PR 
 
 ROBERT STEAD 
 
 Bobert i. Steaa, 
 whose reputation 
 is now securely 
 established as one 
 of Canada's fore- 
 most novelists, is 
 an Easterner by 
 birth but a West- 
 erner by exper- 
 ience and training. 
 Having lived for 
 many years in 
 Manitoba and Al- 
 berta, he is satur- 
 ated in the many- 
 colored stuff of 
 life that is to be 
 found in the 
 prairie country of 
 our great west. In 
 his earlier vol- 
 umes, ' ' The Bail 
 Jumper, " " The 
 Homesteaders," 
 and ' ' The Cow 
 Puncher, ' ' he has 
 depicted the strug- 
 gles of the first 
 settlers in the west, has portrayed the various types of 
 character developed on the plains, and has described 
 with wonderful freshness the strenuous nation-building 
 in evidence in the rapidly growing cities west of Win- 
 nipeg. In all his stories Mr. Stead paints ' ' the thing 
 as he sees it." He is always true to the life of the 
 people who throng his pages. 
 
 Like many self-made men, Mr. Stead, who is iiow a 
 high government official in Ottawa, has had a variegated 
 career. He began as a clerk in a Manitoba general 
 store; from this he graduated to a lumber yard; next 
 he took charge of a grain elevator; finally the itch to 
 write got hold of him. I-Ie tried his prentice hand in 
 verse, but while still in his teens took over a small 
 country weekly. Ten years ago he joined in the big 
 rush to Alberta and became an automobile agent in 
 the foothill country. There he met every type of 
 settler from millionaire ranchers and real estate boom- 
 sters to itinerant trappers earning a precarious living 
 by skinning dead horses on the prairie. Later he 
 joined the staff of the Calgary "Albertan, " and from 
 that moved on to colonization publicity work. During 
 all those years of change and varied activity, the 
 future novelist was collecting literary material and was 
 forming his philosophy of life, which is of the quiet, 
 humorous sort, not unlike that of Bavid Harum. One 
 of the reasons why Mr. Stead's work has made such a 
 powerful appeal to Canadians is that he not only grips 
 the attention of the reader by his skill as a plot 
 builder and painter of western life, but because he 
 is something more than an entertainer, he is the 
 whimsical philosopher of the prairies. 
 

 
 S^-^-^ ^X-L.--^^-'^ 
 
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 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. Barbara Hirshfeld 
 

 DATE DUE 
 
 
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 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PRINTED INU S.A. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013244714 
 
The Homesteaders 
 
 A NOVEL OF THE 
 CANADIAN WEST 
 
 ROBERT J. C. STEAD 
 
 Author of "Kitchener and Other Poems," 
 
 "Sonjs of the Prairie," " The Cow 
 
 Puncher," Etc. 
 
 THE MUSSON BOOK CO., LIMITED 
 Publishers .... TORONTO 
 
 TV 
 
/\7r^/ 
 
 A ^ 
 
 First Published in 1916. 
 
 \All rights reserved.] 
 
 PRINTBD AND BOUND BV 
 
 T. H. Best Printinq Co., Limited, Toronto 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Prelude 1 
 
 I. The Beck of Fortune 9 
 
 II. Into the Wilderness 19 
 
 III. Prairie Land 36 
 
 IV. EouGHiNG It 50 
 
 V. The Shores of the Infinite ... 62 
 
 VI. In the Spell of the Mirage ... 78 
 VII. The Call of the Farther West . 94 
 
 VIII. Into the Night 108 
 
 IX. Crumbling Castles 122 
 
 X. Into the Farther West .... 138 
 
 XI. The Price of "Success" .... 150 
 
 XII. A Whiff of New Atmosphere . . 164 
 
 XIII. Setting the Trap 179 
 
 XIV. The Gamblers . 196 
 
 XV. The Lure of Easy Money .... 212 
 
 XVI. The Honour of Thieves . . . .228 
 XVII. The Fight in the Foothills . . . 241 
 
 XVIII. Converging Trails 260 
 
 XIX. Prisoners of Fate .275 
 
 XX. An Inquest-and Some Explanations 291 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 SIX little slates clattered into place, and six 
 little figures stood erect between their 
 benches. 
 
 "Eight! Turn!" said the master. "March! 
 School is dismissed"; and six pairs of bare little 
 legs twinkled along the aisle, across the well-worn 
 threshold, down the big stone step, and into the 
 dusty road, warm with the rays of the Indian 
 summer sun. 
 
 The master watched them from the open win- 
 dow until they vanished behind a ridge of beech 
 trees that cut his vision from the concession. 
 While they remained within sight a smile played 
 upon the features of his strong, sun-burnfed face, 
 but as the last little calico dress was swallowed by 
 the wood the smile died down, and for a moment 
 he stood, a grave and thoughtful statue framed 
 within the white pine casings of the sash. His 
 sober grey eyes stared unseeing into the forest, 
 while the light wind that stirred the golden maple 
 leaves toyed gently with his unruly locks. 
 
 1 
 
2 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 His brown study lasted only a moment. With 
 a quick movement he walked to the blackboard, 
 caught up a section of sheepskin, and began eras- 
 ing the symbols of the day's instructions. 
 
 "Well, I suppose there's reward in heaven," 
 he said to himself, as he set the little schoolroom 
 in order. "There isn't much here. The farmers 
 will pay a man more to doctor their sick sheep 
 than to teach their children. But, of course, they 
 get both mutton and wool from a sheep. I won't 
 stand it longer than the spring. If others can 
 take the chance I can take it too. If it were not 
 for her I would go to-morrow." 
 
 The last remark seemed to unlink a new chain 
 of thought. The grey eyes lit up again. He 
 wielded the broom briskly for a minute, then 
 tossed it in a corner, fastened the windows, > slip- 
 ped a little folder into his pocket, locked the door 
 behind him, carefully placed the key under the 
 stone step where the first child in the morning 
 would find it, and swung in a rapid stride down a 
 by-path leading from the little schoolhouse into 
 the forest. 
 
 Ten minutes' quick walking in the woods, now 
 glorious in all their autumn splendour, brought 
 him to a point where the sky stood up, pale blue, 
 evasive through the trees. The next moment he 
 was at the water 's edge, and a limpid lake stretch- 
 ed away to where the forests of the farther shore 
 mingled hazily with sky and water. The point 
 where he stood was a little bay, ringed with water- 
 worn stones and hemmed around by the forest, ex- 
 cept for one wedge of blue that broadened into the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 3 
 
 distance. He glanced about, as though expecting 
 someone ; he whistled a line of a popular song, hut 
 the only reply was from a saucy eavesdropper 
 which, perched on a near-by limb, trilled back its 
 own liquid notes in answer. 
 
 "I may as well improve the moments consulting 
 my chart," he remarked to his undulating image 
 in the water. ' ' This thing of embarking on two 
 new seas at once calls for skilful piloting." He 
 seated himself on a stone, drew from his pocket 
 the folder, and spread a map before him. 
 
 In a few moments he was so engrossed that he 
 did not hear the almost noiseless motion of a canoe 
 as it thrust its brown nose into the blue edge be- 
 fore him. The canoe slid with its own momentum 
 gracefully through the quiet waters, suddenly 
 revealing a picture for the heart of any artist. 
 Kneeling near its stern, her paddle held aloft and 
 dripping, her brown arms and browner hair glist- 
 ening in the mellow sun, her face bright with the 
 light of its own expectancy, was a lithe and 
 beautiful girl. In an instant her eye located the 
 young man on the bank, and her lips moulded as 
 though to speak ; but when she saw how unobserv- 
 ed she was she remained silent and upright as an 
 Indian while the canoe slipped gently toward the 
 shore. Presently it cushioned its nose in the 
 velvety sand. She rose silently from her seat, and 
 stole on moccasined tip-toes along the stones until 
 she could have touched his hair with her fingers. 
 But her eyes fell over his shoulder on the papers 
 before him. 
 
 "Always at your studies," she cried, as he 
 
4 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 , sprang eagerly to Ms feet. "You must be seeking 
 a professorship. But I suppose you have to be 
 always brushing up," she continued, banteringly. 
 "Your oldest pupil must be — let me see — not less 
 than eight?" 
 
 He smothered her banter with hi^ affection, but 
 she stole the map from his fingers. 
 
 "I declare, if it isn't Manitoba! What next? 
 Siberia or Patagonia? I thought you were still 
 in the Eastern Townships." 
 
 "So I am — in school. But out of school I am 
 spending a good deal of my time in Manitoba, 
 Mary." 
 
 She caught a grave note in his voice as he said 
 her name. Seizing his cheeks between her hands 
 she turned his face to her. "Answer me, John 
 Harris. You are not thinking of going to Man- 
 itoba!" 
 
 "Suppose I say I am?" 
 
 ' ' Then I am going too ! ' ' 
 
 "Mary!" 
 
 "John! Nothing unusual about a wife going 
 with her husband, is there?" 
 
 "No, of course, but you know " 
 
 "Yes, I know" — glancing at the ring on her 
 finger. "This still stands at par, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, dear," he answered, raising the ring to 
 his lips. ' ' You know it does. But to venture into 
 that wilderness means — ^you see, it means so much 
 more to a woman than to a man." 
 
 ' ' Not as much as staying at home — alone. You 
 didn't really think I would do that?" 
 
 "No, not exactly that. Let us sit down and I 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 5 
 
 will tell you what I thought. Here, let me get the 
 
 cushion There, that's better. Now let me 
 
 start at the beginning" 
 
 "Until you came here last summer — until all 
 this happened, you know — I was quite satisfiedi to 
 go on teaching " 
 
 "And I have sown discontent " 
 
 "Please don't interrupt. Teaching seemed as 
 good as anything else ' 
 
 "As good as anything else! Better than any- 
 thing else, I should say. What is better than 
 training the tender child, inspiring him with your 
 ideals " 
 
 "Oh, -I know all about that Until I began to 
 have some genuine ideals of my own I was satis- 
 fied with it. But now— well, everything is differ- 
 ent." 
 
 "I know," she answered. "The salary won't 
 support two. There's the rub." 
 
 They sat for some minutes, gazing dreamily 
 across the broad sheet of silver. 
 
 "And so you are going to Manitoba?" she said 
 at length. 
 
 "Yes. There are possibilities there. It's a 
 gamble, and that is why I didn't want to share it 
 with you — at first. I thought I would spend a 
 year; locate a homestead; get some kind of a 
 house built; perhaps break some land. Then I 
 would come back." 
 
 "And you weren't going to give me a word in all 
 those preparations for our future? You have a 
 lot to learn yet, John. You won't find it in that 
 folder, either." 
 
6 THE HOMESTEADBES 
 
 He laughed lightly — a happy, boyish laugh. For 
 "weeks fhe determination to seek his fortune in the 
 then almost unknown Canadian West had been 
 growing upon him, and as it grew he shrank more 
 and more from disclosing his plans to his fiancee. 
 Had she been one of the country girls. of the neigh- 
 bourhood, a daughter of the sturdy backwoods 
 pioneers, bred to hard work in field and barnyard, 
 he would have hesitated less. But she was sprung 
 from gentler stock. It seemed almost profane to 
 think of her in the lonely life of a homesteader on 
 the bleak, unsettled plains — to see her in the mon- 
 otony and drudgery of the pioneer life. He had 
 been steeling himself for the ordeal; schooling 
 himself with arguments; fortressing his resolve, 
 unconsciously, perhaps, with the picture of his 
 own heroism in braving the unknown. And she had 
 scaled every breastwork at a bound, and captured 
 the citadel by the adroit diplomacy of apparent 
 surrender. 
 
 She had snatched his confession at an ungarded 
 moment. He had not meant to tell her so much — 
 so soon. As he thought over the wheels he had 
 set in motion their possible course staggered' him, 
 and he found himself arguing against the step he 
 contemplated. 
 
 "It's a gamble," he repeated. "The agricul- 
 tural possibilities of the country have not been 
 established. It may be adapted only to buffalo 
 and Indians. They say the Selkirk settlers have 
 seen hardships compared with which Ontario 
 
 pioneers lived in luxury We may be far 
 
 back from civilization, far from neighbours, or 
 
• THE HOMESTEADERS 7 
 
 doctors, or churches, or any of those things which 
 we take as a matter of course." 
 
 "Then you will need me with you, John, and I 
 am going." 
 
 She could not mistake the look of admiration 
 in his eyes. "Mary," he said, "you are a hero, 
 i didn't think it was in you. I mean I " 
 
 * ' A heroine, if you please, ' ' she corrected. ' * But 
 I am not that — not the least bit. I want to go be- 
 cause — ^because to go with you, even to Manitoba, 
 is not nearly so dreadful as to stay at home with- 
 out you." 
 
 "But come," said the girl, springing lightly to 
 her feet, "we have matters of great moment for 
 immediate consideration." 
 
 He was at her heels. One hand resting on his 
 strong arm sufficed to steady her firm body as she 
 tip-toed over the stones. Somewhere in the canoe 
 she found a parcel, wrapped in a white napkin. 
 Under a friendly beech she laid her dainties be- 
 fore him. 
 
 In a crimson glory the sun had sunk behind the 
 black Jorest across the lake. The silver waters 
 had draped in mist their fringe of inverted trees 
 along the shore, and lay, passive and breathing 
 and very still, beneath the smooth-cutting canoe 
 
 One by one the stars came out in the 
 
 heavens, and one by one their doubles wavered 
 and mimicked in the lake. A duller point of light 
 bespoke a settlers' cabin on the distant shore. 
 
 "And we shall build our own home, and live 
 our own lives, and love each other — always, — only, 
 for ever and ever?" she breathed. 
 
8 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "For ever and ever," he answered. 
 
 A waterfowl cut the air in his sharp, whistling 
 flight. The last white shimmer of daylight faded 
 from the surface of the lake. The lovers floated 
 on. gently, joyously, into their ocean of hope and 
 happiness. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BECK OF FORTUNE 
 
 THE last congratulations had been offered; 
 the last good wishes, somewhat mixed with 
 tears, had been expressed. The bride, 
 glowing in the happy consciousness of her own 
 beauty^ and deified by the great tenderness that 
 fenveloped her new estate like a golden mist, said 
 her farewells with steady voice and undrooping 
 eyes. Once only, when two frail arms drew her 
 to the great motherheart that was fighting with 
 joy and unspoken sorrow through its travail of 
 the soul, did their bright rays moisten and tremble 
 like sun-shafts in a pool. It was for the moment 
 only; one hallowing kiss on the dear, white cheek; 
 then, with uplifted head, she said goodbye, and 
 the mother smiled upon her in a pride that was 
 deeper than her pain. The breed that had not 
 feared, a generation back, to cross the seas and 
 carve a province and a future from the forest, was 
 not a breed to withhold its most beautiful and 
 noble from the ventures of the greater West. 
 
 It had been a busy winter for John Harris, and 
 this, although the consummation of his great de- 
 sire, was but the threshold to new activities and 
 new outlets for his intense energies. Since the 
 
 9 
 
10 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 face and form of Mary Allan had first enraptured 
 him in his little backwoods school district, a vast 
 ambition had possessed his soul, and to-day, which 
 had seemed to be its end, he now knew to be but 
 its beginning. The ready consent of his betrothed 
 to share his life in the unknown wilderness be- 
 tween the Eed Eiver and the Eocky Mountains had 
 been a tide which, taken at its flood, might well 
 lead him on to fortune. At the conclusion of his 
 fall term he had resigned his position as teacher, 
 and with his small savings had set about accumu- 
 lating equipment essential to the homesteader. A 
 team of horses, two cows, a few ducks, geese, and 
 hens ; a plough, a wagon, a sleigh, a set of carpen- 
 ter 's tools; a gun, an axe, a compass, a chest of 
 medicine, a box of books; a tent, bedding, spare 
 clothing — these he had gathered together at the 
 village store or at farmers' "sales," and the doing 
 so had almost exhausted the winter and his money. 
 Because his effects were not enough to fill a car he 
 had "doubled up" with Tom Morrison, a fine 
 farmer whose wordly success had been somewhat 
 less than his deserts, and who bravely hoped to 
 mend his broken fortunes where land might be had 
 for the taking. Their car had already gone for- 
 ward, with Morrison's hired man nestling obvious- 
 ly in the hay, and two others hid under the man- 
 gers. When railways were invented they were 
 excepted from the protection of the Eighth Com- 
 mandment. 
 
 So John Harris and his bride took the passen- 
 ger train from his city home, while their goods and 
 chattels, save for their peisonal baggage, rumbled 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 11 
 
 on in a box-car or crowded stolidly into congested 
 side-tracks as the exigencies of traffic required. 
 
 At a junction point tliey were transferred from 
 the regular passenger service to an immigrant 
 train. Immigrant trains, in the spring of 'eighty- 
 two, were somewhat more and less than they now 
 are. The tourist sleeper, with its comfortable 
 berths, its clean linen, its kitchen range, and its 
 dusky attendant, restrained to an attitude of 
 agreeable deference by his anticipation of a 
 gratuity, was a grey atom of potentiality in the 
 brain of an unknown genius. Even the colonist 
 ear, which has done noble service in later days in 
 the peopling of the Prairie West, was only in the 
 early stages of its evolution. The purpose of 
 immigrant trains was to move people. To supply 
 comforts as well as locomotion was an extrava- 
 gance undreamed of in transportation. 
 
 The train was full. Every seat was taken; 
 aisles were crowded with standing passengers 
 who stumbled over bundles and valises with every 
 pitch in the uncertain road-bed; women fought 
 bravely with memories too recent to be healed, 
 and children crowded in lusty abandon or shrieked 
 as they fell between the slippery seats. The men 
 were making acquaintances ; the communities from 
 which they came were sufficiently interwoven to 
 link up relationships with little difficulty, and al- 
 ready they were exchanging anecdotes in high 
 hilarity or discussing plans and prospects with 
 that mutual sympathy which so quickly arises 
 under strange conditions. 
 
 One or two of the passengers had already made 
 
12 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 the trip to Manitoba, and were now on the journey 
 a second time, accompanied by their wives and 
 families. These men were soon noted as in- 
 dividuals of some moment ; they became the centre 
 of little knots of conversation, and their fellow- 
 immigrants hung in reverent attention upon every 
 word from their lips. Their description of the 
 great plains, where one might look as far as the 
 eye could carry in every direction without seeing 
 house or tree or any obstruction of the vision, fell 
 with all the wonder of the Arabian Nights upon 
 the eager company. Stories of the trail, of Red 
 Eiver craft and ox-team, of duck shooting by the 
 prairie sleughs, the whiff of black powder from 
 their muzzle-loaders and the whistle of sharp 
 wings against the sky ; of the clatter of wild geese 
 which made sleep impossible, and the yelp of 
 prairie wolves snapping up through the darkness ; 
 of thunder and lightning, of tempest and rain, of 
 storm and blizzard and snow and cold — cold that 
 crackled in the empty heavens like breaking glass 
 and withered the cheek like fire ; of Indians, none 
 too certain, slipping lU^e moccasined ghosts 
 down the twilight, or peering unexpectedly 
 through cabin windows ; of hardship and privation 
 and strength and courage and possibilities beyond 
 the measure of the imagination — ^these fell from 
 the lips of the favoured old-timers, punctuated 
 with jest and prophecy and nicely-timed intervals 
 of silence. 
 
 "And is there no stones there, or stumps?" 
 asked a woman, big of bicep and deep of chest 
 from years of wrestling with.the rocks and timbers 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 13 
 
 of Lanark. "Has the bush all been cleared 
 away?" 
 
 " Bush ? There 's no bush to clear. The prairie 's 
 as bald as yer table — no reflection on-yer cookin', 
 ma good woman, but so it is, excep' for the grass 
 that tickles yer fingers as ye walk an' the pea-vine 
 that up-ends ye when ye 're no thinkin'. Bush! 
 Ah've burnt more bush from ma ten-acre clearin' 
 than ye '11 find in a dozen counties. 'Deed, ye '11 
 think a little more bush 'd be a guid thing when ye 
 have yer house to build an' a hungry stove to 
 keep roarin' from November to April." 
 
 "But whereby do they make their fences, if they 
 ha' no cedar rails?" demanded the woman, still 
 unconvinced. 
 
 "Fences? An' why for would ye fence a farm, 
 ye unsociable body? To keep the gophers out? 
 Or to keep the badgers in? Seein' ye have all 
 out-doors for yer cattle, an' the days of the buffalo 
 are over, thanks to the white man's powder an' 
 shot, what would ye have with fences?" 
 
 "But are ye sure it has no been all ploughed 
 some time?" persisted the woman, who could not 
 bring herself to believe that Nature, unaided, had 
 left great areas ready for the hand of the husband- 
 man. A life of environment amid forests and 
 rocks had sorely cramped her imagination. 
 
 "Ah'm no sayin' for sure, but whoever plough- 
 ed it took a man's order. It will be a thousand 
 miles long, Ah'm thinkin' an' nobody knows how 
 wide. Pioneer,s like you an' me ha' been workin' 
 our hands off in Canada" (it was a trick of the 
 old-timers to think only of the Eastern Provinces 
 
14 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 as Canada) ' "an' in a hundred years we have no 
 cleared what'd be a garden patch to that farm out 
 yonder. Ah'm thinkin' it was a bigger Hand than 
 yours or mine that did that clearin'." 
 
 "Tell us about the crops," said one of the men 
 passengers. "What like wheat can ye grow?" 
 
 "Like corn," said the narrator, with great de- 
 liberation. "Heads like ears o' corn. Wheat 
 that grows so fast ye can hear it. Nothin' un- 
 common to walk into wheat-fields when they's 
 knee-high, an' have to fight yer way out like a 
 jungle." 
 
 "Is the Injuns werry big?" piped a little voice. 
 "My pa's go'n' to make me a bone-arrow so I can 
 kill 'em all up." 
 
 "That's a brave soldier," said the man, draw- 
 ing the child on his knee. "But Ah know a bet- 
 ter way to fight Indians than with bows an' ar- 
 rows. D'ye want me to tell ye a story?" 
 
 " 'S about Moses?'.' 
 
 "No, Ah ain't quite up-to-date on Moses, but 
 Ah can tell ye a story about a better way to fight 
 Indians than with arrows an' powder. Ah fight 
 'em with flour an' blankets an' badger-meat, an' 
 it's a long way better." 
 
 The child climbed up on a friendly knee, and 
 interested himself in the great silver watch-chain 
 that looped convenient to his fingers. "Go on wif 
 your story, man, ' ' he said. " I 's listenin '. ' ' 
 
 And big Aleck McCrae forgot the immigrants 
 crowded around, forgot the lurch of the train and 
 the window-glimpse of forests heavy-blanketed 
 with snow, as he ploughed his fertile imagination 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 15 
 
 and spread a sudden harvest of wonderment be- 
 fore the little soul that clung to his great watch- 
 chain. 
 
 Harris and his young bride found much to 
 occupy their attention. Their minds were big 
 with plans, nebulous and indefinite but charged 
 with potentiality, which they should put into effect 
 when they had selected their prairie home. To the 
 young girl, naturally of romantic temperament, 
 the journey of life upon which they had so recently 
 embarked together took on something of the glam- 
 our of knightly adventure. Through the roseate 
 lens of early womanhood, the vague, undefined 
 difficulties that loomed before her were veiled in 
 a mist of glory, as she felt that no sacrifice could 
 really hurt, no privation could cut too deep, while 
 she was fulfilling her destiny as wife and comrade 
 to the bravest and best of men. The vast plains, 
 heart-breaking in their utter emptiness, could only 
 be full to her — full of- life, and love, and colour ; 
 full of happiness too great to be contained. She 
 watched the gaunt trees rising naked from the 
 white forest, and her mind flitted on a thousand 
 miles in advance, while on the cold window-sill her 
 fingers tapped time to the click of the car wheels 
 underneath. 
 
 Harris, too, was busy with his thoughts. He 
 measured the obstacles ahead with the greater 
 precision of the masculine mind. To him, love 
 was not a magician's wand to dissolve his difficul- 
 ties in thin air, but a mighty power which should 
 enable iim to uproot them from his path. No 
 matter what stood in the way — what loneliness, 
 
16 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 what hardship, what disappointment and even 
 disillusionment — he should fight his way out, to 
 ultimate victory for the sake of the dear girl at his 
 side. As she watched the wintry landscape 
 dreamily through the window he shot quick glan- 
 ces at her fine face; the white brow, the long 
 lashes tempering the light of her deep magnetic 
 eyes ; the perfect nose, through whose thin walls 
 was diffused the faintest pink against a setting of 
 ivory; lips, closed and tender as in the sleep of a 
 little child ; chin, strong, but not too strong ; and 
 a neck full and beautiful, the whole forming a 
 picture of purity, gentleness, and confidence which 
 set his being aglow with the joy of immeasure- 
 able possession. As he thought of her love, her 
 faith, her confidence, he swore in his own big heart 
 that neither harm nor want nor sorrow should 
 come upon her; that through every adversity of 
 life he would be her protector, her champion, her 
 defence. And so in the charm and mirage of their 
 young dream they rode dauntlessly, joyously, into 
 the unknown. 
 
 With Ned Beacon, the trusty hired man, in 
 charge of the carload of effects, under the direc- 
 tion of Tom Morrison, Harris was relieved of 
 many duties and responsibilities that would have 
 broken in somewhat rudely on his dream. Traffic 
 was congested with the immigrant movement ; cars 
 were side-tracked at nameless places for indefi- 
 nite periods, but stock had to be fed and cared for ; 
 bonds had to be provided, and all the conditions 
 of departmental red tape complied with when the 
 effects entered the United States, for in 1882 the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 17 
 
 All-Canadian railway was a young giant fighting 
 for life with the mighty rocks of the North Shore 
 route, and railway traffic with the New West was, 
 perforce, billed over American roads These de- 
 tails and a score of others called for patience, f or 
 tact, and a judicious distribution of dollar bills. 
 Harris made a mental note of his obligation to 
 Tom Morrison in the matter. He was shrewd 
 enough to surmise that this was the farmer's very 
 practical wedding gift, but he took debit for it 
 nevertheless. 
 
 And so the journey wore on. As day succeeded 
 day to the monotonous rumble of the car wheels 
 the inamigrants became better acquainted, and 
 friendships took root that in after years were to 
 brave every storm of adversity and bloom forth in 
 the splendid community of spirit and sacrifice 
 which particularly distinguished the pioneers. 
 But the strain of travel drew heavily upon physi- 
 cal endurance; meals eaten stale from lunch- 
 baskets, or hastily snatched at wayside stations ; 
 the cramp of days spent in the crowded seats; 
 lack of exercise and lack of sleep ; these laid their 
 heavy fingers on the strongest and heartiest. But 
 one night the word went round that daylight 
 would see them back on Canadian soil, and the 
 lagging spirit of the travellers was revived. Some- 
 one struck up an impromptu song, parodied from 
 a well-known hymn; men, women, and children 
 joined in the chorus as they caught the words, and 
 rolled it forth with a vigour that vibrated every 
 timber of the car. 
 
18 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Oh. Prairie Land, sweet Prairie Land, 
 Where everyone joins heart and hand," 
 
 they sang, and the sociability of the party seemed 
 to swell with the volume of the song. A bond of 
 human interest, human interdependence — ^per- 
 haps, even, some phase of human suffering, was 
 already linking them together with links of steel 
 that should withstand every shock of the coming 
 years, and bind together the foundation of a 
 mighty land. 
 
 In the cold grey of a March morning, when the 
 sun had not yet dispelled the mists of night, and 
 the fringing woods back from the Red River loom- 
 ed white and ispectral through the frost, they re- 
 entered the Empire, and in a few minutes were 
 detraining at Emerson, the boundary town and 
 gateway to the prairies which for a thousand miles 
 stretched into the mysteries of the unknown. 
 
CHAPTEE II 
 
 INTO THE WILDERNESS 
 
 EMERSON was the gateway of the great in- 
 vasion. Situated just on the Canadian side 
 of the International Boundary, the "far- 
 thest -west" of rail communication, on the thres- 
 hold of the prairie country, it seemed the strategi- 
 cal point for the great city which must arise with 
 the settlement and development of the fertile king- 
 dom of territory lying between the Lake of the 
 Woods and the Rocky Mountains, and between 
 the Forty-ninth Parellel and the unknown north- 
 ern limit of agriculture. Sixty miles northward, 
 at the junction of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers, 
 Winnipeg was throwing street-tendrUs out from 
 her main traffic trunk which marked the route the 
 Indian carts had followed for years as they bore 
 their buffalo hides and pemmican to the Hudson's 
 Bay Company's post at Fort Garry. Winnipeg 
 was to be on the main line of the Canadian Pacific 
 Railway — at least, so the promoters of its' town- 
 lot activity affirmed; but Selkirk, still farther 
 north, was already flourishing in the assurance 
 that the railway would cross the river at that 
 point. But the Canadian Pacific Railway as yet 
 existed mainly upon paper; its advance guard 
 
 19 
 
20 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 were pouring nitro-glycerine into the rocks of the 
 wild Lake Superior fastnesses, and a little band 
 of resolute men were risking financial disaster in 
 an. indomitable effort to drive through a project 
 which had dismayed even the Government of Can- 
 ada. Some there were who said the Canadian 
 Pacific would never he built, and many there were 
 who said that if built it would always be a charge 
 upon the country — that in the very nature of 
 things it could never become self-supporting. 
 
 So while Winnipeg and Selkirk indulged their 
 visions Emerson was already enjoying to the full 
 the prosperity which accompanied the inrush 
 of settlers. Although the immigrants were not 
 wealthy as the term is now understood even in an 
 agricultural community, most of them had enough 
 money to pay for their outfitting and place them 
 on their homesteads ready for .operations. Ac- 
 commodation in Emerson was at a premium ; hotel 
 space was out of the question, and even the barest 
 rooms commanded mining-camp prices. Those 
 commodities which the settler must needs have 
 had taken their cue from hotel prices, and were 
 quoted at figures that provoked much thoughtful 
 head-scratching on the part of the thrifty and 
 somewhat close-fisted new arrivals from the East. 
 
 Harris left his wife with a company of other 
 women in the Government immigration building 
 while he set out to find, if possible, lodgings where 
 she might live until he was ready to take her to 
 the homestead country. He must first make a 
 trip of exploration himself, and as this might re- 
 quire several weeks his present consideration was 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 21 
 
 to place her in proper surroundings before he left. 
 He soon found that all the hotels were full, and 
 had they not been full the prices demanded were 
 so exorbitant as to be beyond his reach ; and even 
 had it been otherwise he would have asked her to 
 share the hardships of the explojation trip rather 
 than leave her amid associations which were all 
 too apparent in the hotel section of the town. The 
 parasites and camp-followers of society, attracted 
 by the easy money that might be wrung in devious 
 ways from the inflowing tide of farmers, were al- 
 ready represented in force, and flaunted brazenly 
 the seamy side of the civilization which was ad- 
 vancing into the New West. 
 
 Turning to parts of the town which were less 
 openly engaged in business, legitimate, question- 
 able, or beyond question, Harris inquired at many 
 doors for lodgings for himself and wife, or for his 
 wife alone. The response ranged from curt an- 
 nouncements that the inmates "ain't takin' board- 
 ers" to sympathetic assurances that if it were pos- 
 sible to find room for another it would be done, 
 but the house was already crowded to suffocation. 
 Great lines of washing in the back yards, and 
 groups of dirty children splashing in the spring 
 mud, bore testimony to the congestion. The 
 March sun was beating down with astonishing 
 fierceness, and the unside-walked streets were a 
 welter of slush. In two hours Harris, notwith- 
 standing his stout frame and young enthusiasm, 
 dragged himself somewhat disconsolately back to 
 the immigration building with the information 
 that his search had been fruitless. 
 
22 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 At the door he met Tom Morrison and another, 
 whom he recognized as the teller of Indian stories 
 which had captivated the children of his car. Mor- 
 rison was a man of forty, with a dash of grey in 
 his hair and a kindly twinkle in his shrewd eyes ; 
 his companion was a bigger man, of about the 
 same age, whose weather-beaten face bore testi- 
 mony to the years already spent in pioneer life on 
 the prairie. 
 
 "And what luck have ye had?" asked Morrison, 
 seizing the young man by the arm. "Little, I'll 
 be thinkin', by the smile ye 're forcin' up. But 
 what am I thinkin' of? Mr. McCrae is from 'way 
 out in Wakopa county, and an old-timer on the 
 prairie. He knows every corner in the town, I'm 
 thinkin' " 
 
 "Aleck McCrae," said the big man. "We leave 
 our 'misters' east of the Great Lakes. An' Ah'm 
 not from Wakopa, unless you give that name to 
 all the country from Pembina Crossing to Turtle 
 Mountain. Ah'm doing business all through 
 there, an' no more partial to one place than an- 
 .other." 
 
 "What is your line of business, Mr. McCrae?" 
 asked Harris. 
 
 "Aleck, I said, an' Aleck it is." 
 
 "All right," said the other, laughing. "What 
 is your business, Aleck?" 
 
 "My business is assisting settlers to get located 
 on suitable land, an' ekeing out my own living by 
 the process. There's a strip of country in there, 
 fifty miles long by twenty miles wide, that Ah 
 know like you knew your own farm down East. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 23 
 
 It cost me something to learn it, an' Ah sell the in- 
 formation for part of what it cost. Perhaps Ah 
 can do something for yon later, along professional 
 lines. Just now, as Tom here tells me, you're 
 hunting a house for the wife. Ah know Emerson 
 too well to supposes you have found one." 
 
 "I haven't, for a fact," said Harris, reminded 
 of the urgency of his mission. "I've tramped 
 more mud this morning than would make a good 
 farm in Ontario, but mud is all I got for my 
 trouble." 
 
 "It's out of the question," said McCrae, Be- 
 sides, it's not so necessary as you think. What 
 with the bad time our train made, an' the good 
 time the stock-train made, an' the fact that they 
 started ahead of us, they're in the yards now. 
 That's a piece of luck, to start with. 'S nothing 
 unusual for settlers to be held up here two an' 
 three weeks waiting for their freight, an' all the 
 time bills piling up an' cash running down in a 
 way that knocks holes in their pockets," 
 
 "But I can't put my wife in a stock-car!" pro- 
 tested Harris. 
 
 "There's worse places," McCrae answered, 
 calmly Avorrying a considerable section from a 
 plug of black chewing tobacco. "Worse places. 
 Ah should say. Ah've seen times when a good 
 warm stock-car would have passed for heaven. 
 But that ain't what Ah have in mind. We'll all 
 turn in an' get the stock unloaded, hitch up the 
 horses, pack a load, an' get away. Morrison's 
 hired man '11 drive his team, an' Tom '11 stay here 
 himself an' look after the rest of the stuff. Ah've 
 
24 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 been making a canvess, an Ah find we have six or 
 seven families who can be ready to pull out this 
 afternoon. An soon as we get into settled coun- 
 try, perhaps we can get accomodation, such as it 
 is, along the way. But my team will go along, 
 with a good tent an ' some cooking outfit. Every- 
 one has bedding, so we 're all right for that. Now, 
 if we all hustle we can be started by four o 'clock, 
 an' out ten or twelve miles before we pitch camp. 
 That's far enough for the horses the first day, any- 
 way. How does it suit you ? ' ' 
 
 "What do you say, Mr. Morrison?" 
 
 ' ' I think Aleck 's plan is best. I 've my wife aiid 
 the two girls, and there's no roof for their heads 
 here. I can find a place for myself, but I've got 
 Jto get them started. Ned is a trusty man ; he will 
 drive my team. It suits me." 
 
 "But after we get there?" said Harris. "For 
 my part, I don't know where I'm going. Even 
 with Aleck's help it will take some time to look up 
 my land and build a place to live in. Mind you," 
 he said, as if forestalling a question in their minds, 
 "I'm mightily obliged for the kindness of your 
 offer, and it isn't myself I'm thinking about." 
 
 "Hoots, man!" said Morrison. "We ken who 
 you're thinkin' about, right well. And a poor 
 man ye'd be if ye didn't, for a bonnier lass never 
 came out of Canada, and that's saying somethin'. 
 But she '11 be all right out there, and a deal better 
 than if you left her here. There's not many sett- 
 lers with houses in the country yet, Aleck tells me, 
 but there's a few, and it's wonderful the e-las- 
 ticity- of a shanty on the prairie." 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 25 
 
 "Tom's right," said McCrae. "We haven't 
 many of the conveniences of civilization out there 
 yet, but we haven't the narrowness or vices either, 
 an' your wife '11 be both welcome an' safe in any 
 farmer's home. Now, if it's all settled," contin- 
 ued McCrae, who had the leader's Imack of sup- 
 pressing indescision at the psychological moment, 
 "we'll all turn in with the unloading of the stock." 
 
 Harris ran to tell his wife that they were to join 
 a party for "the front" that very afternoon. She 
 received the news joyously. Her' only fear had 
 been that she would be left behind during the 
 weeks in which her husband made his explorations 
 of the country. 
 
 In a few minutes all hands, both men and women 
 were busy at the cars. The horses, stiff and sore 
 after their long journey, stalked rheumatically 
 down the gangway. Feeling solid ground beneath 
 their feet, they shook their heads vigorously, as 
 though to rid them of the rumble of the cars, and 
 presently were rolling and stretching in the warm 
 sun. Dogs jumped with muddy paws and boister- 
 ous affection upon masters and mistresses; cows 
 lowed, roosters crowed, and pigs emitted little 
 grunts of that supreme happiness peculiar to their 
 race. Many hands made the work light, and by 
 mid-afternoon six sleighs were loaded for the jour- 
 ney. AH the women and children were to go with 
 the party; Morrison and one or two hired men 
 would remain in Emerson, complete the unloading, 
 and take charge of the effects until the teams 
 should return from their lolig journey. McCrae, 
 on account of his knowledge of the town and of 
 
26 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 the needs of the journey, was chosen to secure the 
 supplies. His own team, which had wintered at 
 Emerson, was to take the lead, and in his sleigh 
 were a large tent, some cooking- equipment, and an 
 assortment of eatables, consisting mainly of dried 
 meat, lard, beans, molasses, bread, flour, oatmeal 
 and tea. McCrae provided his team and ecjuip- 
 ment without charge; the cost of the provisions 
 was reckoned up and divided among the immi- 
 grants in their various proportions to the whole 
 party. 
 
 Each settler's sleigh carried that which seemed 
 most indispensable. First came the settler's 
 family, which, large or small, was crowded into 
 the deep box. McCrae made them pack hay in the 
 bottom of the sleigh-boxes, and over this were laid 
 robes and blankets, on which the immigrants sat, 
 as thickly as they could be placed. More robes 
 and blankets were laid on top, and sacks stuffed 
 very full of hay served the double purpose of 
 cushioning their backs and conveying fodder for 
 the animals. Such space as remained was devot- 
 ed to grain for the horses, bundles of clothing and 
 boxes of dishes, kitchen utensils, and family ef- 
 fects. In one of the sleighs a pig was quartered, 
 and in another was a crate of hens which poked 
 their heads stupidly through the cracks, blinking 
 at the bright light. Behind the sleighs were teth- 
 ered the cattle. 
 
 Morrison came up to Harris's sleigh; and gave 
 it an approving inspection. 
 
 "You will all be fine," he said, "and a great 
 deal better than wearyin' about here. Besides, 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 27 
 
 you're just as well to be away," he added, in a 
 somewhat lower voice. McCrae tells me if this 
 sun keeps up the roads will be gone before we 
 know it, and that means a delay of two or three 
 weeks. There 's been a tremendous snow this win- 
 ter, and a steady thaw, what with these north- 
 runnin' rivers, means floods on the low-lyin' lands, 
 and perhaps in the town itself, McCrae tells roe 
 he's none too sure about the bridge." 
 
 At this moment McCrae himself joined the 
 group. "There's only two in your party, Har- 
 ris," he said, "an' while Ah don't want to inter- 
 rupt your honeymoon, there's another passenger 
 to be taken care of. Dr. Blain is going with us, 
 and Ah'm going to put him in your charge. He's 
 a bit peculiar, but Ah don't think he'll give you 
 any trouble. It's just a case of being too much 
 of a good fellow. One thing Ah know — ^he's a 
 doctor. Saw him last fall on a scarlet fever job. 
 Settler's sod shack, twenty miles from nowhere. 
 Three children down, mother down, father frantic. 
 Well, Ah know that Blain camped right there in 
 the thick of it; doctored, nursed, cooked, kep' 
 house — did everything.. An' they're all of 'em 
 alive an' well to-day, or were when last Ah saw 
 them. So he's worth more'n speaking acquain- 
 tance, Harris ; you may know that better some day. 
 Ah'm going up town for him now; you can shift 
 your stuff a little an' make room." 
 
