alton and Deringham distinctly advisable. There was, however, a high spirit in the girl, and she looked at her father steadily.
"But you were left the money, or most of it?" she said.
"Yes," said Deringham grimly. "I was left the money."
The girl asked nothing further, for there was something in the man's face which warned her not to press that subject. She knew that her father had long acted as financial adviser to the late owner of Carnaby, but it was not astonishing that Deringham had not told her he had exceeded the discretion allowed him, and been singularly unfortunate in his speculations.
She rose, and a man who like themselves had finished his meal leisurely followed them outside into the verandah. He smiled as he drew out a chair for the girl, and then sat down opposite her father with a card in his hand.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Deringham. I'll introduce myself," said he.
Deringham took the card handed him, and glanced with an air of quiet indifference at the stranger, while his daughter looked apparently straight past him towards the climbing pines. Nevertheless, she had seen the man, and was not pleased with him. He had a somewhat fleshy face, beady black eyes with a boldness in them that was more akin to insolence than courage, and a full-lipped, mobile mouth. His dress was correct enough, though he wore a somewhat ample ring with a diamond in it, and his watchchain was too heavy and prominent, but there was a suggestion of coarseness about him. Her father, leaning forward in his chair with an air of languid curiosity, the card in his slender fingers, appeared his antithesis, and yet the girl fancied there was a resemblance in the expression of the two faces. She also felt her dislike for the stranger increased when she saw for the first time the look of greed and cunning in his face reflected in that of her father. She had hitherto only pictured him as a skilful financier, but now she saw qualities she had never suspected in him revealed as by a daring caricature.
"Willard Hallam," Deringham read aloud. "Hallam and Vose. Land and mining agents. Advances made on mineral claims."
"Yes," said the stranger, smiling. "That's me."
Deringham made no comment, but laid the card down beside him. "I wonder," he said indifferently, "how you came to know me."
The chilling evenness of his voice seemed to irritate the other man, and Alice Deringham was conscious of a faint amusement as she glanced at them. Deringham in his tweed travelling attire, which, worn with apparent carelessness, seemed to hang with every fold just where it should be, was wholly at his ease, and there was a trace of half-expressed toleration in his thin, finely-cut face, while Hallam appeared to become coarse and embarrassed by comparison. He probably did not feel so, for diffidence of any kind is not common in the West, but he may have realized that in any delicate fencing the advantage would lie with Deringham. Both, producing nothing and living upon the toil of their fellows, played the same game, but, while the stakes and counters are very similar, one played it in Vancouver and the other in London, where a more subtle finesse is demanded from the players.
Hallam, however, smiled. "I don't know that you will be pleased when I tell you, but this should explain things," he said. "Of course, since your company took hold out here I have heard of you."
Deringham took the Colonial Journal handed him, glanced down a paragraph, and passed it to his daughter. "Your maid!" he said. "I fancied it was a mistake to part with her, my dear. It is evident she has not gone home."
Alice Deringham unconsciously drew herself up a trifle, as her eyes ran down the column. It was headed "Another missing heir," and ran: "We are getting used to having our railroad-shovelling and trail-cutting done by scions of the British aristocracy, and seldom ask them what they did in the old country so long as they behave themselves decently in this one. Twice recently, as mentioned in these columns, the successor to an English property of some value was discovered, in the one case peddling oranges, and in the other digging a rancher's ditches, while now we have another instance in the Somasco valley. It appears that long ago there was a family quarrel at Carnaby, England, and though we do not know what it was all about, the owner of what we understand is an encumbered estate turned out his son, who had the good sense to come out to this country, where he did pretty well. He died and left a son, Mr. Henry Alton, well known in the Somasco district, who appears to be a credit to the country which took his father in. The owner of Carnaby dying later, left the ancestral property to him, and, as in this case there does not seem to be a wicked uncle, Mr. Deringham, the next of kin and a distinguished London financier who has, we believe, had some dealings in local mines, has come out to look for him. Mr. Alton of Somasco will probably stop right where he is if he is the sensible man his neighbours seem to think him."
"That's correct?" said Hallam, glancing at Deringham.
"I knew who you were when I saw you."
"Yes," said Deringham. "The taste is questionable, but I can't deny its comparative accuracy."
"Then," said Hallam, "Alton stands between you and this Carnaby property?"
"I believe so," said Deringham quietly.
"It's a big estate?" said Hallam, and Alice Deringham, who knew his capabilities, wondered when her father would effectually silence this presumptuous stranger. In the meanwhile he, however, showed no intention of doing so.
"No," he said languidly. "It is a small one, and heavily in debt. I presume you know rancher Alton by the interest you show in him?"
"Yes," said Hallam, "and I don't like him."
Deringham scarcely glanced at his daughter, but she realized that her presence was not especially desired, and when she rose and went back into the building her father glanced steadily at Hallam.
"I wonder why you told me that," he said.
Hallam laughed. "Well, I generally talk straight, and I feel like that," he said. "Now, they don't keep anything that doesn't burn a hole in you here, and I've a bottle of English whisky. Don't see any reason why you shouldn't take a drink with me?"