 The whole party were ready for the road and 
 waiting before McCae appeared again. When he 
 came a companion staggered somewhat uncertain- 
 ly by his side. 
 
28 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "I'm aw 'right, McCrae," he was saying, "I'm 
 aw 'right. Shay, whash thish? Shildren 'v Ishrul?" 
 
 "Come now, Doctor, straighten up. Ah want 
 to introduce you." 
 
 "Introdush me? Thash right. Make me 
 'cquainted wish the ladish. How juhdo, Prin- 
 chessh?" he said, stopjping and gesticulating be- 
 fore an imaginary figure. "Thish is Dr. Blain, 
 late of — late of — wash that, McCrae? Oh, very 
 good. I'm aw' right." 
 
 Half leading and half pulling, McCrae at last 
 brought the doctor to Harris's sleigh. "Sorry 
 he's in this shape," he whispered. "He'll likely 
 go to sleep, an' be all right when he wakes up. Ah 
 can't take him in my sleigh, an' Ah feel sure you 
 can handle him." 
 
 I'll do the best I can," said Harris, though he 
 was little pleased with the prospect. 
 
 "Straighten up. Doctor," said McCrae, giving 
 him a good poke in the ribs. ' ' This is Mr. Harris, 
 who you will travel mth — Jack Harris. An' Mrs. 
 Harris. ' ' 
 
 The doctor had glanced only casually at Harris, 
 but at the mention of the woman's name he 
 straightened up and stood alone. 
 
 "Glad to meet you, madam," he said. "And 
 it's only proper that the pleasure should be all 
 mine." There was a little bitterness in his voice 
 that did not escape her ear. 
 
 "But indeed I am glad to meet you," she an- 
 swered. "Mr. McCrae has been telling us some- 
 thing of your work among the settlers. We are 
 very fortunate to have you with us." 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 29 
 
 He shot a keen look into her face. She re- 
 turned his gaze frankly, and he found sarcasm 
 neither in her eyes nor her voice. 
 
 * ' Help me in, McCrae, ' ' he said. " I 'm a bit un- 
 steady There now, my hag. Don't move, 
 
 Mrs. Harris I think we are quite ready now, 
 
 are we not?" 
 
 ''Most remarkable man," whispered McCrae to 
 Harris. "Wonderful how he can pull himself 
 together." 
 
 McCrae hurried to his own sleigh, called a 
 cheery "All ready!" and the party at once pro- 
 ceeded to get under way. This was not accom- 
 plished without difficulty. The cattle showed no 
 disposition to follow the sleighs, but hung back, 
 pulling on their ropes with amazing strength. 
 One or two, in an excess of stubbornness, sat down 
 in the snow and had to be dragged bodily. The 
 settlers had three or four dogs along, but it was 
 not considered safe to let them get at the cattle, 
 lest the frightened animals should break their 
 ropes and occasion further delay. The situation 
 was only relieved by a number of men following 
 behind, prodding vigorously and twisting the tails 
 of the most recalcitrant. Presently the cows be- 
 gan to swing along, and, finding that no harm be- 
 fell them, they soon settled into a slow but steady 
 gait, and gave no more i rouble until they began to 
 tire with their travel. 
 
 The horses, too, had their own difficulties. Jad- 
 ed and nervous with their long trip in the cars, 
 and strange to the air and surroundings, they 
 fidgeted and fretted, and soon the sweat-line was 
 
30 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 creeping up their backs. The sleigh trails stood 
 high over the level of the surrounding prairie, and 
 the horses were continually slipping off. The 
 snow packed in hard balls under their feet, and at 
 intervals the drivers were obliged to get out and 
 clear it away. The March sun, which had shone 
 down with such fierce heat during the middle of 
 the day, now swung far to the westward, facing 
 the travellers over an ocean of snow stretching 
 away into the unknown. The day grew colder; 
 women and children drew blankets tighter about 
 them, and huddled lower in the sleighs to escape 
 a sharp wind that slipped silently down from the 
 north, carrying a ground-drift of icy particles in 
 its breath. 
 
 Harris's thoughts were on his team, on the two 
 coAvs trudging behind, and on the multiplicity of 
 arrangements which his new life would present 
 for decision and settlement. But his wife gazed 
 silently out over the ocean of snow. The rays of 
 the sun fell gratefully on her cheeks, pale and 
 somewhat wan with her long journey. But the 
 sun went down, and the western sky, cloudless and 
 measureless, faded from gold to copper, and from 
 copper to silver, and from silver to lead. Turning 
 uncomfortably in her crowded seat the girl could 
 see, far beyond the last of the teams, the road over 
 which they had travelled, stretching away until 
 it lost itself, a point in the gathering darkness. 
 To the west it lost itself over the shoulder of the 
 
 prairie The men had ceased to shout to 
 
 each other; the cattle plodded uncomplainingly; 
 silently they moved in the midst of a silence ex- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 31 
 
 panding iiito the infinite. It was her first sight 
 of the prairie, and a strange mixture of emotions, 
 of awe, and loneliness and a certain indifference to 
 personal consequences, welled up within her. Once 
 or twice she thought of home — a home so far away 
 that it might have been in another planet. But 
 she would not let her mind dwell on it for long. 
 She was going to be brave. She had talked with 
 the other women on the train and in the town. 
 They were women from Ontario farms, some of 
 them well into middle life, women who had known 
 the drudge of unremitting toil since childhood. 
 Their speech was faulty ; their manners would not 
 have passed muster amid her old associations; 
 but their quiet optimism was unbounded, their 
 courage was an inspiration. She too would be 
 brave ! For the sake of the brave man who sat at 
 her side, guiding his team in the deepening dark- 
 ness ; for the sake of the new home that they two 
 should build somewhere over the horizon ; for the 
 sake of the civilization that was to be planted, of 
 the nation that must arise, of the manhood and 
 womanhood of to-morrow — she would be- brave. 
 Deep, down in her heart she swore she would be 
 brave, even while a recreant tear stole forth un- 
 bidden and froze into a little pearl of pathos on 
 her cheek. 
 
 A bright star shone down from the west ; one by 
 
 one they appeared in the heavens It grew 
 
 colder. The snow no longer caked on the horses ' 
 feet; the sleigh-runners creaked and whined un- 
 cannily. 
 
 Suddenly a strange sound came doAvn on the 
 
32 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 north wind — a sound that made the girl who had 
 just been vowing to be brave nestle still closed to 
 the big man at her side, and his arm fell protect- 
 ingly about her. It w^as a succession of sharp barks 
 like those of a dog, but the barks presently ran to- 
 gether in a long, doleful howl that rose in a high 
 crescendo on the night air, and then slowly died 
 away into a minor note that seemed to echo back 
 and forth across the plain. As it died out in one 
 point of the compass it was taken up in another, 
 until the little party wending its way in the dark- 
 ness seemed altogether surrounded by it. 
 
 "What is it?" whispered the girl. "What is it. 
 Jack? Do you know?" 
 
 "I don't know," said the man. "It sounds 
 like — ^wolves." 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Harris," said a quiet 
 voice. Looking around they f oimd the doctor sir- 
 ting up in the sleigh. He had fallen asleep as 
 soon as the journey started, and they had almost 
 forgotten his presence. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed," he repeated. "Their 
 howl is the only terrifying thing about them. 
 Prairie wolves are very different from their 
 cousins of the woods. They fill the night air with 
 their howling, but they are cowardly brutes and 
 would rather run than fight. ' ' 
 
 "I suppose you have had some strange exper- 
 iences with animals of the prairies," said the girl, 
 with a brave effort to appear at ease, but before 
 the doctor could answer the team came to a sudden 
 stop. The sleigh in front was obstructing the 
 road, and the party closed up in solid formation. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 33 
 
 "Camp Number One," called Aleck McCrae, 
 from the head sleigh. ' ' The horses and cattle are 
 tired, an' " 
 
 "And the captain is hungry," put in Ned Bea- 
 con. ' ' Isn 't that right ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, Ah am nursing a young appetite," ad- 
 mitted Aleck, exhibiting the slack of his belt. 
 "Now, run these sleighs up in two rows," and 
 Aleck indicated where he wanted them placed. 
 "It's hard on the horses an' cattle, after the warm 
 cars, but they'll stand it to-night if they're well 
 blanketed. To-morrow night we'll be among the 
 Mennonites, with a chance of getting stable 
 room. ' ' 
 
 Under Aleck's direction the sleighs were run up 
 in two rows, about twenty feet apart, facing the 
 north. Two sleighs were then run across the 
 opening at the north end, so that altogether they 
 formed a three-sided court. Men with shovels 
 quickly cleared the snow from the northerly por- 
 tion of the court, and there the tent was pitched. 
 On the south side of the tent, where they were 
 sheltered from the north wind, the horses and 
 cattle were lined up as closely as they could be 
 crowded. Horse blankets, buffalo robes, rag car- 
 pets, and even family bedding, were tied about the 
 animals. The horses were supplied with hay and 
 oats and the cattle with hay alone, and after eating 
 they lay down for the night, and were soon blow- 
 ing and heaving in a warm fog of comfort. 
 
 Meanwhile inside the tgnt was a scene of great 
 activity. The ground was covered with blankets, 
 robes, and bedding. A lantern from the centre 
 
34 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 pole sent wedge-shaped shadows darting back and 
 forth ; the camp stove was set np, and a fire from 
 wood which McCrae had brought along was soon 
 crackling in it. Pots and pans were produced; 
 women eager to be of service swarmed about the 
 stove, and children, free at last of their muffling 
 wraps, romped in high-laughtered glee among the 
 robes or danced back and forward with the swing- 
 ing shadows. 
 
 "Now this won't do at all," said McCrae, re- 
 turning from an inspection of affairs outside. 
 "Two many cooks, you know. Ah want one 
 woman here. Everbody else sit down. 
 
 The captain's word was recognized as law. He 
 selected an able-looking settler 's wife as assistant 
 cook, while the others, men women and children 
 sitting down, seemed to fill the tent to the limit of 
 its capacity. 
 
 Savoury smells soon were coming from hot 
 frying-pans, as sliced ham, with bread and gravy, 
 was served up in tin plates and passed about the 
 tent. Everybody — married men _ and women, 
 maidens and young men, girls, boys, and little 
 children — was ravenously hungry, and for a few 
 minutes little could be heard but the plying of the 
 viands. But as the first edge of hunger became 
 dulled the edge of wit sharpened, and laughter 
 and banter rollicked back and forward through 
 the tent. The doctor, noW quite sober, took a 
 census, and found the total population to be 
 twenty-eight. These he classified as twelve mar- 
 ried, eight eligible, seven children, and himself, 
 for whom he found no classification. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 35 
 
 "You have a head for figures, Harris, I think," 
 he said. "How much space can be allotted to 
 each?" 
 
 Harris found that the tent was twelve by 
 eighteen feet, and that about eight feet of floor 
 space would be available for each person, if they 
 moved the stove out. 
 
 "The space is sufficient, but the ventilation 
 isn't," said the doctor, as he set about opening 
 ventilator flaps. "If I am to be responsible for 
 your health there are just two rules to follow. 
 Do whatever Alex McCrae teUs you, and don't 
 be afraid of fresh air, even with frost in it." 
 
 The tin plates had gone back to McCrae, and 
 were returning, loaded this time with bread and 
 molasses. A steaming cup of tea accompanied 
 each plate. Fortunately there was milk for the 
 children, two of the cows having contributed this 
 important item of the commissariat. 
 
 When the meal was over and the dishes washed 
 and packed, Aleck made another round of the 
 camp before settling down for the night. Mean- 
 time mothers gathered their families about them 
 as best they could; the little ones sleepily 
 mumbled their prayers, and all hands, young and 
 old, nestled down like a brood of tired chickens 
 under the white wings of the protecting tent. 
 Outside the ground-drift sifted gently about the 
 sleighs, the cows sighed in contentment, and the 
 wolves yapped to each other in the distance. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 PRAIRIE LAND 
 
 THE afternoon that has just been described 
 was typical of the days that were to follow 
 as the immigrant party laboured its slow 
 pilgrimage into the Farther West. True, they 
 entered on the very next day a district having 
 some pretence of settlement, where it was some- 
 times possible to secure shelter for the women and 
 children under hospitable Mennonite roofs. The 
 peculiar house-keeping principles of this class of 
 settlers, however, which involved the lodging of 
 cattle and horses in the same building with the 
 human members of the family, discouraged too 
 great intimacy with them, and for the most part 
 the new-comers preferred the shelter of their own 
 tent. They soon emerged from the Eed River 
 Vally, left the vast, level, treeless plain behind 
 them, and plunged into the rolling and lightly 
 wooded Pembina region. Here clumps of small 
 willows and, where repeated fires had not destroy- 
 ed them, light bluffs of slender poplars afforded a 
 measure of protection, and from the resources of 
 the few scattered settlers already in the country 
 they were able to replenish, ithein supplies of 
 fodder for the stock, and even to add to their own 
 
 36 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 37 
 
 larder. Fortunately the wind continued to blow 
 from the north, and although the sun shone with 
 astonishing fierceness in the middle of the day, the 
 snow thawed but little and the trail remained 
 passable. Other parties of settlers, wending their 
 way westward to the region where homesteads 
 were still available, or moving in to lands located 
 the previous year, were overtaken ; and again the 
 party were themselves overtaken by more rapid- 
 moving immigrants from behind, so that in the 
 course of four or five days their cavalcade stretch- 
 ed far ahead and far to the rear. Acquaintance- 
 ships were made quickly — ^no one stood on cere- 
 mony; and as the journey wore on the Harrises 
 began to feel that they already possessed many 
 friends in the country, and that life on the prairie 
 would not be altogether lonely. 
 
 After numerous consultations with McCrae, 
 Harris had arranged that his immediate destina- 
 tion should be in a district where the scrub 
 country melted into open prairie on the western 
 side of the Pembina. The Arthurses, who were 
 also of the party, had homesteaded there, and 
 Fred Arthurs had built a little house on the land 
 the year before. Arthurs was now bringing his 
 young wife to share with him the privations and 
 the privileges of their new home. A friendship 
 had already sprung up between Mrs. Arthurs and 
 Mrs. Harris, and nothing seemed more appropri- 
 ate than that the two women should' occupy the 
 house together while Harris sought out new 
 homestead land and Arthurs proceeded with the 
 development of his farm. It was McCrae, whose 
 
38 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 interest in every member of the expedition was 
 that of a father, that dropped the germ of this 
 suggestion into Arthurs ' receptive ear, and it was 
 with paternal satisfaction he found the young 
 couples speedily work out for themselves the ar- 
 rangements which he had planned for them all 
 along. 
 
 After the crossing of the Pembina the party 
 began to scatter — some to homesteads already 
 located; others to friends who would billet them 
 until their arrangements were completed. As 
 team after team swung out from the main road a 
 certain sense of loss was experienced by those 
 who were left, but it was cheery words and good 
 wishes and mutual invitations that marked each 
 separation. A quick handshake with McCrae, Ned 
 Beacon, and the doctor, and a few others who had 
 grown upon them in the journey, and the two 
 young couples turned out to break their way over 
 the little-used route that now lay before them. 
 
 Darkness was settling down— darkness of the 
 seventh night since their departure from Emerson 
 — when, like a mole on the face of the plain, a 
 little grey lump grew on the horizon. Arthurs 
 rose in his seigh and waved his fur cap in the air ; 
 Harris sent back an 'answering cheer; the women 
 plied their husbands with questions; even the 
 liorses took on new energy, and plunged desperate- 
 ly through the frozen snow which one moment 
 supported their weight and the next splintered 
 in broken ice-cakes beneath them. Slowly the 
 mole grew until in the gathering shadows it took 
 on indistinctly the shape of a building, and just as 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 39 
 
 the rising moon crested the ridge of the Pembina 
 hills the travellers swung up at the door. Arthurs 
 had carried the key of the padlock in his hand 
 for the last mile ; everybody was out of the sleighs 
 in a moment, and the next they were stamping 
 their cramped feet on the cold wooden floor of the 
 little shack. Arthurs walked unerringly to a nail 
 on the wall and took down a lantern ; its dull flame 
 drove the mist slowly down the glass, and present- 
 ly the light was beating back from the glistening 
 frost which sparkled on every log of the little 
 room. 
 
 "Well, here we are in Hungry Hall," said 
 Arthurs. "Everything just as I left it." Then, 
 turning to his wife, "Come, Lil," he said. "Jack, 
 perhaps you have an engagement of your own." 
 He took his wife in a passionate embrace and 
 planted a fervent kiss upon her lips, while Harris 
 followed his example. Then they sat down on the 
 boxes that served for .chairs, amid a happiness too 
 deep for words. ... So the minutes passed until 
 Mrs. Arthurs sprang to her feet. "Why, Mary," 
 she exclaimed, "I do believe you're crying," while 
 the moisture glistened on her own cheek. "Now, 
 you men, clear out! I suppose you think the horses 
 will stable themselves ? Yes, I see you have the 
 box full of wood, Fred. That's not so bad for a 
 start. Leave some matches, and say, you might 
 just get our boxes in here. Remember we've lived 
 in these clothes for the best part of two weeks." 
 
 The young men sprang to their task, and as 
 soon as they were out of the house the girls threw 
 their arms about each other and wept like women 
 
40 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 together. It was only for a moment ; a quick dash 
 of the hand across the eyes and both were busy 
 removing coats and wraps. The door opened, and 
 their "boxes," as well as other equipment from 
 the sleighs, were carried in, and the men disap- 
 peared to the little stable at the back of the house. 
 After several attempts the girls succeeded in 
 starting a fire in the rusted stove, and soon its 
 grateful heat was radiating to every corner of the 
 room. As they busied themselves unpacking 
 dishes and provisions they had opportunity to 
 take observations of the new place that for one 
 was to be a home and for the other a very welcome 
 haven in a strange land. 
 
 The house was built of poplar logs, hewed and 
 dovetailed at the corners with the skill of the On- 
 tario woodsman. It was about twelve by sixteen 
 feet in size, with collar-beams eight feet from the 
 floor. The roof was of two thicknesses of elm 
 boards, with tar-paper between. The floor was of 
 poplar boards. The door was in the east side, 
 near the south-east corner; the stove stood about 
 the centre of the east wall. The only window was 
 in the south; six panes of eight-by-ten glass suf- 
 ficed for light. Through this window another 
 lantern shone back from the darkness, and 
 the flickering light from the stove danced in 
 duplicate. A rough board table sat under the 
 window; a box nailed in the south-west corner 
 evidently served as cupboard. No tools or mov- 
 ables of any value had been left in the place, 
 Arthurs having stored such effects with a neigh- 
 bour, some dozen miles away, lest they be stolen 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 41 
 
 from the cabin by some unscrupulous traveller 
 during his absence. 
 
 "I like the plan of it very much," said Mrs. 
 Arthurs, after a general survey of the room. 
 "Don't you think Fred has shown good judgment 
 in the design? This" — indicating the door — "will 
 be my reception-room. And this, a little further 
 in, is the parlour. The kitchen and pantry are 
 right at hand so convenient for the maid in serv- 
 ing, you know. And then our rooms. Fred and 
 I will have the long room in the north-west wing, 
 while you, of course, will occupy the guest- 
 chamber in the northeast. Do not be alarmed, my 
 dear; if the silence of the prairies weighs too 
 heavily "upon you we shall be within call. The 
 bath may be reached from either room with equal 
 convenience. ' ' 
 
 Both laughed, but Mary, more serious and 
 sober-minded, was already slicing ham and greas- 
 ing a frying-pan. "We need water, Lil — get some 
 snow while I find the tea. The bread is hard, but 
 there'll be coals presently, and we shall have toast. 
 Lucky there were baked potatoes left over from 
 last night's camp; they'll fry up fine along with 
 
 this " But already Lil was outside gathering 
 
 snow. 
 
 She returned in breathless excitement. "Oh, 
 Mary, I've just had a great thought. All my 
 wedding china — ^present, you know — is in that 
 box, and I have my wedding clothes, too. Have 
 you yours?" 
 
 "Of course. But why " 
 
 "Why, dear, don't you see? The men are busy 
 
42 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 shovelling a path into the stable. It'll be an hour 
 3'e't before they are in. Let's put on our wedding 
 dresses, and set the table with our best dishes and 
 best linen, just for a kind of post-nuptial. Let's !" 
 
 "But ham and fried potatoes!" 
 
 "And toast. Didn't you promise toast? And 
 tea And I'll wager there's some jam among 
 these provisions. Oh, let's hurry." 
 
 An hour later, when the hungry men returned 
 after making their horses and cattle comfortable, 
 they stopped in amazement at the sight that con- 
 fronted them. Snowy linen, delicate china, and 
 sparkling glass returned the soft light from one of 
 those great lamps such as are bought only for 
 presentation; and besides the table, like fairies 
 spirited from a strange land, stood two beautiful 
 women, robed in the delicate draperies of their 
 bridal hour. Exclamations of surprise were 
 drowned in a flood of tender associations, and 
 never in palace or banquet-hall did sweeter con- 
 tent and happiness reign than among these four 
 young pioneers as they sat do^Ti to their first 
 home-served meal in the new land. 
 
 The days that followed were days of intense 
 activity for both-men and women. There was 
 much to do, inside and out. In the interior of the 
 little house an extraordinary change was wrought ; 
 simple draperies and pictures relieved the bare- 
 ness of the walls; shelves were built for the ac- 
 commodation of many trinkets dear to the 
 feminine heart; a rag carpet covered the centre 
 of the floor; plain but appetising dishes peeked 
 enticingly from behind the paper curtain that now 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 43 
 
 clothed the bare ribs of the cupboard ; and a sense 
 of homeliness pervaded the atmosphere. The two 
 men, in their own realm, had found much to 
 occupy them, although for some days the range 
 of their activities was limited owing to the neces- 
 sity of giving the horses a much-needed rest be- 
 fore putting them back into the harness. 
 
 A week had passed, and no sign of life, other 
 than that of the little party itself, had been seen 
 about the Arthurses' homestead, when one day 
 Harris's eyes already becoming keen to the 
 prairie distances, espied a dark point on the hori- 
 zon. It grew slowly from a point to a spot, from 
 a spot to an object, and at length was defined as 
 a man on horseback. Presently Aleck McCrae 
 drew up at the door. 
 
 "Hello, farmers," he cried, "how goes the 
 battle? An* the good wives? Building a little 
 Eden in this wilderness, I'll warrant. Tell them 
 to put another name in the pot, an' a hungry name 
 at that. I haven't seen a white woman's. meal I 
 don't know when." 
 
 The friends gathered about the old-timer ply- 
 ing him with questions, which he answered or dis- 
 cussed until the meal was over, holding his own 
 business quietly in the background. But with 
 supper ended, his pipe in his teeth and his feet 
 resting comfortably in the oven, he broached his 
 subject. 
 
 "Eeady for the road in the morning, Jack? 
 Don't want to break up your little honeymoon, y' 
 know, but the month is wearing on. Nothing but 
 horseback for it now, an ' they do say the settlers 
 
44 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 are crowding up something wonderful. The best 
 land's going fast. Most of them will hold up now, 
 with the roads breaking, but by slipping out on 
 our horses we can locate an' file before the real 
 spring rush opens. You should get some kind of 
 shelter up before the frost is out of the ground, 
 so 's to lose no time from ploughing once the spring 
 opens." 
 
 Harris needed no urging, and in the early 
 morning the two men, with blankets and pro- 
 visions, started out on horseback for the still 
 farther West. The snow was now going rapidly ; 
 water stood in a thousand pools and ponds on 
 the face of the prairie, or ran with swift noise- 
 lessness in the creek and ravines, although the real 
 "break-up" of the streams would not occur until 
 early in April. By avoiding the sleigh-trals a- 
 riding over the open pairie fairly sound footing 
 was found for the horses and a good opportunity 
 given to observe the land. Harris soon found 
 that more judgTtnent was required in the selection 
 of a prairie farm than he had supposed, and he 
 congratulated himself upon having fallen in with 
 so experienced a plainsman as McCrae. On the 
 first day they rode over mile after mile of beauti- 
 ful country, following the survey stakes as closely 
 as possible, and noting their location from time to 
 time by the lettering on the posts. 
 
 "This is good enough for me," said Harris at 
 length, as their horses crested a little elevation 
 from which the prairie stretched away in all di- 
 rections, smooth as a table. ' ' Isn 't it magnificent ! 
 And all free for the taking!" 
 
THE HOMESTEADEfeS 45 
 
 "It^s pretty to look at," said McCrae, "but I 
 guess you didn't come West for scenery, d^ 
 you?" 
 
 "Well, what's the matter with it? Look at that 
 grass. If the soil wasn't all right it wouldn't 
 gmw native crops lilce that, would it?" 
 
 "The soil's all right," answered McCrae. 
 "Nothing better anywhere, an' you can plough a 
 hundred and sixty acres to every quarter-section. 
 But this is in the frost belt. They get it every 
 August — sometimes July. Shouldn't wonder but 
 it'll be all right in time, when the country gets 
 settled up, but most homesteaders can't afford to 
 wait. We 've got to get further West yet, into the 
 higher land of the Turtle Mountain slopes. I 
 know there's good stuff there that hasn't been 
 taken. ' ' 
 
 And so they pressed on, until, in the bright sun- 
 shine, the blue line of the Turtle Mountain lay 
 like a lake on the western horizon. Here McCrae 
 began paying more minute attention to the soil, 
 examining the diggings around badger holes, 
 watching out for clumps of "wolf willow," with 
 always a keen eye for stones and low-lying alkali 
 patches and the general topography of the 
 quarter. 
 
 "This is more rolling country, with more land 
 broken up by sleughs an' creeks, but it's good 
 stuff," he said. "It's early to make predictions, 
 but I'll risk one guess. There are two classes of 
 people coming into this country — men who are 
 looking for wheat land, nothing but wheat land, 
 an' men who want some wheat land an' some stock 
 
46 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 land. I predict that in twenty-five years the wheat 
 farmers will be working for the mortgage com- 
 panies, an' the stock farmers will be building np 
 bank accounts. Now stock must have water, an' if 
 you can get natural shelter, so much the better. A 
 creek may break your land a little, but it's worth 
 more than it costs." 
 
 Many times in their explorations they, passed 
 over sections that Harris would have accepted, but 
 McCrae objected, finding always some flaw nn^ 
 apparent to the untrained eye. Once, where a 
 little river had worn its way across the plain, they 
 came on a sod shack, where a settler was already 
 located. "Nice spot," said McCrae, "but too 
 sandy. His farm '11 blow away when he breaks the 
 sod. There's an easy crossing there' though, an' 
 perhaps he thinks the railway will hit him when 
 it comes. That's all a gamble. It may go north 
 of the lake; if it does we only bet on the wrong 
 horse. We 've got to take our chance on that. ' ' 
 
 But at length they rode ovel* a quarter where 
 McCrae turned his horse and rode back again. 
 Forward and back, forward and back, they rode 
 the vhole hundred and sixty acres, until not a rood 
 of it had escaped their scrutiny. On the south- 
 east corner a stream, in a ravine of some depth, 
 cut off a triangle of a few acres ' extent. Otherwise 
 it was prairie sod, almost level, with yellow clay 
 lying at the badger holes. Down in the ravine, 
 where they had been sheltered from fire, were red 
 willows, choke-cherry bushes, and a few little 
 poplars and birches ; a winding pond marked the 
 course of the stream, which was running in eon- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 47 
 
 siderable volume. Even as they stood on the bank 
 a great cracking was heard, and huge blocks of 
 ice rose to the surface of the pond. Some of these 
 as they rose turned partly on their edge, showing 
 two smooth sides. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed McCrae. "There's some 
 depth of water there. That pond hasn't frozen 
 solid, or the ice wouldn't come up like that. That 
 means water all winter for stock, independent of 
 your well — a mighty important consideration, 
 which a lot of these land-grabbers don't seem to 
 reckon on. Now there's a good quarter, Jack. I 
 don't say it's the best there is ; they'll be opening 
 up new land that'd make your teeth water twenty- 
 five years from now. But we can't explore the 
 whole North-West, an' you're far enough from the 
 railroad here'. This coulee will give shelter for 
 your stock in raw weather, an' there's a bench 
 looks as though it was put there for your little 
 house. There's light timber to the north, fit for 
 fuel an' building, within fifteen miles, an' there'll 
 be neighbours here before the summer's over, or 
 I'm no prophet. What do you say?" 
 
 "The quarter suits me," said Harris. "And 
 the adjoining quarter is good stuff too. I can take 
 pre-emption right on that. But there's just one 
 thing I'm in doubt about." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "How I'm going to square it with you for the 
 service you have given. My cash is getting low, 
 and " 
 
 "Don't worry about that. I generally size up 
 my customer an' bill him accordingly. If he has 
 
48 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 lots of money, an' seems likely to part with it 
 foolishly, I put as much of it as I can in safe keep- 
 ing. But there isn 't any money fee as far as you 're 
 concerned. Fact is, I kinda figure on trading this 
 bill out with you." 
 
 "Trading it out? How?" 
 
 "Well, I expect to be roving this country, east 
 an' west, for some years to come, an' I've a little 
 policy of establishing depots here an' there — 
 places where I can drop in for a square meal an' 
 a sleep an' a bit of Western hospitality. Places, 
 too, if you like, where there are men to say a good 
 word for Aleck McCrae. How's that suit you?" 
 
 Harris took his friend's hand in a warm grip. 
 He rightly guessed that McCrae was not bartering 
 his services for hospitality, but was making it 
 easy for Harris to accept them by appearing to 
 bargain for a service in return. So they shook 
 hands together on the side of the bank overlook- 
 ing the little coulee, and as they looked in each 
 other 's eyes Harris realized for the first time that 
 McCrae was still a young man. A sense of com- 
 radeship came over him — a feeling that this man 
 was more of a brother than a father. With ad- 
 miring eyes he looked on McCrae 's fine face, his 
 broad shoulders, his wonderful physique, and the 
 question he asked sprang from his lips before he 
 could arrest it. 
 "Why don't yoii get married, Mac?" 
 "Who, me?" said McCrae, laughing; but 
 Harris detected a tone in his voice that was not 
 all happiness, and the thought came to him that 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 49 
 
 McCrae's craving for hospitality might root deep- 
 er than he supposed. 
 
 "It's a long ride to the land offiee," continued 
 McCrae, "an' you can't file a minute too soon. 
 We'd better find a corner post an' make sure of 
 the number of this section, an' put as much road 
 behind us as we can to-night." 
 
CHAPTEE IV 
 
 ROUGHING IT 
 
 AFTEE filing at the land office Harris re- 
 turned at once to the Arthurses' home- 
 stead. The news that the Harrises were 
 to be neighbours within forty miles was received 
 with enthusiasm by both Fred and Lilian Arthurs. 
 But Harris was now consumed with a burning 
 energy ; lie allowed himself only a precious half- 
 day at the home of the Arthurses, bade his wife an 
 affectionate farewell, and, with a cheery good-bye 
 to the warm friends on the homestead, he was 
 away down the trail to Emerson. By this time the 
 sleighing was gone, and as his wagon was left with 
 the car he rode one horse and led the other, carry- 
 ing with him harness and such equipment as was 
 absolutely necessary on the road. He expected 
 some trouble from the streams, which were now 
 breaking up in earnest, but he was determined 
 that at all costs he would get his wagon, plough, 
 and tools to the homestead before the frost came 
 out of the ground and left the sod trails absolute- 
 ly impassable. 
 
 On arrival at Emerson one of the first men he 
 met was Tom Morrison. The two pioneers shook 
 hands warmly, and in a few words Harrison told 
 
 50 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 51 
 
 of having selected his claim, waxing enthusiastic 
 over the locality in which his lot was to be east. 
 
 "I must get out there myself," said Morrison. 
 
 "Do," Harris urged. "There are some other 
 fine quarters in the neighbourhood, and nothing 
 would be better than to have you on one of them. ' ' 
 
 "Well, we'll see. Now, I've got your wagon 
 loaded ready for the road. I couldn't get all your 
 stuff on, but I loaded what you'll want first, and 
 the balance can come with the rest of mine, so 
 you won't have to, make another trip. Ned has 
 been back for some days, and we 're ready to pull 
 out too. And the sooner the better. The river is 
 risin' real dangerous like, and if it keeps on this 
 town's goin' to be.under water before it knows it. 
 Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me if the bridge went 
 out. So we took the rest of the stuff — ^yours and 
 mine — out a day's haul on the road. It's in safe 
 hands there, and we can get it later even if the 
 bridge does go. We thought we might as well do 
 that while waitin' for you." 
 
 "Waiting for me?" repeated Harris. "You 
 don't mean to say you have stayed here just on 
 my account?" 
 
 "Oh, no; you see, we wanted to get all the stuff 
 out of danger." 
 
 But Harris read between the words that honest 
 Tom had valued his interests equally with his own. 
 
 The west-bound trip was made in good time, 
 although not without difficulty at some points in 
 the road, and before the 10th of April Harris was 
 back under the shelter of Arthurs' roof. He was 
 for pressing on alone in the morning, but he found 
 
52 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 that his wife had made all her plans to accompany 
 him and would listen neither to persuasion nor 
 reason. 
 
 "No, Jack," she said, gently but firmly setting 
 all his entreaties aside. "I'm not going to let you 
 do all the pioneering. I 'm going with you. ' ' 
 
 "But, Mary, there's no house, and no shelter, 
 and no neighbours — nothing but sky and grass as 
 far as you can see. ' ' 
 
 "All the more reason I should go," she answer- 
 ed. "If you have to rough it in the open you at 
 least deserve your meals cooked for you, and such 
 other help as a woman can give. We will take the 
 cows — one of them is milking now; the calf will 
 have to go in the wagon; but we'll have lots of 
 milk, and I'm sure we'll get along. But I really 
 must be with you. I really must, John, and you 
 know — I 'm going. ' ' 
 
 So at last he consented. The supplies of pro- 
 visions were increased; room for the calf was 
 found somewhere in the wagon, and together they 
 set out to wrestle their fortunes from the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 On arrival at the homestead the young wife im- 
 mediately gave evidence that she intended to bear 
 her full share of the pioneer 's duties." . A com- 
 paratively dry spot was found among the little 
 poplars, and here she built a tent with blankets 
 and a bit of rag-carpet that came in most handy 
 for such purposes. Their stove was set up, and 
 although it smoked stubbornly for lack of draught, 
 it furnished h6at for cooking, and when Jack re- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 53 
 
 turned from tethering the horses the smell of fry- 
 ing ham and hot tea struck his nostrils. 
 
 "Well, that's better than rustling for myself, I 
 will admit," he said, as she placed his supper on 
 an improvised table. "But it's mighty rough 
 on you. ' ' 
 
 "No, it isn't, either. I'm healthy — ^why, this 
 prairie air gives me an appetite that city people 
 would pay thousands for, and I'm strong — and 
 happy." 
 
 He drew her to him, thrilled -with the pride of 
 her courage. 
 
 That night, before the darkness had gathered 
 too deep, they selected the site of their house on 
 the very bench that MeCrae had indicated. It was 
 about an acre in extent, and stood halfway be- 
 tween the prairie level and the bottom of the 
 coulee, where a small river was now running .... 
 They would face their house eastward, so it 
 would look over the pond fifty yards from the 
 door, and the bank behind would shelter it from 
 the north-west winds of winter. ... It was quite 
 dark when they sought the cover of their little 
 tent, and the wolves were howling far down the 
 ravine. 
 
 Presently they were startled by a crashing 
 noise, as of some big animals rushing upon them 
 through the poplars, and the horses, in headlong 
 haste , almost swept over their sleeping-place. On 
 recogTiizing their master the animals stood, snort- 
 ing and shivering. 
 
 "That wolf howl put the fear into the silly 
 brutes," said Harris, speaking calmly, although 
 
54 THE HOMESTBADBES 
 
 his own flesh was creeping just a little. I suppose 
 they've ripped their tether ropes to pieces. Well, 
 we'll tie them down here, where they'll have com- 
 pany." And he led them back a short distance in- 
 to the bushes. 
 
 A moment later, suddenly, as if congealed out 
 of thin air, on the bank right above them, silhouet- 
 ted against the dim light in the western sky, stood 
 a horse and rider. Instantly into Harris's mind 
 came a warning of McCrae : ' ' Sleep with one eye 
 open when your horses are tethered out. ' ' 
 
 Harris had no proof that the strange rider was 
 a horse thief, but it struck him at the moment that 
 the terror of the horses might not have been due 
 altogether to wolves. Sometimes these noble 
 animals have an uncanny instinct for detecting 
 danger. 
 
 He stole silently toward the tent. There was a 
 gun there, loaded with shot for any possible game 
 on the prairie. As he moved in the deep darkness 
 of the valley he stumbled oyer a root and fell. Tlie 
 same moment came a flash of light on the bank, and 
 Harris heard the "thuk" of a ball burying itself 
 in the sod. He lay perfectly still. The stranger 
 peered into the darkness for a full minuce; then, 
 dismounting, began to come cautiously down the 
 hilLside. Harris would have rushed for his gun, 
 but he feared to reveal the whereabouts of his 
 wife. So he lay still, and the stranger came on, 
 the glint of his gun-barrel showing in the darkness. 
 It was evident he thought his bullet had found its 
 mark, and he proposed still to possess himself of 
 
 thf> horsos. "Pnt hp wfis tnlnnq- no fhfupps. Pres- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 55 
 
 ently he discerned Harris's body on the ground, 
 and again raised his gun to his shoulder. Harris 
 lay in an agony of suspense, praying that the aim 
 would be faulty, and that his assailant would ad- 
 vance until he could spring up and disarm him. 
 Then came another flash, a loud report, a yell 
 from the intruder, who half fell to eaTth, then 
 scrambled to his feet, rushed up the bank, pulled 
 himself somewhat limply on his horse, and rode 
 into the darkness. 
 
 "Oh, Jack, are you killed?" cried the girl, rush- 
 ing in his direction. 
 
 "Not even hurt," he answered; and she fainted 
 in his arms. 
 
 He carried her to the tent and applied water to 
 her forehead. As he was engaged in restoring 
 her his hand fell on his gun. The barrel was hot. 
 
 He raised her face to his, and kissed her again 
 and again. 
 
 In the morning they found a few drops of blood 
 on the grass at the top of the bank. 
 
 Harris and his wife allowed themselves no time 
 for nerve-strain over the experience of their first 
 night on their homestead. It was fortunate for 
 them there was so much to do, and that they were 
 thrown entirely upon their own resources. Their 
 little store of money was running very low, and 
 they decided their house must be of the cheapest 
 possible construction. Harris had already dis- 
 cussed his buildings with McCrae, who advised 
 him to make use of sods, and gave general direc- 
 tions how to do so ; and he now set about to put 
 McCrae 's suggestions into effect. Some fifteen- 
 
56 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 miles north of the homestead was a valley in which 
 grew trees of sufficient size for building purposes 
 ^-poplars, cottonwoods, elms, and oaks. Farther 
 down the valley, at the head of a lake, was a saw- 
 mill, where boards and shingles might be bought — 
 if one had money. 
 
 So this morning, after caring for their cows, 
 they hitched the horses to the wagon, took an axe, 
 a saw, their gun, and a lunch, and set out for the 
 valley, returning late at night with sufficient logs 
 and poles for the framework of their house and 
 stable. The next day construction was com- 
 menced. Four stout posts were set on end, en- 
 closing a rectangle twelve by sixteen feet. The 
 tops of the posts were connected by logs laid upon 
 them, dovetailed at the corners after the fashion 
 of woodsmen, and held in position by wooden pins 
 driven in auger-holes. Lengthwise along the 
 centre, to form a ridge-pole, another stout log was 
 laid and the whole framcAvork supported by ad- 
 ditional posts, among which were two on the east 
 side to enclose the door. Small poles were then 
 placed on end, sloping slightly inwards, and rest- 
 ing against the plate-logs. Similar poles were laid 
 from the plate-logs to the ridge-pole to support the 
 roof. 
 