"No," said Deringham indifferently. "I am, however, a somewhat abstemious man."
Hallam went into the building and returned with a cigar-case and a bottle. The contents of both were good, and Deringham sat languidly glancing over the curling smoke towards the glimmering snow. It towered white and cold against a pale green, shining high above climbing pines and dusky valley, while the fleecy mist crept higher and higher athwart the serried waves of trees that fell to the river hollow. Alice Deringham saw it, and drinking in the wonderful freshness that came down from the peaks and permeated the silence of the valley, realized a little of that great white rampart's awful serenity. She also wondered vacantly what the two men on the verandah were talking about; but in this she was wrong, for Hallam, overcharged with Western vivacity, was talking, and her father waiting quietly.
"No," said the former, returning to the subject with an affectation of naive directness. "I don't like Alton, and I figure he don't like me. Nothing wrong with the man that I know of, but I'm not fond of anybody who gets in my way, and Alton of Somasco has taken out timber rights all over the valley where we're running the Tyee. He got in with his claim a day or two ahead of me."
"A capable man?" said Deringham quietly.
"Oh, yes," said the other. "He's capable, so far as he sees, but the trouble is he doesn't see quite far enough. Now, there's not room enough for two men with notions round about Somasco, and a one-horse rancher can't fight men with money, so Alton's got hold of a good deal bigger contract than he can carry through. Anyway, now I've told you what I think of your relation, you can if you feel like that let right go of me."
Deringham smiled a little. "This," he said, "is the best whisky I have tasted in Canada."
Hallam laughed. "Well," he said, "I'm glad I met you, especially as you'll no doubt stop here a little, and size up the mineral resources of the country. There's lots of information lying round that should be useful to you. Anyway, you made a big mistake when you took up the Peveril. Dropped a good many dollars that time, didn't you?"
Deringham's face grew a trifle grim. "As you probably know just what the mistake cost us there is no use in me denying it," said he.
"Well," said Hallam sympathetically, "one can't always come out on top, and if you're stopping down at Vancouver I may be of some use to you, and you to me. If you'll come up to-morrow I'll show you the Tyee, and I've something better still up the valley."
"I'm sorry," said Deringham indifferently; "I'm going through to
Somasco!"
Hallam glanced at him steadily. "Of course you are," said he. "Well,
I've told you nothing Alton doesn't know, and I've letters to answer.
You'll excuse me?"
Deringham rose with him, and strolling along the verandah together they stopped a moment at the door, close by where Alice Deringham sat at an open window. It was growing dark now, but the last of the afterglow was flung down into their faces by the snow, and it seemed to the girl that the resemblance between them had grown stronger. Her father's appeared a trifle less refined in its chiselling than it had been, and there was a look which did not please her in his eyes. It suggested cupidity and cunning in place of intellectuality.
"Well," said Hallam, "you'll call on me at Vancouver anyway, and it's possible we may be some use to each other."
The hint of a confidence or understanding between them which the man's tone conveyed irritated the girl, but she saw that her father did not resent it. "Yes," he said. "If I think I can benefit by your co-operation in any way I will not fail to let you know."
Hallam went in, and Deringham leaned upon the verandah balustrade smoking tranquilly while the shadows that left the rolling mist behind crept higher and higher up the climbing pines until at last they touched and smeared into dimness the ethereal snow. Then the girl rose with a shiver and turned towards her father as Horton lighted the big lantern at the door. Deringham's face was, she fancied, a trifle haggard.
"I wonder why you have borne with that man so long," she said.
Deringham smiled a little. "There are many kinds of men, and presumably all of them are useful in their place," said he.
CHAPTER V
THE HEIR OF CARNABY
The sun was dipping towards the black ridge of firs on the shoulder of a hill when Deringham and his daughter rode down the winding trail into the Somasco valley. The girl gazed about her with eager curiosity, but the man who rode in silence apparently saw nothing, and it was only when his horse stumbled into a rut that he glanced round for a moment abstractedly. Deringham had much to occupy his mind just then, for while it was generally understood that he had made the journey at a physician's recommendation, he had reasons for choosing British Columbia to recuperate in.
He still retained control of the finances of Carnaby with the concurrence of the trustees, who were country gentlemen of no business capacity, and as it suited the family lawyer to remain on good terms with him nothing more than a very perfunctory account of his stewardship had been demanded. The late owner of Carnaby had been a man of simple tastes and unbending pride, who had a faint contempt for his kinsman, and refrained from inquiries respecting finances while there was no stoppage of supplies. There were one or two men who suspected that Deringham had profited by his relative's supineness, but it was only a vague surmise, and they did not know that the legacy bequeathed him had little more than an apparent value. Deringham had been unfortunate in his latest ventures, and could foresee considerable difficulty in extricating himself from a distinctly unpleasant position if the new heir decided to take immediate possession of his property. The latter had, however, shown no great desire to do so, and Deringham had accepted a commission from the trustees to ascertain his intentions.
A company of which he was one of the promoters had also invested somewhat unhappily in Western mines, and Deringham, who purposed to see what could be done with the depreciated securities, intended that the expenses of his sojourn in the mountain province should be borne by the shareholders. He had acquired considerable facility in the art of managing them, but the owner of Carnaby was an unknown quantity and Deringham was anxious.
Presently his daughter reined in her pony. "Stop a moment, father.
That must be the ranch," she said.
The man drew bridle, and for a moment forgot his perplexities as he gazed at the scene before him. Far down in the valley lay a still blue lake with a great white peak shining ethereally at its northern end. Dark pines rolled about it, growing smaller and smaller up the hillside until they dwindled with spires clean cut against the azure into a gossamer filigree. Between them and the water stupendous forest shrouded all the valley, save where an oblong of pale verdure ran back from the fringe of boulders and was traversed by the frothing streak of a river whose roar came up hoarsely across the pines in long pulsations.
That was all Deringham saw at first sight, but he realized that it was very beautiful, and then commenced to note details with observant eyes. There was a sawmill beside the river, for he could faintly hear a strident scream and see the blue smoke drifting in gauzy wisps across the hill. The square log-house which stood some little distance from the lake looked well built and substantial, and the road that wound through the green oblong had been skilfully laid with rounded strips sawn off the great fir-trunks. Sleek cattle stood apparently ready for dispatch in a corral, the yellowing oats beyond them were railed off by a six-foot fence, and behind the rows of sawn-off stumps which ringed about the clearing great trunks and branches lay piled in the confusion of the slashing. Deringham was not a farmer, but he was a man of affairs, and all he saw spoke to him of prosperity that sprang from strenuous energy and administrative ability.
"You are very silent," said his daughter. "What are you thinking?"
Deringham laughed a little, somewhat mirthlessly. "It occurs to me that whatever our unknown relative may be he is a good rancher, if this is his handiwork," he said. "Well, we shall see him very shortly."
The girl's fingers tightened a little on the switch she held. "We know what we shall find," she said with a gesture of cold disdain. "It would be so much easier if he had only been an educated Englishman!"
"Still," said Deringham dryly, "since we are ousted from Carnaby I do not see that it makes any great difference."
Miss Deringham's eyes sparkled, and a spot of colour tinged her cheeks.
Her mother had been one of the Altons who had long been proud of
Carnaby, and the instincts of the landholding race were strong within
her.
"No?" she said, with a little scornful inflection. "And you could look on while a cattle-driving boor made himself a laughing-stock at Carnaby?"
Deringham smiled again. "I am," he said, "inclined to feel sorry for the Canadian, but you will at least be civil to him."
Miss Deringham made a little gesture of impatience. "You do not suppose I should be openly resentful?" she said.
Her father still appeared ironically amused. "I do not know that it would be necessary, but I fancy the Canadian will have cause to regret he is an Alton," he said. "No doubt it would be some solace to you to make him realize his offences, but I scarcely think it would be advisable."
Then they rode down into the valley, through oatfields, and between the tall fir-stumps that rose amidst the fern, under the boughs of an orchard, and up to the square log-house. Nobody came out to receive them, or answered their call, and Deringham, dismounting, helped his daughter down, and tethering the horses passed through the verandah into the house. The long table in the big log-walled room they entered was littered with unwashed plates. Torn over-alls and old knee-boots lay amidst the axes and big saws in one corner, the dust was heavy everywhere, and rifles and salmon-spears hung upon the walls. There was no sign of taste or comfort. Everything suggested grim utility, and the house was very still. The girl, who was tired, sat down with a little gesture of dismay.
"This is worse and worse," she said.
Deringham, who was fond of his daughter, laid a hand upon her shoulder reassuringly. "You can go on to Vancouver when you wish," said he. "Sit still and rest, while I see if there is anybody about."
He strolled round the homestead, and noticed that log barns and stables were all well built, while presently he found a man plucking fowls in a galvanized shed. There was a row of them before him, all without heads, while an ensanguined axe close by indicated the fashion of their execution. He glanced at Deringham a moment, and then fell to work again.
"Oh, yes, this is Somasco, and the finest ranch this side of the Fraser," he said. "Can you see Mr. Alton? Well, I figure he's busy, and you had better wait a little. Get hold of this. It's your supper."
Deringham recoiled a pace when a somewhat gory fowl struck him on the knee, and then sat down on a pile of cedar-wood staring at the speaker. "I wish to see Mr. Alton as soon as possible," he said.
The other man looked up again, and grinned. "You'd better not," said he. "Harry Alton's a bit short in temper when he's busy, and if you're peddling anything it would be better if you saw him after supper. Then if you can't make a deal you can go on to-morrow. There's plenty good straw in the barn."
Deringham was not especially flattered at being mistaken for a peddler, nor had the prospect of sleeping on straw any great attraction for him, but he had a sense of humour, and, being desirous of acquiring information, took up the fowl.
"Do you put up every stranger who calls here, and give him a fowl for supper? What am I to do with this one?" he said.