 Harris found a southern slope where the frost 
 was out enough to admit of him ploughing some 
 sod. He knew he would not get as good a sod here 
 as later in the season might be found in some low- 
 lying spot, but his first consideration was to get 
 some kind of permanent shelter. So he ploughed 
 the sods, three inches thick and fourteen inches 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 57 
 
 wide, and cut them into two-foot lengths with his 
 axe, to the sad injury of its cutting edge. These 
 sods were then built into a wall lUie bricks, rest- 
 ing gently against the framework of poles, from 
 which, however, they were separated by a padding 
 of grass, which Harris cut in a sleugh with his 
 scythe, and small willow^s from the ravine. This 
 mattress of grass and willows prevented any earth 
 shaking through into the house itself. A frame- 
 work made of a hewn log was inserted in the south 
 wall to leave space for a window, which should be 
 bought when the family finances could afford such 
 luxuries. For the time being it would be left open 
 in fine weather and covered with canvas when the 
 elements were gruff or unruly. The rag-carpet, 
 when no longer needed as a tent, would be draped 
 in the doorway, pending the purchase of boards 
 to make a wooden door. 
 
 For a roof grass was laid on the poles and 
 covered tightly with sods. Then Harris found a 
 sticky, yellow clay in the side of the ravine, and 
 two or three inches of this he spread carefully 
 over the sods, like icing on a great cake. The 
 greasy clay soon hardened in the sun, and be- 
 came so impervious to water that the , heaviest 
 rains of summer made no impression upon it. 
 
 When, save for the missing door and window, 
 the house was finished, they stood in the centre 
 and admired. It was absolutely the product of 
 their own labour, applied to such scanty resources 
 as the prairie provided. But it was warm and 
 snug, and, as they later on learned, the wall and 
 roof of sod were almost perfect non-conductors of 
 
58 THE HOMESTEADEKS 
 
 either heat or cold. The floor was of earth, but 
 Mary Harris knew the difference between earth 
 and dirt, although the words are frequently con- 
 founded, and her house was from the first a naodel 
 of cleanliness and order. 
 
 By this time the snow was all gone, except in 
 north-facing nooks along the ravine, and the frost 
 was out of the sod in all places deep enough to 
 admit of ploughing. As the stock were taking no 
 harm from the open air, thanks to the shelter of 
 the ravine, Harris decided to delay the construc- 
 tion of his stable until after seeding and to pro- 
 ceed at once with the ploughing of his land. He 
 had also to make a trip to Arthurs ' for seed grain, 
 and to borrow a couple of sections of drag har- 
 rows. With it all, by the middle of May he had 
 sown fifteen acres of wheat, and notwithstanding 
 a heavy snowfall about the 23rd, by the 1st of 
 June he had added ten acres of oats. With his 
 help Mary had planted a small garden of potatoes 
 and vegetables, and a few flowers were springing 
 up at the door of the house. 
 
 It was a life of hard, persistent work — of lone- 
 liness, privation, and hardship. But it was also a 
 life of courage, of health, of resourcefulness, of 
 a wild, exhilarating freedom found only in God's 
 open spaces. They had learned to know the 
 animals of the field — the cheeky gopher ; the silent,- 
 over-industrious badger ; the skunk, unchallenged 
 monarch of his immediate circle; the snealiy 
 coyote, whose terror is all in his howl ; the red fox, 
 softly searching amid the grass for the nests of 
 ducks or prairie chicken; and the rabbit, curious 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 59 
 
 but always gracefully elusive. Then there were 
 the water-fowl, infinite in number. The stuffed 
 ducks on the dinner-table were limited only by the 
 amount of powder and shot which Harris cared 
 to spend on the pond at their door. At night, 
 when the horses had been unharnessed and dusk 
 was setting in, he would slip his gun under his 
 arm and walk down among the willows. It was 
 necessary only to wait. Two graceful forms, feed- 
 ing under a grassy bank, hearing a slight rustle 
 above, would shove with quick, silent stroke into 
 the supposed safety of their native element. 
 Harris would peer through the dusk for the 
 brighter markings of the male, for only a game- 
 murderer shoots the female in the nesting season. 
 Then, as they separated a little, his gun would 
 speak; a sudden splashing of water; a sharp 
 whistle of rapid Avings cutting the air; a, form, 
 paddling an uncertain circle in the pond, then 
 lying strangely flat upon the surface. Harris as 
 yet had no dog, and often it meant stripping and 
 a sharp plunge in the ice-cold water to bring in 
 the trophy; but the strong, athletic young man 
 counted that only part of the sport. At other 
 times the nights were clamorous with the honking 
 of wild geese, and in the morning Harris, slipping 
 quietly over the bank of the coulee, would see the 
 prairie white as from new-fallen snow with the 
 backs of countless thousands of " wavies. ' ' Some- 
 times the geese, secure in the supposedly unsettled 
 wilderness, relaxed the vigour of their military 
 guard, and on such occasions he could get within 
 range. But if there is one quality the goose lacks 
 
60 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 it is that which is most attributed to him — foolish- 
 ness. On his marches through the unmapped 
 desert of the air he moves with the precision of an 
 army in the field, scouting out all the land, taking 
 aerial observations before making camp, and im- 
 mediately throwing out sentries around his feed- 
 ing ground. But long-continued immunity from 
 attack breeds carelessness, even in a goose, and 
 the price of such neglect frequenjily adorned the 
 table in Harris 's cabin. 
 
 The prairie flowers, too, were a never-ending 
 delight to the heart of the young woman. She 
 knew some of them by name, but many were 
 peculiar to the prairie. The first few warm days 
 of spring had clothed all the wilderness with a 
 magic carpet of pale-purplish blossoms, and the 
 advancing season brought new blooms to view with 
 every passing week. On Sundays, when there was 
 total relaxation from their regular labours, the 
 two, arm in arm, -would stroll along the bank of 
 the ravine, or walk ankle-deep in strawberry blos- 
 soms, far over the undulating plain to the west. 
 Returning, they would find their way to the edge 
 of the stream, where, in the shallow crossing, the 
 suckers would dart in all directions in panic at 
 their appearance. Here they would sit and listen 
 to the gentle murmur of the water, while fleecy 
 clouds mirrored themselves in its glassy depths, 
 and plovers ran whistling up and down the bank, 
 and a meadow-lark sent its limpid challenge from 
 a neighbouring bush. And at night, when the 
 moon rose in wonderful whiteness and purity, 
 wrapping field and ravine in a riot of silver, the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 61 
 
 strange, irresistible, unanswerable longing of the 
 great plains stole down upon them, and they knew 
 that here indeed was life in its fulness — a par- 
 ticipation in the Infinite, indefinable, but all-em- 
 bracing everlasting. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SHORES OF THE INFINITE 
 
 THE summer was a season of great activity 
 and development. Harris did not sow any 
 crop after the 1st of June, but applied him- 
 self then to the construction of his stable, which 
 was built after the same fashion as the house. The 
 shelter of its cool walls and roof was gratefully 
 sought by the cows in the heat of the day, and its 
 comparative freedom from mosquitoes was a 
 haven to the horses in the evenings. Then there 
 was more land to plough, and Harris 's soul never 
 dulled to the delight of driving the ploughshare 
 through the virgin sod. There was something 
 almost sacred in the bringing of his will to bear 
 upon soil which had come doAvn to him through all 
 the ages fresh from the hand of the Creator. The 
 blackbirds that followed at his heel in long, re- 
 -spectful rows, solemnly seeking the trophies of 
 their chase, might have been incarnations from 
 the unrecorded ages that had known these broad 
 fields for chase and slaughter, but never for 
 growth and production. The era of the near 
 vision, demanding" its immediate reward, had 
 passed away, and in its place was the day of faith, 
 for without faith there can be neither seed-time 
 nor harvest. 
 
 62 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 63 
 
 But it was not only on Harris's homestead that 
 development was taking place. As McCrae had 
 predicted, there was a considerable movement of 
 settlers into, the district, and at several points 
 their tents or rude houses now broke the vast 
 swefep of the horizon. Tom Morrison had found 
 land to the satisfaction of his heart within three 
 miles of the Harris homestead, and his big log- 
 house, eighteen by twenty-four, assumed the pro- 
 portions of a castle by comparison with the small- 
 er homes springing up around. Some miles to the 
 east Dick Matheson, straight from the lumber 
 camps of the Madawaski, had pitched his tent, and 
 a few miles farther on was his friend of the 
 shanties, John Burton. To the west were the 
 Grants, and to the north Hiram Riles and his wife, 
 Eliza. A mixed community they were, drawn from 
 many corners, and all of them more or less under 
 the heel of poverty ; but they were filled with en- 
 thusiasm, with resourcefulness, and an indomit- 
 able determination to face and overcome all 
 obstacles. A missionary had in some way spied 
 out the field, and held monthly Sunday services at 
 Morrison's house; and Dr. Blain, when not in one 
 of his unfortunate debauches, had his headquart- 
 ers at the new town of Plainville, which consisted 
 of Sempter's general store and a "stopping- 
 place," and which had sprung up near the junc- 
 tion of two streams in anticipation of the rail- 
 way. 
 
 None of these pioneers was possessed of a com- 
 plete farming equipment, but each had something 
 which his neighbour lacked, and they made com- 
 
64 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 mon cause together in their struggle with Nature. 
 Thus Harris had no mower, but when haying sea- 
 son came he was able to borrow Morrison's, at the 
 same time lending his plough to Eiles, who simul- 
 taneously accommodated Morrison with his hay- 
 rack. Among the women exchanging became 
 something of an exact science. Mrs. Grant was 
 the proud possessor of a very modern labour- 
 saver in the shape of a clothes-wringer, as a conse- 
 quence of which wash-day was rotated throughout 
 the community, and it was well knoAvn that Mrs. 
 Eiles and Mrs. Harris had to do their churning 
 alternately. But.it was Mrs. Morrison's sewing- 
 machine that was the great boon to the com- 
 munity, and to it, perhaps, as much as the open- 
 hearted hospitality of honest Tom and his wife, 
 was due the fact that their house became the social 
 centre of the district. 
 
 Nor was the settlement deprived of its share 
 of sport and amusement. On one of his periodical 
 visits McCrae donated a baseball, and Harris 
 quickly shaped a bat from the trunk of a stout 
 willow he found by the river bed. They had all 
 outdoors to play in, and it was a simple matter to 
 mow the grass from a stretch of level prairie and 
 turn over the sod at points to mark the bases. 
 Unfortunately, there were not enough men in the 
 conununity to make two baseball teams, but a 
 species of game was devised in which the players 
 batted in turn, and when not batting or base- 
 running were always on the "out" side. Harris 
 developed considerable ability as a pitcher, throw- 
 ing the powerful straight ball which in those days 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 65 
 
 "was a greater menace to the bare hands of the 
 catcher than to the batter at the plate. On the 
 occasion of his monthly visits the missionary, who 
 was an ardent ball-player, generally contrived to 
 reach Morrison's by Saturday afternoon, and so 
 was able to take part in the Saturday night game. 
 And although he never took advantage of his 
 association with the young men to "preach" to 
 them, except on Sundays, a sense of comradeship 
 sprang up, and a standard of sport was estab- 
 lished which bore fruit in the conununity many 
 years later. 
 
 And so the first summer wore away and the first 
 harvest was at hand. Any disappointment which 
 had been occasioned by backward conditions earl- 
 ier in the season was effaced by the wonderful 
 crop which now crowned the efforts of the pion- 
 eers. On their finest Eastern farms they had seen 
 nothing to equal the great stand of wheat and oats 
 which now enveloped them, neck-high, whenever 
 they invaded it. The great problem before the 
 settlers was the harvesting of this crop. It was a 
 mighty task to attempt with their scythes, but 
 there was no self-binder, or even reaper, within 
 many miles. 
 
 Finally Morrison solved the problem for the 
 whole community by placing an order, at a fabu- 
 lous figure, for a self-binder from the United 
 States. It was a cumbrous, wooden-frame con- 
 trivance, guiltless of the roller bearings, floating 
 aprons, open elevators, and sheaf carriers of a 
 later day, but it served the purpose, and with its 
 aid the harvest of the little settlement was safely 
 
66 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 placel in sheaf. The farmers then stacked their 
 grain in the fields, taking care to plough double 
 fire-guards, with a burnt space between, as a pre- 
 caution against the terrifying fires which broke 
 over the prairie as soon as the September frosts 
 had dried the grass. A community some twenty 
 miles to the eastward boasted a threshing mill, 
 and arrangements were made for its use after it 
 had discharged the duties of its own locality. The 
 machine was driven by horse-power, and in the 
 daAvn of the crisp November mornings the cres- 
 cendo of its metallic groan could be heard for 
 miles across the broAVti prairie. It, too, with its 
 hand feed, its open straw-carriers, its low-down 
 delivery, which necessitated digging a hole in tlip 
 frozen earth to accomodate the bags, and its 
 possible capacity of six hundred bushels a day, 
 bears mean comparison with its modtern succes- 
 sor; but it threshed grain at a lower cost per 
 bushel, and threw less into the straAV than has ever 
 been accomplished by the mighty steam and gas- 
 oline inventions which have displaced it. 
 
 When Harris's threshing was done he found he 
 had six hundred bushels of wheat and seven hun- 
 dred bushels of oats in cone-shaped piles on his 
 fields. The roads were fine and hard, and no snow 
 had yet fallen, so he determined to begin at once 
 with the marketing of his wheat. His last cent 
 had been spent months before ; indeed, it had been 
 only through the courtesy of the storekeeper at 
 Plainville, who was also postmaster, and who had 
 stretched the law to the point of accepting hen 
 eggs as legal tender in exchange for postage 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 67 
 
 stamps, that Mary Harris had been able to keep 
 lip the brave, optimistic series of letters written 
 "home." So Harris decided that he would at 
 once market some of his wheat. Most of the oats 
 would be needed for his horses and for seed, and 
 what' remained would command good prices from 
 new settlers the following spring, but some of the 
 wheat must be turned into money at once. Dur- 
 ing the latter part of the summer they had lived 
 exclusively on the produce of their farm; on vege- 
 tables from the garden, fish and ducks from the 
 stream, prairie chicken, and an occasional rabbit 
 from the fields. The wild geese had deserted them 
 early in the spring, and returned only after har- 
 vest. But now they should have a change on their 
 table. Mary had accepted the pioneer fare of the 
 sununer without complaint, but of late Harris had 
 discovered a strange longing in her eyes, and 
 more than once she had arrested herself in the 
 
 words "I wish we had ." Then two penitent 
 
 little tears woul steal softly down her cheeks, and 
 she would bury her head in his arms as he goothed 
 her with loving words and promised that "after 
 threshing' things would be different." 
 
 So now he set out for Emerson with the best 
 load his horses could draw. The first few miles 
 he drove in silence, for there was a heavy weight 
 at his heart as he thought of the little wife alone 
 
 with the responsibilities of the farm That 
 
 she would be faithful to every responsibility he 
 
 knew beyond question But he was not quite 
 
 satisfied. A strange moodiness bad come over 
 her, and even with him at home she had at times 
 
68 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 given way to fits of downheartedness which seem- 
 ed altogether alien to her nature. 
 
 But this morning as he drove the well-worn 
 trail, a burnished sun mounted higher and higher 
 ahead of him, and with it his own spirits rose until 
 he found himself whistling and boyishly building 
 castles in the air. But his castles, as he told him- 
 self, had solid foundations ; indeed, they were not 
 even speculations, but already might be accepted 
 as assured accomplishments. Some things he cer- 
 tainly must do for -Mary. First of these was the 
 purchase of a glass window for the house, and next 
 to that he promised enough boards for a door, 
 and perhaps enough to floor part of their little 
 room. Then there should be sugar, and tea, and 
 flour, and warm boots, and some much-needed 
 kitchen utensils. True, he needed some things him- 
 self, but his needs could wait. And then there were 
 other things. Oh, he knew what to get. He 
 hadn't been having little conferences with Mrs 
 
 Morrison for nothing A tender smile gently 
 
 suffused his face, and his cheery whistle soared 
 above the rumble of the wagon- wheels on the hard 
 lumps of the trail. 
 
 Ten days later he retraced. his course in the 
 teeth of a blinding blizzard. A dozen times he 
 had been lost in the last forty-eight hours, but he 
 had developed the prairie-dweller's sense of 
 direction, and had always been able again to lo- 
 cate the trail. The Arthurs would have detained 
 him, almost by force, but the thought of a pale, 
 patient face, wrung with an agony of anxiety not 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 69 
 
 for itself, made him adamant in his resolve to go 
 home at whatever cost. The roads were almost 
 impassable; he left his lumber at Arthurs', but 
 carried with him his window, a few boards for a 
 door, and a little bundle of drygoods. Everything 
 else had gone by the way, surrendered in exchange 
 for food and shelter for himself and horses. 
 
 It was not dreadfully cold, but the sky seemed 
 only a vast turmoil of snow. The north-west 
 wind pelted the flakes in his face, where they melt- 
 ed with the warmth of his skin and again drooped 
 in tenacious icicles from his eyebrows and mous- 
 tache. The horses, too, were half blinded with the 
 storm ,and the empty wagon dragged laboriously 
 through the deep drifts. Darkness came down 
 very early, but at last Harris began to recognize 
 familiar landmarks close to the trail, and just as 
 night was settling in he drew into the partial 
 shelter of a bench on the bank of the coulee. The 
 horses pulled on their reins persistently for the 
 stable, but Harris forced them up to the house. 
 His loud shout was whipped away by the wind 
 and strangled in a moment, so he climbed stiffly 
 from the wagon and pulled with numbed hands at 
 the double thickness of carpet that did service for 
 a door. He fancied he heard a sound, but could 
 be sure of nothing ; he called her name again and 
 again, but could distinguish no answer. But at 
 last the fastenings which help the carpet gave 
 away, and he half walked, half fell, into the house. 
 The lantern burned dimly, but it was not at the 
 lantern he looked. In the farthest corner, scarce- 
 ly visible in the feeble light, stood his wife, and at 
 
70 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 her shoulder was the gun, trained steadily upon 
 him. 
 
 "Mary, Mary, don't you know me?" he cried. 
 
 She dropped her weapon to the floor, where it 
 went off, harmlessly burying its charge in the sod 
 wall. 
 
 "Thank God, oh, thank God!" she exclaimed. 
 
 lie threw off his wet overcoat and rushed to her 
 side. But she sat silent on the bed, staring ab- 
 sently at the light flickering uncertainly in the 
 wind from the open door. 
 
 He hastily rearranged the carpet, then, return- 
 ing to her, he took her hands in his and -rubbed 
 them briskly. But she still stared vaguely at the 
 light. 
 
 Suddenly a thought came to him. He rushed 
 outside, to find that the horses, of -their own ac- 
 cord, had taken shelter beside the stable. Here 
 from the wagon he drew a little bundle and hur- 
 ried back to the house. 
 
 She was sitting where he left her, shivering 
 slightly and watching the play of the light as it 
 flickered up and down ihe wall. He tore the pack- 
 age open and spread its contents before her. 
 
 At first she took no notice, but gradually her 
 eyes found the outline of soft cloth and dainty 
 feminine devices. With a great joy he watched 
 the colour returning as her set face relaxed in a 
 smile of ineffable tenderness. She raised her face 
 to his and slipped her arms about his neck, and he 
 knew that for the moment he had snatched her 
 out of the valley of the shadow. 
 
 Harris made no more attempts to market his 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 71 
 
 wheat that winter. His wife's health now became 
 - his first consideration, but, even had there been no 
 such problem, experience had shown that nothing 
 was to be gained by making the long and expen- 
 sive trip to Emerson. The cost of subsistence of 
 man and team on the way devoured all the pro- 
 ceeds of the wheat; indeed, there were instances 
 on record in the settlement where men who at- 
 tempted such trips during the winter actually 
 came back poorer than they left, while those who 
 could show a gain of a bag of sugar, a sack of 
 flour, or a box of groceries were considered fortun- 
 ate indeed. 
 
 "What shall we eat?" said Harris to his wife, 
 when, after a full discussion, it was decided that 
 no more grain could be marketed until spring. 
 
 "Oh, we shall not suffer," was her calm reply. 
 "We have over five hundred bushels of wheat." 
 
 "But we can't eat w'heat!" 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that. I heard Mr. McCrae 
 say that lots of families had wintered on wheat. 
 Indeed, boiled wheat is something of a delicacy. 
 Even the best city families rarely have it, al- 
 though it is more .nutritious than flour and much 
 easier to prepare." 
 
 Harris thrilled with joy over his wife's vivacity. 
 The strange gloom that oppressed her so much of 
 late had cost him many anxious hours. 
 
 "Besides," she continued, "we are well off to 
 what some of them are. We have a good supply 
 of vegetables, and one of the cows will milk most 
 of the winter, and we have half a dozen laying 
 
72 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 hens. Then yon will be able to shoot a rabbit 
 now and again." 
 
 ' ' Yes. we '11 be all right, ' ' he agreed. * * Perhaps 
 I will get a day or two ont at the lake. They say 
 there is fine fishing all winter where some of the 
 springs keep the ice open. And then, there's 
 always a chance to pick off a deer." 
 
 So, in high spirits, they planned for their win- 
 ter. There were long honrs, and little diversion, 
 and the desolation of bleak, snow-bound prairies 
 on every side, but through it all they kept up their 
 courage and their hopefulness. Mary spent much 
 time with her needle, from which John, when he 
 felt she was applying herself too closely, beguiled 
 her to a game of checkers or an hour with one of 
 their few but valued books. To supplement their 
 reading matter Mrs. Marrison sent over her little 
 library, which consisted of "The Life of David 
 Livingstone" and a bound number of "The Gos- 
 pel Tribune." And there was frequent visits 
 and long evenings spent about a cosy fire, when 
 the Morrisons, or the Grants, or the Eileses, drop- 
 ped in to while away the time. The little sod 
 house was warm and snug, and as the men played 
 checkers while the women sewed, what cared the 
 pioneers for the snow and the cold and the wind 
 whistling across the plains? 
 
 At last came the crisis. At four in the after- 
 noon Harris kissed his wife an effectionate fare- 
 well, hitched his horses to the sleigh, and started 
 out posthaste for Plainville. The sun, hanging 
 low to the western horizon, was banded by a great 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 73 
 
 ring of yellow and gold, bulging into two dull 
 reflected glows at either side. A ground-drift 
 of snow whipped keenly across the hard crust, and 
 the north-west wind had a rip to it, but overhead 
 the sky was clear and the blue , amazingly deep. 
 Harris drove by way of the Morrisons, where a 
 few low words sent Tom to the stable at a trot 
 to hitch his own team, while the good wife bustled 
 about the "room" almost overwhelmed with the 
 importance of her mission. 
 
 "I will go for the doctor. Jack, and you go back 
 and take the wife with you," was Morrison's 
 kindly offer, but Harris would not agree. It was 
 dark by this time, and he felt that he could trust 
 no one else to make the journey to Plainville. Be- 
 sides, there was more than a chance that Dr. Blain 
 might be incapable, and in that case it meant a 
 drive of thirty miles farther. 
 
 "It's good of you, Morrison," he said, "but 
 you are more used to your wife's bidding than I 
 am, and you can be of good service there, if you 
 will." And without waiting to argue he sprang 
 into his sleigh again and was whipping his team 
 into the darkness. 
 
 Dr. Blain, w'hen at home, was to be found at the 
 stopping-place. Harris tied his team at the door 
 and went in, shaking the snow and frost from his 
 great-coat. The air inside was close and stifling 
 with tobacco, not unmixed with stronger fumes. 
 A much-smoked oil lamp, hung by a wall-bracket, 
 shed a certain sickly light through the thick air, 
 and was supplemented in its illumination by rays 
 from the door of a capacious wood stove which 
 
74 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 stood in the centre of the room, and about which 
 half a dozen men were sitting. 
 
 "Night, Harris," said the landlord, who had a 
 speaking acqtiaintanee with every settler within 
 twenty miles. "Ye 're drivin' late. Ye '11 have a 
 bite supper, an' stable the team?" 
 
 "No, Hank, not to-night, thanking you the same. 
 But I'm after Dr. Blain, and I'm in a hurry. Is 
 he here, and — is he fit?" There was an anxiety 
 in the last words that did not escape the host. 
 
 "Nothin' ser'ous, I hope? Frost, or some- 
 thin ' ? " Then, without waiting for reply, he con- 
 tinued: "Yes, doctor's here. Upstairs, bed to 
 the right as ye go up. Just got in a little back. 
 As for fit — dig 'im out an' judge for yourself." 
 
 Harris lost no time in scaling the ladder which 
 led to the upper half-storey of the building. It 
 was a garret — 'nothing better — ^where the cold 
 stars looked through knot-holes in the poplar 
 shingles, and the ends of the shingles were tipped 
 with frost. Another wall-lamp burned uncertain- 
 ly here, flickering in the wind that whistled 
 through the cracks in the gables, and by its light 
 Harris found "the bed to the right." The form 
 of a man lay diagonally across it, face downward, 
 with arms extended above the head, and so still 
 that Harris paused for a moment in a strange 
 alarm. Then he slipped his hand on the doctor 's 
 neck and found it warm. 
 
 "Come, Doctor," he said, "I want you with 
 me. " But the sleeping man answered with not so 
 much as a groan. 
 
 "Come, Dr. Blain," Harris repeated, shaking 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 75 
 
 him soundly. "I want you to go home with me." 
 He might have been speaking to the dead. 
 
 In sudden exasperation he seized the doctor by 
 the shoulders, and with one heave of his mighty 
 arms set him upright on the floor and shook him 
 vigorously , 
 
 Dr. Blain opened his eyes and blinked uncertain- 
 ly at the light. "Whatche doing, Harris?" he 
 said at length, and the recognition brought a thrill 
 
 of hope. " 'S no use Gotta sleep it off. 'S 
 
 no use, Harris. 'S no use." And he crumpled 
 up in the bed. 
 
 But Harris was desperate. "Now I'm not go- 
 ing to fool with you," he said. "You get up and 
 come with me or I'll take you. Which is it!" 
 
 But the doctor only mumbled " 'S no use," and 
 fell heavily to sleep. 
 
 Throwing open his coat to get free motion for 
 his arms Harris in a moment wrapped the sleep- 
 ing man in a couple of blankets from the bed, 
 threw him over his shoulder, carried him down the 
 rickety ladder, and deposited him, none too gently, 
 in the sleigh. There was a mild cheer from the 
 men about the stove over these heroic measures, 
 and one of them thoughfuUy threw the doctor's 
 satchel into the sleigh. The next moment all were 
 lost in the darkness. 
 
 Harris drove for an hour, watching- the trail 
 keenly in the whitish mi«t of the winter's night, 
 and urging the horses to the limit of their exer- 
 tions. He had almost forgotten his passenger 
 when he felt a stir in the bottom of the sleigh. 
 Looking down closely he found the doctor trying to 
 
76 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 extricate a flask from one of his pockets. With a 
 qiiick wrench he took it from him, and would have 
 thro-\vn it into the snow, but the thought struck 
 him that it might be needed, and he put it into 
 his own pocket. 
 
 The doctor struggled to his feet. ' ' Say, Harris 
 you're friend o' mine, but don't take too many 
 liberties, see? 'S no use tryin' without it. Jush 
 give me that bottle now, or I'll get out an' go 
 home." 
 
 Harris was so pleased at the signs of returning 
 coherence that he could have hugged the doctor, 
 but he only said, "You've had enough for to-night. 
 And you won't get out, because if you try to I'll 
 knock you senseless in the bottom of the sleigh." 
 
 Then the doctor changed his tactics. He threw 
 his arms about Harris's neck, and genuine tears 
 coursed down his cheeks. 
 
 "Say, Harris, you don' know anything about it. 
 You don' know what I'm up agains'.Jush got in 
 from Wakopa to-day, and I haven't had my closh 
 off for week. 'S right! I tell you, Harris, you 
 
 don' know Oh, I know I'm a fool — yes, don' 
 
 tell me. But th' engineer knows it too when he 
 ties down th' shafety valve t' make th' grade. 
 Dosh it jush th' same. Thash jus ' like me. Come 
 on, Harris, hand it over. I got-f have it, or I 
 can't make the grade.^' 
 
 "Well, you'll make the grade first to-night," 
 said Harris. 
 
 After that the doctor remained silent for some 
 time. Then suddenly he d-emanded : ' ' Shay, Har- 
 ris, where you takin' me to, anyway?" 
 
<n 
 
 en 
 
 THE HOMESTEADERS 77 
 
 'I'm taking you home." 
 'Home? What home? I got no home, jus' 
 a " 
 
 "I'm taking you to my home." 
 
 "Wha' for? You're all right, I guess .... " 
 Suddenly the doctor stood erect. 
 
 "Harris, is your wife sick?" 
 'That's why I came for you." 
 'Well, why the devil didn't you say so? Here, 
 give me that whip. Harris, Harris, what did you 
 waste time arguing for?" 
 
 "I didn't waste much. The argument was 
 mostly on your side." 
 
 "Harris," said the doctor, after a long silence, 
 "you think I'm a fool. You're right. It isn't 
 as though I didn't know. I know the road I'm 
 
 going, and the end thereof And yet, in a 
 
 pinch, I can pull myself together. I'm all right 
 now. But it'll ^et me again as soon as this is 
 
 over Any good I am, any good I do, is just 
 
 a bit of salvage out of the wreck. The wreck — 
 yes, it's a good word that — ^wreck." 
 
 Just as the dawn was breaking he knelt beside 
 her. Her eyes were very large and quiet, and 
 her face was white and still. But she raised one 
 pale hand, and the thin fingers fondled in his hair. 
 She drew his face very gently down, and big silent 
 tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 "We will call him Allan," he said. 
 
CHAPTEE VI 
 
 IN THE SPELL OF THE MIRAGE 
 
 AQUARTEE of a century is a short time as 
 world history goes, but it is a considerable 
 era in the life of the Canadian West. 
 More things — ^momentous things — ^than can be 
 hinted at in this narrative occurred in the twenty- 
 five years following the great ^nrush of 1882. The 
 boundless prairie reaches of Manitoba were now 
 comparatively well settled, and the tide of im- 
 migration, which, after a dozen years' stagnation, 
 had set in again in greater flood than ever, was 
 now sweeping over the newer lands still farther 
 west. Eailways had supplanted ox-cart and bob- 
 sleigh as the freighters of the plains; the farmer 
 read his daily paper on the porch after supper, 
 while his sons and daughters drove to town in 
 "top" buggies, tailor-made suits, and patent- 
 leather shoes. The howl of the coyote had given 
 way to the whistle of the locomotive; beside the 
 sod hut of earlier days rose the frame or brick 
 house proclaiming prosperity and social ambition. 
 The vast sweep of the horizon, once undefiled by 
 any work of man, was pierced and broken with 
 elevators, villages, and farm buildings, and the 
 whiff of coal smoke was blown down the air which 
 
 78 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 79 
 
 had so lately known only the breath of the prair- 
 ies. The wild goose no longer loitered in the 
 brown fields in spring and antuinn, and the wild 
 duck had sought the safety of the little lakes. 
 The pioneer days had passed away, and civiliza- 
 tion and prosperity were rampant in the land. 
 There were those, too, who thought that perhaps 
 the country had lost something in all its gaining ; 
 that perhaps there was less idealism and less un- 
 reckoning hospitality in the brick house on the hill 
 than there once had been in the sod shack in the 
 hollow. 
 
 Mary Harris hurried about her capacious kit- 
 chen, deep in the preparation of the evening meal. 
 The years had taken toll of the freshness of her 
 young beauty; the shoulders, in mute testimony 
 to much hard labour of the hands, had drooped 
 forward over the deepening chest; the hair was 
 thinner, and farther back above the forehead, and 
 streaked with grey at the temples; the mouth 
 lacked the rosy sensuousness of youth, and sat 
 now in a mould, half of resolution, half submis- 
 sion. Yet her foot had lost little of its sprightli- 
 ness, and the sympathy in her fine eyes seemed 
 to haye deepened with the years. 
 
 A moist but appetizing steam rose from the 
 vegetable pots on the range, and when she threw 
 back the iron door to feed more coal the hot glow 
 from within danced in reflection along the bright 
 row of utensils hanging from the wall, and even 
 sought out the brass plate on the cream separator 
 at the far end of the big room. Through the 
 screen door came the monotonously redundant clic 
 
.80 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 a clank of the windmill, and a keen 
 
 ear might have caught the light splash of water as 
 it fell in the wooden horse-troughs from the iron 
 nozzle of the pump. 
 
 Mary stuck a fork in a potato to ascertain if the 
 "bone" was all gone, meanwhile shielding her 
 face from the steam with the pot lid, held afolt in 
 an aproned hand. Having satisfied herself that 
 the meal was making satisfactory progress, she 
 stepped to the door and sent a quick look across 
 the fields to where a streak of black smoke was 
 scrawled along the sky. 
 
 "Beulah," she called, turning towards the in- 
 terior of the house. ' ' Come, Beulah, set the table. 
 They're coming from the field." 
 
 In a moment a girl of twenty, plainly attired in 
 a neat calico dress, entered the kitchen. She was 
 fresh and beautiful as her mother had been that 
 first summer in the sod house on the bench, and 
 something in her appearance suggested that with 
 her mother's beauty and fine sensibility she had 
 inherited the indomitable spirit which had made 
 John Harris one of the most prosperous farmers 
 in the district. She moved in an easy, uncon-. 
 scious grace of self-reliance — a reliance that must 
 be just a little irritating to men of old-fashioned 
 notions concerning woman's dependence on the 
 sterner sex — drew the long wooden table, with its 
 covering of white oilcloth, into the centre of the 
 kitchen, and began placing the dishes in position. 
 
 "I don't see why we can't have supper in the 
 dining-room," she protested at length. "Before 
 we built the new house we were always talking 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 81 
 
 about how fme it would be to have a seperate room 
 for our meals, and now we don't eat in it once a 
 week. ' ' 
 
 "I know," said the mother, in a quiet, tired 
 voice. "But you know what your father thinks 
 about it. You know how down he is on style." 
 
 "It's no great style to eat in a dining-room," 
 continued the girl. "What did he build it for? 
 To take off his boots in? That's about all he does 
 there, nights before he goes to bed." 
 
 "Now, Beulah, don't be unreasonable. You 
 know we always have meals there Sundays. But 
 your father likes the kitchen best when it ain't too 
 hot. And besides, I can hardly take them into the 
 dining-room while the ploughing 's on. You know 
 how greasy they are with the engine, ' ' 
 
 "They're ploughing over at Grant's, too, and 
 when I dropped in there yesterday the dinner was 
 set in the dining-room, and a clean white linen 
 cloth on the table, and napkins set for the men, and 
 I guess they use the same kind of grease as we 
 do," persisted the girl. "And I noticed when 
 they came in to dinner Mr. Grant and the boys, 
 and the hired man too, all put their coats on — ^not 
 their working coats, but coats they had hanging 
 in a closet handy. It didn't take a minute, but it 
 looked different." 
 
 "Now, Beulah, you 'know your father would 
 never stand for putting on airs like that. He " 
 
 " 'Tisn't putting on airs. It's putting on 
 clothes— clean clothes to eat in. Susy Grant 
 never has to feel — ^I hate to say it. Mother — 
 ashamed if any of her friends drop in at meal- 
 
82 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 time; And I couldn't help thinking how fine 
 Harry looked " 
 
 " Ton my word, Beulah, I'm beginning to think 
 you must be a bit soft on Harry Grant. I had 
 thought perhaps your weakness was toward Jim, 
 but perhaps I'm mistaken." 
 
 "Can't a girl say a fellow's fine-looking without 
 being soft about it?" she continued. "As for 
 Jim " 
 
 But at this moment the conversation was cut 
 short by the scraping of heavy boots oji the 
 ploughshare nailed to the block at the door, and 
 John Harris, followed by Allan and the hired man, 
 Jim, walked into the kitchen. The farmer 's frame 
 was heavier than in his younger days, and his 
 hair, too, was streaked with grey, but every mus- 
 cle in his great body seemed to bulge with strength. 
 His face was brown with the prairie sun and wind 
 of twenty-five summers, and lines of worry and 
 care had cut their tracings about the mouth and 
 eyes. Beside him stood Allan, his only son, 
 straighter and lither of figure, btft almost equally 
 powerful. The younger man was, indeed, a 
 replica of the older, and although they had their 
 disagreements, constant association had develop- 
 ed a fine comradeship, and, on the part of the son, 
 a loyalty equal to any strain. The hired man, 
 Jim, was lighter and finer of feature, and his 
 white teeth gleamed against the nut-brown of his 
 face in a quiet smile that refused to be displaced 
 in any emergency, and at times left the beholder 
 in considerable doubt as to the real emotions 
 working behind. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 83 
 
 The men all wore blue overalls, dark blue or 
 grey shirts, and heavy boots. They were guilt- 
 less of coat or vest, and tossed their light straw 
 hats on the water-bench as they passed. There 
 was a quick splashing of greasy hands at the 
 wash-basin, followed by a more effectual rubbing 
 on a towel made from a worn-out grain sack. The 
 hired man paused to change the water and wash 
 his face, but the others proceeded at once to the 
 table, where no time was lost in ceremony. Meat, 
 potatoes, and boiled cabbage were supplied in 
 generous quantities on large platters. A fine 
 stack of white bread tiered high on a plate, and a 
 mountainous pile of Mary Harris's famous fresh 
 buns towered on another. All hands ate at the 
 table together, although the hired man was usual- 
 ly last to sit down, owing to his perverse insis- 
 tence upon washing his face and combing his hair 
 before each meal. Although this loss of time 
 sometimes irritated Harris, he bore it in silence. 
 There was no better farm hand in the country- 
 side than Jim Travers, and, as Harris often re- 
 marked, employers nowadays couldn't afford to 
 be too particular about trifles. 
 
 Harris helped himself generously to meat and 
 vegetables and, having done so, passed the plat- 
 ters to his son, and in this way they were circu- 
 lated about the table. Mary poured the tea from 
 a big granite pot at her elbow, and whenever a 
 shortage of food threatened, Beulah rose from 
 her place and refilled plate or platters. There 
 was no talk for the first few minutes, only the 
 sound of knife and fork plied vigorously and in- 
 
84 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 terchangeably by father and son^ and with some 
 regard for convention by the other members of 
 the family. John Harris had long ago recognized 
 tlie truth that the destiny of food was the mouth, 
 and whether conveyed on knife or fork made little 
 difference. Mary, too, had found a carelessness 
 of little details both of manner and speech coming 
 over her, as her occasional "ain't" betrayed, but 
 since Jim had joined their table she had been on 
 her guard. Jim seldom said anything, but always 
 that quiet smile lay like a mask over his real, 
 emotions. 
 
 . When the first insistent demands of appetite 
 had been appeased Harris, resting both elbows on 
 the table, with knife and fork trained on opposite 
 corners of the ceiling, straightened himself some- 
 what and remarked: 
 
 "Allan an' me's goin' to town to-night; any- 
 thing you want from Sempter's store, Mary?" 
 
 "That lets me in for the cows," said Beulah. 
 "You were in town night before last, too, and it 
 was half -past nine before I got through milking. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, well, Jim was away that night," said 
 Allan. 
 
 "Jim has enough to do, without milking cows 
 after hours," returned the girl. "What do you 
 want to go to town for again to-night, anyway?" 
 
 "Got to get more coal," said Harris. "We'll 
 take two teams, an' it'll be late when we get back." 
 
 "Try and not be too late," said the mother, 
 quietly. "You have to be at work so early in 
 the morning, you know." 
 
 "I think it's all nonsense, this day-an '-night 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 85 
 
 work," persisted Beulah. "Is there never going 
 to be any let-up to it?" 
 
 "Beulah, you forget yourself," said her fat'her, 
 "If you'd more to do you'd have less time to fret 
 about it. Your mother did more work in one 
 summer than you have in all your life, an' she's 
 doin' more yet." 
 
 "Oh, Beulah 's a good help," interposed Mary. 
 "I hope she never has to work like I did." 
 