"Now, where did you come from?" said the other. "That's just what we do. A fowl's not much for a man, anyway, and Harry will eat two of them when he's hungry. What are you going to do with it? Well, you can, pull the feathers off it, and fix it for cooking, unless you like them better with their insides in."
Deringham gravely pulled out four or five feathers, and then, finding it more difficult than he had expected, desisted. "Mr. Alton is apparently not married," he said.
The man grinned. "No, Harry knows when he's well off, and it would take a woman with a mighty firm grip to manage him," said he. "Still, there's one or two of them quite ready to see what they could make of him, but Mrs. Margery scares them off when they come round bringing him little things, and Harry's a bit pernicketty. His father was a duke or something in the old country."
"Mrs. Margery?" said Deringham inquiringly.
"Yes," said the other. "She's not here just now, but she keeps the house for him. I help round and do the cooking."
Deringham, who could adapt himself to his surroundings, nodded. "That is what you would consider a soft job in this country?"
"Well," said the man grimly, as he pointed to the deformation of one lower limb, "I am not fond of it, but it's about all I'm good for now. That's where the axe went in, and anybody but Harry Alton might have fired me. It was my own blame foolishness, too, but when the doctor told him Harry comes to me. 'You needn't worry about one thing, anyway. There'll be a job for you just so long as you're wanting it,'" says he.
"He does that kind of thing sometimes?" said Deringham curiously.
"No, sir," said the other dryly. "He does it every time, but the devil himself wouldn't squeeze ten cents out of Harry if he didn't want to give it him. But how long are you going to be stripping that fowl?"
"As I'm afraid it would take me all night, I would prefer to give you a half-a-dollar to do it for me," said Deringham.
The man straightened himself a little, and Deringham received another surprise.
"Patent medicines and hair-growers are up?" said he.
"I don't quite understand," said Deringham quietly.
"No?" said the other. "Well, you will do presently unless you get right out of this shanty. I'm fit to make my wages yet, if I've only got one handy leg, and I can put my mark on any blame peddler who talks that way to me."
"I'm sorry," said Deringham gravely. "I have, you see, just come from England, where folks are not always so well paid as you seem to be. I think I will look for Mr. Alton. Can you tell me where he is?"
The man, who appeared a trifle mollified, pointed to the bush. "He's yonder, but if he scares you, you needn't blame me," he said.
Deringham picked his way amidst the six-foot fir-stumps girdled with tall fern, over a breadth of white ashes and charcoal where the newly-won land lay waiting for the plough, in and out amidst the chaos of trunks that lay piled athwart each other all round the clearing, and stopped close by three men who were making an onslaught on a majestic tree. Its topmost sprays towered two hundred feet above them, and the great trunk ran a stupendous column to the vault of dusky green above. It was, however, the men who most attracted Deringham's attention, and he stood for a moment watching them.
Two were poised on narrow boards notched into the tree a man's height from the ground, and one was huge and swarthy, so that the heavy axe he held seemed a toy in his great gnarled hand. The other, whose figure seemed in some respects familiar, stooped a little with the bright axe blade laid flat in one palm as though he were examining it, and Deringham, who could not see his face, turned towards another who sat at the foot of the tree sharpening a big saw. His overalls were in tolerable repair, while from an indefinite something in his face and the way he wore them Deringham set him down as an Englishman. Still, he did not think he was an Alton.
"Can you tell me where Mr. Henry Alton is?" he said. The young man nodded. "Harry!" he said.
Then the man on the plank above turned round, and Deringham felt inclined to gasp as he stood face to face with the new heir to Carnaby. The man was grimed with dust and ashes. His blue shirt rolled back to the shoulders left uncovered arms that were corded like a smith's, and was rent at the neck so that Deringham could see the finely-arched chest. The overalls, tight-belted round the waist, set off the solidity of his shoulders and the leanness of the flank, while with the first glance at his face Deringham recognized the teamster who had driven them through the bush.
He stood poised on the few inches of springy redwood looking down upon him with a grimly humorous twinkle in his eyes, but through the smears of perspiration and the charcoal grime Deringham now recognized the expression of quiet forcefulness and the directness of gaze which was his birthright.
"Mr. Henry Alton?" he said.
"Yes," said the other quietly.
There was a moment's embarrassing silence, for Alton said nothing further, and Deringham gazed at the man he had journeyed three thousand miles to see.
"I should like a little talk with you," he said presently.
"Can't oblige you," said the other. "I couldn't spare more than a minute now for a railroad director. You can tell me anything you want after supper."
Deringham lost a little of his usual serenity. "My business is of some importance," he said.
Alton smiled grimly. "I can't help that. So is mine," said he. "A lawyer, by the stamp of you. Well, you're trailing the wrong man, because I don't owe anybody money. We'll put you up to-night, and you can look for him to-morrow."
"I have come from Carnaby, England," said Deringham, watching the effect upon the man. "You are, I presume the grandson of its late owner."
This shot got home, but the effect was not altogether what Deringham had anticipated, for Alton's big hands tightened on the axe and his face grew very stern. "I'm not proud of the connection, anyway," he said. "Alton of Somasco is good enough for me."
"But," said Deringham quietly, "I have come to talk things over with you. Tristan Alton left you Carnaby."
Alton straightened himself a little and flung out an arm, while Deringham recognized the Alton pride as with a sweeping gesture he pointed to wide lake, forest-shrouded hillside, and the clearing in the valley.
"He turned out my father because he knew his mind, and now when there is no one else leaves me the played-out property. Thank God, I don't want it, while that's all mine," he said. "What brings you here to talk of Carnaby?"
Deringham smiled a little. "The executor sent me, and I have come a long way," said he. "When I tell you that I am Ralph Deringham you should know me."
Alton nodded gravely. "Then you can tell me all about it after supper, and we'll have plenty time for talking, because you'll stay a while with me," he said. "If you'll go back to the house you'll find some cigars that might please you in the bureau. Sorry I can't come with you, but I'm busy. Are you ready, Tom?"
He turned, and swung up the axe while the big bushman swept his blade aloft, and Deringham watched them curiously. Alton swayed with a steely suppleness from the waist, and the broad wedge of steel flashed about his head before it came down ringing. The man had a few inches of springy wood which bent and heaved beneath him to stand upon, but the great blade descended exactly where the last chip had lain, and when it hissed aloft again that of the silent axeman dropped into the notch it made. Deringham knew a little about a good many things, including sword-play, and he realized as he watched the whirl and flash of blades, precision of effort, and exactitude of time, that this was an example of man's mastery over the trenchant steel.
Presently the man with the saw rose and touched his shoulder. "I fancy we had better draw aside a little," he said. "She will come down in another minute just here."
Now Deringham had seen trees wedged over and drawn down by ropes in England, and wondered a little when the man pointed to the spot where he was standing.
"If you don't resent the question, how do you know?" he said.
The other man laughed a little. "Harry told me, and he's seldom more than a foot out," he said.
There was a groaning of fibres as Deringham drew aside, but the two figures on the springy planks still smote and swung, until simultaneously they flung the axes down and, sprang. Then the great fir quivered a little, toppled, lurched, and fell, and the hillside resounded to the thud it made. It also smote the trembling soil just where the man with the saw had indicated. Then Alton signed to his assistant, and strode away with the axe on his shoulder towards another tree. The saw-sharpener laughed a little as he sat down again.
"Now you have had your say it would be better if you waited until after supper," he said. "You see, one thing at one time is quite enough for Harry, and he really isn't in the least uncivil when you understand him. Still, it's no use trying to make him listen when he doesn't want to."
"That," said Deringham dryly, "was always one of the characteristics of his family. You are presumably an Englishman?"
The other man laughed a little. "Yes," he said, "I'm Charles Seaforth, better known to the boys here as the Honourable Charley, though I have no especial right to the title, and am fortunate in holding a small share in the Somasco ranch, which I owe to my partner's generosity."
"Do I understand that he gave it you?" said Deringham.
Seaforth nodded. "You would be near the mark if you came to that conclusion."
"And is Mr. Alton in the habit of making similar presents?" said
Deringham.
Seaforth glanced towards the sinewy figure with the glinting axe, and smiled again. "That," he said quietly, "is one of the most generous men in the Dominion of Canada, but I should not care to be the man who attempted to take advantage of him."
Deringham said nothing further, though he was sensible of a slight uneasiness, and presently went back to the house to rejoin his daughter, while the dusk was creeping across the valley when the men from the sawmill and clearing came home, and Deringham led his daughter out when he heard Alton's voice in the verandah. The latter and his partner were together, and the girl at first felt a slight sense of relief as her glance fell upon Seaforth, who stood with his wide hat in his hand. He was, for that country, somewhat fastidious in dress, his eyes were mildly humorous, and his face was pleasant, while he had not as yet wholly lost the stamp of the graceful idler he had brought with him from England.
"This," said Deringham with the faintest trace of irony, "is our kinsman, Mr. Henry Alton of Carnaby. You have seen him already. My daughter Alice, Mr. Alton!"
The girl stood still a moment, and glanced at Seaforth, whom she could not recollect having seen before, with something that suggested not altogether unpleased surprise in her face. His appearance and attitude disarmed her, but as she was about to speak to him the other man moved so that the fading light fell full upon him. He stood, tall and almost statuesque in his torn overalls, with the misty pines rolling up the hillside behind him, and a big axe in his hand—a type, it seemed to her, of Western barbarity—and a red spot, faint but perceptible, rose into her cheeks as he bent his head. Then she came near forgetting what was due to both of them in her astonishment and anger.
"You!" she said.
"Yes," said the axeman gravely. "Still, your father made a little mistake. I'm Alton of Somasco."
Then he turned and moved forward with a gesture that was almost courtly. "You are very welcome to this poor house of mine," he said.