 "I guess the work never hurt us," said Harris, 
 helping himself to preserved strawberries. "Just 
 the same, I'm glad to see you gettin' it a bit 
 easier. But this younger generation — ^it beats 
 me what we're comin' to. Thinkin' about nothin' 
 but fun and gaddin' to town every night or two. 
 and clo'es — Beulah there's got more clo'es than 
 there was in the whole Plainville settlement the 
 first two or three years." 
 
 "I got more neighbours, too," interjected the 
 
 girl. Then springing up, she stood behind her 
 
 father's chair and put her arm around his neck. 
 
 "Don't be cross. Dad," she whispered. "Your 
 
 heart's in the right place — ^but a long way in." 
 
 He disengaged her, gently enough. As Beulah, 
 said, his heart was all right, but a long way m-. 
 Twenty-five years of pitched battle with circum- 
 stances—sometimes in victory, sometimes in de- 
 feat, but never in despair ; always with a load of 
 expense about him, always with the problem o' 
 income and outlay to be solved — ^had made of 
 Harris a man very diffeTeait from the young 
 idealist of '82. During the first years of struggle 
 for a bare existence in some waj the flame of 
 
86 THE HOMBSTEADBES 
 
 idealism still burned, but with the dawn of the 
 "better times" there came a gradual shifting of 
 standards and a new conception of essentials. 
 At first the settlers attached little value to their 
 land; it was free for the taking, and excited no 
 envy among them. The crops of the early years 
 were unprofitable on account of the great distance 
 to market ; later, when the railway came to thei i 
 doors, the crops were still unprofitable, owing to 
 falling prices and diminishing yields due to poor 
 cultivation. Then came a decade during which 
 those who stayed in the country stayed because 
 they could not get out, and it became a current 
 saying that the more land a man farmed the deep- 
 er he got in debt. Homesteads were abondoned ; 
 settlers flew by night "across the line" or to more 
 distant districts to begin their fight over again. 
 And yet, in some way, Harris kept his idealism 
 amid all the adversity in which the community 
 was steeped; reverses could neither crush his 
 spirit nor deflect it from its ambitions. 
 
 Then came the swing of the pendulum. No one 
 knows just what started it prosperity-wards. Some 
 said it was that the farmers, disheartened with 
 wheat-growing, were applying themselves to stock, 
 and certain it is that in "mixed farming" the 
 community eventually found its salvation; others 
 attributed the change to improved agricultural 
 implements, to improved methods of farming, to 
 greater knowledge of prairie conditions, to re- 
 ductions in the cost of transportation and enlarg- 
 ed facilities of marketing, or to increasing world 
 demand and higher world prices for the product 
 
THE HOMBSTEADBES 87 
 
 of the farm. But whatever the causes — and no 
 doubt all of the above contributed — the fact grad- 
 ually dawned upon the settlers that land— their 
 land — ^was worth money. 
 
 It was the farmers from the United States, 
 scouting for cheaper lands than were available in 
 their own communities, who first drove the con- 
 viction home. They came with money in their 
 wallets ; they were actually prepared to exchange 
 real money for land. Such a thing had never be- 
 fore been heard of in Plainville district. At first 
 the settlers were sceptical. Here were two facts 
 almost beyond the grasp of their imagination; 
 that farmers should buy land with money, and the 
 farmers should have money with which to buy 
 land. True, a few of them had already bought 
 railway lands at three or four dollars an acre, 
 but they bought on long terms, with a trifling in- 
 vestment, and they aimed to pay for the lands out 
 of the crops or not at all. 
 
 But a few transactions took place ; lands wiere 
 sold at five dollars, six dollars, eight dollars an 
 acre. The farmers began to realize that land 
 represented wealth — that it was an asset, not a 
 liability — and there was a rush for the cheap rail- 
 way lands that had so long gone a-begging. Har- 
 ris was among the first to sense the change in the 
 times, and a beautiful section of railway land that 
 lay next to his homestead he bought at four dol- 
 lars an acre. The first crop more than paid for 
 the land, and Harris suddenly found himself on 
 the way to riches. 
 
 The joy that came with the realization that 
 
88 THE HOMESTEADBES 
 
 fortune had knocked at his door and he had heard 
 was the controlling emotion of his heart for a 
 year or more. But gradually, like a fog blown 
 across a moonlit night, came a sense of chill 
 and disappointment. If only he had bought two 
 sections ! If at least he had proved up on his pre- 
 emption, which he might have had for nothing. 
 He saw neighbours about him adding quarter to 
 quarter. None of them had done better than him- 
 self, but some had done as well. And in some way 
 the old sense of oneness, the old community in- 
 terest which had held the little band of pioneers 
 together amid their privations and their poverty, 
 began to weaken and dissolve, and in its place 
 came an individualism and a materialism that 
 measured progress only in dollars and cents. 
 Harris did not know that his gods had fallen, that 
 his ideals had been swept away ; even as he sat at 
 supper this summer evening, with his daughter's 
 arms about his neck, he felt that he was still brave- 
 ly, persistently, pressing on toward the goal, all 
 unaware that years ago he had left that goal like 
 a lighthouse on a rocky shore, and was now sweep- 
 ing along with the turbulent tide of Mammonism. 
 He still saw the light ahead, but it was now a 
 phanton of the imagination. He said, "When I 
 am worth ten thousand I will have reached it"; 
 when he was worth ten thousand he found the 
 faithless light had moved on to twenty-five thous- 
 and. He said, "When I am worth twenty-five 
 thousand I will have reached it"; when he was 
 worth twenty-five thousand he saw the glow still 
 ahead, beckoning him on to fifty thousand. It 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 89 
 
 never occurred to him to slacken his pace— to 
 allow his mind a rest from its concentration ; if he 
 had paused and looked about he might, even yet, 
 have recognized the distant lighthouse on the reef 
 about the wreck of his ideals. But to stop now 
 might mean losing sight of his goal, and John 
 Harris held nothing in heaven or earth so great 
 as its- attainment. 
 
 So, gently enough, he disengaged his daugh- 
 ter's arms and finished his supper in silence. As 
 soon as it was ended the men started for the barn, 
 and in a few minutes two wagons rattled noisily 
 down the trail. 
 
 Beulah helped with the supper dishes, and then 
 came out with the milk-pails to the corral where 
 the cows, puffing and chewing, complacently a- 
 waited her arrival. But she had not reached the 
 gate when the hired man was at her side and had 
 slipped one of the pails from her arm. 
 
 "Now, Jim, I don't think that's fair at all," she 
 said ; and there was a tremor in her voice that vex- 
 ed her. "Here you're slaving all day with coal and 
 water, and I think that 's enough, without milking 
 cows at night." 
 
 But Jim only smiled and stirred a cow into 
 position. 
 
 "Yes, that's like you," she continued; "Pick 
 Daisie first, just because you know she 's tough as 
 rubber. Say, Jim, honest goods, ' ' she demanded, 
 pausing and facing him, milk stool in hand, "why 
 do you let father put this kind of stuff over on 
 you?" 
 
90 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Your father doesn't put anything over on 
 me," he answered. "I'm very fond of milking." 
 
 "Yes, you are — not," she said. "You do it on 
 my account, because you're too big-hearted to 
 quit before I'm through. ..." There was a 
 tuneful song of the tin pails as the white streams 
 rattled on their bottoms. 
 
 "Jim," she said, after a while, when the noise 
 of the milking was drowned in the creamy froth, 
 "I'm getting near the end of this kind of thing. 
 Father's getting more and more set on money all 
 the time. He thinks I should slave along too to 
 pile up more beside what he's got already, but 
 I 'm not going to do it much longer. Mother stands 
 it — I guess she's got used to him, and she won't 
 say anything, but if there's anything I'm not 
 strong on it's silence. I'm not afraid of work, or 
 hardship either. I'd live in a sack if I had to. 
 I'd " 
 
 "Would you live in a shack?" said Jim. 
 
 She shot a quick look at him. But he was 
 quietly smiling into his milk-pail, and she decided 
 to treat his question impersonally. 
 
 "Yes, I'd live in a shack, too, if I had to. I put 
 in my first years in a sod-house, and there was 
 more real happiness romping up and down the 
 land then than there is now. In those days every- 
 body was so poor that money didn't count 
 
 It's different now." 
 
 Jim did not pursue the subject, and the milking 
 was completed in silence. Jim finished first, and 
 presently the rising hum of the cream separator 
 was heard from the kitchen. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 91 
 
 y There he goes, winding his arm off— for me," 
 said the girl, as she rose from the last cow. "Poor 
 Jim— I wish I knew whether it's just human kind- 
 ness makes him do it, or whether " She 
 
 stopped, colouring a little over the thought that 
 had almost escaped into words. 
 
 When the heavy grind of the separating was fin- 
 ished Jim went quietly to his oavh room, but the girl 
 put on a clean dress and walked out through the 
 garden. Eows of mignonette and lobelia border- 
 ed the footpath, and sweet, earthy garden smells 
 filled the calm evening air. The rows of currant 
 and gooseberry btishes were heavy with green 
 fruit ; the leaves of the Manitoba maples trembled 
 ever so little, in the still air. The sun was setting, 
 and fleecy fragments of cloud were painted ruddy 
 gold against the silver background of the sky. 
 Prom the barnyard came the contented sighing 
 of the cows and the anxious clucking of a hen 
 gathering in her belated brood. The whole country 
 seemed bathed in peace — a peace /deep and un- 
 purchaseable, having no part in any of the affairs 
 of man. 
 
 At the lower gate she stooped to pick a flower, 
 which she held for a moment to her face; then, 
 toying lightly with it in her fingers, she slipped 
 the latch and continued along the path leading 
 down into the ravine. It was dark and cool there, 
 with a touch of dampness in the grass, and the 
 balm-of-Gileada across the, stream sent a fine 
 moist fragrance through the air. To the right lay 
 the bench where the sod-house had stood, not so 
 much as a mound now marking the spot ; but the 
 
92 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 thouglits of the girl turned yearningly to it, and to 
 the days of the lonely but not unhappy childhood 
 which it had sheltered. 
 
 Presently she reached the water, and her quick 
 ear caught the sound of a musk-rat slipping gently 
 into the stream from the reeds on the opposite 
 bank; she could see the widening wake where he 
 J)loughed his swift way across the pond. Then 
 her own figure stood up before her, graceful and 
 lithe as ihe willows on the' bank. She surveyed 
 it a minute, then flicked the flower at her face in 
 the water, and turned slowly homeward. She 
 was not unhappy, but a dull sense of loss oppress- 
 ed hfer — a sense that the world was very rich and 
 very beautiful, and that she was feasting neither 
 on its richness nor its beauty. There was a stir- 
 ring of music and poptry in her soul, but neither 
 music nor poetry found expression. AVhat she 
 felt was a consciousness that great things were 
 just beyond the horizon of her experience, things 
 undefined and undefinable which, coujd she but 
 grasp them, would deepen life and sweeten life 
 and give a purpose to all her being. And as she 
 walked up the path and the fragrant night air 
 filled her nostrils, something of that wilder life 
 seemed borne m upon her and sent a fresh spring 
 to her ankle. And presently she discovered she 
 was thinking about Jim Travers. 
 
 Her mother sat in the dining-room, knitting by 
 the light of the. hanging lamp. Her face seemed 
 very pale and lovely in the soft glow. 
 
 "Don't you think you have done enough?" 
 said the girl, slipping into a sitting posture on the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 93 
 
 floor by her mother's knee. "You work, work, 
 work, all the time. I suppose they'll have to let 
 you work in heaven. " ' 
 
 "We value pur work more as we grow older," 
 
 said the mother "It helps to keep us 
 
 from thinking." 
 
 "There you go!" exclaimed the girl; but there 
 was a tenderness in her voice. "Worrying again. 
 I wish they'd stay home for a change." 
 
 The mother plied her needles in silence. "Slip 
 away to bed, Beulah," she said at length. "I 
 will wait up for a while." >. 
 
 Late in the night the girl heard heavy footsteps 
 in the kitchen and bursts of loud but indistinct 
 talking. 
 
CHAPTEE VII 
 
 THE CALL OF THE FARTHER WEST 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING Harris's late hours 
 the household was early astir the follow- 
 ing morning. At fiVe o 'clock Jim was at 
 work in the stables, feeding, rubbing down, and 
 harnessing his horses, while Allan and his father 
 walked to the engine, where they built a fresh fire 
 arid made some minor repairs. Even at this early 
 hour the sun shone brightly, its rays mellowing in 
 a sheen of ground-mist that enveloped the prairie, 
 but there is a tang in the Manitoba morning air 
 even in midsummer, and the men walked briskly 
 through the crisp stubble. A little later Beulah 
 came down to the corral with her milk-pails, and 
 the cows, comfortably chewing where they rested 
 on their warm spots of earth, rose slowly and 
 with evident great reluctance at her approach. A 
 spar of light blue smoke ascended in a perpendicu- 
 lar column from the kitchen chipmey; motherly 
 hens led their broods forth to forage ; pigs grunt- 
 ed with rising enthusiasm from near-by pens, and 
 calves voiced insistent demands from their quart- 
 ers. The Harris farm, like fifty thousand others, 
 rose from its brief hush of rest and quiet to the 
 sounds and energies of another day. 
 
 94 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 95 
 
 Breakfast, like the meal of the night before, 
 -was eaten hurriedly, and at first without conver- 
 sation, but at length Harris paused long enough 
 to remark, "Riles is talkin' o' goin' West." 
 
 "The news might be worse," said Beulah. 
 Riles, although a successful farmer, had the re- 
 putation of being grasping and hard to a degree, 
 even in a community where such qualities, in mod- 
 eration, were by no means considered vices. 
 
 Harris paid no attention to his daughter's in- 
 terruption. It was evident, however, that his 
 mention of Riles had a purpose behind it, and 
 presently he contined: 
 
 "Riles has been writin' to the Department of 
 the Interior, and it seems they're openin' a lot of 
 land for homesteadin' away "West, not far from 
 the Rocky Mountains. Seems they have a good 
 climate there, and good soil, too." 
 
 "I should think Mr. Riles would be content with 
 what he has," said Mary Harris. "He has a fine 
 farm here, and I'm sure both him and his wife 
 have worked hard enough to take it easier now." 
 
 "Hard work never killed nobody," pursued the 
 farmer. "Riles is good for many a year yet, and 
 free land ain't what it once was. Those home- 
 steads '11 be worth twenty dollars an acre by the 
 time they 're proved up. ' ' 
 
 "I wish I was sure of it— I wouldn't think 
 long, ' ' said Allan. "But they say it 's awful dry ; 
 all right for ranchin', but no good for farmin'." 
 
 "Who says that?" demanded his father. "The 
 ranchers. They know which side their bread's 
 buttered on. . As long's 'they can get grazin' land , 
 
96 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 for two cents an acre, or maybe no thin', of course 
 they don't want the homesteader. They tell me 
 the Englishmen and Frenchmen that went out into 
 that country' when us Canadians settled in Mani- 
 toba have more cattle now than they can counts 
 they measure 'em by acres, Eiles says." 
 
 Breakfast and Harris's speech came to an end 
 simultaneously, and the subject was dropped for 
 'the time. In a few minutes Jim had "his" team 
 hitched to the tank wagon in the yard. The men 
 jiimped aboard, and the wagon rattled down the ' 
 road to where the engine and ploughs sat in the 
 stubble-fieldl 
 
 "What notion's this father's got about Eiles, 
 do you suppose, mother?" asked Beulah, as the 
 two women busied themselves with the morning 
 work in the kitchen. 
 
 "Dear knows," said her mother wearily. "I 
 hope he doesn't take it in,his head to go out there 
 too." 
 
 "Who, Dad? Oh, he wouldn't do that. He's 
 hardly got finished with the building of this house, 
 and you know for years he tallied and looked for- 
 ward to the building of the new house. His 
 heart's quite wrapped up in the farm here. I 
 wish he'd unwrap it a bit and let it peek out at 
 times. " ■ , 
 
 "I'm not so sure. I'm beginning to think it's 
 the money that's in the farm your father's heart 
 is set on. If the money was to be made some- 
 where elsfe his heart woiild soon shift." 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed the girl. In twenty 
 years it was the first word approaching disloyalty 
 
THE, HOMESTEADERS 97 
 
 she had heard from her mother's lips, and she 
 could hardly trust her ears. It was nothing for 
 Beulah to criticize her father ; that was her daily 
 custom, and she pursued it with the whole frank- 
 ness of her nature. But her mother had always 
 defended, sometimes mildly chiding, but, never ad- 
 mitting either weakness or injustice on the part 
 of John Harris. 
 
 "Well, I just can't stand it much longer," said 
 the mother, the emotions which she had so long 
 held in check overcoming her. ' ' Here I 've slaved 
 and saved until I'm an — an old woman, and what 
 better are we for it? We've better things to eat 
 and more things to wear and a bigger house to 
 keep clean, and your father thinks we ought to be 
 satisfied. But he isn't satisfied himself. He's 
 slaving harder than ever, and now he's got this 
 notion about going West. , Oh, you'll see it will 
 come to tliat. He knows our life isn't complete, 
 and he thinks more money will complete it. All 
 the experience of twenty years hasn't taught him 
 any better." / 
 
 Beulah stood aghast at this outburst, and when 
 her mother paused and looked at her^ and she saw 
 the -unbidden wells of water gathering in the 
 tender eyes, the girl could no longer restrain her- 
 self. With a cry she flung her arms about her 
 mother's neck, and for a few moments the two for- 
 got their habitual restraint and were but naked 
 souls mingling together. 
 
 "It's a shame," exclaimed Beulah at length. 
 "We're not living; we're just existing. When I 
 get among people that are really living— like the 
 
98 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 Grants, over there — you don't know how mortified 
 and mean I feel. And it's not that alone — it's the 
 sense of |oss, the sense that life is going by and 
 I'm not making the best of it. You know we are 
 missing the reaLthing ; we are just living on the 
 husks, and father is so blind he thinks the husks 
 are the grain itself.' ' 
 
 "Your father is hungry, too," said the mother. 
 "Hungry — ^hungry, and he thinks that more land, 
 more money, more success, will fill him. And in 
 the meantime he's forgetting the things that 
 would satisfy — the love that was ours, the little 
 
 devo Oh, child, what am I sayin? What an 
 
 unfaithful creature I am! You must forget, 
 Beulah, you must forget these words — words of 
 shame they are!" 
 
 "The shame is his," declared the girl, defiantly, 
 "and I won't stand this nonsense about home- 
 steading again — I just won't stand it. If he says 
 anything more about it I'll — I'll fly off, that's 
 what I'll do. And I've a few remarks for him 
 about Eiles that won't keep much longer. The 
 old badger — he's at the bottom of all this." 
 
 "You mustn't quarrel with your father, dearie, 
 you mustn 't do that. ' ' 
 
 "I'm not going to quarrel with him, but I'm 
 going to say some things that need saying. And 
 if it comes to a show-down, and he must go — ^well, 
 he must, but you and I will stay with the old farm, 
 won't we, mother?" 
 
 ■ But the mother's thought now was for quelling 
 the storm in the turbulent heart of her daughter. 
 Beulah 's nature was not one to lend itself to pas- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 99 
 
 sive submission, nor yet passive reistance. She 
 was tlie soul of loyalty, but with that loyalty she 
 combined a furious intolerance of things as they 
 should not be. She had not yet reached the phil- 
 osophic age, but she was old enough to value life, 
 and to know that what she called the real things 
 were escaping' her. At night, as she looked up at 
 the myriad stars spangling the.heavens, the girl's 
 heart was filled with an unutterable yearning; a 
 sense of restriction, of limitation, Of loss — a sense 
 that somewhere lay a Purpose and a Plan, and 
 that only by becoming part of that Plan could life 
 be lived to the fullest. Her mother was of a dif- 
 ferent nature, not less brave, but more resigned; 
 content to fill, without question, the niche to which 
 fate assigned her; accepting conditions as a mat- 
 ter of course. Yet at times she had inklings of 
 those deeper questions which arose in persistent 
 interrogations before her child, and she guessed 
 that if Beulah once became convinced that she saw 
 the Plan, not all her loyalty could dissuade her 
 from following it. So she strove to control the 
 sudden outburst in her own heart lest the fire 
 lighted in Beulah 's should break forth in con- 
 flagration. 
 
 "There, there now," she said, gently stroking 
 her daughter's hair. "Let us forget this, and re- 
 member how much we have to be thankful for. 
 We have our health, and our home, and the bright 
 sunshine, and — I declare," she interrupted, catch- 
 ing a glimpse of something through the window, 
 "if the cows haven't broken from the lower past- 
 ure and are all through the oat-field ! You '11 have 
 
100 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 to take Collie and get them back, somehow, or 
 bring them up to the corral. " 
 
 Perhaps it was part of the Plan that the diver- 
 sion should come at that moment, but the rebellion 
 in Beulah's heart was by no means suppressed. 
 Pulling a sun-bonnet upon her head she called the 
 dog, which came leaping upon her with boisterous 
 affection, and hurried down the path to the field 
 where the cows stood almost lost in a jungle of 
 green oats. She soon located the breach in the 
 fence, and, with the help of the dog, quickly turned 
 the cows toward it. But alack! just as victory 
 seemed assured a rabbit was frightened from its 
 hiding-place in the green oats, and sailed forth in 
 graceful bounds across the pasture. The dog, 
 of course, concluded that the capture of thie rabbit 
 was of much more vital importance to the Harris 
 homestead than driving any number of stupid 
 cattle, and darted across the field in pursuit, wast- 
 ing his breath in sharp, eager yelps as he went. 
 Whereupon the cows turned oatward again, not 
 boisterously nor insolently, but with a calm per- 
 sistence that steadily wore out the girl's strength 
 and patience. They would not move a foot to- 
 ward the pasture unless she drove them; they 
 would move only one at a time ; as she drove one 
 the others pushed further into the oat-field, and 
 when she turned to pursue them the one she had 
 already driven followed at her heels. The sun 
 was hot, the oats were rank, the wild buckwheat 
 tripped her as she ran; her appeals to the dog, 
 now seated on a knoll looking somewhat foolishly 
 for the rabbit which had given him the slip, and 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 101 
 
 her comamnds to the cattle alike fell on unheeding 
 ears. She was in no joyous rtiood at best, and the 
 perverseness of things aggravated her beyond en- 
 durance. Her callings to the cattle became more 
 and more tearful, and presently ended in a sob. 
 
 "There now, Beulah, don't worry; we will have 
 them in a minute," said a quiet voice, and looking 
 about she found Jim almost at her elbow, his om- 
 nipresent smile playing gently about his white 
 teeth. "I was down at the creek filling the tanlt, 
 when I saw you had a little rebellion on your 
 hands, and I thought reinforcements might be in 
 order." ' 
 
 "You might 've hollered farther back," she 
 said, half, reproachfully, but there was a light of 
 appreciation in her eye when she dared raise it 
 toward him. "I'm afraid I was beginning to be 
 very — foolish. ' 
 
 She tripped again on the treacherous buck- 
 wheat, but he held her arm in a strong gralsp 
 against which the weighfof her slim figure seemed 
 but as a feather blown against a wall. The life of 
 the plains had bred in Beulah admiration for 
 physical strength, -and she acknowledged his firm 
 grip with an admiring glance. Then they set 
 about their task, but the sober-eyed cows had no 
 thought of being easily deprived of their feast, 
 and it was some time before they were all turned 
 back into the pasture and the fence temporarily 
 repaired behind them^ 
 
 "I can't thank you enough," Beulah was saying. 
 "You just keep piling one kindness on top of an- 
 other. Say, Jim, honest, what makes you do it!" 
 
102 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 But at that moment the keen blast of an engine 
 whistle came cutting through the air — a long clear 
 note, followed by a series .of toots in rapid suc- 
 cession. 
 
 "I guess they're running short of water," said 
 Jim. "I mnst hustle." So saying he ran to the 
 ford of the creek where the tank-wagon was still 
 standing, and in a minute, his strong frame was 
 swaying back and forth to the rhythmic clanking 
 of the pump. But it was some minutes before the 
 tank was full, and again the clarion call of the 
 whistle came insistently through the air. Hastily 
 dragging up the hose, he uttered a sharp command 
 to the horses ; their great shoulders socketed into 
 the collars ; the tugs tightened, quivering with the 
 strain; the wheels grated in the gravel, and the 
 heavily-loaded wagon swung its way up the bank 
 of the coulee. 
 
 Meanwhile other things were transpiring. Har- 
 ris had returned from town the night before with 
 the fixed intention of paying an early visit to the 
 Farther West. He and Riles had spent more 
 time than they should breasting the village bar, 
 while the latter drew a picture of rising colour 
 of the possibilities which the new lands afforded. 
 Harris was, not a man who abused himself with 
 liquor, and Riles, too, rarely forgot that indulg- 
 ence was expensive, and had to be paid for in cash. 
 Moreover, Allan occasioned his father some un- 
 easiness. He was young, and had not yet learned 
 the self-control to be expected in later life. More 
 ■ than once of late Allan had crossed the boundary 
 of moderation, and John Harris was by no means 
 
THE HOMBSTBADBRS 103 
 
 indifferent to the welfare of his only son. Indeed, 
 the bond between the two was so real and so in- 
 tense that Harris had never been able to bring 
 himself to contemplate their separation, and the 
 boy had not even so much as thought of establish- 
 ing a home of his own. Harris sometimes wonder- 
 ed at this, for Allan was popular in the neigh- 
 bourhood, where his good appearance, strength, 
 and sincere honesty made him something ,of a 
 favourite. The idea of homesteading together 
 assured further years of close relationship be- 
 tween father and son, and the younger man fell 
 in whole-heartedly with it. 
 
 "We'll hurry up the ploughing. Dad, and run 
 West before the harvest is on us," Allan said as 
 they rode home through the darkness. "We can 
 file on our land and get back for the fall work. 
 Then we will go out for the winter and commence 
 our duties. The only question is. Can they grow 
 anything on that land out there?" 
 
 "That's what they used to ask when we caime 
 to Manitoba," said his father. "And there were 
 years when I doubted the answer myself. Some 
 parts were froze out year after year, and they're 
 among the best in the country now, and never 
 think of frost. The same thing '11 happen out 
 there, and we might as well be in the game." 
 
 To do him justice, it was not altogether the 
 desire for more wealth that prompted Harris. 
 It was the call of new land; the call he had heard 
 and answered in the early eighties; the old ap- 
 petite that had lain dormant for a quarter of a 
 century, but was still in his blood, waiting only 
 
104 THE HOMBSTBADBRS 
 
 a suggestion of the open spaces, a whiff from dry 
 grass on the wind-swept plains, the zigzag of a 
 waggon-trail streaking afar into the horizon, to set 
 it tingling again. The thought of homesteading 
 revived rich old memories — ^memories from which 
 the kindly years had balmed the soreness and 
 the privation aud the hardship, and left only the 
 joy and the courage and the comradeship and the 
 conquering. It was the call of the new land, 
 which has led the race into every clime and flung 
 its flag beneath eveiry sky, and Harris! 's soul 
 again leaped to the summons. 
 
 So this morning father and son were especial- 
 ly anxious that not a moment of their plough- 
 ing wejather should be lost, and it was particular- 
 ly aggravating when the liired man's long delay 
 resulted in a bubbling sputter followed by a dry 
 hiss from the injector, warning the engineer that 
 the water-tank was empty. Allan shot an anxious 
 glance down the road to the coulee, but the water 
 team was not in sight. Seizing the whistle cord, 
 he sent its preemptory summons into the air. 
 Harris looked up from the ploughs, and the two 
 exchanged frowns of annoyance. But the water 
 stood high in the glass, and Allan did not reduce 
 the speed, although he cut the link action another 
 notch to get every ounce of advantage from the 
 expansion. Down the field they went, the big iron 
 horse shouldering itself irresistibly along, while 
 the ploughs left their dozen furrows of moist, 
 fresh soil, and the blackbirds hopped gingerly 
 behind. But the water went down, down in the 
 glass, and still there was no sign of a further 
 
THE HOMBSTBADBES 105 
 
 supply. Allan again cut the air with his whistle, 
 and at length, with a muttered imprecation, he 
 slammed the throttle shut and jumped from the 
 engine. 
 
 His father ran up from ]the ploughs, "What 
 do you think of that?" the younger man exclaim- 
 ed. "Jim must have had trouble^ Bogged, or 
 broke a tongue, or something. Never fell down 
 like that before," 
 
 "Keep a keen eye on your fire," said Harris, 
 "and I'll go down and see what's wrong with 
 him." So the farmer strode off across the 
 ploughed field. The delay annoyed him, and he 
 felt unreasonably cross with Travers. As he 
 plodded on through the heavy soil his temper 
 did not improve, and he was talking to himself 
 by the time he came upon Travers, giving his 
 team their wind at the top of the MU leading up 
 from the creek. 
 
 "What kept you?" he demanded when he came 
 within a rod of the wagon. "Here's the outfit 
 shut down waiting for water, and you " 
 
 "I'm sorry, Mr. Harris " 
 
 "That ain't what I asked you. You can't 
 make steam with sorrow. What have you been 
 foolin' about?" 
 
 "I haven't been fooling. As to what delayed 
 me — ^well, you're delaying me now. Better jump 
 on and ride up with me," 
 
 "So ypu won't tell me, eh? You think you 
 can do what you like with my team and my time, 
 and it's none of my business. We'll see whose 
 business it is." 
 
106 THE HOMESTEADER^ 
 
 Harris came threateningly toward the wagon, 
 but was met only by the imperturbable smile of 
 his hired man. He thrust his foot on a spoke of 
 the wheel and prepared to spring on to the tank, 
 but at that moment the horses stirred and his foot 
 slipped. Seeing that the farmer was about to 
 fall Travers seized him by the collar of his shirt, 
 but in so doing he leaned and lost his own balance, 
 when the weight of the falling man came upon 
 him, and the two tumbled on to the grass in each 
 other's arms. 
 
 Allan, having satisfied himself that the engine 
 would take no harm, had followed his father, and 
 came over the crest of the ridge above the coulee 
 just in time to see Jim apparently strike his em- 
 ployer and the two struggling on the grass to- 
 gether. In an instant the young man's hot blood 
 was in his head ; he rushed forward, and just as 
 Jim had risen to his knees he struck him a sting- 
 ing blow in the face that measiired him again in 
 the grass. 
 
 It was only for an instant. Travers sprang 
 to his feet, a red line slowly stretching down his 
 cheek as he did so. Allan came upon him swing- 
 ing a tremendous blow at the jaw; but Jim 
 guarded skilfully, and answered with a smash 
 from the shoulder straight on the chin, which 
 laid his adversary's six feet prostrate before 
 him. 
 
 Allan rose slowly, sober but determined, and 
 for a moment it looked as though a battle royal 
 were to be fought on the spot, both men strong, 
 lean, rigid, hard as iron, and quick as steel; 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 107 
 
 Allan • angry, careful, furions; Jim calm, con- 
 fident, and still smiling. Bnt Harris' rushed be- 
 tween them and seized his soi; by the arms. 
 
 "Stop it, ^Uan! stop, I say. You mustn't 
 fight. Jim didn't hit me — ^I'U say that for him. 
 Now quit it. As for you" (turning to Jim), 
 "I^ sorry for this, hut you have yourself to 
 blame — I'll give you one more chance to answer 
 me — ^what kept youf' ^ 
 
 "I don't choose to answer," was Jim's reply, 
 spoken in the most casual tone. His eye was 
 rapidly closing where Allan's blow had fallen 
 on it, i)ut his white teeth still glistened behind a 
 smile. 
 
 "AH right," said Harris. "You can go to the 
 house and tell Mrs. Harris to pay you what is 
 coming." And the farmer climbed on to the 
 wagon and took the reins himself. 
 
 "When Jim entered the kitchen he was received 
 with astonishment by Mrs. Harris and Beulah, 
 "Why, whatever has happened?" they ex- 
 claimed. "Has there been an accident? You're 
 hurt!" / 
 
 But Jim smiled, and said: "No accident at all. 
 I have merely decided to go .honiesteading. " And 
 he went up the stairs to pack his belongings. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 INTO THE NIGHT 
 
 HA.RRIS and Allan drove straight to the 
 engine, never looking back to see what 
 became of the hired man. On the way the 
 farmer explained to his son what had taken 
 place; that words had passed between them, but 
 no blows had been struck, until Allan appeared 
 on the scene. 
 
 "Well, if that's the way of it, I'm sorry I hit 
 him," said the young man, frankly, "and when 
 I see him I'll tell him so. I plugged him a good 
 one, didn't I? — though, to be honest, he was hard- 
 ly on his feet. But he sure landed me a stem- 
 winder on the chin," he continued, ruefully rub- 
 bing that member, "so I guess we're about even." 
 "He might 've broke your neck, "said Harris. 
 
 "You're too hot-headed, both of you 1 
 
 can't make out what got into Jim, that he 
 wouldn't answer a civil question. Jim was a 
 good man, too." Perhaps the disturbing sug- 
 gestion entered Harris's mind that the question 
 had been none too civil, and he was really be- 
 ginning to feel that after all Jim might be the 
 aggrieved party. But he crushed doAvn such 
 mental sedition promptly. "It don't matter how 
 
 108 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 109 
 
 good a man he was," he declared, "as long as I 
 pay the piper I'm goin' to call the tune," 
 
 "It puts 11S up against it for a water-man, 
 though," said Allan, thoughtfully. 
 
 "So it does," admitted Harris, who up to that 
 moment had not reflected that Ms hasty action in 
 dismissing Travers would result in much more 
 delay than anything else that had occurred.! 
 "Well, we'll have to get somebody else. We'll 
 manage till noon, and then you better ride over 
 to Grant's or Morrison's. They'll be able to lend 
 a man or one of the boys for a day or two." It 
 was significant that although Harris was plan- 
 ning a considerable venture with Eiles, when he 
 wanted a favor his thought instinctively turned 
 to his other neighbours, Grant and Morrison. 
 
 At noon Jim's chair was vacant, and the 
 family sat down to dinner amid a depressing 
 silence. No mention was made of the morning's 
 incident until the meal was well advanced, when 
 Harris, feeling that he ought in some way to 
 introduce the subject, said: "Is Jim gone?" 
 
 "Yes, he's gone," blazed Beulah. "You didn't 
 expect he'd wait to kiss you good-bye, did youf " 
 
 "One in the family is enough for th3,t treat- 
 ment," put in Allan, whose swollen chin and 
 stiff, neck still biassed him against , Travers. 
 
 "He didn't, -either. And if he did it's none of 
 
 your business, you big "; she looked her 
 
 brother straight in the face, her swollen eyes 
 telling their own story, and repeated deliberate- 
 ly, "you big coward." 
 
 Allan bit his lip. 
 
110 THE HOMBSTBADBRS 
 
 "You're about the only person, Beulah, that 
 could say that and get off -vrtth whole skin. 1 
 suppose he told you I hit him before he was on 
 his feet." 
 
 "Well, he didn't. He didn't say you hit him 
 at all, but he couldn't deny it, so we knew the 
 truth. And we knew you must have taken some 
 mean advantage, or you'd never have got near 
 enough to leave a mark on him." 
 
 "Jim's quite a hero, all right. It 's^ too bad 
 he's gone." 
 
 "It's a ^ood job he's gone," said Harris. "By 
 the way Beulah talks things have gone far 
 enough. I don't want my daughter marrying a 
 farmer. ' ' 
 
 "Her grandmother's daughter did," said 
 Mary Harris. 
 
 "Yes, I know, but things are different now. 
 I look for something better for Beulah." 
 
 It was charactejistic of Harris, as of thou- 
 sands of others, that, although a farmer ' himself , 
 he' looked for "something better" for his 
 daughter. He was resigned to Allan being a 
 • farmer ; his intimate, daily relationship with his 
 son shrank from any possibility of separation. 
 But for his daughter — ^no. He had mapped out 
 no career for her; she might marry a doctor, 
 lawyer, merchant, tradesman, even a minister, 
 but not a farmer. It is a pecularity of the agri- 
 culturist that, among all professions, he holds his 
 own in the worst repute. As a class he has edu- 
 cated himself to believe that everybody else 
 makes an easy living off the farmer, and, much 
 
THE HOMBSTIIAlDBRS 111 
 
 as he may revile the present generation for do- 
 ing so,, he is anxious that his children should join 
 in the good picking. In later years has come a 
 gradually broadening conception that farming, 
 after all, calls for brain as well as muscle, and 
 that the man who can wrestle a successful living 
 from Nature has as much right to hold up his 
 head in the world as the experimenter in medicine 
 or the lawyer playing hide-and-seek with Justice 
 through the cracks in the Criminal Code. Here- 
 in is a germ of the cityward migration : the f arm-i 
 er himself is looking for "something better" for 
 his children. 
 
 "Jim was a good man," persisted his wife. 
 "Don't you think you\ were — well, perhaps, a 
 little hasty with him?" 
 
 Harris sat back. It was his wife's business to 
 agree. For twenty years and more she had been 
 faithful in the discharge of that duty. That she 
 should suggest an opinion out of harmony with 
 his indicated a lack of discipline, not very seri- 
 ous, perhaps, but a seed which, if permitted to 
 flourish, might develop to dangerous proportions. 
 "So. you 're goin' to take his part, too? It's a 
 strange think if I can't handle my hired help 
 without advice from the house." 
 
 Mary flushed at the remark. Any open quarrel 
 with her husband, especiS,lly before the children 
 — for she still thought of the man and woman to 
 her left and right as "the children"— was more 
 painful to her than any submission could have 
 been. It would be so much easier to change the 
 subject, to follow the line of least resistance, and 
 
112 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 forget the inpident as quickly as possible. That 
 had been her constant policy after the first few 
 years of their married life. At first there had 
 been troubles and difficulties, but she had gradu- 
 ally adjusted herself to her niche, and their lives 
 had run smoothly together; because she) never 
 interrupted the current of his. But of late the 
 conviction had been coming home to her that 
 some time, somewhere, she must make a stand. 
 It was all very well meekly to fall in line as long 
 as only her own happiness was concerned, but if 
 the future of her children should be at stake, or 
 if the justice of their dealings with others should 
 be the issue, then she would have to fight, and 
 fight it out to a finish. And, quite unbidden, a 
 strange surge of defiance welled in her when her 
 husband so frankly told her to mind her own 
 business. , 
 
 "I was under the impression we were manag- 
 ing this farm together, you and I, John," she 
 said, very calmly, but with a strange ring in her 
 voice: "When we came West I understood it 
 was to build our home. I didn't know it was just 
 to be your home. ' ' 
 
 The look of surprise with which Harris greeted 
 her words was absolutely genuine. A hot, sting-' 
 ing retort sprang to his lips, but by a sudden 
 effort he suppressed it. His wife's challenge, 
 quiet, unruffled, but with evidence of unbending 
 character beKind it, in some way conjured some- 
 thing out of the past, and he saw her again, the 
 greying locks restored to their youthful glory and 
 the careworn cheek abloom with the colour of 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 113 
 
 young maidenhood as they had been in the gather- 
 ing shadows that night when they swore to build 
 their own home, and live their own lives, and 
 love each other, always, only, for ever and ever. 
 .... And yet, to let her defiance go unchecked, to 
 have his authority challenged before his own 
 children^ — it would be the beginning of dissolu- 
 tion, the first crumbling of collapse. 
 
 "We will talk about that some other timfe, 
 Mary," he said. "If Jim had answered my 
 question fairly, as he had a right to, instead of 
 beatin' around the bush, I might 've let him off. 
 But when I wanted to know what kept him he 
 simply parried me, makin' a fool of me and rub- 
 bin' it iirwith that infernal smile of his." 
 
 "So that's what started it!" exclaimed Beulah. 
 "Well, I'll tell you what kept him, if he wouldn't. 
 The I cattle got into the oats through a break in 
 the fence, and I couldn't get them out, and the 
 dog wentki-yi-ing over the prairie after a rabbit, 
 and just as I was beginning — to — Condense over 
 it Jim came up and saved the situation. What if 
 he did keep your old engine waiting? Therer are 
 more important things than ploughing." 
 
 "Aha!" said Harris, knowingly. "Well, I 
 guess it's just as well it happened as it did. Jim 
 was gettin' altogether too good at runnin' at 
 your heels." 
 
 "That's all the thanks he gets for forking late 
 and early, like no other hired man in the district. 
 All right. You and Allan can milk the cot^rs to- 
 night, -for I won 't— see ? " , 
 
 Harris was accustomed to his daughter's 
 
114 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 frankness, and as a rule paid little regard to it. 
 He was -willing enough to be flayed, in moder- 
 ation, by her keen tongue ; in fact he took a secret 
 delight in her unrestrained sallies, but that was 
 different from defiance. He could, and did, sub- 
 mit to any amoimt of cutting repartee, and felt 
 a sort of pride in her vigour and recklessness, 
 but he had no notion of countenancing open 
 mutiny, even from Beulah. 
 
 "We'U talk about that some other time, 
 too," he said. "And you'll milk the bows 
 to-night' as usual." 
 
 Beulah opened her lips as though to answer, 
 but closed them again, arose, and walked out 
 of the kitchen. For her the controversy was 
 over; the die was cast. Her nature admitted of 
 any amount of disputation up to a certain point, 
 but when the irresistible force crashed into ^ the 
 immovable object she wasted no wind on words. 
 With her war was war. 
 
 Harris finished his meal with little relish. His 
 daughtei: was very, very much to him, and an 
 open rupture with her was among the last things 
 
 to be imagined Still, she must learn that 
 
 the liberty of speech he allowed her did not 
 imply equal liberty of action. . . . His wife, too, 
 had behaved most incredibly. After all, per- 
 haps he had been hasty with Jim. No doubt he 
 would meet the boy in Plainville or somewhere in 
 the district before long, and he would then have 
 a frank little talk with him. And he would say 
 nothing more of the incident to his wife. He 
 was beginning to feel almost amiable again when 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 115 
 
 recollection of Beulali, and the regard w|iich sHe 
 was evidently cultivating toward Travers, en- 
 gulfed his returning spirits lilse a cold douche. 
 It must not come to that, whatever happened, 
 
 "You better get over to Grant's, Allan, if 
 you're^goin'," he said as he left the table. "I've 
 some shears to change that'll keep me busy until 
 you get back." 
 
 An hour later Allan returned, accompanied by 
 George Grant, and operations in the field were 
 resumed. Father and son were both anxious to 
 make up for lost time, and the^ worked that night 
 long after their usual hour for quitting. Just as 
 the sun was setting George Grant left a last tank 
 of water at the end of the field and started for 
 home. As he passed the buildings he saw Beulah 
 in the garden, and leaned over the fence for a 
 short chat with her. The girl was thankful the 
 gathering dusk hid the colour of her cheeks. 
 George continued on his way, but still the steady 
 panting of the engine, louder now, it seemed, 
 than during the day, came pulsing down on the 
 cahn night air. The long twilight dragged on; 
 the light faded out of the east and south, and at 
 last shone like the spread of a crimson fan only 
 in the north-west. It was quite dark when the 
 two men, tifed and dusty, came in at the close of 
 their long day 's labour. 
 
 The table was set for two. "We have had our 
 supper," Mary explained. "We thpught we 
 wouldn't wait any longer." 
 
 "That's all right," said Harris, trying, to be 
 genial. But he found it harder than he had sup- 
 
116 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 posed. He was very tired, and somewhat em- 
 barrassed following the unpleasantness at noon. 
 He had no thought of apologizing, either to wife 
 or daughter; oh the contrary, he intended to 
 make it quite clear to them that they had been 
 at fault in the matter, but he would take his time 
 about reopening the subject. By waiting a day 
 or two before reproving them he would show that 
 he was acting in a judicial spirit, and without any 
 influence of temper. Still ... it was provoking 
 that there should be nothing to talk about; 
 
 When supper was finished Allan went to tlie 
 stables to give final attention to the horses — a 
 duty that had always fallen to Jim — and Harris, 
 after a few minutes ' quiet rest in his chair, began 
 to remove his boots. 
 
 "The cows are not milked, John," said his 
 wife. She tried to speak in a matter-of-fact way, 
 but the tremor in her voice betrayed the import 
 of the simple statement. 
 
 Harris paused with a boot half unlaced. While 
 his recollection of Beulah's defiance was clear 
 enough, it had not occurred to him that the girl 
 actually would stand by her guns. He had told 
 her that she would milk the cows to-night as 
 usual, and he had assumed, as a matter of course, 
 that she would do so. He was not accustomed to 
 being disobeyed. 
 
 "Where's Beulah?" he demanded. 
 
 "I guess she's in her room." 
 
 Harris laced up his boot. Then he started up- 
 stairs. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 117 
 
 "Don't be too hard on her, John," urged his 
 wife, with a little catch in her voice. 
 
 "I won't be too hard on anybody," he replied 
 curtly. "It's a strange thing you wouldn't see 
 that she did as she was told. I suppose I have, 
 to plug away in the field until dark and then come 
 in and do another half -day's work because my 
 women f oUc are too lazy or stubborn to do it 
 themselves." 
 
 If this outburst was intended to crush Mary 
 Harris it had a very different effect. She seemed 
 to straighten up «nder the attack; the colour 
 came back to her cheeks, and her eyes were bright 
 and defiant. 
 
 "John Harris," she said. "You know better 
 than to say that your women folk are either lazy 
 or stubborn, but there's a point where imposi- 
 tion, even the imposition of a husband,^ has to 
 stop, and you've reached that point. You didn't 
 have to stay in the field until dark. There ^s an- 
 other day coming, and the ploughing 'U keep. It 
 isn't like the harvest. It was just your own con- 
 trariness that kept you there. You fired the best 
 man yon ever had to-day, in a fit of temper, and 
 now you're trying to take it out on us." 
 
 Harris looked at her for a moment ; then with- 
 out speaking, he continued up the^ stairs. The 
 difficulties of his position were increasing ; it was 
 something new to be assailed, from the bosom of 
 his own family. He felt that he was being very 
 unfairly used, but he had no intention of shrink- 
 ing from his duty as a husband and father, even 
 if its discharge should bring pain to all of them. 
 
118 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 He found Beulah in her room, ostensibly read- 
 ing. 
 
 "Why are the cows not milked?" he' de- 
 manded. 
 
 "I thought I made it clear to you at noon that 
 they wouldn't be ijiilked by me," she answered, 
 "and there didn't seem to be anybody else 
 hankering for the job." 
 
 "Beulah," he said, trying to speak calmly, 
 "don't you think this nonsense has gone far 
 enough ? ' ' 
 
 "Too far," she agreed. "But you started it — 
 let's see you stop it." 
 
 "Beulah," he said, with rising anger, "I 
 won't allow you to talk to me like that. Re- 
 member I'm your father, and you've a right to 
 do as you're told. ' Haven't I given you every- 
 thing — given you a home, and all that, and are 
 you goin' to defy me in my own house?" 
 
 "I don't want to defy you," she answered, 
 "but if you're going to let your temper run away 
 with you, you can put on the brakes yourself. 
 And as for all you've done for me — ^maybe I'm 
 ungrateful, but it doesn't look half so big from 
 my side of the fence." 
 
 "Well, what more do you want?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "For one thing, I wouldn't mind having a 
 father." 
 
 "What do you mean? Ain't I your father?" 
 
 " No ! " she cried. " No ! No ! There 's no father 
 here. You're just the boss — the foreman on the 
 farm. You board with mother and me. We see 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 119 
 
 you at meal-times. "We wouldn't see you then if 
 you didn't have to make use of us in that way. 
 If you have a spare hour you go to town. You're 
 always so busy, busy, with your little things, that 
 you have no time for big things. ' ' 
 
 "I didn't know it was an offence to be busy," 
 he answered. "It's work that makes money, 
 and I notice you can spend your share. You're, 
 never so haughty about me workin' when you 
 want a ten-dollar bill for somethin'. "Work may 
 be a disgrace all right from your point of view, 
 but money isn't, and in this country you don't 
 get much of one without the other." 
 
 "Now, Dad," she protested. "You're taking 
 me up wrong. I don't think work is a dis- 
 grace, and I'm willing to work as hard as anyone, 
 but I do think it's a shame that you should be 
 thinking only of work, work, work, when you 
 don't need to. I'd like to see you think about 
 living instead of working. And we're not living 
 — ^not really living, you know — we're just exist- 
 ing. Just making little twenty-four hour cycles 
 that don't get us anywhere, except older. Don't 
 you see what I mean? "We're living all in the 
 flesh, like an animal. "When you feed the horses 
 and put them under shelter you can't do any- 
 thing more for them. But when you feed and 
 shelter your daughter you have only half pro- 
 vided for her, and it's the other half, the starving 
 half, that refuses to starve d,ny longer," 
 
 "I'm not kickin' on religion, if that's what 
 you mean, Beulah," he said. "You get goin' to 
 church as often as you like, qnd " 
 
120 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Oh, it's not religion," she protested. "At 
 least, it's not just going to church, and things 
 li^e th^t, although I guess it is a more real re- 
 ligion, if we just understood. What are we here 
 for, anyway? Come now, you're a man of sense 
 and experience, and you must have settled th&t 
 question in your own mind long ago. What 's the 
 answer?" ' 
 
 "Well, I'm here just now to tell you those 
 cows are to be milked before " 
 
 "Yes, dodge it! You've dodged that question 
 so long you daren't face it. But there must be an 
 answer somewhere, or there wouldn't be the 
 question. There's Eiles, now; he doesn't know 
 there is such a question. He takes it for granted 
 we're here to grab money. And then, there's 
 Grants. They know there is such a question, and 
 I'm sure that to some extent they've answered 
 it. You know, I like them, but I never go into 
 their house that I don't feel out of place.' I feel 
 like they have something that I haven't — some- 
 thing that makes them very rich and shows me 
 how very poor I am. And it's embarrassing to 
 feel poor among rich folks. Why, to-night George 
 Grant stopped on his way home to say a word to 
 me, and what do you suppose he said? Nothing 
 about the weather, or , the neighbours, or the 
 crops. He asked me what I thought of the 
 Venezuelan treaty. Of course I'd never heard of 
 such a thing, but I said I hoped it would be for 
 the best, or something like that, but I was 
 ashamed — so ashamed he might have seen it in 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 121 
 
 the dusk. You see, they're living — and we're 
 existing." 
 
 If Beulah hoped by such argument to persuade 
 her father, or even to influence him, she was 
 doomed to disappointment. Harris listened to 
 her patiently enoijgh at first, but the conviction 
 dawned uponl him that she! had been reading 
 some silly nonsense that had temporarily dis- 
 torted her young mind. Such foolishness, if al- 
 lowed to take root, might have disastrous results. 
 His daughter must learn to centre her mind on 
 her work, and not be led away by whimsical 
 notions that had no place in a busy life. 
 
 "You're talking a good deal of nonsense, 
 Beulah," he said. "When you get older these 
 questions won't worry you. In the meantime, 
 your duty is to do as you're told. Eight now 
 that means milk the cows. I'll give you five min- 
 utes to get started." 
 
 Harris went to his room. A little later Beulah, 
 with a light cloak about her shoulders and a suit- 
 case in her hand, slipped quietly down the front 
 stairs and out into the night. 
 
CHAPTEE IX 
 
 CRUMBLING CASTLES 
 
 AT the foot of the garden Beulah paused 
 irresolute, the suit-case swinging gently 
 in her hand. She had made no plans for 
 the decisive step events of the day had forced 
 upon her, but the step itself she felt to be inevit- 
 able. She was not in love with Jim Travers ; she 
 had turned the whole question over in her mind 
 that afternoon, weighing it with judicial im- 
 partiality, supposing all manner of situations to 
 try out her own emotions, and she had come to 
 the conclusion that Travers was merely an inci- 
 dent in her life, a somewhat inspiring incident, 
 perhaps, but an incident none the less. The real 
 thing — the vital matter which demanded some ex- 
 ceptional protest — ^was the narrow and ever nar- 
 rowing horizon of her father, a horizon bounded 
 only by material gain. Against this narrowing 
 band of outlook her vigorous spirit, with its 
 dumb, insistent stretchings forth to the infinite, 
 rebelled. It was not a matter of filial duty; it 
 was not a matter of love ; to her it was a matter 
 of existence. She saw her ideals dimly enough at 
 best, and she would burst every cord of affection 
 and convention rather than allow them to be sub- 
 
 122 
 
THE HaMBSTEADERS 123 
 
 merged in the grey, surrounding murk of 
 materialism. 
 
 Perhaps it was custom and the subtle pullings 
 of association that drew her feet down the path 
 across the bench to the edge of the stream that 
 gurgled gently in the still night. She stood on 
 the gravel by the water's edge, packed firm by 
 the wagon-wheels of twenty-five years, and watch- 
 ed her image as it swayed gently in the smoothly 
 running current. There was no moon, but the 
 stars shone down in tteir midnight brilliance, 
 and the water lay white and glistening against the 
 black vagueness of the bushy banks. She stooped 
 and let it fondle her fingers. It was warm and 
 smooth .... But it was shallow at the ford. . . . 
 
 Farther up it was quite deep The stars 
 
 blinked a strange challenge from the sky, as 
 though to say, "Here is the tree of knowledge, 
 if you dare to drink- thereof. ' ' 
 
 At length she turned her back on the stream 
 and retraced her steps up the path. The. house 
 loomed very sombre and still in the quiet night. 
 A light shone dinjly from her father 's window. 
 At intervals a deep,* contented sighing came from 
 the cows in the barnyard. She took the path past 
 the house and down to the corral, where she 
 paused, her ear arrested by the steady drone of 
 milking. A lantern sitting on the black earth, 
 cast a little circle of light, and threw a docile cow 
 in dreadful silhouette against the barn. And by 
 that dim light Beulah discerned the bent form of 
 her mother, milking. 
 
a24 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 , "Mother, this is too much!" the girl ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 Her mother started and looked up. "You're 
 leaving us, Beulah?" she asked. There was no 
 reproach in her voice, nor even surprise^ but a 
 kind Of quiet sorrow.' "I couldn't let the poor 
 brutes suffer," she explained. 
 
 "Yes, I'm leaving," said Beulah. "I can't 
 . stand it any longer." 
 
 The mother sighed. "I've seen it coming for 
 some time," she said, at length. "I suppose it 
 can't be helped." 
 
 "You're so passive," returned the girl, with 
 a touch of impatience. "You make me want to 
 fight. Of course it can be helped, but it can't be 
 helped by always giving in." 
 
 "Your father has met one of his own mettle at 
 last," said the mother, and the girl fancied she 
 detected a note of pride, but whether of father, 
 or daughter, or both, s^^e could only guess. "Well, 
 it's all very sad. Your father is a good man, 
 
 Beulah I should send you back to bed, but 
 
 somehow I can't. I — I don't blame you, Beulah." 
 
 She had finished the last cow., Beulah helped 
 with the pails of mUk, and the two women went 
 back to the house together. When Mary had 
 washed her hands she took her daughter's face 
 between her palms and. kissed her on the cheeks. 
 Slowly Beulah 's arms stole about her neck, and 
 it took all the steel in. her nature to prevent sur- 
 render. 
 
 "It's not you I'm going :^rom," she managed 
 to say. "You understand that, don't you? I'll 
 
THE HOMESTBADEES 125 
 
 write to you often, and we'll surely meet before 
 long. . . . But I've just got to go. There's no 
 other way out." 
 
 "Stay till morning, Beulah. Your father may 
 be disposed to give and take a little then, and 
 you'll do the same, won't yoii? . . . Oh, my girl, 
 don't break up our home like this!" 
 
 "You can't break up what you haven't got. 
 Aside from you, why should I call this place 
 home? I work here, and get my board and clothes. 
 Well, I can work other places, and get my board 
 and clothes. If I've got to b^ a cog in a money- 
 making machine, I will at least choose the ma- 
 chine." 
 
 ''What plans have you made? Where, are you 
 going?" 
 
 "Haven't made any plans, and don't know 
 where I'm going. But I'm going. At present 
 that's enough. The plans will come along as 
 they're needed." 
 
 "Have you any money?" asked the mother, 
 with a brisk effort at cheerfulness. She was al- 
 ready planning for her daughter in the new 
 world she was about to enter. 
 
 "Enough to start me. That's all I need. lean 
 earn more. It's not work I'm afraid of, although 
 I suppose father won't be able to see it that way. 
 He'll put all this down to laziness and obstinacy. 
 It's neither. It's just plain human craving to 
 live." 
 
 "I sometimes wonder whether I'll be able to 
 stand . it through to the end," her mother 
 whispered, somewhat fearfully, as though fright- 
 
126 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 ened by the admission. "I've— I've seen it com- 
 ing with you, and I can't help feeling that per- 
 haps this is only the begiiming." 
 
 "Oh, mother, if you should!" cried the girl. 
 "That would do it — that would open his eyes. 
 He'd see then that there is something in the 
 world besides wheat and cows, after all. You 
 Imow, I thinli be's in a kind of trance. He's 
 mesmerized by wheat. It was so necessary in 
 those first years, when he was fighting against 
 actual starvation, that it has become a kind of 
 mania. Nothing short of some great shock will 
 bring him out of it. If you would come — if you 
 would only come too, things would be different." 
 
 '''But I couldn't do that," said the mother, 
 after a silence, and as though speaking with her- 
 self. "He's my husband, Beulah, You don't 
 understand. ' ' 
 
 They talked then, in secret, sorrowful con- 
 fidence, of many things, things for their ears only, 
 and the grey was returning in the northern sky 
 when the girl again left the house, and this time 
 swung resolutely down the road that led to Plain- 
 ville. Her heart was now at rest, even at peace. 
 In the sacred communion of that last hour she 
 had come to see something of her mother's prob- 
 lem and sacrifice; and although she was going 
 out, into the world alone, she felt that somewhere, 
 some time, was a solution that would reunite the 
 broken family and tune their varying chords in 
 harmony. The North star shone very brightly 
 amid the myriad finer points of light that filled the 
 heavens. She raised her face to the cold rays. 
 
^ THE HOMESTEADERS 127 
 
 The stars had always a strange fascination for 
 her. Their illimitable distances, their infinite 
 number, their ordered procession — all spelled to 
 her a Purpose — a Purpose that was bigger than 
 wheat and land and money, a Purpose that was 
 life, the life for which she groped vaguely but 
 bravely in the darkness. 
 
 From an unhappy sleep in' his room upstairs 
 John Harris was a,wakened by the whine of the 
 cream separator. A quiet smile stole across his 
 strong, still handsome face. "Beulah has decided 
 to be sensible," he whispered to himself. 
 
 In the morning the Harria household was astir 
 early as usual. The farmer and his son gave 
 their attention to the horses while Mary pre- 
 pared breakfast, and it was not until they were 
 seated at the table that Harris noticed his 
 daughter's absence. 
 
 "Where's Beulah?" he demanded. 
 
 "I don't know," his wife replied. 
 
 "Ain't she up yet?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 Harris rose from the table and went upstairs. 
 He entered his daughter's room without knock- 
 ing. The bed had not been slept in, and, a 
 strange apprehension suddenly tightened about 
 his chest. He returned quickly to the kitchen. 
 
 "Mary," he said, "I want to know where 
 Beulah is." 
 
 "I can't tell you where she is, John. She left 
 here last night." 
 
128 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Left here? Do you mean that she has run 
 away?" 
 
 "Not just that, perhaps, but she has gone, and 
 I'm not looking for ^er back for a while." The 
 mother's voice was dry, and she talked in the 
 restraint of subdued emotion. 
 
 "And you knew she was going?" 
 
 "I knew before she left. I didn't " 
 
 "No. You didn't think it was worth mention- 
 ing to me. Just a matter we could talk about 
 any time. I suppose you thought I wouldn't 
 care. ' ' 
 
 "Well, you didn't seem to care very much, 
 John. You gave your orders and went to bed. 
 Beulah could obey or get out. You might have 
 known she had enough of your own spirit to soon 
 settle that question. She settled it just as you 
 would have settled it if you had been in her 
 place." 
 
 "Oh, of course, I'm to blame for the whole 
 thing," said Harris, and his throat was thick as 
 he spoke. His daughter was very dear to him, 
 and that she would leave her home had never 
 entered his head. Why should she'? Wasn't he 
 a good father? Didn't he give her a good home, 
 with plenty to eat and wear, and a little money to 
 spend from time to time, and no questions asked? 
 What more could a man do than that? Already 
 his heart was crying out for his daughter — the 
 cry of broken strings which never knew their • 
 , strength until they broke. But to show any 
 emotion, or to express regret for anything he 
 had done, meant surrender, and if there was one 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 129 
 
 thing John Harris could not do it was surrender. 
 Not that he felt he had done anything wrong, or 
 even imprudent ; he was sincerely sorry for what 
 ■had happened, but not for his part in it. And, 
 lest gentleness should be mistaken for weakness 
 he clothed his real feelings in sharp words to 
 his wife. 
 
 "Of course, you must take her part. I sup- 
 pose you advised her to go. It was an awful 
 thing for me to tell her she must do her work, 
 but a small thing for her to run away. "Well, I 
 hope she likes it. If she thinks I'm going to 
 hitch up a buggy and g6 chasing around the 
 neighbourhood, begging her to come back, she's 
 mistaken. She's gone of her own free will, and 
 she can come back of the same, or not at all." 
 
 "I wouldn't look for 'her back too soon," re- 
 marked Allan. "Looks to me as though this 
 thing had all been figured out ahead. Jim went 
 yesterday morning ; Beulah goes last night. Just 
 a chance if they ain't married by this time." 
 
 "So that's it, is it?" exclaimed Harris, jrnnp- 
 ing up from his untouched breakfast. There was 
 a fierce light in his eye and a determination in 
 his face that boded ill to any who opposed 
 him. He seized his wife roughly by the should- 
 er. "And you were a party to this, were you? 
 You — ^you wouldn't even stop at that? Well, 
 I'll stop it. I'll stop him, if I do it with a bullet. 
 I'll show him whether any — ^any — hired num—^ 
 can cross me in a matter of my own family.'' 
 
 His wife had risen, and was clinging to his . 
 wrists, half for protection, half in suppliance. 
 
130 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Now, John," she plea'ded, "don't be rash. 
 You don't know that Beulah's gone with Jim, 
 and you haven't a word of proof of it." 
 
 "Proof! What more proof do I wiantf When 
 did ever Beulah carry on like this before? Didn't 
 she always do as she was told? And haven't 
 they beenj' thick as molasjses this while back? 
 Wasn't it over wasting time with her that Jim 
 got fired, and not a word of admission of the 
 real facts from him? What more do you want 
 than that? And on top of it all you help her 
 away, and keep it a secret from me as long as 
 you can. I daresay you knew their plans from 
 the first. You thought I wouldn't be interested 
 in that, either;" 
 
 "I didn't know it," she protested, "and I 
 don't beli6ve it. I don't believe either Beulah or 
 Jim had any such thought in their head. But 
 even if they did, Jim Travers is as decent a 
 young man as there is in Plaiiiville district, and 
 you've nothing to be ashamed of except your 
 own temper, that drove them away in the way 
 they went." 
 
 "I won't listen to that kind of talk from you 
 any longer," said Harris sternly. "I'll chase 
 the young reprobates to earth, if it takes all sum- 
 mer. And imless you can clear yourself of being 
 mixed up in this — ^well, there'll be something to 
 settle on that score, too. Hitch up the drivers, 
 Allan, and be quick about it." 
 
 "You're not going to leave your ploughing, 
 are you ? ' ' asked his wife. The words sprang to 
 her lips without any misintent. It was such an 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 131 
 
 unusual thing for her husband, on any account, 
 to leave the farm \rork unfinished. The practice 
 on the Harris homestead was wark first, all other 
 considerations second. 
 
 "That's enough of your sarcasm," he snapped. 
 "I would thinlc when our name is threatened with 
 a disgrace like this you would be as anxious to de- 
 fend, it as I am. H^ow is it you go back on me in 
 a mojnent lUie this? You're not the woman you 
 once A^ere, Mary." 
 
 "And you're not the man you once were, 
 John,*"' she answered. "Oh, can't you see that 
 wte 're just reaping what has been so-wn — the crop 
 we've been raising through all these years? 
 Beulah's very life hs been crying out for action, 
 for scope, for room, for something that would 
 give her a reason for existence, that would put a 
 purpose into her life, and we've not tried to an- 
 swer that cry. I blame myself as much as you, 
 John, perhaps more, because I should have read 
 her heart — I should have seen the danger signals 
 long ago. But I was so busy, I didn't think. 
 That's the trouble, John, we've been so busy, 
 both of us, we haven't taken time to keep up with 
 her; The present generation is not the past;- 
 whaj; was enough for you and me isn't enough for 
 our children. It does'nt do any good to scold — 
 scolding doesn't change conditions; but if we'd 
 stopped and thought and studied over them we 
 might have changed them — or cured them. We 
 didn't, John; you were too busy with your wheat 
 and your cattle, and I was too busy with my 
 house-work ,and what have we made of it? We've 
 
132 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 gathered some property together, and our cares 
 have grown in proportion, but that which was 
 more to us than all the property in the world we 
 have lost^ — ^because we valued it less." The tears 
 were slowly coursing down her cheeks, and her 
 thin, work-wprn arms were stealing about his 
 neck . "Don't think, dear," she whispered, "that 
 I'm indifferent, or that this hurts me less than 
 you, or that I would shield myself from one iota 
 of my just blame, but let us face the fact that it 
 has been our mistake rather than Beulah's." 
 
 He removed her arms, not ungently. "I never 
 thought it, would come to this," he said. "I 
 thought I humoured her every way I could. As 
 for our hard work — well, work makes money, and 
 I noticed Beulah, could spend her share. There 
 was no protesting about the work that earned 
 the money when she wanted a new hat or a new 
 dressj and she generally got what she wante^l." 
 
 "You don't understand, John. It wasn't the 
 work, it was the making a god of wo^k, and giv- 
 ing it so much of our lives that therp was none 
 left for her. That's why she looked somewhere 
 else — if she has looked somewhere else." 
 
 "Allan works as hard and harder than ever 
 Beulah did, and Allan doesn't feel that way about 
 it." 
 
 "That's true," she admitted, "but Allan's 
 ambition is work. He works and is satisfied, 
 but Beulah thinks, and is not satisfied. It's the 
 difference in their nature, and we didn't- take it 
 into consideration." In every phrase she tried 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 133 
 
 to link his blame with hers, that the burden 
 might unite instead of separate them. 
 
 "If she'd thought a little more before this mad 
 prank it would have been better for everybody," 
 he said. "Well, she'll have plenty of time to 
 think yet." He stepped to the kitchen door, and 
 from the nail above took down the repeating- 
 rifle. 
 
 "You're not going to take that!" she cried. 
 "Don't take that, John. It can't possibly do 
 any good, and it may do a lot of harm."- 
 
 "I won't do anything foolish," he answered, 
 "but I'll take it along, just the same." 
 
 Allan, with the drivers harnessed ' to the top 
 buggy, was now at the door. Without saying 
 good-bye to his wife Harris joined him, and the 
 two set off on their search. Almost at the gate 
 they met Greorge Grant, who had come over to 
 haul water for another day's ploughing. He 
 stopped in some surprise at the turnout. 
 
 "I guess we won't be ploughing to-day," said 
 Harris. He hesitated before George's question- 
 ing look, and a certain sense of family shame 
 came upon him. But it was evident that he could 
 hardly search for Beulah without, mentioning her 
 departure, and he might as well make a clean 
 breast of the affair. 
 
 "Nothing wrong at home, I hope, Mr. Har- 
 ris?" said the young neighbour, noting his troub- 
 led appearance. "Nobody sick, or anything?" 
 
 "Yes, there is something wrong," said Harris, 
 trying vainly to conceal the bitterness in his 
 voice. " Beulah 's left us." 
 
134 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Who,, Beulah? I can hardly believe that, 
 Mr. Harris. It was only last night I was talking 
 with her. " 
 
 "Well, she's gone. Left through the night. 
 We^well, I'll tell yon, Greorge^-we had a little 
 disagreement, bnt I'd no notion she'd take it so 
 much to heart. Of course you know about^the 
 trouble with Jim yesterday.. Taking everything 
 together — there won't be no ploughing to-day." 
 Harris had said more than he meant; he could 
 feel the colour mounting into his hair and the bad 
 English of his last words betrayed a subtle reck- 
 lessness rather than carelessness of speech. 
 
 "Don't you believe a word of it," said George. 
 "I know Jim, and I know Beulah, and if anybody 
 else hinted what you've said you'd want to use 
 that rifle on them. Like enough Beulah 's staying 
 somewhere around the neighbourhood, and she'll 
 be back when she has time to think it over." 
 
 "That proves you don't know Beulah," said 
 Allan. "As for Jim, I was never able to get be- 
 low that smile, and I saw more of him than you 
 did, George." 
 
 "WeU, I hope you find a way out," said 
 George, sincerely. "It would have been like her 
 to come over to our place, but she isn't there. 
 Maybe you'll find her at Morrison's." 
 
 "Thalt's poipsible," said Harris. "We'll go 
 over there, anyway." 
 
 But Morrisons knew no more of Beulah 's 
 whereabouts than did George, and inquiry at 
 other homes in the neighbourhood was equally 
 futile. Harris shrank from carrying his search 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 135 
 
 into the town, as he dreaded the publicity that 
 would be attached to it. He was a subscriber, 
 somewhat in arrears, to the local paper, and by- 
 calling on the editor and squaring up for a year 
 in advance he could probably make himself solid 
 in that quarter, but, the gossip of the villagers 
 could not be silenced by any such simple method. 
 But as the day wore on and the search continued 
 fruitless he finally found himself in Plainville. 
 If Beulah and Jim were really married the Pres- 
 byterian minister would be likely to know some- 
 thing of the matter, and the Eev. Andrew Guthrie 
 was a man of sense and discernment. Harris 
 had frequently gone to hear bim preach before 
 the labours of the farm had grown to their pre- 
 sent magnitude, and he even yet contributed five 
 dollars a year to the stipend. 
 
 Mr Guthrie received his guest cordially, albeit 
 . with some wonderment as to which member of the 
 family might be sick, but delicacy forbade a dir- 
 ect question. Now, in agricultural communities 
 it is something of an offence to approach any 
 matter of importance by frontal attack. There 
 must be the due amount of verbal skirmishing, 
 reconnoitering, and out-flanking before the main 
 purpose is revealed. Consequently, Harris, for 
 all his torture of suspense, spent some minutes 
 in a discussion of the weather, the crops, and the 
 prospect of a labour shortage in harvest. 
 
 "They'll be all well at home, I hope?" said 
 Mr. Guthrie at length, feeling that the custom of 
 the community had been sufficiently honoured. 
 
 "Yes, all that's there," said Harris. 
 
136 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 a 
 
 •AH that's there? I didn't know any of your 
 folks were away. Perhaps Mrs. Harris is down 
 East? I'm sure a summer amid the orchards of 
 her old home would be a delight to her, and, of 
 course, Mr. Harris, you are ahle to gratify your- 
 self in these little matters now. Things are not 
 what they were in the early days' Jack, when I 
 preached in Tom Morrison's Idg-house, and you 
 led the bass at the services. I'll warrant that 
 voice of yours could sing yet if you gave it a 
 chance. " 
 
 Harris received these remarks with a mixture 
 of feelings. The minister's reference to his 
 financial standing carried with it certa,in grati- 
 fication, but it consorted' poorly with his recent 
 conversations with his wife and with his present 
 mission. 
 
 "And Beulah?" continued the minister, con- 
 scious that his first shot had gone wild. "She's 
 a fine young woman now. I see her in church 
 occasionally. In fact, I was speaking with Mrs. 
 Burton, the choir leader, a day or so ago, and 
 Beulah 's name was nientioned between us." 
 
 "It was about Beulah I came to see you," said 
 Harris, with averted eyes. Then in a few words 
 he gave his version of what he knew and what he 
 suspected. . 
 
 "I fear I can add nothing to your informa- 
 tion," said Mr. Guthrie. , "They haven't been 
 here, and, as you say, if Beulah contemplated 
 marriage I think she would have called on me. 
 Travers, too, I knew a little, and thought him a 
 decent chap. But we must find the girl and talk 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 137 
 
 » 
 
 this over quietly with her. Is there any place in 
 town she would be likely to go to? "Wliat about 
 Mrs. Goode's boarding-house? I will just call 
 iip on the telephone. I can make inquiry with- 
 out the necessity of any explanations." 
 ' Inquiry at the house of Mrs. Goode brought a 
 strong ray of light out of the darkness. Beulah had 
 been there during the morning, and had explain- 
 ed that she was leaving on the west-bound train, 
 which even now was thrumming at the station. 
 On learning this, without- a word, Harris sprang 
 into the buggy, while Allan brought a sharp- cut 
 of the whip across the spirited horses. They 
 reached the railway station half a minute too 
 late; the train was already pulling out, and as 
 Harris's eyes followed it in anger and vexation 
 they plainly saw Jim Travers swing lithely on to 
 the rear platform. 
 
 With an oath the farmer i^eached for his rifle, 
 but Allan wrenched it from his hands before any 
 onlookers noted the action. "Don't be a fool," 
 he whispered, and started the horses homeward. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 INTO THE FARTHER WEST 
 
 FOR the first time in Ms life Harris surren- 
 dered his purpose to the judgment of his 
 son, and as they drove homeward along 
 the dusty trail in the heat of the day the con- 
 sciousness came home to him that Allan wals 
 right. To have used his gun would, of course, 
 have been madness; he had never seriously in- 
 tended doing anything so rash, although for one 
 impetuous moment his passion had made him 
 irresponsible. And, as he though it all over, he 
 concluded that nothing was to be gained by pur- 
 suit of the run-aways. There was only one west- 
 bound train in the day; he could- not give chase 
 until the morrow, and they would be able to lead 
 him by twenty-four hours as long as he cared to 
 keep up the pursuit. True, he might telegraph 
 ahead to the police, but that meant publicity, and 
 would probably be ineffectual in the end. She 
 had gone of her own free will, and although his 
 heart hurt even under his anger, now that she liad 
 gone she might stay. She had left a good hottie^ 
 a fond father, and a share in the family estate 
 for a ^hired man — and she might now make the 
 best of her bargain. Harris assured himself, 
 
 138 
 
THE HOMBSTBADEKS 139 
 
 with absolute sincerity, that he had done his 
 duty in the matter, and that in exchange for all 
 his kindness his daughter, had treated him very 
 badly indeed. 
 
 During the drive homeward his thoughts per- 
 sistently turned to the share his wife had had in 
 Beulah's departure, and his feeling toward 
 Mary grew more and more hostile. Not that he 
 altogether disbeleived her when she professed 
 ignorance of the young couple's intention; he 
 could not go so far as to think that she had lied 
 to him, but he was inwardly convinced that she 
 had at least an inkling of their plans, and that, 
 so far from attempting to dissuade them, she was 
 really- in sympathy with their wild escapade. 
 Harris was very fond of his wife, who had shar- 
 ed with him all the hardships of pioneer life, and 
 who, he admitted, had been a faithful and devot- 
 ed helpmeet, and her desertion of him in the 
 present crisis was therefore all the less to be ex- 
 cused or condoned. He resolved, however, that 
 there would be no open breach between them; he 
 would neither scold nor question her, but would 
 impress her with his displeasure by adopting a 
 cold, matter-of-fact, speak-when-you're-spoken- 
 to attitude toward her. 
 
 Under the circumstances it was not remarkable 
 that Harris's work began to loom larger than 
 ever in his life. The space left vacant by his 
 daughter he filled with extra energy driving the 
 great ploughs through the mellow summer-fallow. 
 A new tank-man was engaged, and the rumble 
 of the engine was heard up and down the fields 
 
140 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 from early morning until dark. From his wife 
 he held aloof, speaking with strained courtesy 
 when speech was necessary. She, in turn, school- 
 ed for years in self-effacement, hid her sorrow in 
 her heart, and went about her work with a re- 
 signation which he mistook for cheerfulness, and 
 which confirmed him in his opinion that she knew 
 more of Beulah's intentions than she had cared 
 to admit. Only with Allan his relations remain- 
 ed unchanged ; indeed, the attachment between the 
 two grew deeper than ever. The young man 
 avoided any reference to Beulah; what he felt 
 in his own heart he kept to himself, but the father 
 shrewdly guessed that he laid the whole blame 
 on Travers. 
 
 So the summer wore on ; the black bosom of the 
 fallow field widened day by day, and the smell 
 of growing wheat filled the dew-laden evening 
 air. The picnic season, the time of athletic com- 
 petitions, baseball matches, and rural sociability 
 rolled by, but Harris scarcely knew of its passing. 
 He had long ago ceased to take any personal 
 interest in the frivolities of the neighborhood; 
 he saw in picnics and baseball games only an un- 
 profitable misuse of time, and when he thought 
 of them at all it was to congratulate himself that 
 Allan was not led away by any such foolishness. 
 Finding no great happiness in his own home, he 
 had fallen into the way of walking over to Riles 's 
 on Sunday afternoons, and the two spent many 
 hours in discussion of their proposed land-seek- 
 ing expedition. 
 
 Meanwhile Mary plodded along with her house- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 141 
 
 work, toiling doggedly from five in the morning 
 until half-past nine or ten at night. Benlah's 
 departure had left all the labours of the home 
 upon her hands; her husband had made no sug- 
 gestion of securing help, and she had not asked 
 any. The new man made no offer to milk any of 
 the cows; a dozen hours in the field was day 
 enough for him, and whatever time was over he 
 spent smoking cigarettes in the shelter of the 
 barn. Allan occasionally did help with the milk- 
 ing, and more frequently with turning the separ- 
 ator, but it was so late when he stopped his work 
 in the field she was sorry for him, and tried to 
 have the milk cleared away before he arrived on 
 the scene. One or two postcards she had had 
 from Beulah, but they brought no great infor- 
 mation. They came in the open mail; her hus- 
 band was welcome to read them if he chose, but 
 as he sought his own company exclusively since 
 Beulah 's departure she made no attempt to forc6 
 them upon him. 
 
 At last one morning came a letter, a big fat 
 letter, left in by a neighbour passing by, as the 
 custom was for any settler going to town to bring 
 out the mail for those who lived along his route. 
 She tore the envelope open nervously and de- 
 voured its contents with hungry eyes. 
 
 "My Dear Mother, 
 
 "Here I am, in the shadow of the Eockies. 
 That may sound poetical, but it's literal fact. It 
 is still early in the evening, but the sun has dis- 
 appeared behind the great masses to the west. 
 
142 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 arid the valley ' which my window overlooks is 
 filling up with blackness. The Arthurses are 
 pure gold, and I have told them everything. ' They 
 don't blame anyone, not even father. How is 
 he? Slaving as usual, I suppose. 
 
 "Well, I must tell you about my trip. When 
 I left the house that night I had no idea where 
 I was going, but the simplest thing seemed to be 
 to ; go first to Plainville. The North Star led 
 that way, and it seemed a good guide to follow. 
 As I walked the lights came out in the Arctic 
 sky — a great bow of them, swelling and fading 
 in their delicate tints. I watched them and plod- 
 ded along, trying not to think very much about 
 anything. 
 
 "You've no idea how heavy that suit-case got, 
 but I took my time, as there was nothing to gain 
 by reaching town before daylight. When I got 
 there it strhck me it might be a good plan to 
 have some breakfast, so I walked round to 
 Goode's boarding-house. Mrs. Goode was bust- 
 ling about, and received me with- open arms. 
 'Well, my land! if it ain't Beunah Harris!' she 
 exclaimed — she always called me Beunah — 
 'Goodness, child, what are you doing about this 
 early in the morning? But there, I needn't ask, 
 knowin' what a worker your father is. I'll be 
 bound he drove you in before sunrise to lose no 
 time with his ploughin'. Well, that's what makes 
 the, mare go. I wish my man had some of it — 
 he's snorin' up on the second floor at this minute 
 like to lift the shingles. I often say to myself, 
 "For the little he does and the lot he eats the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 143 
 
 Lord knows what keeps Mm so tMn." ' (It's 
 a grievance of Mrs. Groode's that her husband 
 won't fatten up; she thinks it's a reflection on 
 her cooking.) 'And with your suit-case! You'll 
 be taking the tr&in? West, is it, or East? But 
 you'll be hungry, child. Take off your things 
 there while I see to my buns — ^I always give the 
 boarders hot buns for breakfaist — — ' you know 
 how she rattles on. But she's a good soul, if a 
 bit conceited over her cooking, and wouldn't take 
 a cent for my keep either. Of course she didn't 
 wait for me to answer her questions, and she 
 really suggested the plan which I took. After 
 breakfast I went over to the station, and asked 
 what the fare was to Arthurs ' station ; I found I 
 had enough money for the trip, and I bought a 
 ticket without further ado. 
 