CHAPTER VI
MISS DERINGHAM MAKES FRIENDS
The Homeric supper was over, and Miss Deringham, who, sitting next to Alton at the head of the long table, had watched the stalwart axeman feed with sensations divided between disgust and wonder, was talking to Seaforth on the verandah, when her father sat by a window of the room his kinsman called his own. There were survey maps, tassels of oats, and a great Wapiti head upon the wall, while Alton himself lay almost full length in a deerhide chair. The window was open wide, and the vista of lake, pine-shrouded hillside, and snow, framed by its log casing, steeped in nocturnal harmonies of silver and blue. Out of the stillness came the scent of balsam, and the sighing of a little breeze amidst the pines.
Deringham held a good cigar, and there was a cup of coffee beside him, while he was not wholly sorry that they sat in darkness. He had realized that Alton of Somasco was by no means a fool, and waited his questions with some anxiety. The rancher, however, had apparently no present intention of asking any.
"So they've been wondering when I am coming over," he said reflectively. "I don't know that I'll come at all." Deringham looked down at his cigar to cover his astonishment. "But you are an Alton of Carnaby," he said.
"Yes," said Alton slowly. "But that is one of the things I want to forget. You see they drove my father out because he had the grit to marry the woman who loved him instead of another one who had the money, but you know all that?"
Deringham nodded, and Alton's face showed grim in the moonlight as he continued: "But what you don't know is how he fought his way uphill in this country, and what my mother suffered helping him. Oh, yes, I can remember her well, gentle, brave, and patient as she was, and know what it must have cost her to camp down alone in the bush, and fight through the hard winter in the ice and snow. Well, she was too good for this world, and she just faded out of it before the good time came. I think they must have a special place for women of her kind in the other one."
Deringham only nodded again, because this type of man was new to him, and he had learned to keep silent when in doubt; but Alton's big right hand closed into a fist.
"And now, when I have Somasco, the man who had not a dollar for his only son leaves me Carnaby," he said. "There. Look out and see. Timber, lake and clearing, cattle, mills, and crops, the finest ranch in the district. My father commenced it, and I have finished. The Almighty made him a man, and he wouldn't sell his birthright to loaf his days away, overfed, at Carnaby."
Alton dropped his cigar, and laughed a little. "Well, I'm talking like a fool again. There are times when I can't help it. It's a way of mine."
Deringham sat still smoking, and thinking rapidly. He had never had dealings with a man of this description before, but while he surmised that Alton of Somasco might under some conditions prove himself a headstrong fool, it was evident that there were limits to his folly. The man's handiwork spoke for him, and his energy and intentness had not escaped Deringham's attentions, while the occasional utterances that might have appeared bombastic coming from other men were redeemed in his case by the tone of naive sincerity and imperious ring. Deringham was becoming conscious of a vague respect for and fear of his companion.
"We are apparently no nearer the answer to my question," he said at length.
"No," said Alton, smiling. "This thing will take some thinking over.
Carnaby isn't exactly what you call a rich property?"
"It is heavily encumbered," said Deringham, almost too eagerly.
Alton nodded, "Still, it must be worth a little, and would give the folks who lived there a standing in the old country?"
"Yes," said Deringham thoughtfully, and was once more astonished by his companion's answer.
"Well," he said slowly. "I was thinking about your daughter. All this, it seems to me, is mighty rough on her. It would hurt her to be turned out of Carnaby?"
"Isn't that beside the question?" said Deringham with a trace of stiffness.
Alton took up another cigar and lighted it. "I don't quite know that it is," he said. "You see, I remember a good deal what my mother had to put up with, and it has made me kind of sorry for women who have to do without the things they have been used to. Now Miss Deringham has had a pretty good time in the old country?"
Deringham moved his head very slightly. "I scarcely think we need go into that, but it is incontrovertible that the loss of Carnaby would make a difference to her," he said.
Alton sat silent a space, and then while Deringham wondered, smiled a little. "And she might have kept it but for a very little thing that happened a month or two ago," he said. "If the juniper-twigs had broken it would have saved considerable trouble to everybody. I was back there in the mountains looking for a silver lead, you see."
"Silver mines are, I understand, not always profitable to the man who finds them, and I should have fancied you had already sufficient scope for your energies," said Deringham dryly.
Alton laughed, but there was a trace of grimness in his voice. "If I once get my stakes in on the lead this one's going to be, and if I could get the dollars I could do a good deal for Somasco," he said. "We want roads and mills, the biggest orchard in the province, and a fruit cannery, and we're going to have them presently. That's why I wanted the silver."
"You did not find it then?" said Deringham, who was not unwilling to follow his companion from the former topic.
"No," said Alton, "not that time, but I will by and by. Well, there was a good deal of snow up in the ranges, and my feet got away from me one evening when we were crawling along the edge of a gully. There was a river and big boulders some five hundred feet below, and I slipped down, clawing at the snow, until I grabbed a little bunch of juniper just on the edge. Part of it tore up, but I got a grip of a better handful, and hung on to it, with most of me swinging over the gully. Charley was stripping off the pack-rope on the slope above, and he was mighty quick, but I knew that bush was coming away with me, and didn't think he could be fast enough. I didn't feel exactly happy, but while I've read that folks think of some astonishing things when they're starting out on the long trail, it wasn't that way with me. I could only remember there was a man I'd never got even with who'd badly cheated me."