 "1 won't try to tell you all about my trip — it 
 would take a book. But what a country it is! 
 Of course I had learned in school that there was 
 about two feet of map between the Eed Eiver 
 and the Rockies, but there's only, one way to 
 know how big it is, and that's to travel it. If 
 you've got any information at all a trip over 
 these enormous prairies must set it stirring. For 
 the most part there's no settlement; not a house, 
 nor stack, nor any sign of life. Pretty much like 
 Manitoba was, I guess, when you first saw it, 
 but bigger, and grander, and more suggestive of 
 the future. You see, Manitoba has made good, 
 for all the doubters, and this bigger West will do 
 the same, on a bigger scale. As we rolled along 
 through that unbroken prairie, with here and 
 
144 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 there a great herd of horses or cattle in the dis- 
 tance, I felt at last that I was rfeally beginning 
 to live. Not that I was doing anything grander 
 than running away from home, but still that feel- 
 ing came over me — the feeling that here was a 
 country where things were going to happen, and 
 that I was going to play some part in their hap- 
 pening 
 
 "Well, if I ramble on like this it'U be a real 
 book after all. Calgary is the big cow-town of 
 the West, just beginning to aspire to higher^ — 
 or lower (there's a real question there) — civili- 
 zation, and mixing schaps and silks on its streets 
 in a strange struggle between the past and the 
 future. But my stay there was short, as I was 
 able to catch my branch train with little delay, 
 and that night saw me at Arthurs' nearest 
 station. The homestead rush is on here in earn- 
 est; the trains are crowded, mostly with Amer- 
 icans, and the hotels are simply spilling over. 
 They're a motley crowd, these homesteaders. 
 Down with us, you know, the settlers were look- 
 ing for homes, and a chance to make a living, but 
 up here they're out for money — the long green, 
 they call it. Their idea is to pfove up and sell 
 their lands, when they "will either buy more or 
 leave the country. But the great point is that 
 they are after money rather than homes. They 
 belong to a class which, has been rushing for a 
 generation ahead of a wave of high land values 
 — ^I heard a man say that in the train, and I made 
 a note of it — they're rovers by birth and training, 
 with no great home instinct. To them one place 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 145 
 
 is as good as another — provided always there's 
 money to be made there — and one flag is almost 
 as good as another. Of course this will right it- 
 self in time; the first flood of landseekers are 
 soil-miners, hut the second are home-builders — 
 the man said that too; you see I'm picking things 
 up ; I want to know something besides the weath- 
 er — and when that second flood comes this 
 country won't know itself. 
 
 "But to come back to the hotel; that's what 
 I did when I had taken a good walk about tlie 
 little toAvn, and admired myself almost homesick 
 looking at fine horses tied to hitching-posts and 
 fine men swaggering about in the abandon of 
 cow-boy costumes. One thing I have learned al- 
 ready, and the discovery shocked me a little at 
 first; the cow-boy considers himself better clay 
 than the fa,rmer — ^the 'sod-buster' he calls him — : 
 and treats him with good-humoured contempt. 
 I wanted to ask someone about Arthurs, and I 
 didn't like to inquire in the ho'tel. There was a 
 lot of drinking going on there. But near the 
 door were two young men talking, and I over- 
 heard one of then mention Arthurs' name. Pull- 
 ing myself together, I asked him if he could tell 
 me where Arthurs lived. 
 
 " 'Yes, miss,' lie answered, lifting a big hat 
 and showing when he spoke a clean set of teeth. 
 'It's twenty-five miles up the river. Were you 
 expecting him to meet/^ou?' 
 
 "I explained that 1 had intended to drop in on 
 them by surprise, but I had had no idea they 
 lived so far froin town. 
 
146 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 '' 'Oh, that's not far,' he said. 'Can you ride?' 
 
 "Everybody here rides horseback. It's the 
 standard means of locomotion. And the women 
 ride astride. I was a bit shocked at first, but you 
 soon get used to it. But twenty-five miles is 
 different from a romp round the pasture-field, 
 so I said I was afraid not. 
 
 " 'Arthurs is coming down with the buck- 
 board,' remarked the other man. 'I passed him 
 on ithe trail as I came in.' , 
 
 "Sure enough, a little later Arthurs himself 
 drew up at the hotel. I wouldn't have kno\vn 
 him, but one of the young men pointed him out, 
 and it would have done you good to see, how he 
 received me. 'And you are Jack and Mary^s 
 daughter,' he said, taking both my hands in his, 
 and holding me at arm's length for a moinent. 
 Then, before I knew it, he had drawn me up and 
 kissed me. But I didn't care. All of a sudden 
 it seemed to me that I had found a real father. 
 It seems hard to say it, but that is how I felt. 
 
 "Well, he just couldn't keep away from me all 
 evening. He showered me with questions about 
 you and father, which I answered as well as I 
 could, but I soon found I couldn't keep my secret, 
 so I just up and told him all. He was very grave, 
 but not cross. 'You need time ^ to think things 
 over, and to get . a right perspective, ' he said, 
 'and our home will be yours until you do.' 
 
 "We drove home the next day, up a wonder- 
 ful river valley, deep into the heart of the foot- 
 hills, with the blue mountains always beckoning 
 and. receding before us. Mrs. Arthurs wa^ as 
 
THE HOMBSTEADEES 147, 
 
 surprised and delighted as he had been, and I 
 won't try to tell you all the things she said to me. 
 She cried a little, too, and I'm afraid I came near 
 helping her a bit. You know the Arthurs lost 
 their little girl before they left Manitoba, and 
 they have no other children. They both seemed 
 just hungry. 
 
 "There's nothing so very fine about their 
 home, except the spirit that's inside it. I can't 
 describe it,' but it's there — a certain leisurely way 
 of doing things, a sense that they have made 
 work their servant instead of their master. And 
 still they're certainly not lazy, and they've ac- 
 complished more than we have. When they left 
 Manitoba in the early days, discouraged with 
 successive frosts, they came right out here into 
 the foothills with their few head of stock. Now 
 their cattle are numbered in thousands, and they 
 have about a township of land. And still they 
 seem to live for the pure happiness they find in 
 life, and only to think of their property as a 
 secondary consideration. 
 
 "Now I really must close. Mrs. Arthurs sends 
 a note, and I'm quite sure it's an invitation. 
 Oh, mother, what could be lovelier f Now don't 
 say you can't. Father has plenty of money; let 
 him hire a housekeeper for a while. The change 
 will do him good. 
 
 "Love to you, dearest, and to Allan, if he still 
 thinks of me. 
 
 "Beulah. 
 
 "P.S. — I forgot to mention that Jim Travers 
 
148 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 left Plainville on the same train as I did. He 
 could hardly believe his eyes when he saw me 
 there. I told him I was going West on a visit, 
 but I don't know how much he gueSsed. Said he 
 was going West himself to take up land, but he 
 wanted to call on some friends first, and he got 
 off a few stations from Plainville. Between you 
 and me, I believe he changed his plan so that the 
 incident — our being on the train together, you 
 know — could not be misunderstood if the neigh- 
 bours got to know of it. It would be just like 
 Jim to do that." 
 
 With Beulah's letter was a short but earnest 
 note from Lilian Arthurs, assuring the mother 
 of her daughter's welfare, and pressing an in- 
 vitation to spend the autumn in the glorious 
 scenery and weather of the foothill country. 
 Mary Harris read both letters over again, with 
 frequent rubbing of her glasses. Love for her 
 daughter, desire to see her old friend once more, 
 and growing dissatisfaction with conditions at 
 home, all combined to give weight to the invita- 
 tion so earnestly extended. "If I only could!" 
 she said to herself. "If I only could! But it 
 would cost so much." 
 
 The dinner was late that day, and Harris was 
 in worse humour than usual. He had just broken 
 a plough-beam, which meant an afternoon's de- 
 lay and some dollars of expense. When he had 
 started his meal his wife laid the full envelope 
 before him. "A letter from Beulah," she said. 
 
 Without a word he rose from the table, took 
 the letter in his hand, -and thrust it into the 
 
THE HOMESTBADEES 149 
 
 kitchen range. A blue flame slowly cut round the 
 envelope; the pages began to cnrl like dry leaves 
 in autumn, and presently the withered ghost of 
 the missive -shrank away in the dull glare of the 
 coal fire behind. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 AT last tlie ploughing was finished, and, 
 although the rich smell of wheat in the 
 milk filled the air, it still would be al- 
 most a m6nth before the ripening crops were 
 ready for the binder. Harris, felt that he could 
 now allow himself a breathing spell, and that 
 the opportunity to investigate the rich lands 
 of the Farther West was at hand. Many nights,, 
 while Mary milked the cows, he had walked over 
 to Riles', and the two had discussed their forth- 
 coming Venture until they had grown almost en- 
 thusiastic over, it. Riles, it must be said, was the 
 leading spirit in the movement; although already 
 possessed of sufficient land and means to keep 
 him in comfort through his advancing years, the 
 possibility of greater wealth, and particularly of 
 wealth to be had without corresponding effort, 
 was a lure altogether irresistible. And Harris 
 fell in with the plan readily enough. A quarter 
 of a century having elapsed since his former 
 homesteading, he was now eligible again to file 
 on free Government land; Allan could do the 
 same, and, by also taking advantage of the 
 
 150 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 151 
 
 purchase of script, it was possible to still further 
 increase their holdings. In addition to all this, 
 Eiles had unfolded a scheme for staking two or 
 three others on free homestead land : it would he 
 necessary, of course, to provide them with "grub" 
 and a small wage during the three years required 
 to prove up, but in consideration of these benefac- 
 tions the titles to the land, when secured, were to 
 be promptly transferred to Eiles and Harris. 
 This was strictly against the law, but the two 
 pioneers felt no sense of crime or shame for their 
 plans, but rather congratulated themselves upon 
 their cunning though by no means original scheme 
 to evade the regulations. 
 
 Harris found the task of disclosing his inten- 
 tions to his wife more unpleasant than he would 
 have supposed, and it took him some days to 
 make up his mind to broach the subject. He felt 
 that he was doing what was for the best, and that 
 his business judgment in the matter could hardly 
 be challenged; and yet he had an uncomfortable 
 feeling that his wife would not fall in with his 
 plans. That, of course, would not be allowed to 
 affect his plans; since Beulah's departure nothing 
 but the most formal Conversation had taken place 
 in their household ; yet it would certainly be easier 
 for him if Mary should give her encouragement to 
 his undertaking. He felt that he was entitled 
 to this, for was it not for her that he was making 
 the sacrifice? Was not all he had hers? And 
 were not all his labours directed toward increasing, 
 her reserve against the rainy day? And yet in- 
 stinctively he felt that she would oppose him. 
 
152 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 It was the evening of a long day in July when, 
 very much to Mary's surprise, her husband took 
 the handle of the cream separator from her. To 
 the sad-hearted woman it seemed that the 
 breach was at length beginning to heal, and that 
 happiness would shortly return to their hearth- 
 side. Below the din of the separator she actually 
 found herself humming an old love-song of the 
 'eighties. 
 
 But her happiness was of short duration. When 
 the milk had been run through, and the noise of 
 the whirling bowl no longer prevented conversa- 
 tion, Harris immediately got down to business. 
 
 "Allan and me will be leavin' for the West in a 
 day or two," he said. "I suppose you can get 
 along all right for a few weeks until harvest. Bill 
 (the hired man) will be here." 
 
 In an instant she saw the motive behind his ap- 
 parentliindness, and the hopes she had just enter- 
 tained only deepened the flood of resentment which 
 swept over them. But she answered quietly and 
 without apparent emotion: "That's unfortunate, 
 as I was planning-for a little trip myself." 
 
 "You!" he exclaimed. "You plannin' a trip! 
 Where in the world do you want to go?" Such 
 a thing as Mary going on a trip, and, a^yove all, 
 unaccompanied by himself, was unheard of and 
 unthinkable. 
 
 "Yes, I thought X would take a little trip," she 
 continued. "I've been working here pretty hard 
 for something over twenty-five years, and you may 
 ■ say I've never been off the place. A bit of a holi- 
 day shouldn't do me any harm." 
 
THE HOMESTEADEKS 153 
 
 "Where do you think of goin'?" he demanded, 
 a sudden suspicion rising in his mind. "Groin' to 
 visit Jim and Beulah?" 
 
 "I think you might at leat be fair to Beulah," 
 she retorted. "If you had read her letter, instead 
 of, putting it in the stove, you would have known 
 better." 
 
 "I ain't interested in anythin' Beulah may 
 have to say, and any other letters that fall into my 
 hands will go the same direction. And what's 
 more, she's not goin' to have a visit from any 
 member of this family at the present time. I'm 
 goin' out West to take up land, and Allan's goin' 
 with me. It ain't fair or reasonable for you to 
 try to upset our plans by a notion of this kind. ' ' 
 
 "It isn't a notion, John, it's a resolve. If you 
 are bound to take up more land, with more work 
 and more worry, why go ahead, but remember it's 
 your own undertaking. I helped to make one home 
 in the wilderness, and one home's enough for me. ' ' 
 "Don't be unreasonable," he answered. 
 ' ' There 's a great opportunity right now to get - 
 land for nothin' that in a few years wiU be worth 
 as much or more than this here. I'm ready to go 
 through the hardship and the work for the sake of 
 what it will do for us. We can be independently 
 rich in five years, if we just stand together." 
 "Independent of what?" she asked. 
 "Why, independent of — of everything. Nothin' 
 more to worry about and plenty laid up for old 
 age. Ain 't that worth a sacrifice ? ' ' 
 
 "John," she said, turning and raising her eyes 
 to his face. "Answer me a straight question. 
 
154 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 What was the happiest time in your life? Wasn't 
 it when we lived in the one-roomed sod shanty, 
 with scarcely a cent to bless ourselves? We 
 worked hard then, too, but we had time for long 
 walks together across the prairies — time to sit in 
 the dusk by the water and plan our lives together. 
 We have done well; we have land, horses, mach- 
 inery, money. But have we the happiness we 
 knew when we had none of these'?' On the con- 
 trary, are you not worried morning, noon, and 
 , night over your work and your property? Don't 
 you complain about the kind of help the farmers 
 have to hire nowadays, and the wages they have to 
 pay? And if you get more land won't all your 
 troubles be increased in 'proportion? John, sit 
 down and think this thing over. We don't need 
 more property ; what we need is a chance to enjoy 
 the property we already have. The one thing we 
 haven't got, the one thing it seems we can't get, 
 is time. Time to think, time to read, time for 
 walks on the prairie, time for sunsets, and skies, 
 and — and kindness, and all the things that make 
 life real. We have the chance to choose now be- 
 tween life and land; won't you think it all over 
 again and let us seek that which »is really worth 
 while?" 
 
 "Now I know where Beulah got her nonsense," 
 he retorted. "All this talk about real life' is very 
 fine, but you don't get much life, real or any other 
 kind, unless you have the cash to pay down for it. 
 You can't buy beefsteaks with long wallis over the 
 prairie, nor clothe yourself and family with sun- 
 sets. For my part I want real success. We've 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 155 
 
 done pretty well here, as you say, but it's only a 
 beginnin' to what we can do, if we set about it, 
 and don't wait until the cheap land is g,ll gone. I 
 don't see why you should go back on me at this 
 time o' life, Mary. We've stood together for a 
 long while, and I kinda figured I could count on 
 you. ' ' 
 
 "So you can, John; so you can to the very last, 
 for anything that is for ybur own good, but; when 
 you set your heart on something that means more 
 trouble and hardship and won't add one iota to 
 your happiness, I think it is my duty to persuade 
 you if I can. We've been drifting apart lately; 
 why not let us both go back to the beginning and 
 start over again, and by kindness, and fairness, 
 and liberality, and — and sympathy, try to recover 
 something of what we have lost!" ' 
 
 "I- have always thought I had been liberal 
 enough," he said. "Didn't I build you a good 
 house and buy furniture for it, and do I stint you 
 in what you spend, either on the table or yourself? 
 More than that, didn't I put the title to the home- 
 stead in your name? And ain't I ready to do the, 
 same with the new homestead, if that's the 
 sticker." 
 
 "I never thought of such a thing," she protest- 
 ed. "And you shouldn't claim too much credit 
 for putting the homestead quarter in my name. 
 You know when you bought the first railway land 
 you were none too sure how things would turn 
 out, and you thought it might be a wise precaution' 
 to have the old farm stand in your wife's name." 
 
 "That's all the thanks I get," he said bitterly. 
 
156 THE HOMBSTEADEES 
 
 a 
 
 Well, I'll take the new one in my own name, 
 but I'll take it just the same. If you don't want 
 to share in it you won't have to. But for the 
 present it's your duty to stay here and run things 
 till we get back." v 
 
 "What are you going to do after you get your 
 new farm ? You can 't work two farms a thousand 
 miles apart, can you?" 
 
 *'0h, I guess that won't worry us long. The 
 Americans are comin' in now with lots o' good 
 money. I was figurin' up that this place, as a 
 goin' concern, ought to bring about forty thou- 
 sand dollars, and I'll bet I could sell it inside of a 
 week." 
 
 "Sell it?" she exclaimed. "You don't mean 
 that you intend to sell this farm?"- 
 
 "Why not? If somebody else "wS.nts it worse 'n 
 we do, and has the money to pay for it, why 
 shouldn't I sell it?" 
 
 The tears stood in her eyes as she answered: 
 "In all these years while we have been building 
 up this home I never once thought of it as some- 
 thing to sell. It was too near for that^a part of 
 ourselves, of our very life. It seemed more like- 
 like one of the children, than a mere possession. 
 And now you would sell it, just as you might sell . 
 a load of wheat or a fat steer. ^ Is this place — this 
 home where we have grown old and grey — nothing 
 to you? Have you no sentiment that will save it 
 from the highest bidder?" 
 
 "Sentiment is a poor affair in business," he 
 answered. "Property was made t' sell; money 
 wlas made t' buy it with. The successful man is 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 157 
 
 the one who has his price for everythin', and 
 knows how t' get it. As for growin' old and grey 
 on this farm, why, that's a grudge I have against 
 it, though I don't think I'm very grey and- 1 
 don't feel very old. And if I get my price, why 
 shouldn't I sell?" 
 
 "Very well," she answered. "I've nothing 
 more to say. Sell it if you must, but remember one 
 thing — ^I won't he here to see it pass into the 
 hands of strangers." She straightened herself 
 up, and there was a fire in her eye that reminded 
 him of the day when she had elected to share with 
 him the hardships of the wilderness, and in spite 
 of himself some of his old pride in her returned. 
 "I leave to-morrow for a visit, and I may be gone 
 some time. You reminded me of your liberality a 
 few minutes ago; prove it now by writing me a 
 cheque for my expenses. Eemember I will expect 
 to travel like the wife of a prosperous farmer, a 
 man whose holdings are worth forty thousand dol- 
 lars cash," 
 
 "So that's your decision, is it? You set me at 
 defiance; you try t' wreck my plans by your own 
 stubbornness. You break up my family piece by 
 piece, until all I have left is Allan. Thank God, 
 the boy, at least, is sound. Well, you shall have 
 your cheque, and I'll make it a big one that it 
 may carry you the farther. ' ' 
 
 Even in the teeth of his bitterness the mention 
 of Allan's name straiaed the mother's heart be- 
 yond her power of resistance, and she turned with 
 outstretched arms towards her husband. For a 
 moment he wavered, the flame of love, still smould- 
 
158 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 ering in his breast, leaping up before the breath 
 of her response. But it was for a moment only. 
 Weakness would have meant surrender, and sur- 
 render was the one thing of which Harris was in- 
 capable. He had laid out his course with a clear 
 conscience; he was sincerely working for the 
 greatest good to his family, and if his wife was 
 determined to stand in her own light it was his 
 duty to pursue the course in defiance of her. So 
 he checked the impulse to take her in his arms, 
 and walked stolidly to his desk in the parlour. 
 
 He returned shortly and placed a cheque in her 
 hands. She looked at it through misty eyes, and 
 read that it was for two hundred dollars. It re- 
 presented a two-hundredth part of their joint 
 earnings, and yet he thought he was dealing liber- 
 ally with her; he half expected, in fact, that his 
 magnanimity would break her down where his 
 firmness had failed. But she only whispered a 
 faint "Thank you," and slowly folded the paper 
 in her fingers. He waited for a minute, suspect- 
 ing that she Avas overcome, but as she said nothing 
 more he at length turned and left the house, saying 
 gruffly as he went out, "When that's done I'll 
 send you more if you write for it." 
 
 It was now ten at night, and almost dark, but 
 Harris's footsteps instinctively turned down the 
 road toward Riles '. Eiles ' reputation in the com- 
 munity was that of a hardworking, money-grub- 
 bin farmer, with a big bony body, and a little 
 shrivelled soul, if indeed the latter had not entire- 
 ly dried up into ashes. A few years ago Harris 
 had held his neighbour in rather low regard, but 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 159 
 
 of late he had been more impressed with Riles' 
 ability to make his farm pay, which was as great 
 as or greater than his own, and what he had once 
 thought to be hardness and lack of humanity he 
 now recognized as simply the capacity to take a 
 common-sense, business view of conditions. 
 
 At the gate he met Allan, returning from spend- 
 ing a social hour with the Grant boys. 
 
 "Where going. Dad?" the younger man de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Oh, I thought I'd take a walk over t' Eiles'. 
 There's a lot o' things t' talk about." 
 
 ' ' What 's the matter, Dad ? " The strained com- 
 posure of his father's voice had not escaped him. 
 
 "Nothin' ...... I might's well tell you now; 
 
 you'll know it in a little while anyway Your 
 
 mother is goin' away — on a visit." 
 
 "Like Beulah's visit, I suppose. So it's come 
 to this. I've seen it for some time. Dad, and you 
 must _'ve seen it too. But you're not really goin' 
 to let her go ? Come back to the house with me — 
 surely you two can get together on this thing, if 
 you try. ' ' 
 
 "I have tried," said Harris, "and it's no use. 
 She's got those notions like Beulah — quittin' 
 work, and twilights and sunsets and all that kind 
 o' thing. There's no use talkin' with her; reason 
 don't count for anything. I gave her a good 
 pocketful ' money, and told her to write for more 
 when she needed it. She'll get over her notions 
 pretty soon when she gets among strangers. Go 
 in, and have a talk with her, boy ; there 's no use 
 
160 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 you bein' at outs witli her, too. As for me, I 
 can't do anythiiig more." 
 
 "I suppose you know best," he answered, "but 
 it seems — ^hang it, it's against all reason that you 
 two — that this should happen." 
 
 "Of course it is. That's what I said a minute 
 ago. But reason don't count just now. But you 
 have your talk with her, and give her any help 
 you can if she wants t' get away at once." 
 
 Allan found his mother in her room, packing a 
 trunk and gently weeping into it. He" laid his 
 hand upon her, and presently he found her work- 
 worn frame resting in his strong arms. 
 
 "You're not, going to leave us, mother, are 
 you ? " Tie said. ' ' You wouldn 't do that ? ' ' 
 
 "Not if it could be helped, Allan. But there is 
 no help. Your father has set his heart on more 
 land, and more work, and giving up this home, and 
 I might as well go first as last. More and more 
 he is giving his love to work instead of to his 
 family. I bear him no ill-will — ^nothing, nothing 
 but love, if he could only come out of this' trance 
 of his and see things in their true light. But as 
 time goes on he gets only deeper in. Perhaps when 
 I am away for a while he'll come to himself. That's 
 our only hope. " 
 
 The boy stood helpless in this confliction. He 
 had always thought of difficulties arising between 
 people, between neighbours, friends, or members 
 of a family, because one party was right and the 
 other wrong. It was his first experience of those 
 far more tragic quarrels where both parties are 
 right, or seem to be right. He knew something of 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 161 
 
 the depth of the nature of his parents, and he 
 knew that beneath an undemonstrative exterior 
 they cherished in secret a love proportionate to 
 the strength of their characters. But the long 
 course down which they had walked together 
 seemed now to be separating, through neither will 
 nor power of their own ; it was as though straight 
 parallel lines suddenly turned apart, and neither 
 lost its, straightness in the turning. 
 
 So he comforted his mother with such words 
 as he could. Loyalty to his father forbade laying 
 any of the blame on those shoulders, and to blame 
 his mother was unthinkable ; so with unconscious 
 wisdom he spoke not of blame at all. Presently 
 it occurred to him to think of his mother's, de- 
 parture as temporary only, and with joy he found 
 that she readily accepted the notion. 
 
 "Of course, while we are away, why shouldn't 
 you have a visit ? " he said. ' ' Here you have been 
 chained down to this farm ever since I can re- 
 member, and before- We can easy enough ar- 
 range about the cows; and Bill can board with 
 one o' the neighbours, or batch, and you can just 
 have a good trip and a good rest, and nobody 
 needs it more. And then, when I get settled on 
 my owi^ homestead, you'll come and keep house 
 for me, won't you?" 
 
 "You're sure you'll want me?" she asked, 
 greatly comforted by his mood. "Perhaps you'll 
 be getting your own housekeeper, too." 
 
 "Not while I can have you," he answered. 
 "You'll promise, won't you? ' Nothing that has 
 happened, or can happen, will keep you from 
 
162 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 making my home yours, will it? And when Dad 
 gets settled again, and gets all these worries off 
 his mind, then things '11 be different, and you'll 
 come, even if he is there?" 
 
 "Yes, I'll come, even if he is there, if you ask 
 me, ' ' she promised. 
 
 Harris did not come back that night. A light 
 rain came up, and he accepted the excuse to sleep 
 at Riles'. The truth was, he feared for his reso- 
 lution if it should be attacked by both his wife and 
 son. Surrender now would be mere weakness, 
 and weakness was disgrace, and yet he feared for 
 himself if put to the test again. So he stayed at 
 Eiles', a^id the two farmers spent much of the 
 night over their plans. It had been decided that 
 they were to leave within the next couple of days, 
 but Harris broke the news that his wife wafe going 
 on a visit, and that arrangements would have to 
 be made for the care of the farm. He carefully 
 concealed the fact that Mary was leaving against 
 his will, or as the result of any difference. Such 
 an admission would have damaged him in the 
 estimation of Riles, who would have put it down 
 to weakness. In Riles' code no insubordination 
 should be tolerated from man or beast, but least 
 of all from a wife. He would have found ready 
 means to suppress any such foolishness. 
 
 Riles took the suggestion of a few days' delay 
 with poor grace. 
 
 "Yes, an' while you're chasing up an' down fer 
 a housekeeper the Yankees get all the homesteads. 
 They're comin' in right now by the trainload, 
 grabbin' up everythin' in sight. We'll monkej' 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 163 
 
 round here till the summer's over, an' then go out 
 an' get a sand farm, or something like. Couldn't 
 your wife do her visitin' no other time?" 
 
 "I'll tell you, Eiles," said Harris, who had no 
 desire to pursue a topic which might lead him into 
 deep water, "you go ahead out and get the lay of 
 the land, and I'll follow you within a week. I'll 
 do that, for sure, and I'll stand part of your ex- 
 penses for going ahead, seein ' you will be kind o ' 
 representin' me." 
 
 The last touch was a stroke of diplomacy. The 
 suggestion that Harris should pay part of his ex- 
 penses swept away Eiles' bad humour, and he 
 agreed to go on the date originally planned, and 
 get what he called "a bede on the easy money," 
 while Harris completed his arrangements at home. 
 
 He was to get "a bede on the easy money" in 
 a manner which Harris little suspected. 
 
 When Harris returned home the next forenoon 
 he found that Mary had already left for Plain- 
 ville. He sat down and tried to think but the 
 house was very quiet, and the silence oppressed 
 
 him He looked at his watdh, and concluded 
 
 he had still time to reach Plainville before the 
 train would leave. But that would mean sur- 
 render, and surrender meant weakness. 
 
CHAPTEE XII 
 
 A WHIFF OF NEW ATMOSPHERE 
 
 RILES found the journey westward a tire- 
 some affair. His was a soul devoid of 
 enthusiasm over Nature's wealth or 
 magnitude, and the view of the endless prairie 
 excited in him no emotion other than a certain 
 vague covetousness. It was his first long rail 
 journey in over twenty years, but his thoughts 
 were on the cost of travel rather than on the 
 wonderful strides which had been made in its 
 comfort and convenience. Eiles indulged in no 
 such luxuries as sleeping-car berths or meals 
 served in the diner, and two nights in a crowded 
 day-coach, with such hasty meals as could be 
 bought for a quarter at wayside stations, made the 
 journey a somewhat exhausting one. Back in the 
 observation car, sleek commercial travellers, well 
 groomed and well dressed and enveloped in com- 
 fortable self-satisfaction, gravely discussed poli- 
 tics, business or real estate, or exchanged the 
 latest tit-bits of wit accumulated in their travels. 
 Eiles probably could have bought and paid for the 
 worldy possessions of the whole group, and have 
 still a comfortable balance in the bank. But a 
 sleeper berth cost the price of two bushels of 
 
 164 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 165 
 
 wheat, and even in a good year Eiles ' crop seldom 
 exceeded ten thousand bushels. 
 
 As fate would have it, Eiles selected as the base 
 of his homeste^ad operations the very foothill town 
 to which Beulah Harris had come a few weeks be- 
 fore. He sought out the cheapest hotel, and hav- 
 ing thrown his few belongings on the bed, betook 
 himself to the bar-room, which seemed the chief 
 centre of activity, not only of the hotel itself, but 
 of the little town. Men were lined three deep 
 against the capacious bar, shouting, swearing, 
 and singing, and spending their money with an 
 abandon not to be found in millionaires! Kiles 
 was no great student of human nature; he had a 
 keener eye for a horse than* a fellow-man, but the 
 motley crowd interested him, in a certain way, 
 amused him. Land-seekers, some in overalls and 
 flannel shirts, some in ready-mades with dirty 
 celluloid collars ' and cheap, gaudy ties — ^big, 
 powerful men with the muscles and manners of 
 the horse — and others, lighter of frame, who ap- 
 parently made an easier and a better living by the 
 employment of their brains; cowboys in schaps 
 and sun-burn and silk handkerchiefs; ranchers, 
 stately English and French stock, gentlemen still 
 five thousand miles from the place of their breed- 
 ing ; lumbermen and river-drivers, iron bodies set 
 with quick, combative intellects; guides, locators, 
 freighters, land dealers, gamblers, sharks, and 
 hangers-on wove back and forth plying the shut- 
 tle from which the fabric of a new nation must be 
 wrought. 
 
 Riles debated with himself whether the occasion 
 
166 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 justified the expenditure of ten cents for a drink 
 when a hand was placed on his shoulder, and a 
 voice said, "Have one with me, neighbour." He 
 found himself .addressed by a man of about his 
 own age, shorter and somewhat -lighter of frame 
 and with a growling hint of corpulence. The 
 stranger wore a good pepper-and-salt suit, and 
 the stone on his finger danced like real diamond. 
 
 "Don't mind if I do, since y' mention it," said 
 Riles, with an attempted smile which his bad eye 
 rendered futile. One of the bartenders put some- 
 thing in his glass which cut all the way down, but 
 Riles speedily forgot it in a more exciting inci- 
 dent. The man in the pepper-and-salt suit had 
 laid half a dollar on the bar, and no change came 
 bach. Riles congratulated himself on his oym 
 narrow escape. 
 
 "You'll be looking for land?" inquired the 
 stranger, when both were breathing easily again. 
 
 "Well, maybe I am, and maybe I ain't," said 
 Riles guardedly. He had heard something of the 
 ways of confidence men, and was determined not 
 to be taken for an easy mark. 
 
 "A man of some judgment, I see," said his new 
 acquaintance, quite unabashed. "Well, I don't 
 blame you for keeping your OAvn counsel. The 
 rush of people and money into the West has 
 brought all kinds of floaters in its train. Why" — 
 with growing, confidence — "the other night " 
 
 What happened the other night remained un- 
 told, for at that moriient came a clattering of 
 horse's hoofs on the wooden walk at the door, 
 and a moment later a gaily arrayed cowboy rode 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 167 
 
 right into the room, his horse prancing and body- 
 ing from side to side to clear' the crowd away, 
 then facing up to the bar as though it were his 
 manger. Riles expected trouble, and was sur- 
 prised when the feat evoked a cheer from the by- 
 standers. 
 
 ."That's Horseback George," said the man in 
 the pepper-and-salt. ' ' They say he sleeps on his 
 horse. Rides right into a bar as a matter of 
 course, and maybe shoots a few bottles off the 
 shelves as a demonstration before he goes out. 
 But he always settles, and nobody minds his little 
 peculiarities." 
 
 Horseback George treated himself twice, prof- 
 fering each glass to his horse before touching it 
 himself, and stroking with one hand the animal's 
 ears he raised the liquor to his lips. Then he 
 threw a bill at the bar-tender and, with a wild 
 whoop, slapped the horses 's legs with his hat, 
 and dashed at a gallop out of the bar-room and 
 away down the trail. 
 
 The stranger was about to resume his con- 
 versation when a big fellow near by shouted in a 
 loud, raucous voice, "Come, pard, set 'er up. 
 Who's drinkin' with me?" 
 
 No one answered, and the big man looked about 
 the crowd with a deepening scowl. 
 
 "So you're not drinkin'?" he said. "Fill two 
 glasses, pard, and set 'em right there." He 
 turned his back to the bar, resting his elbows 
 on it, and surveyed the crowd contemptuously, 
 meanwhile chewing a mouthful of tobacco with a 
 rapid, swinging motion of the jaw. 
 
168 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Guess yoTi fellows don't know who I am," he 
 said. "I " 
 
 "No, and don't give a damn,'' said a lumber- 
 jack near by. 
 
 "Well, you will before you're through. You're 
 goin' t' drink with me, an' you'll drink with both 
 hands on the glass. Come up an' take your 
 med'eine." As he spoke his hand rested on his 
 hip-pocket. 
 
 The head bar-tender poked him in the ribs. 
 "No gun play here," he said. "You're not in 
 Montana now." 
 
 "I guess I know where I am," he retorted. 
 "An' what d'ye think I pack a; gun for? T' tell 
 the time by? This (not printable) is goin' t' 
 drink with me, or I'll fix him so's you c'n see 
 through him both ways." With the word he 
 whipped out a revolA7er and fired into the floor at 
 the lumber-jack's feet, while a considerable part 
 of the crowd scurried for the door. 
 
 "Put up your gun, you (equally unprint- 
 able)," shouted the lumber-jack, throwing his 
 hat on the floor, "and I'll crack your slats 
 quicker 'n you can count 'em." 
 
 "It's all right, Pete," said the bar-tender, ad- 
 dressing the lumber-jack. "You can lick him 
 hands down, but tliat won't pay the bills if you 
 get in the road of a bullet. Now you, ' ' turning to 
 the other, "stow that artillery, an' stow it quick, 
 or I'll call the Mounted Police." 
 
 For answer the stranger took a handful of 
 tobacco from his mouth, and with a swing of his 
 arm plastered it over the mirror behind the bar. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 169 
 
 "That for the Mounted Police," he said. "Now 
 there's goin' t' be some drinkin' or some shootin', 
 an' maybe a little o' both." He ploughed the 
 floor with another bullet, and the crowd again 
 visibly thinned away. Riles had backed into a 
 corner; the man in the pepper-and-salt suit had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Having no weapon, the /lumber-jack kept his 
 distance, but if epithets could kill his bullying 
 provoker would, have been carried out a corpse. 
 The man with the revolver, on the other hand, 
 seemed taking hig time, playing with his victim, 
 like a wild beast sure of his prey. 
 
 Suddenly there was another stir about the 
 door, and a young fellow in scarlet tunic and 
 yellow-striped riding'-pants walked briskly in. 
 His lithe figure, his clean boyish face, his military 
 , alertness, were in striking contrast to the amb- 
 ling, carelessly-dressed crowd. He had taken in 
 the situation at a glance, and walked, neither fast- 
 er nor slower, direct to the desperado. The latter 
 found himself confronted by an unexpected 
 dilemma. If he took his gun off the lumber-jack 
 to cover the, policeman he knew perfectly well 
 that the promised slat-cracking process would 
 begin immediately. If the policeman had only 
 Stood at the door and ordered him to put up his 
 gun, or parleyed, or thought of his skin as a 
 policeman should, he would have had time to plan 
 his canipaign. But this boy in scarlet was a re- 
 velation of something new in policemen. It was 
 only eight steps from the door to where the out- 
 law stood, and those eight steps at parade pace 
 
170 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 occupied about three seconds. THe gentleman 
 from Montana was quick with his gun, but not 
 particularly nimble in intellect, and he never 
 faced a situation quite like this before. What was 
 this policeman going to do, anyway? Would he 
 never stop and deliver his ultimatum? He had 
 not even drawn his gun ! 
 
 By this time the policeman was beside him. He 
 did not seize him, nor shout at him, nor menace 
 him in any way, yet somewhere in his manner 
 and bearing was a sense of irresistible power. 
 
 "Perhaps you dont know that it's against the 
 law to flourish a revolver in this country," he 
 said. "Better let me keep it for you until you are 
 leaving town." 
 
 "Against the law!" said the ruf&n, now re- 
 covering himself. "That's a good one. AVby, 
 ever 'thin' I've done for twenty years has been 
 against the law. I cracked up the law for chick- 
 en-grit years ago." 
 
 "Not the Canadian law," said the Mounted 
 Policeman. "You'll only offend against it once, 
 and it won't be the law that gets cracked." 
 
 ' ' Thas ' so ? " sneered the other. ' ' Then what '11 
 happen?" 
 
 "I'll arrest you." 
 
 "You? I could eat you in three bites. I can 
 lick you with one hand." 
 
 "How many like me do you think you could 
 lick?" asked the policeman, with imperturbable 
 composure. 
 
 The man from Montana had removed his eye 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 171 
 
 from the lumber-jack, who was now dancing 
 about in menacing attitudes. 
 
 "Forget it, Pete," ordered the policeman. 
 "Now, how many like me can you lick?" 
 
 "About six," said the other, speaking with 
 much deliberation. 
 
 "All right," said Sergeant Grey. "Then my 
 chief would send seven. Now, will you come with 
 me or wait for the seven? By the way," he con- 
 tinued, "the lock-up is a sort of beastly place to 
 stow a man, especially when he's visiting the 
 country for the first time. I think I'll let you 
 sleep here, on your promise to appear at court at 
 ten to-morrow morning. Let me help you to your 
 room. But first, I'll have to trouble you for your 
 gun." 
 
 "What if I clear out through the night?" 
 
 "You- won't — not very far." Thete was a 
 metallic ring in the last words that penetrated 
 the shell of the man who had made a business of 
 breaking law for twenty years, and he calmly 
 handed oVer his revolver. 
 
 "Search me if I know why I do it," he said, 
 turning to the bar-tender. "I could eat that kid 
 in three bites. ' '' 
 
 "Yes," said the man behind. "Bu:t you couldn't 
 digest the whole British Empire, and that's what 
 you've got to do if you start nibbling on any part 
 of it. Besides, he mightn't make as easy chewin' 
 as you think. You'd find him more brisket than 
 sirloin when you get your teeth into him. I've 
 seen him throw an' handcuff a bigger man than 
 you right in this room, an' never turn a hair in 
 
172 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 doin' it. An' take it from me, stranger, what he 
 says about sendin' seven if the job's too big for 
 six is gospel, an' the quicker you get that in your 
 block the safer your hide '11 be in Canada." 
 
 .Sharp at ten the next morning the man who 
 made a business of breaking the law appeared be- 
 fore the magistrate, paid a fine of fifty dollars, 
 and surrendered his weapon to the King's ofl&cers 
 for good. When he returned to the hotel and de- 
 manded his bill for the night's lodging he was 
 surprised to learn he had none. 
 
 "Sergeant Grey settled for you," said the 
 clerk with a faint smile. "Said you ,were his 
 guest last night." 
 
 It was the first time in a long experience that 
 he had found that law could be rigorous and yet 
 absolutely just. It upset his whole crude phil- 
 osophy of his relation to society aiid the State, 
 and stretched before him the straight and easy 
 road to citizenship. 
 
 To return to the scene of the night before!. 
 When the bar-room had settled down to normal, 
 and no one showed a disposition to do any gen- 
 eral buying. Riles betook himself to his room. He 
 had just got into bed when a knock came at the 
 door. 
 
 "Who's there?" he demanded. 
 
 "Gen'l'man to see Mr. Riles," said the porter. 
 
 "Well, shoot 'im in. The door ain't locked," 
 said Riles, in considerable wonderment as to who 
 his visitor might be. 
 
 The door opened, and a well-dressed ,man of 
 average height, with carefully combed hair and 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 173 
 
 clean-shaven face, save for a light moustaclie, 
 stood revealed in the uncertain glow of the match 
 "with which Eiles was endeavouring to find his 
 lamp. His visitor was a man of twenty-eight or 
 thirty years, with clear eyes and well-cut face, 
 and yet with some suhtle quality in his expression 
 that implied that under his fair exterior l^y a deep 
 cunning, and that he was a man not to be trusted 
 in matters where his own interests might be at 
 stake. 
 
 "Hello, Hirdm," he said quietly. "You didn't 
 figure on seeing me here, did you?" 
 
 At first glance Eiles did not recognize him, and 
 he raised the oil lamp to turn the light better on 
 the stranger's face. 
 
 "Well, if it ain't Gardiner!" he exclaimed. 
 "Where in Sam Hill did you come from?" 
 
 "It's a big country, Hiram," he said with a 
 touch of bitterness, "but not big enough for a 
 fellow to lose himself in." He sat down on the 
 side of the bed and lit a cigar, tendering another 
 to Eiles, and the two men puffed in silence for a 
 few minutes. 
 
 "Yes, I've hit a lot of trail since I saw you 
 last," he continued, "and when you're in the 
 shadow of the Eockies you're a long piece from 
 Plainville. How's the old Wg? , Dead as ever?" 
 
 "About the same," said Eiles. "You don't 
 seem t' be wastin' no love on it." 
 
 "Nothing to speak of," said the other, slowly 
 flicking the ash" from his cigar. "Nothing to 
 speak of. You know I got a raw deal there, 
 
174 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 Hiram, and it ain't likely I'd get enthusiastic over 
 it." 
 
 "Well, when a fellow gets up against the law 
 an' has t' clear out," said Eiles, with grgat 
 candour, "that's his funeral. As for me, I ain't 
 got nothin' agen Plainville. You made a little 
 money there yourself, didn't you?" 
 
 The younger man leaned back and slowly puf- 
 fed circles of fragrant smoke at the ceiling, while 
 Eiles surveyed him from the head of the bed. He 
 had been a business man in Plainville, but had 
 became involved in a theft ease, and had man- 
 aged to escape from the town simply because a 
 fellow-man whom he had wronged did not troxible 
 to press the matter against him. Eiles' acquaint- 
 ance with him had not been close; except in a 
 business way they had moved in other circles, 
 and he was surprised and a little puzzled that 
 Gardiner should find him out on the first night 
 of his presence in the New West. 
 
 Gardiner showed no disposition to reopen the 
 conversation about Plainville, so at last Eiles 
 asked, "How d'you know I was here?" 
 
 "Saw your scrawl on the register," he said, 
 ' ' and I 've seen it too often on wheat tickets to for- - 
 get it. Thought I'd look you up. Maybe can be 
 of some service to you here. What are you chas- 
 ing — more land?" 
 
 "Well, I won't say that, exactly, but I kind o' 
 thought I'd come out and look over some of this 
 stuff the Gover'ment's givin' away, before the 
 furriners gets it all. Guess if there's anythin' 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 175 
 
 free goin' us men that pioneered one province 
 should get it on the next. ' ' 
 
 "Yoii don't learn anything, Eiles, do you? 
 You don't know anything more about making 
 money than you did twenty years ago." 
 
 "Well, maybe I don't, and maybe I do, but I 
 can pay my way, an' I can go back t' Plainville 
 when I like, too. ' ' 
 
 "Don't get hot," said Gardiner, with unshaken 
 composure. "I'm just trying to put you wise to 
 yourself. Don't make any difference to me if 
 you spend your whole life sod-busting; it's your 
 life — spend it any way you like. But it's only 
 men who don't know any better that go on to the 
 land nowadays. It 's a lot easier to make a living 
 out of farmers than out of farming." 
 
 "Well, p'r'aps so, but that's m9re in your line. 
 I never " 
 
 "That's just what I say — you never learn. Now 
 look at me. I ain't wearing my last suit, nor 
 spending my last dollar, either, and I haven't 
 done what you'd call a day's work since I came 
 West. There's other things so much feasier to 
 do." 
 
 "Meanin'? " 
 
 "Oh, lots of things. Remittance men, for in- 
 stance. These woods are full of them. Chaps 
 that never could track straight in the old ruts, 
 and were sent out here where there aren't any 
 ruts at all. They're not a bad bunch ; ^brought 
 up like gentlemen, most of .'em; play the piano 
 and talk in three or four languages, and all that 
 kind of stuff, but they're simply dangerous with 
 
176 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 money. So wheii it comes to liand, in the public 
 interest they have to be separated froiii it." 
 
 "Sounds ihterestinV' said Riles. 
 
 " 'Tis, too, especially when 6ne of 'em don't 
 take to the treatment and lays for you with a gun. 
 But my hair's all there. That's what comes of 
 wearing a tall hat." 
 
 "Tell. me," said Riles,, his face lit up with in- 
 terest, "how d'ye do it?" 
 
 " 'Twouldn't do you any good," said Gardiner. 
 "You've steered too many plough-handles to be 
 very nimble with your iingers. But there's often 
 other game to be picked up, if a man knows where 
 to look for it. ' ' 
 
 "Well, I wisht I knew," Riles confessed. "Not 
 anythin' crooked, y' know, but isomething like — 
 well, something like you're doin'. I've worked 
 hard for ev'ry nickel I ever made, an' I reckon 
 if there's easy money goin' I've a right t' get 
 some of it." 
 
 "Now you're beginning io wake up. Though, 
 mind you, some of it isn't as easy as it looks. 
 You've got to know your business, just like farm- 
 ing or anything else. But you can generally land 
 something to live on, even if it ain't a big stake. 
 Take me now, for instance. I ain't doing any- 
 thing that a preacher mightn't do. Happened to 
 fall in with a fellow owns a ranch up the river 
 here. Cleaned him empty one night at cards — 
 stood him up for his last cent, and he kind o ' took 
 a notion to me. Well, he's- the son of a duke or 
 an earl, or some such thiag, and not long ago the 
 G6vernor goes and dies on him, leaving him a 
 
THE H'OMBSTEADERS 177 
 
 few castles and bric-a-brac like that and some 
 wagon-loads of money. So he had to go home for 
 the time being, and as he wanted someone to run 
 his ranch, who should he think of bnt hie. Sup*- 
 pose he thought if I happened to bet it at poker , 
 some night I wouldn't lose it, and that's some con- 
 sideration. He's got a thousand acres or so of 
 land up there, with a dozen cayuses on it, and -he 
 gives me twenty-five poimds a month, with boai'd 
 and lodging and open credit at the Trading Com- 
 pany, to see that it doesn't walk away in his 
 absence. Besides that, I hire a man to do the 
 work, and charge his wages up in the expenses. 
 Got a good man, too — one of those fellows who 
 don't know any better than work for a living. By 
 the way, perhaps you ,know him — comeis from 
 Plainville part — Travers his name is?" 
 
 "Sure," said Eiles. "He worked for Harris, 
 until they had a row artd he lit out. It kind o' 
 balled Harris up, too, although hfe'd never admit 
 it. If he'd Travers there it'd be easier for him 
 t' get away now." 
 
 "Where's Harris going?" 
 
 "He ain't going'; he's comin'. Comin' out 
 here In a few days after me. I'm his kind o' ad- 
 vance guard, spyin' out the land." 
 
 "You don't say? Well, see and make him come 
 through with the expenses. If I was travelling 
 for Jack Harris I wouldn't be sleeping in a hen- 
 coop like this. He's worth yards of money, ain't 
 he?", 
 
 "Oh, some,: I guess, but perhaps not so much 
 more'n his neighbours." 
 
178 THE HOMESTBADEKS 
 
 "Nothing personal, Riles. You've got to get 
 over that narrowness if you're going to get into 
 the bigger game. I've been telling you about. I 
 don't care how much you're worth — how much is 
 Harris bringing with him?" 
 
 "Couple of hundred dollars, likely." 
 "I wouldn't show my hand for that. How much 
 can he raise?" 
 "Well, supposin' he sold the old farm-^ — " . 
 "Now don't do any reckless supposing. Will 
 he sell the farm?" 
 
 "Sure, he'll sell it if he sees something bet- 
 ter." 
 
 "How much can he get for it?" 
 ' ' Thirty or forty thousand dollars. ' ' 
 "That's more like a stake. Hiram, it's up to 
 you and me to show him something better — and 
 to show it to him when he's alone. . . .' You're tired 
 to-night. Sleep it out, and we '11 drive over to the 
 ranch to-morroW together. We ought to pick 
 something better than a homestead out of this." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 SETTING THE TRAP 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the exhaustion oc- 
 casioned by his journey Riles was early 
 about. The hotel bed was strange to him, 
 and the noises that floated up from the bar-room 
 interrupted his slumbers. At least, he told him- 
 self it was the noises, but the fact is a great new 
 thought had been sown in his brain, and had start- 
 ed the cells whirling in dizzy speculation. The 
 unexpected meeting with Gardiner, the latter's 
 evident prosperity, and his frank contempt for 
 men who made their living by labour, had left a 
 deep impression upon Riles. He had no idea by 
 what means Gardiner proposed that they should 
 possess themselves of Harris's money, and he 
 felt some doubt about any such attempt being 
 rewarded with success. Nevertheless, Gardiner 
 seemed to think the matter a simple one enough, 
 and Gardiner 's good clothes and good cigars were 
 evidence of his ability to carry his plans into 
 effect. 
 
 The streets had not yet assumed their morning 
 activity when Riles emerged from the hotel, but 
 the unclouded Alberta sunshine was bathing every 
 atom of out-of-doors in a warmth and brilliance 
 
 179 
 
180 , THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 that might have found, and in very truth did find, 
 a keen response in the inanimate objects of its af- 
 fection. The jubilant laugh of running mountain 
 water rippled through the quiet air, fragrant 
 with the perfume of balm-of-Gilead and balsam; 
 to the eastward the sunshine poured into broad 
 valleys of undulating, sweeping plain, and in the 
 west the great mountains, clad in their eternal 
 robes of white, loomed silent and impassive in 
 their majesty. Even Eiles stopped to look at 
 them, and they stirred -in him an emotion that 
 was not altogether profane — a faint, undefined 
 consciousness of the puniness of man and the 
 might of his Creator. No one can live for long in 
 the presence of the mountains without that con- 
 sciousness, and it is a great day for the mountain- 
 dweller when he learns to distinguish between the 
 puniness of man, the animal, and the infinity of 
 man, the thinking soul. 
 
 Eiles breakfasted as soon as the dining-room 
 was opened, eating' his meal hurriedly, as he 
 always did, albeit the French-fried potatoes, to 
 which he was unaccustomed, could be poised on 
 his knife only with considerable effort. Then he 
 sat down in an arm-chair on the shady side of the 
 hotel to wait for Gardiner. He had suddenly lost 
 his interest in the free lands which had been the 
 purpose of his journey. 
 
 His \vait was longer than he had expected, and 
 he broke it several times by strolls about the little 
 towd. In size it was much the same as PlainviUe, 
 but that was the chief point of resemblance. True, 
 it had its typical stores, selling everything from 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 181 
 
 silks to coal oil; its blacksmiths' shops, ringing 
 with the hammer of the busy smith oh plough- 
 share or horseshoe; its implement agencies, with 
 rows of gaudily-painted wagons, mowers, and 
 binders obstructing the thoroughfare, and the 
 hempen smell of new binder twine. floating from 
 the hot recess of their iron-covered storehouses; 
 a couple of banks, occupying the best corners, and 
 barber shops and pool-rooms in apparent excess 
 of the needs of the population. All these he 
 might have found u\ Plainville, but there were 
 here in addition half-a-dozen real estate offices, 
 with a score or more curbstone dealers, locaters, 
 commission-splitters, and go-betweens, and, the 
 number and size of the livery stables gave some 
 clue to the amount of prospecting going on from 
 this base of supplies. The streets were lined with 
 traffic. Biles estimated that in two hours as 
 many teams passed him as might be seen in Pla^- 
 ville in a week; long rows of box-cars were un- 
 loading on the side tracks; farmers' effects and 
 household goods of every description were piled 
 in great heaps about the' railway yards; while 
 horses, cattle, pigs, and poultry contributed to the 
 dust and din of the settlers' operations. Great 
 wagons of lurnber were being loaded at the lum- 
 ber yards, and an unbroken procession of wagons 
 and farm machinery of every description was 
 wending its way slowly into the distance where 
 lay hope of home or fortune for the new settler. 
 It was "almost lioon when Gardiner appeared on 
 the scene. '*You don't hurt you 'self in the morn- 
 iu's," was Riles* greeting. 
 
182 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Don't need to," he answered cheerily. "Be- 
 sides, I'd a long session after I left you last night. 
 No, no particulars at present. I told you you had 
 spoiled your hands for that kind of work. How 
 d'ye like this air? Isn't that something wortli 
 breathing?" 
 
 "Good enough," said Riles, "hut I didn't come 
 out here for air." 
 
 "No, you came for land. I'm surprised you're 
 not out bouncing aver the prairie in a buckboard 
 Jong before this." 
 
 Eiles shot a quick glance at Gardiner. But he 
 was puffing a cigar and drinking in the warm sun- 
 shine with obvious satisfaction. 
 
 "So I might o' been, but I thought we kind o' 
 made a date last night, didn't we?" 
 
 "Did we? Oh yes; now I rfemember. But I 
 thought perhaps you'd feel different about it in 
 the morning. A man generally does. I won't 
 hold you to anything you said last night, Eiles." 
 
 Riles could not recall that he had said anything 
 that committed him in any way, but Gardiner's 
 tone implied that plainly enough. i 
 
 "I ain't changed my mind," he said, "but I 
 don't know 's I said anything bindin', did I? I 
 thought we was goin't' drive out t' your place 
 t'-day an' talk things over." 
 
 "Well, I just didn't want you to lose any time 
 over me if you thought things wouldn't work 
 out," said Gardiner. "It takes more nerve, you 
 know, than hoeing pqtatoes. But you're welcome 
 to the hospitality of the ranch, in any case. I came 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 183 
 
 in on horseback, so we'll get a team at one of the 
 stables and drive out." 
 
 In a short time they were on their way. The 
 road skirted the river, threading its way through 
 the narrow belt of cotton- woods and evergreens 
 that found footing in the moist soil of the valley. 
 Here and there, through an opening in the trees, 
 or across a broad wedge of prairie, could be seen 
 the mountains, now bathed in a faint purple, 
 silently receding before them. A soft breeze, 
 neither hot nor cold, but moist and fresh from the 
 great table-lands of snow, pressed gently about 
 the travellers, but their thoughts were of neither 
 the scenery nor the weather. 
 
 "It's all right. Riles," Gardiner was saying. 
 "If you're prepared to stay with the deal we can 
 pull it through — ^no doubt about that. That is, if 
 Harris will sell his farm and come out here with 
 the cash in his jeans. If he won't do that, you 
 better get busy on your homestead proposition 
 right away." 
 
 "He'll do it all right, if he sees somethin' 
 worth while. But Harris 's no spring chicken, 
 an' you'll have t' show him somethin' t' his likin' 
 before he loosens up." 
 
 "I don't care whether he loosens up or not," 
 said Gardiner. "All I care is that he brings the 
 money, and brings it in bills. No cheques, mind 
 you. Get him out here with the cash on him, and 
 I'll do the loosening up, if it comes to that." 
 
 Riles was somewhat alarmed at the sinister 
 |urn of the conversation. He had no compunc- 
 tion about getting the better of his old neighbour, 
 
184 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 . the man who had entrusted him with the dis- 
 charge of their joint mission, but he had consider- 
 able respect for the force, if not the principle, of 
 the law. 
 
 "You don't mean that you'd do any thin' — 
 anythin' that wasn't right?" he said. "I wouldn't 
 want t' get mixed up in no scrape, y' know." 
 
 "You mean that you think more of your skin 
 thari you do of Harris's coin. Well, there's no 
 accounting for tastes., But as for doing anything 
 wrong — ^you ought to know me better than that. 
 It will all be clean and above board, and no viol- 
 ence if it can be helped, but if Harris is unfortun- 
 ate nobody's to blame for that. Of course, if 
 you're .afraid to take a sportsman's chance for 
 a half of forty thousand dollars, call the deal off. 
 I've got lots of other fish to fry." 
 
 "You don't understand," said Eiles. "I ain't 
 a 'scared, but I don't want t' do nothin' that'll get 
 us into trouble. Harris is an old neighbour o' 
 mine, an' " 
 
 "I understand perfectly. You wouldn't mind 
 a piece of Harris 's money served on a platter find 
 wrapped in tissue paper, but you want somebody 
 else to take the chances. Now, there won't be any 
 chances to speak of, but what there are you take 
 your share. If that 's a bargain it 's a bargain, and 
 if it isn't we'll talk about the weather. What 
 d 'you say?" 
 
 "It's a ba,rgain," said Eiles, "provided your 
 plan '11 work out." 
 
 "It's got to work out. It's like going up in a 
 balloon — if it doesn't work out it's all off with 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 185 
 
 the engineer. You got to take a chance, Hiram, 
 and then make good on the chance.," 
 
 Eiles chewed vigorously at his tobacco.- "Ex- 
 plain how you 're goin ' to pull it off ," he said, " an ' 
 then I'll tell you yes or no." 
 
 "Not on your life," said G-ardiner. "I don't 
 show my hand until I know who's sitting across." 
 
 There was silence for half a mile, while Eiles 
 turned the matter over in his mind. He was 
 naturally a coward, but he was, equally a money- 
 grabber, and it was one instinct against the other; 
 Avarice won it, and at length he extended his hand 
 to Gardiner. " I 'm in on any thin ' your 're in on, " 
 he said. 
 
 "That sounds like it," said Gardiner, with en- 
 thusiasm. "Now the whole thing's as simple as 
 A B C, and not half as dangerous as running a 
 traction engine or breaking a broncho. It all 
 rests on getting him out here with the money, and 
 that's where you come in. I don't mind telling, 
 you if it wasn't for the help you can give there 
 I'd handle the job myself, and save dividing the 
 proceeds." .-r' - 
 
 "Yes, that's the point, all right," said Eiles, 
 somewhat dubiously. "How 're we goin' t' get 
 him out here with all that money?" 
 
 "Think, Eiles," said Gardiner, piaffing com- 
 placently at a fresh cigar. "Think hard." 
 
 Eiles wrinkled his forehead and spat copiously 
 at the front hub, but the inspiration would not 
 come. "I give it up," he said at last. "You'll 
 have t ' plan it, an ' I '11 carry it out. ' ' 
 
 "That's what comes of hard work, Hiram; you 
 
186 , THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 lose all your imagination. Right now you haven 't 
 any more imagination than a cabbage. Now, I 
 could suggest a dozen schemes to suit the purpose 
 if I had to, but one will do. Suppose this : 
 
 "These mountains up here are full of coal — 
 more coal than can be burnt in a million years. 
 It's a -bad road in, but once you get there you'll 
 see it lying in seams, ten, fifteen, twenty feet thick, 
 and stretching right through the rocks as far as 
 you like -to follow it. That coal's going to make a 
 bunch of millionaires some day, but not until you 
 can get at it with 'Something ;bigger than a cayase. 
 But railroads come fast in this country, and 
 there's no saying how soon a man might cash in 
 if he invested just now." 
 
 "You ain't goin' t' wait till a railroad comes, 
 are you? We'll like enough be dead by that 
 time." 
 
 "Hiram, I told you you had no imagination. 
 Wait a moment. Now, suppose that some strange 
 eccentric chap owns one of these coal limits. He 
 lives up in the mountains, a kind of hermit, but we 
 fall in with him and offer him forty thousand dol- 
 lars for his limit, worth, say, half a million, or 
 more if you feel like it. He says, 'AH right, but 
 mind I want the money in bills, and you'll 
 have to bring it out to me here.' Now can you 
 think of anything?" 
 
 "Harris don't know nothin' about coal," pro- 
 tested Eiles. "He wouldn't bite at anythin' like 
 that." 
 
 "Your faith has been neglected as well as your 
 imagination. You've got to paint it to him so's 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 187 
 
 to get him interested. That's all. Our business 
 is to get Harris, with the money in his wallet, 
 started up into these mountains. It's mighty 
 lonely up there, with timber wolves, grizzly bears, 
 precipices, snow-slides, and trails that lead 
 to nowhere, and if Harris is unfortunate — well, 
 he 's unfortunate. ' ' 
 
 The plan gradually penetrated Riles' slow- 
 working mind. At first it numbed him a little, 
 and his face was a strange colour as he turned to 
 his companion, and said, in alow voice, "Ain't it 
 risky? What if the police catch, on?" 
 
 "They won't. They're all right for cleaning 
 up a rough-house, but don't cut any figure in fine 
 art work. like we'll put over. I tell you, Riles, 
 it's absolutely safe. Of course, ordinary pre- 
 cautions must be taken, same as you would with a 
 vicious horse or any other risk you might run. 
 The main thing is to see that he has the money 
 in bills ; anything else would be risky and lead to 
 trouble. Then this fellow that's suppoised to 
 own the mine must be kept in the backgroulid. 
 We " 
 
 "But who does own the mine?" 
 
 Gardiner made a gesture of exasperation. "You 
 don't get me, Hiram. Nobody owns the mine. 
 That part of it's all a myth — a, fairy tale manu- 
 factured because we needdt. But Harris mustn't 
 find that out — not, at any rate, until it's too late. 
 Then if anything ever does leak out, suspicion wiU 
 be directed toward some mysterious mine-owner, 
 and the police will b^ wearing out shoe-leather 
 hunting the cracks in the foothills while you anl I 
 
188 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 are taking in the sights of Honolulu or South 
 America. We'll quietly make an appointment for 
 Harris to meet the mine-owner somewhere up in 
 the hills. We '11 direct him where to go, and leave 
 it at that. Of course we won't go with him; we'll 
 have other business about that time." 
 
 Eiles looked at Gardiner with frank admiration. 
 It seemed so sim,ple now, and in his growing en- 
 thusiasm he felt that he would have little difficulty 
 in persuading Harris to raise all the cash possible 
 and bring it with him. And it seemed so safe. 
 As Gardiner said, the mountains were full of 
 danger, and if something should happen to Harris 
 — well, he would be unfortunate ; but lots of other 
 people had been unfortunate, too. 
 
 Gardiner turned his team down a side road, 
 forded the river, climbed a steep, slippery bank, 
 and drew up beside a cluster of ranch buildings 
 sheltered with cotton-woods and spruces. The 
 old, log-house, reminiscent ' of the days when the 
 West was a land and a law unto itself, might have 
 stirred the heart of poet or artist ; the hard-beaten 
 soil of the corral hinted still of the brave days of 
 the open range and cattle beyond counting. As 
 the team, in their long, steady trot, swung up be- 
 side the stables, an alert young feUow came quick- 
 ly out and busied himself with the unhitching. 
 
 "Guess you ought to know our visitor, Jim, 
 shouldn't you?" said Gardiner. "Another Man- 
 itoban chasing the free land." 
 
 Travers at once recognized Eiles and extended 
 his hand. "Well, Mr Eiles, We weren't looking 
 for you here, although I suppose I shouldn't be 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 189 
 
 surprised, for there was some talk of your coming 
 West before I left Plainville. What do you think 
 of it? And did you see the mountains this morn- 
 ing? Worth the trip themselves, aren't they?" 
 
 "Look pretty good, all right, Jim," said Kiles, 
 with an attempt at affability, "but I reckon you 
 wouldn't grow much wheat on 'em, an' scenery's 
 not very fiUin '. How you makin ' it go you 'self ? " 
 
 "Nothing but luck since I landed," said Jim. 
 Got a good homestead and a good job right away. 
 You must let me take you out to my farm before 
 you go back. How's everybody? Harrises well, 
 I hope?" 
 
 "Guess they're well enough, but gettin' kind 'o 
 scattered for a family group. Beulah lit out 
 when you did — ^but I guess I can't give you no in- 
 formation about that." 
 
 The smile did not depart from Travers' face, 
 but if Riles had known him as well as he should 
 he would have seen the sudden smouldering light 
 in the eye. But the young man answered quietly. 
 "I saw Beulah the day I left Plainville, and I 
 understood she was going. West on a visit. She 
 isn't back yet?" 
 
 "Innocent, ain't chuh?" said Eiles, in a manner 
 intended to "be playful. "It's all right; I don't 
 blame you. Beulah 's a good girl, if a bit high 
 falutin, an' a few years' roughin' it on the home- 
 stead '11 take that out of her." 
 
 But Jim had 'dropped the harness and stood 
 squarely faciag Eiles. The smile still lingered on 
 his lips, but even the heavy-witted farmer saw 
 that he had been playing with fire. Eiles was 
 
190 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 much the larger man of the two, but he was no 
 one to court combat unless the odds were over- 
 whelmingly in his favour. He carried a scar 
 across his eye as a constant reminder of his folly 
 in having once before iiivited trouble from a 
 younger man. 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Travers. 
 "Put it in English." 
 
 But Gardiner interposed. "Don't be too sen- 
 sitive, Jim," he said. "Eiles has forgotten his 
 parlour manners, but he doesn't mean any harm. 
 You weren't insinuating anything, were you, 
 Hiram?" 
 
 "Course not," said Eiles, glad of an opportun- 
 ity to get out of the difficulty without a direct 
 apology. "No offence intended, Jim. Beulah's 
 all right, an' you're all right, an' that's what I 
 always said." 
 
 Travers was not in' the least deceived as to 
 Riles' high-mindedness, but he realized that the 
 man was the guest of his employer, and he de- 
 cided not to press the point. Gardiner and .Eiles 
 went to the house, and Jim presently saddled his 
 own horse and rode' out on the prairie. He had 
 already lunched, and it was Gardiner's custom to 
 cook for himself when at home. 
 
 Inside, the two men were soon seated at a meal 
 which Gardiner hastily but deftly prepared. They 
 ate from plates of white enamelled ware, on a 
 board table covered Avith oilcloth, but the food was 
 appetizing, and the manner of serving it much 
 more to Eiles ' liking' than that to which he had 
 been subjected for some days. The meat was 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 191 
 
 fresh and tasty ; and the bread and butter were all 
 that could be desired, and the^ strong, hot tea, with- 
 out milk but thick with sugar, completed a meal 
 that was in every way satisfactory. Eiles' eyes, 
 when not on his plate, were busy taking in the 
 surroundings. The log walls were hung with 
 mementoes, some of earlier days and some of 
 othqr lands, and throughout the big room was a 
 strange mixture of elegance and plainness. At 
 one jend were rows of shelves, with more books 
 than Riles had ever seen, and above stood a small 
 piece of statuary worth the price of many bushels 
 of wheat. 
 
 Gardiner noted the interest of his guest, and 
 smiled quietly to himself. He supposed that Riles 
 had the usual notions about the Far West — a 
 notion that here he was on the outermost rim of 
 the finer civilization of even the Middle West. 
 But he also knew that this plain log building con- 
 tained furnishings and decorations altogether be- 
 yond anything that Riles had ever seen or heard 
 of — things, indeed, so far removed from the life 
 of the hard-working farmer that they might have 
 come from another world than his own. When 
 the meal was finished Gardiner swept the soiled 
 dishes into a big galvanized iron tub, tl^ere to 
 await attentions from Jini at a convenient 
 season, and invited Riles to look about the house. 
 
 They entered another room, immediately to the 
 north of the large apartment which served all 
 general housekeeping purposes. The floor was of 
 plain boards, smooth with the riding-boots of 
 
192 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 many years, and in the centre lay the skin of a 
 ^reat bear. An old-fashioned carved table, of 
 some size, and three leather chairs, were the prin- 
 cipal furniture. Two swords hung diagonally 
 across the far wall, and above them was an old 
 flag, discoloured with sun and rain. Ancient fire- 
 arms decorated the walls, and odd pieces of 
 strange clothing hung about in profusion. 
 
 "This is His Nibs' drawing-room," said Gardi- 
 ner. "This junk you see about you has been 
 gathered from the corners of the earth during the 
 last few centuries. In there" — -indicating an- 
 other room through a door to the left — "is his 
 bedroom — a regular museum of stuff running to 
 no end of money, if you went to buy it. He has a 
 couple of pictures worth more than a quarter- 
 section of land, and that mat you see through the 
 door— a prayer- rug he calls it, though he don't 
 use it much for that — is worth over five hundred 
 dollars." 
 
 Gardiner enjoyed the look of amazement that 
 slowly spread over Eiles' face. "He's been 
 stuflfin' you," said Eiles at length, thinking of his 
 own extravagance when he paid ninety cents a 
 yard for a carpet for their front room at home. 
 " He 's been stuffin ' you sure. There ain 't no mats 
 worth any money like that." 
 
 "It's gospel," said Gardiner. "Why, man, he 
 has a set of chess worth more than the best team 
 on your farm, and that statue affair up there — 
 you simply couldn't buy it. The place is just 
 bristling with valuables of one kind and another." 
 
 But Eiles appeared suddenly agitated. He 
 
THE HOMESTEADBRB 193 
 
 seized Gardiner by the arm, saying, "If this 
 stuff's worth 's much as yon figure, why don't we 
 make a elean-up here, when the duke, or whatever 
 he is, is away? That'd be safer, wouldn't it?" 
 
 "No, it wouldn't? It'd be easy enough to get 
 away with the stuff, but how'd you turn it into 
 money? The police would get you sure on a 
 game like that. Of course, if you should decide 
 to go in for culture, without the 'agri' ahead, you 
 might like to have the prayer-mat for your own 
 knees. No, you can't put over anything like that. 
 And now we better be getting down to business. ' ' 
 
 Gardiner drew a couple of chairs up to the carv- 
 ed table, opened a drawer, and produced writing 
 materials. "We can't get a letter away to Harris 
 any too soon. Nothing like making hay while the 
 sun shines, you know, and if he gets out here be- 
 fore we put our plan up to him, it would be natural 
 enough for him to want to see the mine-owner 
 himself. So hitch yourself to that pen there, and 
 let us see what kind of a hand you are at fiction. ' ' 
 
 Eiles would rather have done a day's work in 
 the field than write a letter, but Gardiner insisted 
 it must be done by him. Much of the afternoon 
 was spent in th6 struggle, and Gardiner's fertile 
 imagination had to be appealed to at several 
 critical points. But at last the letter was com- 
 pleted. It ran as follows : 
 
 "John Harris esq 
 
 "planvil man 
 "sir i take up my pen to let you no that i am all 
 well hoppin this will find you the same well this is 
 
194 THE HOatESTEADEBS 
 
 a grate contry their is sure a big out ov doors well 
 mr Harris i think i see somthing here a hole lot 
 better than 3 years on a homstead homsteads is 
 all rite for men that Hasunt got any mony but a 
 man with sum mony can do better i wisht i Had 
 sold my plase before i left i could ov done well 
 here their is lots ov chantcz to make big mony their 
 is a man here owns a cole mine he is what they eaU 
 Xsentrik He is a Hermitt and lives in the Hills 
 his mine is- wurth 500000$ but He dont no it He 
 wiU take 80000$ for it and we can sell it rite away 
 for perhaps 500000$ i think we should take this up 
 it is a grate chants if you will sell your plase rite 
 away and bring all the mony you can then i will 
 sell mine for the balluns be sure and bring all the 
 mony you can if you dont like the cole mine theref 
 is lots of other chantez they will make you rich 
 and bring the mony in bills not chex becaws He 
 wont take chex becaws He is Xsentrik their is a 
 man here says His frend in Xew York would pay 
 500000$ for the cole mine if he was here and He 
 is sending Him word so Hurry and let us get 
 holt ov it furst then well sell it to Him and make 
 a killing dont f ale 
 
 "your obedyunt servunt 
 
 "HiEAM ReLES." 
 
 Gardiner read the letter carefully, suppressing 
 his amusement over EUes' wrestling with the lan- 
 guage, and finally gave his approvaL 
 
 "Xow, you must make a copy of it." he said. 
 "It's only business to have a copy. That was a 
 fine touch of yours about going back to sell your 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 195 
 
 own farm. I believe you have some imagination 
 aft'ei" all, if it only had a chance to sprout." 
 
 Eiles protested about the labour of maMng a 
 copy, but Ga,rdiner insisted, and at last the work 
 was completed. The sound of galloping hoofs 
 was heard outside, and a cowboy from a neigh- 
 bouring ranch called at the door to ask if there 
 was anything wanted from town. "Here's your 
 chance to mail your letter," Gardiner called to 
 Riles with unnecessary loudness. "Mr. Riles 
 dropped in here to write a letter," he explained 
 to the rider. 
 
 Having with much difficulty fplded his epistle 
 until it could be crumpled into an envelope, Riles 
 sealed, stamped, and addressed it, and a moment 
 later the dust was rising down the trail as the 
 cowboy bore the fatal missive to towii. The die 
 was cast; the match had been set to the tinder, 
 and the fire must now burn through to a finish, let 
 it scorch whom it would. 
 
 Gardiner took up the copy, folded it carefully, 
 and put it in his pocket-book. * ' Now, Mr. Riles, ' ' 
 he said, "we're in for this thing, and there's no 
 backing out. At least you're in for it. You have 
 sent a letter, in your own handwriting, such as it 
 is, to Harris, and I have a copy, of it, in your hand- 
 writing, in my pocket. If this thing ever gets out 
 these letters will make good evidence." ''' 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE GAMBLEKS 
 
 HAREIS found some difficulty in providing 
 that affairs of the farm would proceed 
 satisfactorily during his absence, but at 
 last they were arranged, if not exactly to his lik- 
 ing, at least in a manner that promised no serious 
 loss. It was most unfortunate that Mary, in a 
 moment of headstrong passion quite without pre- 
 cedent in his experience of her, had determined 
 upon a visit just at the time when she was particu- 
 larly needed at home. If Harris had been quite 
 fair he would have remembered that there had 
 been no time in the last twenty-five years when 
 she had not been needed at home, and the present 
 occasion was perhaps no less opportune for her 
 visit than many others. But he felt a deep griev- 
 ance over his wife's conduct, and while he missed 
 her sorely he was determined that no act of his 
 should shorten her visit or imply that the busi- 
 ness of the farm was in any way suffering from 
 her absence. He had managed their affairs suc- 
 cessfully in the past ; he would continue to manage 
 them successfully in the future ; and he only hoped 
 that time would impress upon her ihe fact that he 
 was doing everything for the best. He assured 
 
 196 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 197 
 
 himself that he was actuated only by a desire for 
 the highest good for his family, even while their 
 disobedience and ingratitude rendered his task un- 
 necessarily difficult. 
 
 The hired man, in consideration of having no 
 field work to do, finally consented to milk the cows 
 and deliver the milk daily to Mrs. Riles, who would 
 convert it into butter — for a consideration of so 
 much per pound. To his good neighbours, the 
 Grant^s, Harris turned for assurance that should 
 he and Allan be delayed on their trip, or should 
 the harvest come earlier than expected, ample 
 steps would be taken to garner it. 
 
 So, with these arrangements complete, the far- 
 mer and his son drove into Plainville one fine 
 bright morning at the end of July, ready for their 
 first long trip into the New West. Indeed, it was 
 Allan's first long journey anywhere; an excursion 
 to Winnipeg at the time of the summer exhibition 
 had been the limit of his experience of travel, and 
 the hard work of' the farm had not yet extinguish- 
 ed the young man's desire for novelty and excite- 
 ment. He looked forward to their expedition 
 with a feeling akin to enthusiasm, and he secretly 
 cherished the hope that their travels might bring 
 them again into the company of his mother and 
 sister, for whom, with the slackening of labour, he 
 now felt an increasing loneliness. 
 
 Harris got off at the railway station to buy the 
 tickets; Allan went to the post office on the odd 
 chance of any letters awaiting delivery, and the 
 hired man turned the horses homeward. The 
 station agent was threading hi^ way through his 
 
198 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 car report, and remained pro vokingly unconscious 
 of Harris's presence at the ticket window. The 
 farmer took no pains to conceal his impatience, 
 coughing and shuffling obviously, but it was not 
 until the last box-car had been duly recorded that 
 the agent deigned to recognize his existence. 
 , "No thin' for you from ," he said, mention- 
 ing the mail order house from which Harris made 
 most of his purchases. 
 
 "Well, I didn't expect a,nythin'," retorted the 
 farmer, "although you're just as likely to have it 
 when I don 't as when I do. How much is a ticket 
 to Calgary?" 
 
 "You got the land fever, too?" the agent asked, 
 as he consulted his tariffs. "Riles went up the 
 other day. You'll be making a clean-up on the 
 cheap land, I suppose. But I tell you, Harris, if 
 I'd a farm like yours you couldn't pry me off it 
 with a pinch-bar. No more worries for little 
 "Willie, and I'd leave the free land to those that 
 haven't got any — like myself." 
 
 "Worry!" shorted Harris. "What do you 
 worry about? You get your pg,y, whether it 
 freezes or hails or shrivels up mth one of these 
 Dakota scorchers." 
 
 The agent thought of the pile of reports on his 
 table, but as he thumped the stamp on the tickets 
 he answered, "Oh, I worry over the Monroe doc- 
 trine." He left the farmer counting his change, 
 and turned to his reports. "Another money- 
 grubber gone crazy With the heat," he muttered. 
 "If I'd his wad wouldn't I burn this wire with one 
 hot, short sentence!" 
 
THE HOMESTEADEKS 199 
 
 Harris met his son on the platform. "What 
 d'ye think, Dad? A letter from Riles." He drew 
 the crumpled missive from its envelope. ''Looks 
 like a laundry ticket," he said, "but I figured it 
 out, and he wants you to sell the farm and buy a 
 coal mine." 
 
 Harris read the letter through, not without 
 some difficulty. At first he was inclined to laugh, 
 but the earnestness of' Riles impressed him 
 through the makeshift English. 
 
 "What d'ye think of it, Dad?" said the young- 
 er man at length. ' ' Of course we don 't know any- 
 thing abojut coal, but then " 
 
 "It must look good to Riles or he wouldn't want 
 to put any money in it," commented Harris, after 
 a few minutes' reflection. "Riles is pretty caut- 
 ious. He's got money in the bank drawin' three 
 per cent.; he's afraid to lend it out among the 
 farmers. And he ain't easy talked Into a scheme, 
 either." 
 
 "D'ye suppose we could sell the farm?" The 
 idea of a big, profitable speculation suddenly ap- 
 pealed to Allan with much greater force thah the 
 prospect of three years on a homestead. He knew 
 that vast sums of money had been made, and made 
 quickly, in the Far West, but he had never before 
 thought of himself or his father sharing in this 
 sudden wealth. They had vorked hard for their 
 money, and took it as a matter of course that they 
 should continue to work hard for it. But the 
 vision of quick riches, the prospect of realizing it 
 in his own person, the dizzy thought of Fortune, 
 which had seemed to move in a. circle quite apart 
 
200 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 from his existence, might actually now be within 
 a hand's reach — these intoxicated him with a sud- 
 den hope which burst the old bounds of his imagin- 
 ation and set up new and wilder ambitions. 
 
 "D'ye suppose we could sell the farm?" he re- 
 peated. It began to seem that the short-cut to 
 wealth hinged on the possibility of selling the 
 farm. 
 
 "I guess we could sell it, all right," said Harris. 
 "Maybe not for that much cash, but we can get 
 cash on the agreement, if we need it." He, too, 
 found the inborn gaming instinct which cries out 
 for money without labour welling within him and 
 surging up against his long-established, sober 
 judgment. But he was not a man to act pre- 
 cipitately, or risk all on a single throw unless he 
 were very, very sure of the result. 
 