[Illustration: "There was a river and big boulders some five hundred feet below."]
Deringham felt a little shiver run through him, for there was a grim vindictiveness in the speaker's tone, and he felt that Alton of Somasco would not lightly forgive an injury.
"You managed to crawl up?" he said.
"No," said Alton simply, "I didn't. I lay there watching Charley, and felt the bush drawing out, until the rope came down and Charley hauled me up. It would have made a big difference to Miss Deringham if he'd been a second or two longer. Well, we'll have lots of time for talking, because you're out for your health, and we'll keep you right here until we see what Somasco can do for you, and just now I see Miss Deringham alone on the verandah."
He rose, and left Deringham sitting by the window. The moon had swung higher now, and the lake was a blaze of silver, but Deringham scarcely noticed it or the ethereal line of snow. In place of it he saw a shadowy figure hanging between earth and heaven with tense fingers gripping a little bush, while a river frothed down the black hollow five hundred feet below, and remembered that even in that moment the man who hung there regretted he could not repay somebody who had cheated him. Then he rose and moved once or twice up and down the room, his fancy still dwelling upon the picture. If the juniper-twigs had yielded it would have made a great difference to him as well as his daughter. He sat down again presently and stared at the valley, seeing nothing as he remembered that Alton of Somasco might go back to the ranges again, and then with an effort shook the fancies from him. They were not wholesome for a man hemmed in by difficulties as he was then.
In the meanwhile his daughter stood with one hand on the verandah balustrade, listening to the song of the river which came sonorously through the shadows of the bush. She also breathed in the scent of the firs, and found it pleasant, but it was instinctively she did so, for her thoughts were also busy. Alice Deringham had noticed her father's fits of abstraction as well as the anxiety in his face, and had no great difficulty in connecting them with the loss of Carnaby. She was also fond of him, for Deringham had shown only his better side to her, and sensible of a very bitter feeling towards the man who had supplanted him. In addition to this, she remembered the faint amusement in his eyes when he noticed the glint of a silver coin she held half-covered in her hand, and her pulses throbbed a little faster. The man had placed her in a ridiculous position, and had he guessed her feelings towards him he would probably not have made his appearance as he did just then.
The boards creaked behind her, and turning partly round she straightened herself with a slow sinuous gracefulness, and stood drawn up to her full height looking at the newcomer. He stood still a moment with veiled admiration in his eyes, and this was not altogether surprising in one who had dwelt for the most part far remote from civilization in the lonely bush. Alice Deringham had been considered somewhat of a beauty in London, and it was possible that she knew the pale moonlight and the harmonies of blue and silver she stood out against enhanced the symmetry of her outline. The man stood watching her with his head bent a trifle, but Miss Deringham evinced a fine indifference. She had formed a somewhat mistaken estimate of him already.
"I want to tell you that I'm sorry," he said.
The girl fancied she understood him, and it increased her anger, for the fact that this barbarian of the bush should venture to express pity for her was galling. Still, she had no intention of admitting it, and regarded him inquiringly with a half-contemptuous indifference which she had found especially effective with presumptuous young men in England. Somewhat to her astonishment it apparently had no result at all, for Alton returned her gaze gravely and without embarrassment.
"I don't understand," she said.
"I was hoping you would, because I felt I must tell you, and I'm not good at talking," said the man. "I can't help seeing that you are vexed with me."
If Alton had intended to be conciliatory he had signally failed, because Miss Deringham had no intention of admitting that anything he could do would cause her anger.
"I am afraid you are taking things for granted," she said.
Alton smiled gravely, and the girl noticed that he accepted the onus of the explanation she had forced upon him.
"I really don't think you should be," he said. "I can't help being Tristan Alton's grandson, you see, and we are some kind of relations and ought to be friendly."
Miss Deringham laughed a little. "Relations do not always love each other very much," said she.
"No," said Alton. "Still, I think they should, and, even if it hurts, I feel I've got to tell you I'm sorry. If you would only take it, it would please me to give you back Carnaby."
The girl almost gasped with astonishment and indignation. "That is a trifle unnecessary, since you know it is perfectly impossible," she said.
She had at last roused the man, for the moonlight showed a darker colour creeping into his tan. "I don't usually say more than I mean," he said. "Now we shall never understand each other unless you will talk quite straight with me."
Alice Deringham had not lost her discretion in her anger, and, since there was no avoiding the issue, decided it would be preferable to blame him for the lesser of his offences.
"Then," she said coldly, "it was somewhat difficult to appreciate the humour of the trick you played upon us. You may, however, have different notions as to what is tasteful in the Colonies."
Again the darker colour showed in Alton's bronzed forehead, but he spoke gravely. "I don't think that's quite fair," he said. "I am what the Almighty made me, a plain bushman who has had to work too hard for his living to learn to put things nicely, but I never came down to any meanness that would hurt a woman, and there isn't any need for a dainty English lady to point out the difference between herself and me."
"There may be less difference than you seem to fancy," said the girl a trifle maliciously. "You are Alton of Carnaby."
"Pshaw!" said the man with a little gesture of pride and impatience, which Miss Deringham was forced to admit became him. "I'm Alton of Somasco, and nobody gave it me. I won it from the lake and the forest that comes crawling in again—but I'm getting off the trail. I didn't know your father was coming here, and hadn't any notion who you were."
"That's curious, because he wrote to tell you," said the girl.
Alton flushed a little, for he was somewhat quick-tempered, and too proud to be otherwise than a veracious man. "Well," he said slowly, "I have the honour of telling you I didn't get the letter. There's a place called Somasco down in Vancouver."
Miss Deringham decided that she had ventured sufficiently far. Indeed, on subsequent reflection she was forced to admit that she had gone farther than was quite seemly, which somewhat naturally increased her displeasure against the man. In the meanwhile she, however, made a little gracious gesture. "Then I don't think the explanation was necessary," she said.
Alton laughed a little, and held out his hand. "Do you know I'm thankful that's over once for all, and now we can be friends," he said. "There are lots of things I can show you in the valley, and a good deal more that you can teach me."
Alice Deringham could not afterwards quite decide why she shook hands with him, for she had no intention of teaching him anything, just then; but she did, and felt as the hard brown fingers closed upon her own that the friendship of this curious man could in time of necessity be relied upon. In any case, and obeying some impulse, she shook off her chilliness, and asking questions about the district evinced a gracious interest in all he had to tell her, while presently induced by his naive frankness she smiled at him as she noticed him regarding her gravely.
"I presume a dress of this kind is scarcely suitable for the bush," she said.
Alton laughed. "I wasn't looking at the dress, though it's a very pretty one," he said. "You see, except my mother and Miss Townshead, I have never spoken to an English lady."
"But you must have been very young when you lost her," said the girl.
Alton took off his hat, and pointed to a hillside shrouded with sombre firs. "Yes," he said quietly. "She sleeps up there, and in a little while my father followed her. He was lonely without her, and because of what she had done for him, proud of his countrywomen. He often used to talk about them."
"And," said Alice Deringham, "you wondered if he was mistaken?"
Alton made a little gesture that in a curious fashion implied a wide chivalric faith. "No," he said gravely, "I believe he was right."
Miss Deringham felt a faint warmth creep into her cheek, and it was not because the speech might have been deemed a personal compliment. She saw a little deeper into the man's nature than that, and, if she had not, the tone of grave respect would have enlightened her. Then she turned with a little sense of relief as Deringham came out upon the verandah.
"I am pleased to see you and Mr. Alton have made friends," he said, and the girl, who noticed a faint twinkle in his eyes, turned quietly and looked down the valley as she remembered one odious clause in the will.
She rose early next morning, and flinging the window open to let in the glorious freshness heard a commotion below, while as she wondered as to the cause of it several pairs of old boots went gyrating over the balustrade of the verandah. A dilapidated saddle followed them, and then a cloud of dust rolled up, while she saw the new owner of Carnaby appear somewhat scantily attired out of the midst of it. He had a brush in one hand and seemed disturbed about something.
"Where the brimstone does Mrs. Margery keep the scrubbing soap?" he said.
Nobody answered him, and he moved back into the dust, while Seaforth was coming up the stairway carrying a mop and pail when a big empty oilcan smote him upon the chest. He dropped the pail and leaned a moment, gasping and dripping, against the balustrade.
"You might notice where you're throwing things," he said.
The dust rolled more thickly, and Alton's voice came out of it. "I hadn't time to be particular, and a sensible man would have got out of the way of it. Don't stand there, anyway, but help me fix this place fit for a lady before Miss Deringham gets up. Then you're going through to the railroad with the new pack-horse to wire for Mrs. Margery after breakfast."
"I don't think I am," said Seaforth. "Not on Julius Caesar, anyway.
He will need a little more taming before I'm fit to ride him."
"Then," said Alton, laughing, "I guess you can shove him, because you'll want a horse to bring up the things you're going to wire Vancouver for, and Tom's off with the teams up the valley. Fetch some more water, and start in with the scrubbing. I don't want Miss Deringham to guess we've been doing anything unusual."
"If she doesn't hear you," said Seaforth, "she must be very deaf."
"Now," said Alton regretfully, "I never thought of that. Sit right down, Charley, and take your boots off."
"I am going to the well first," said Seaforth, who retired grinning, and Miss Deringham laughed softly as she heard the cautious movements of a big barefooted man floundering about clumsily with a brush or mop.
When she came down to breakfast, however, she was a little astonished. The room was swept, and garnished with cedar sprays, while though it smelled of some crude soap the aromatic sweetness of balsam was present too, and there were signs of taste in its decoration and the disposition of the splendid fruit upon the table. Alton had not plucked it all, and the golden apples and velvety peaches lay with their soft tinting enhanced amidst the leaves. When he came in, bright of eye and apparently glowing from a plunge in the river, she glanced at him with quiet amusement.
"You have been improving the place wonderfully," she said.
"You are pleased with it?" said the rancher, and the girl noticed the contentment in his eyes when she smiled approvingly.
"I think," she said, "it is very pretty."