 "Of course, maybe it's all right," he continued, 
 "But it's a good thing to buy your buggy before 
 you throw away your cart. If this thing's as 
 good as Eiles says, it will keep until we see it for 
 ourselves. It is don't, somethin' else '11 turn upl" 
 
 "Yes," said Allan, "but if we find it's aU right 
 when we get there, and we've only a few measly 
 hundred dollars along, we'll want to kick our- 
 selves all the way home. Lots of fellows are mak- 
 ing big money just because they had some capital 
 to work with, and why shouldn't we do it, too? 
 Couldn't you fix it some way to get the money 
 without coming back, if everything looks all right? 
 That'd save time, and expense too." 
 
 "There's something in that. There's time to 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 201 
 
 see Bradshaw yet before the train comes. "We'll 
 kind 0' leave it standin' in his hands." 
 
 They made a hurried call on Bradshaw, the law- 
 yer, and asked him to be on the look-out for a buy- 
 er for the farm. 
 
 "Mind, I'm not actu'lly puttin' it up for sale," 
 Harris cautioned him, "but I want you to keep 
 your, eyes open for a buyer. Forty thousand dol- 
 lars takes the whole thing as a goin' concern, an' 
 the more cash the better. Get a line on a buyer if 
 you can, and if I send you word to sell, see, you 
 sell, and if I don't send you word, don't do any- 
 thin'. You understand?" 
 
 "I think I understand you perfectly," said the 
 lawyer, who was also a dealer in real estate. In- 
 deed, since the activity in farm lands had com- 
 menced he might be said to be a real estate dealer 
 who was also a lawyer. "Not many buyers have 
 that much ready cash, Mr. Harris, but it could no 
 doubt be arranged to sell your agreement, or raise 
 a mortgage on the property, that would give you 
 the whole amount in your hand." Bradshaw, 
 along with his other pursuits, was agent for a 
 mortgage company, and always valued two com- 
 missions higher than one. 
 
 The lawyer wrote something on a sheet of 
 paper. "This is a power of attorney, which will 
 enable me to complete the documents without the 
 delay of sending them to you, if you should decide 
 to sell," he explained. Harris signed the paper, 
 arid Allan witnessed it. 
 
 With this understanding the journey westward 
 was undertaken, and completed without event of 
 
202 THE HOMESTEADBUS 
 
 importance. As his daughter had done a few 
 weeks before, and his wife still later, Harris spent 
 a few hours in the young city just beginning to stir 
 itself on the sleepy, sunny slopes where the prair- 
 ies ran into the foothills, stretching one last long 
 tongue far up the valley of ,the Bow and lapping 
 at the feet of the eternal snows. His original plan 
 had been to spend a day or two in Calgary, "sizing 
 up" the land situation for himself before joining 
 Eiles, but the possibilities of the coal mine specu- 
 lation had grown upon him with every mile of the 
 journey. He had only to use his ears to hear of so 
 many men, apparently no more capable men than 
 he and Allan, who had growii suddenly rich from 
 fortunate investments. It was a case of recog- 
 nizing the opportunity when it presented itself, 
 and having the nerve to seize it without hesitation. 
 He found himself now in a country and an atmos- 
 phere where "playing safe" was somewhat to a 
 man's discredit — ^where the successful man was 
 the man who dared to throw discretion to the 
 winds and take a chance. And because, money, 
 not earned in the country, was pouring in from 
 outside, and by its own buoyancy raising the price 
 of land and labour, the chance, even the foolish 
 chance, was likely to turn out to advantage and 
 justify the daring of the speculator rather than 
 the discretion of the careful buyer. Harris had, all 
 his life, lived in an atmosphere of conservatism, 
 where saving a penny was greater merit than mak- 
 ing two, but he was amazed to find how quickly the 
 gambling spirit of the new land seized upon him. 
 Unlike Piles, he was a man who responded to his 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 203 
 
 environment; in a commiuiity of hard-working, 
 money-saving farmers lie worked hardest and 
 saved most; but in a community of reckless, un- 
 licensed speculation he had the ' qualities which 
 would soon make of him the greatest gambler of 
 them all. ' He was astonished and somewhat 
 frightened by this hitherto unrevealed side of his 
 own character. His long-dormant imagination 
 began to revive; with imagination came hope and 
 optimism; and hope and optimism, unchecked, 
 soon breed recklessness. He saw the evidence 
 of prosperity on every side — not the pi'osperity 
 that hedges itself about with socialisms and affect- 
 ed dignity, but the prosperity that stays on the 
 job in its shirt slevees. He^ saw men who were 
 doing big things — ^building railways, opening up 
 wildernesses, farming or carrying on business 
 transactions on a scale of which he had never 
 dreamed — and he began to see that the only rea- 
 son these men could do these things was that they 
 dared to do them. Well, he too — ^he and Allan — 
 
 would dare some things He paid a dollar 
 
 for their lunch without a grumble, and ag£tin took 
 the train. i 
 
 Eiles met them on the station platform. He 
 had met every train for a week, as it had been 
 agreed that it would be better that the Harrises 
 should not visi't Gardiner's ranch until plans were 
 more fully developed. Jim was still there, and 
 Gardiner insisted that Jim should not' meet Harris 
 at present. He allowed Eiles to think; that he 
 feared trouble if former employer and employee 
 should meet ; as a matter of fact, he feared that if 
 
204 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 their coal mine proposition should reach the 
 ears of Travers the young man would attempt to 
 dissuade Harris from having anything to do with 
 it, or at least would urge a fuller investigation 
 than might be desirable. Besides, he meant to 
 make of Travers an unwitting party to the affair. 
 
 Eiles, in overalls and shirt-sleeves, leaned 
 against the iron rail' at the back of the station 
 platform, his big hands stuffed in the bulging 
 band of his trousers, and his under-jaw busy with 
 an ample ration of tobacco,* He watched the 
 passengers alighting from the train with little 
 interest; he had no particular expectations of 
 meeting Harris on this occasion, and, if the truth 
 be told, he had little desire to meet him. Eiles 
 had no pangs of conscience over his part in the 
 plot against his old neighbour, but he had an 
 uneasy feeling of cowardice. "When suddenly his 
 eye fell on Harris and his big, strapping son, his 
 first impulse was to slip away in the crowd before 
 they should notice him. But it was only for a 
 moment; the next, Harris was calling. "' 'Lo, 
 Hiram," and the two were shaking hands as old 
 friends met in a far country. 
 
 "Didja get my letter?" asked Eiles, ignoring 
 the commonplaces with which it was their cus- 
 tom to introduce any important topic. "Didja 
 sell the farm?" 
 
 "I got the letter, Hiram, but I didn't sell the 
 farm. Thought we'd just have a lx)ok over this 
 coal mine before goin' into the business alto- 
 gether. " ' 
 
 "H-s-h. Throttle your voice down. This place 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 205 
 
 is full of men on the look-out for somethin' like 
 that, an' you can't keep it too dark until it's all 
 settled." 
 
 "Well, ain't we going to put up somewhere?" 
 said Allan, breaking the silence that followed 
 Riles' warning. "There ought to he an Alberta 
 hotel here, somewhere; I saw one in every town 
 for the last two hundred miles. ' ' 
 
 "I got that beat," said Riles, with a snicker. 
 "Boardin' on a lord, or duke, or somethin'." 
 
 "Don't say?" 
 
 "Yeh. You mind Gard'ner? Him 'at lit out 
 from Plain ville after that stealin' affair?" 
 
 "The one you got credit for bein' mixed up in?" 
 said Allan, with disconcerting frankness. "A 
 lame kind of a lord he'd make. "What about him?" 
 "Well, he struck a soft thing out here, fo' 
 sure. This lord I'm tellin' you about 's gone off 
 home over some bloomin' estate or other, an' 
 Gard'ner 's runnin' his ranch— his 'bloody- well 
 rawnch' he calls it. Gets a good fat wad for ridin' 
 round, an' hires a man to do the work. But it 
 was Gard'ner put me on t' this coal mine deal." 
 
 "Let's get settled first, and we'll talk about 
 Gardiner and the mine afterwards, ' ' said Harris, 
 and they joined the throng that was now wending 
 its way to the hotels. 
 
 "How's your thirst, Hiram?" inquired Har- 
 ris, after he had registered. 
 
 "Pretty sticky,"' confessed Riles.' "But they 
 soak you a quai;ter to wash it out here." 
 
 "Well, I got a quarter." 
 
 "A quarter apiece, I mean." 
 
206 THE HOSlESTBADBES 
 
 "Well, I got a quarter apiece," said Harris. 
 "Come on." 
 
 Eiles followed, astonishment over Harris 's sud- 
 den liberality, and misgiving as to how he him- 
 self could avoid a similar expenditure, struggling 
 for uppermost place in Ms mind. 
 
 "Pretty strong stuff they have here," he said, 
 after Harris and Allan had "set 'er up" in turn. 
 "Keel you over if you don't watch it." 
 
 "Does taste kind o' snakey," said Harris. 
 "Guess that's enough for this time. Now come 
 upstairs and tell us all about this deal you have 
 on." 
 
 When the travellers had thrown off their coats 
 and vests, and all were seated in the little bed- 
 room, Kiles cleared his throat. 
 
 "Well, there ain't much t' tell yuh, mor'n I 
 said in m' letter," he started. "As I said, it's 
 Gard'ner you'U have t' thank for this thing, good 
 or bad. I ain't a coal miner, an' I told him that, 
 an' I told him you wasn't neither, but he says that 
 don't make no difference. He says there's all 
 kinds o' money in it, an' I reckon that's what we 
 came here for, ain't it?" 
 
 "Yes, provided the thing's sound," said Harris. 
 "Anyone can see with half an eye that there's 
 easier ways of makin' money than bustin' up this 
 prairie sod for it. But you and me've worked 
 hard for what we've got, Hiram, and we want t' 
 go mighty careful about spendin' it." 
 
 "I suppose you've sent home word to sell your 
 farm, have you?" put in Allan. "You'll be chip- 
 ping in at the same time ? ' ' 
 
THE HOMESTEADBES 207 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'll be cMppin' in. Of course. But 
 I didn't just say to sell the farm yet. I'll have t' 
 get back an' straighen things up some first. You 
 see, I thought you'd get my letter before you left, 
 an' you could kind o' make your deal then, an' 
 your payment would hold the bargain bound until 
 I could sell mine, y' see, Harris?" Eiles was be- 
 ginning to address himself mainly to the older 
 man. 
 
 "Don't take me up wrong," said Allan. "I'm 
 in on this along with Dad, if he's in; an' if he's 
 out, I'm out. But I was just kind o ' curious about 
 it." 
 
 "It's all right, it's all right," assured Riles, 
 with great magnanimity. Inwardly he was curs- 
 ing Gardiner for having left this task to him. He 
 was suspicious of a trap in the simplest question, 
 and feared that any minute he might find himself 
 floundering in a mesh of contradictions. 
 
 Where is this coal mine, and who's got it?" 
 said Harris. 
 
 "I ain't saw it myself," admitted Riles. 
 "They're awful p'tic'lar about lettin' people see 
 it," he continued, with a sudden flash ot inspira- 
 tion. "It's so valu'ble, y' know." 
 
 " 'Fraid somebody '11 bring it home in their 
 pocket, I suppose," said Allan. 
 
 Riles pretended to laugh heartily. 
 
 "But where is it?" insited Harris. "Is there 
 a railroad near, or how do you get to it?" 
 
 "It's up in the mountains, an' that's all I can 
 tell you; but it's all right, an' there's a pile o' 
 money in it. I guess I better bring Gard'ner down 
 
208 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 in the morning, an' he'll explain all about it. Y'see, 
 he knows the fellow *at owns it, an' I don't, an' 
 -h'U be able to tell you. That is, if you're goin' in 
 on it. Gard'ner won't say much unless he knows 
 you're goin' in on it." 
 
 "iV^ell, he'll have to say a good deal before he 
 knows," said Harris. "I ain't buyin' a pig in a 
 poke. He's got t' show me, and then if it's all, 
 right, why, it's all right." 
 
 "Oh, it's all right," said Eiles, although in- 
 wardly .he felt little enthusiasm over the attitude 
 of either father or ^on. He was annoyed that 
 Allan should be present. On the whole, it would 
 be better to leave the rest of the explaining to 
 Gardiner. 
 
 "What d'ye think of it. Dad?" said Allan, 
 when Riles was gone. 
 
 "Maybe all right," said Harris. "Wouldn't 
 be surprised but it is. At the same time, I ain't 
 going' to put a cent in it till I'm dead sure. And 
 anyway, there's no use lettin' RHqs think we're 
 keen on it." 
 
 "That's what I think. You think Gardiner's 
 all square in it?" 
 
 "I don't know. Likely he's' getting a fat com- 
 mission from somewhere, but that's fair enough, 
 if he makes the deal. But he won't see any o' 
 our money till I have the opinion of the best law- 
 yer in town. That's all we can say till we see it." 
 
 "That seems safe," Allan agreed. "Just the 
 same, I think there's lots more chances to use our 
 money to advantage here than down in Manitoba, 
 don't you?" 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 209 
 
 "Yes, I think there is. You see, this is a new 
 country, and everythin's on the jump. Think 
 how much we could 'a' made in Manitoba in the 
 early days if we had the money and knew where 
 t' put it. Well, out here they've got the benefit 
 of our experience, an' they'll do as much here in 
 five years as we did in twenty-five. We had t' 
 make the money t' develop our country — .had t' 
 make it right at home on our farms, an' that's 
 slow. But here money's roUin' in from outside." 
 
 "What d'ye say if we sell the old farm anyway, 
 an 'then if this mine business don't look good, 
 we'll plunk it into farm land?" 
 
 "Might do worse," his father agreed. "We'U 
 have a look round for a day or two, anyway. ' ' 
 
 The next morning they began a round of the 
 real estate offices. Great activity prevailed every- 
 where, and dealers seemed to have hardly time 
 to give them attention. In pne little box of a place 
 they mentioned that they might be on the market 
 for say a couple of thousand acres. 
 
 "Think I can fix you up all right," said the 
 proprietor; "and there's one sure thing, you can't 
 put your money anywhere where it's safer or '11 
 grow faster. Why " 
 
 At that moment a man in a pepper-and sail suit 
 went by the door. 
 
 " 'Scuse me a minute," said the dealer, rushing 
 to the door and sending a shrill whistle down the 
 street. The man in the pepper-and-salt turned, 
 and the dealer beckoned him into the little office. 
 
 "You know that five-thousand-acre block you 
 •bought last week," he said in a low voice, but 
 
210 THE HOMBSTBADEES 
 
 loud enoiigli to be heard by the Harrises. * 'Bought 
 it at six dollars, didn't you? Well, I can give you 
 seven to-day, for a quick sale." 
 
 "Couldn't thinl?: of it, my dear fellow," protest- 
 ed the lucky buyer. "I simply couldn't think of 
 it." 
 
 ' ' Couldn't think of making five thousand dollars 
 in a week? It don't look too bad to a working 
 man like me." 
 
 "But it's nowhere near the value of the land. 
 Why, they're selling stuff in Illinois to-day that 
 ain't to be compared with it at a hundred and 
 fifty dollars an acre. It's only a question of time 
 imtil this is as much. You've got better land here, 
 and better climate, and you're a thousand miles 
 nearer the Pacific Ocean, that 's going to carry the 
 commerce of the future. Seven dollars ? It 's an 
 insult to Canada to mention such a price. ' ' 
 
 "Well, say," continued the real estate man, in 
 a still more confidential tone, "I was allowing my- 
 self a little margin on the deal, even at seven dol- 
 lars. But I had a man in here a few minutes ago 
 that '11 buy that block at eight-fifty. I '11 pay you 
 eight dollars net to put it through." 
 
 "Sorry, but he'll have to dig down deeper than 
 that if he wants it. Tell him I might consider ten 
 dollars, but mind, I ain't making any promise." 
 And the man in the pepper-and-salt suit continu- 
 ed his course down the street, just the same as if 
 he were not making five thousand dollars a week. 
 "Big capitalist from New York, that fellow," 
 explained the dealer. ' ' Simply coining money up 
 here, and always salting it into more land." 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 211 
 
 The incident left a deep impression on the Har- 
 rises. They did not know, of course, that the man 
 in the pepper-and-salt suit always went by the 
 door when likely-looking strangers were in, and 
 that he always refused a profit of ten thousand 
 dollars as a matter of little consequence — except 
 for its influence on the unsuspecting party of the 
 third part. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE LTJEE OF EASY MONEY 
 
 IN the afternoon Gardiner and Riles drove into 
 town and met the Harrises in the waiting- 
 room of the hotel. Gardiner's greting was 
 friendly, but not over-familiar, as became a man 
 who had recently suffered some reflection on his 
 character. He shook Harris and Allan by the 
 hand, inquired after the cattle and the crops, but 
 discreetly avoided family matters, having learned 
 from Riles that all had not been going smoothly 
 in their domestic affairs. Gardiner knew a little 
 room at the back of the bar, to which he escorted 
 his guests. Having ordered a bottle and glasses 
 on the table, he turned the key in the door 
 
 "You can't be too careful," he explained. "You 
 know, the walls have ears, arid if it gets out that 
 this coal mine can be picked up at the price we 
 have on it, it will be taken before night. I under- 
 stand your money is not here yet, Mr. Harris?" 
 
 "No. Not started, I guess. The fact is, I 
 haven't sold the farm." 
 
 "Well, I don't want to hurry you, but we've 
 got to act quickly, or not at all. Of course, we 
 don't figure on taking any chances. Our idea is 
 
 212 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 213 
 
 to turn the property over at once, at a good profit. 
 That's the way you feel about it too, isn't it?" 
 ^ "I'm not a coal miner." 
 
 "Exactly. Neither are the men who own most 
 of the mines of this country. There comes a 
 time, Mr. Harris, when we. realize that we don't 
 have to get down with pick and shovel to make 
 ourselves some money — in fact, the man with 
 pick and shovel hasn't time to make any real 
 money. I am glad you feel like I do about it, for 
 I have already taken the li,berty of putting the 
 proposition up to a New York syndicate." 
 
 "You mean if we don't come through, they 
 will?" 
 
 "No, I mean that we'll come through — and 
 they'll come after us. My idea is not to take any 
 chances, but to sell the property, or as good as 
 sell it, before we buy it. So I sent a Government 
 report on it to this syndicate, as I heard they were 
 looking out for coal lands in the West, and I just 
 took the liberty of offering it to them for a cool 
 quarter of a million, and gave them until to-night 
 to accept or refuse, by wire. I'm a little anxious 
 for an answer, although if they don't take it 
 others will. You see, the old fellow that owns it 
 simply hasn't any idea what it's worth. He has 
 lived in the hills until he looks like one of 'em, 
 and a satchelful of money in real bills will simply 
 dazzle him. A cheque wouldn't serve the pur- 
 pose; he'd be suspicious of it, and he'd come 
 down to investigate, and someone would be sure 
 to crimp our deal." 
 
 "But what is your i)lan for the deal, Mr. 
 
214 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 Gardiner?" asked Harris. "We can't go into the 
 mountains with a load of bills and buy a mine 
 like a man might buy a steer. There'll have to 
 be papers, titles, and such things, I suppose, to 
 make it right with us and with the Grovernment. " 
 
 "Of course," Gardiner agreed. "We will take 
 the mopey with us, but we won't give it to him 
 until we get the' papers. We'll just let him see 
 it — nibble it a little, if you like — and then we'll 
 lead him into town with it, like you lead a horse 
 with oats. / The sight of so much money will keep 
 him coming our way when nothing else would. 
 And we'll slip him a hundred or two, and get a 
 little receipt for it, just to prevent him changing 
 his raind if he should be so disposed." 
 
 "And suppose I don't like the look of the mine 
 when: I see it?" 
 
 "^hen you bring your money back down with 
 you and put it into farm lands, or anything else 
 that takes your fancy. After you look it over, if 
 you don't want to go in on it, Mr. Harris, per- 
 haps Eiles and I can raise enough ourselves to 
 swing the deal, but you see we thought of you 
 from the first, and we will stay with our original 
 plan untU you have a chance to decide one way or 
 another." 
 
 "Well, that sounds fair," said Allan, and his 
 father nodded. "But we haven't sold the farm, 
 and until we do I guess there isn't much money in 
 sight." 
 
 "Bradshaw'U sell the farm quick ehough if I 
 send him word," his father assured him. "He 
 may not get; it all in money, but he'll get a good 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 215. 
 
 part of it, and he has ways o' raisin' the balance 
 so long's the security is good. I've half a mind 
 t' wire him t' close 'er out." 
 
 At this moment there came a knock on the door, 
 and a boy presented a telegram for Gardiner. He 
 opened it, read it, and emitted a whoop like a 
 wild Indian. "They're coming through," he 
 shouted, "coming through! How does half of 
 two hundred and fifty thousand dollars look to 
 you, Mr. Harris?"' 
 
 Harris reached out eagerly for the telegram, 
 while Allan, hi& arm thrown over his father's 
 shoulder, read it in boyish excitement : 
 
 'flf investigation confirms G-overnment 
 reports we will pay two hundred fifty thous- 
 and. Our representative leaves at once for 
 personal interview. ' ' 
 
 The iiame at the end of the telegram was un- 
 known to either Harris or his son, but Gardiner 
 assiired them it was one to conjure with in the 
 financial world. Eiles' excitement was scarcely 
 less than Allan's. Gardiner Choked a flood of 
 questions on his lips with a quick imperative 
 glance. Even Eiles did not know that the tele- 
 gram had been written a few doors down the 
 street by a stoutish man in a pepper-and-salt suit. 
 
 "I'll take a chance," said Hkrris, at last. "I'll 
 take a chance." 
 
 "Chance nothing!" interjected Ga,r diner, with 
 momentary abriiptness. "It was a chapoe a min- 
 
216 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 ute ago; it's a certainty now. It's the cinch of a 
 lifetime. " 
 
 "Where's some paper?" asked Allan. "Let's 
 get a telegram away right off. ' ' 
 
 Gardiner produced a notebook and, at Harris's 
 dictation, drafter a telegram to Bradshaw (di- 
 recting him to dispose of the farm at once along 
 the lines of the instructions already given him. 
 He was to cash the agreement and wire the pro- 
 ceeds to Harris. 
 
 Then followed long anxious days. Fortune 
 seemed to hang on Bradshaw 's success in making 
 an immediate sale of the farm. It was a large 
 order, and yet Harris felt confident a buyer 
 would be found. The price asked was not un- 
 reasonable, especially when it was remembered 
 that the crop would go to the purchaser, and was 
 now almost ready for the binder. Bradshaw was 
 in constant touch with well-to-do farmers from the 
 South who were on the look-out for land, and his 
 own banking facilities would enable him to for- 
 ward the cash as soon as a sale was assured, with- 
 out waiting for actual payment by the purchaser. 
 So Harris was confident in the midst of -his 
 anxiety. 
 
 A gentleman's agreement had been made with 
 Gardiner and Riles that not a word was to be said 
 concerning their investment until it was a com- 
 pleted fact. Gardiner dropped in occasionally to 
 learn if any word had come from Plainville, but 
 it was not until the afternoon of the fourth day 
 that the fateful yellow envelope was handed in at 
 the hotel. As it happened, Gardiner and Eiles 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 217 
 
 were present at the moment. They slipped into 
 the hack room and wpted in a fever of expecta- 
 tion for Harris to announce the contents. 
 
 Harris and Allan read the message twice be- 
 fore speaking; then Allan repeated it aloud: 
 
 "Twenty thousand dollars proceeds sale 
 goes forward by wire your bank. Corres- 
 pondence follows. Will explain failure to 
 get price asked. 
 
 "Beadshaw." 
 
 Harris was torn between emotions, and his face 
 worked with unwonted nervousness as he strug- 
 gled with them. That Bradshaw should have sold 
 the farm for half the price he had stipulated 
 seemed incredible. It was robbery; it was a 
 breach of trust of the most despicable nature. On 
 the other hand, if the amount available would en- 
 able them to buy the mine, the huge profit as- 
 sured from that investment would much more 
 than offset the loss on the farm. Gardiner 
 and Eiles, toO; were visibly downcast when they 
 heard the amount, but Gardiner promptly grap- 
 pled with the situation. 
 
 "It's less than we figured on," he said, "but 
 perhaps we can get through still. The thing to 
 do is to get out to the mine at once with this 
 money. It will be sufficient to prove the genu- 
 ineness of our intentions, and induce him into 
 town. Then Eiles can put up some and I can put 
 up some, and that, with the twenty thousand, 
 should hold the deal until Eiles can realize on his 
 
218 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 farm. "Within a very short time we can turn the 
 whole thing over to the New Yorkers, and take 
 in the profits. ' ' 
 
 "Say, Gardiner," said Allan, speaking as one 
 who had been struck by a new and important 
 thought. "Where do you come in on this deal? 
 Is your old gink up in the hills coming through 
 for half?" 
 
 "Not a cent," said Gardiner. "As for where 
 I come in, well, dealing with old friends lijie Eiles 
 and Ihe Harrises, I considered that a secondary 
 matter. I fancy that when they feel the profits 
 in their pockets they will be disposed to be not 
 only fair, but generous, and, of course, if I put 
 up part of the money I will expect my share of 
 profit. But I'm not asking for any assurance; 
 I'm just going to leave that to you." 
 
 "Well, that's decent, anyway," Harris agreed. 
 "I haven't as much money as I expected, but if 
 we can pull it through it may be all right yet. Of 
 course, you remember that I haven't promised to 
 put up a dollar unless I like the looks of the mine 
 when I see it?" Harris still had qualms of hesi- 
 tation about entering into a transaction so much 
 out of his beaten path, and he took occasion from 
 time to time to make sure that an avenue of re- 
 treat was still open. 
 
 "That's the understanding, exactly," Gardiner 
 assured him. "You're the man with the money, 
 and if you don't like it, don't pay," 
 
 •Harris at once visited ,the bank, and returned, 
 shortly with the information that the amount, less 
 a somewhat startling percentage for transmission 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 219 
 
 and exchange, was already deposited to his 
 credit. 
 
 "Then let us lose no more time," said Gardiner, 
 with enthusiasm. "You will need a team and rig, 
 and you better pack a couple of blankets and 
 some grub. Make the stableman throw in a 
 couple of saddles ; you may have to ride the last 
 part of the trip. Eiles and I will make it the 
 whole way on horseback." Gardiner then re- 
 membered that it would be necessary for him to 
 go back to the ranch and change horses, but he 
 described in detail the road they should take, 
 and assured them they could not miss it. It was 
 the main road up the river valley— up, and up — 
 and if they drove hard they would reach that 
 night a spot where an old, deserted cabin stood 
 back in a clump of poplars. It would be a good 
 place to spend the night, and Eiles and Gardiner 
 would meet them there, if, indeed, they did not 
 overtake them on the road. Neither Harris nor 
 Allan had any fear of a strange trail; they had 
 been bred to a sense of direction and location all 
 their lives, and were confident they would find no 
 difficulty in reaching the rendezvous. 
 
 "Better make your own arrangements about 
 the horses," Gardiner whispered as they left the 
 room. "We can't be too, careful to keep our busi- 
 ness secret." 
 
 As they stood for a moment in the waiting- 
 room it occurred to Allan that some shooting 
 might be found in the mountains. "You haven't 
 got a gun you could lend me, I suppose?" he said 
 to Gardiner. 
 
220 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 . "Wliat do you want a gun for?" Gardiner de- 
 manded brusquely. , 
 
 "Might get a shot at a partridge, or something. 
 No harm in having one along, is there?" 
 
 "Oh, no, but I doii't expect you'll see anything 
 to justify the trouble. Anyway, I haven't got 
 one. ' ' 
 
 "There's a shot-gun here," said the hotel clerk, 
 who had overheard the last remarks, "if that 
 would suit you. A ChoUy who was taking a short 
 course in poker put it up a few days ago as a 
 stand-off on his eat score. There's ten bones 
 against it; if it's worth that to you, take it." 
 
 He handed the gun over the counter, and Allan 
 examined it with interest. He recognized an Eng* 
 lish weapop of a value out of all proportion to the 
 price asked. 
 
 "I'll take it," he said, and paid down the 
 money. There was a momentary darkening of 
 Gardiner's face which nobody noticed. 
 
 The little party then moved out to the street. 
 Gardiner had regained his smooth manner, and 
 gave some final directions about the road. • 
 
 "Oh, we'll find it all right," said Allan, in high 
 spirits, "and we'll beat you to the shanty unless- 
 you've some faster nags at home than any I see 
 you driving. So long.' ' 
 
 "So long," called Gardiner. "So long, and 
 •good luck." 
 
 "So long, an' good luck," repeated Eiles. He 
 was trying to play the game, but, as Gardiner 
 often reminded him, he had no imagination. It 
 would have been quite impossible for Eiles, on his 
 
THE HOMBSTBADBES 221 
 
 own initiative, to have thought of wishing the 
 Harrises "good luck" on the journey they were 
 about to commence .... They were interesting 
 types of villains^-one, gentlemanly, suave, deep, 
 and resourceful; the other, coarse, shallow, slow- 
 witted, and brutal. The offence of one against 
 society was wholly intellectual; of the other, al- 
 most wholly physical. Gardiner fully appreciat- 
 ed the difference, and in his heart he felt a con- 
 tempt and loathing toward Riles whibh he con- 
 cealed only as a matter of policy. And he had 
 worked out in his mind a little plan by which 
 Riles, when his usefulness was ended, should be 
 shuffled off without any share in the booty. 
 At present he tolerated him because of necessity. 
 There was work before them for which Riles was 
 peculiarly qualified. 
 
 The Harrises went at once to a livery stable, 
 where they arranged for a team and outfit. They 
 then bought some cartridges for the gun, and a 
 small handbag in which to carry the money. 
 
 When Harris presented himself at the bank 
 ■wicket and asked for the full amount to his credit 
 in cash, the sallow-faced teller turned a trifler 
 paler, still and slipped intp, the manager's office. 
 A moment later the maiiager himself appeared 
 Tjefore them. 
 
 "That's a pretty heavy order on a country 
 "bank, Mr. Harris. Of course we could give it to 
 you in exchange, but to pay twenty thousand dol- 
 lars or ,thereabouts in bills will drain us to almost 
 our last dollar. Can't you use a marked cheque, 
 ^r a d/#f t on a Galgary bank ? " ' 
 
222 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Well, no," Harris said; "I'm afraid we 
 can't." 
 
 "A marked cheque is as good as bills," the 
 banker argued, "and much easier to carry, not 
 to speak of being safer," he added, as an after- 
 thought. "Travelling with that amount of money 
 on you is a sort of defiance of natural law, es- 
 pecially with the country full of strangei's, as it 
 is at present." The banker looked from the 
 powerful frame of the farmer to the equally 
 powerful frame of the farnjier's son, and his eye 
 fell on the gun which the latter carried imder his 
 arm. "But, I guess," he continued with a laugh, 
 "there isn't much danger on that score." 
 
 "Nothin' t' speak of," said Harris. "And 
 while I don't want t' break your bank, I do want 
 t' get that money, and t' get it in bills, or part of 
 it in gold an' silver would do. The fact is, I 
 don't mind tellin' you I've a deal on, an' I've 
 undertaken t' put up this money in cash — to- 
 night. " ' I 
 
 The banker ruminated for a few minutes. Ex- 
 perience had told him that with a certain class of 
 men money in bills was more valuable than money 
 in a cheque or draft. The very bulk of the cur- 
 rency seemed to impress them. He had seen an 
 old-timer refuse a twelve-hundred-dollar marked 
 cheque for his property, and yet surrender greed- 
 ly at the sight of a , thousand -one-dollar bills 
 piled on a table before him. This was .a trait of 
 human nature found in many persons unaccust- 
 omed to the handling of considerable sums of 
 money, and sharp traders considered it good 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 223 
 
 business to take advantage of it. The banker 
 thought he understood whj'^ Harris wanted all the 
 money in bills, although the sum was larger than 
 he had ever seen handled in that way before. 
 
 A young man emerged from somewhere and 
 locked the front door of the bank. 
 
 "It's closing time now," said the teller, ad- 
 dressing the manager. "We have enough cash 
 on hand to pay this gentleman, and we can wire 
 for more bills, which will reach us in time for to- 
 morrow's business." 
 
 "Pay it, then," said the manager. "Mr. 
 Harris has a right to his money in that form if 
 he wants it. But," he added, turning to Harris, 
 "I'd advise you to keep both eyes on it until 
 your transaction is completed." 
 
 The counting of the money was a bigger task 
 than either Harris or Allan had thought, but at 
 last it was completed, and they were ready for 
 the road. The banker looked after their buggy 
 as it faded out of sight up the rivefr road. 
 
 "Hang me if I like that!" he said to himself. 
 
 The long drive up the valley in the warm 
 August afternoon was an experience for the soul 
 of painter or poet. Even John and Allan Harris, 
 schooled as they were in the religion of material 
 things, felt something within them responding to 
 the air, and the sunlight, and the dark green banks 
 of trees, and the sound of rushing water, and the 
 purple-blue mountains heaving and receding be- 
 fore them. The sweat trickled in narrow tongues 
 down" the backs of their horses, reminding them 
 
224 THE HOMESTEADEES 
 
 that the ascent was much steeper than it -appear- 
 ed. As they topped each new ridge they looked 
 expectantly forward to a greater revelation of the 
 moimtaihs, but this was co,nstantly denied by 
 ever-recurring successions of ridges still ahead. 
 The long, smooth, swell of the plain gradually 
 gave way to the more abrupt formations of the 
 foothills, and here and tliere in their rounded 
 domes protruded great waTts of green-grey rock 
 where the winds of ages had whipped the sand 
 down into the valleys. Little clusters of green 
 poplars, like vast goatees,, nestled on the north- 
 ern chin of the hills across the valley, where the 
 Chinook had failed to spread its balmy winter- 
 blight among them ; here and there were glimpses 
 of thousands of cattle feeding on the brown 
 ranges. The sun, like a bubble of molten gold 
 blown from the bowl of heaven, hung very close 
 in a steel-bright, cloudless sky. Lower it fell, 
 and lower, until a fang of rock two ipiles high 
 pierced its underedge, and sent a flood of fire 
 pouring in a thin, bright border along the crest 
 of the Rockies. The travellers stopped their 
 horses on a ridge to watch the marvellous trans- 
 formation; light before them, light behind them, 
 at their feet the shadows creeping up the moun- 
 tain sides, aiid the valley beneath transformed 
 as by some fairy wand into a sea of amber. 
 
 Allan breathed deeply of the high, clear air, 
 and in his eye was something which revealed that 
 the light without had some way struck to new 
 life the slumbering light within. He had no 
 words of expression — no means of conveying his 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 22-5 
 
 emotion; but lie thought of his mother and 
 Beulah — ^Beulah, who had so often protested 
 against the subtitution of existence for life. ' He 
 had never had much patience with her queer 
 notions, but now, in this moment when he knew 
 that in some strange way -he had invaded the 
 borderland of the Infinite, Beulah stood up be- 
 fore his eyes — Beulah, his sister, resolute, defiant, 
 reaching out, demanding life, life ! He turned to 
 his father, but was silenced by the sight of a line 
 of moisture crawling slowly down the weather- 
 beaten cheek. John Harris was driving again the 
 pioneer trail from Emerson; at his side was 
 Mary, young, beautiful, , and trusting, and before 
 them lay life. . . . And they had not found that 
 life .... He made a dry sound in his .throat, and 
 the horses moved on. ' 
 
 Darkness settled about them. One or two stars 
 came out. The poplars took on the colour of the 
 spruce; the river fretted, more noisily in its rocky 
 channel. A thin ribbon of cloud lay across the 
 mountains, and a breeze of wonderful mellowness 
 ^came down through the passes. 
 
 At length, just as they were thinking of pitch- 
 ing camp for the night, Allan espied a deserted 
 cabin in a cluster of trees by the side of the road. 
 They turned into the wood and unhitched, the 
 horses. , 
 
 The building was some old, prospector's shack, 
 long unoccupied save for occasional hunter or 
 rancher, and the multitude of gophers that had 
 burrowed under its rotting sills. The glass was 
 gone from a single window looking out upon the 
 
226 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 road; the door had fallen from its -hinges; the 
 floor had been broken down in spots by the hoofs 
 of wandering cattle. A match revealed a lantern 
 hanging on the wall, and a few cooking utensils, 
 safe from all marauders under the unwritten law 
 of the new land. 
 
 The two men first made their horses comfort- 
 able, and then cooked some supper on a little fire 
 at the door of the shack. Harris was tired, so 
 they cleared a space in the corner farthest from 
 the door, arid spread their blankets there. Harris 
 lay down to rest, the precious bag of money by 
 his side. 
 
 "You might as well drop off for a nap," Allan 
 suggested. "They must have been delayed, and 
 may not make it to-night at all; We're here for 
 the night, and you may as well rest if you can. I 
 won't turn in myself until you waken." 
 
 "I believe I'll do as you say," his father 
 agreed. "Keep a keen ear an' don't leaV^e the 
 building without wakin' me." 
 
 Allan looked out at different times for Gardiner 
 and Riles, but there seemed no sound in all the 
 world save the rushing of water. A cold draught 
 
 crept along the floor He fancied his father 
 
 had fallen into a nap. . . ; The night chill deep- 
 ened, and at length Allan hung a blanket as best 
 he could across the open door. His gun gave him 
 a sense of companionship, and he took it in his 
 hands and sat down beside his father .... It was 
 very lean and graceful in his fingers. 
 
 While the banker worked in his garden in the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 227 
 
 long August evening the thought of the two men 
 with a bag full of money kept recurring and re- 
 curring in his mind, and smothering the natural 
 pride he felt in his abounding cabbages. True, it 
 was no business of his, but still he could not feel 
 entirely at ease. As he bent over his, hoe he 
 heard hoofs clatter in the street, and, looking up, 
 saw the erect" form of Sergeant Grey on his well- 
 groomed Government horse. At a signal from' 
 the banker the policeman drew up beside, the 
 fence. 
 
 They talked in low voices for ten minutes. "It 
 may be a wild-goose chase," said the sergeant at 
 last, "but it's worth a try." Half an hour later 
 his horse was swinging in his long, steady stride 
 up the road by the .winding river. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE HONOUE OF THIEVES 
 
 GARDINER and Riles rode only a short 
 distance out of town, then turned their 
 horses into the deep bush, and waited. 
 The afternoon wore on heavily, and the goad of 
 suspense hounded them sorely, but there was 
 nothing to do but wait. It would be a fool's trip, 
 as Gardiner said, to go hunting unless they were 
 assured of game. 
 
 But at last the Harrises' team and buggy 
 rattled by. When it had (secured a good lead the 
 two horsemen emerged from their covering and 
 took a cross road to Gardiner's ranch. 
 
 "We better eat," said Gardiner, and busied 
 hiihself with starting a fire. "Of course, the 
 cook's out. Fishing, I guess," he continued, as 
 he noticed that Travers' fishing rod was gone 
 from the wall. "Perhaps it's just as well. He 
 might be asking questions." 
 
 Riles ate his meal in haste and silence. He 
 was taciturn, moody, and excitable, and made no 
 response to Gardiner's attempts to open conver- 
 sation upon trivial subjects. 
 
 "Upon my soul," said Gardiner at last, "you 
 ddn't seem any more than enthusiastic. One 
 
 228 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 229 
 
 'would think you were gqing to a funeral, instead 
 ;of a — a division of prifits," 
 p "Perhaps I am," said Riles sourly. "We'll 
 know better when we get back. ' ' 
 
 "Well, if you feel that way about it, you better 
 stay at home," said Gardiner, with pointed 
 candidness. "If ten thousand dollars is no good 
 to you perhaps I can use your share in jny own 
 business." 
 
 "That wouldn't let me out," protested Riles. 
 "You've got me mixed up in it now,, and if things 
 go wrong I'm in for it, hut, if things go right 
 yoTl'te willin' t' take all the money." 
 
 "Things won't go wrong," Gardiner assured 
 him. "They can't. Everything is, planned to a 
 fraction, but if we see there's going to be a hitch 
 •^why, the owner of the mine '11 fail to turn up, 
 and we'll all come back to town, and no one a bit 
 the wiser." 
 
 Gardiner arose and took a bottle from a cup- 
 board. He poured a big glass and set it before 
 Riles. "Drink that, and the world will look more 
 to your liking, ' ' he said. 
 
 Riles responded to the liquor, and presently the 
 two were in 'animated discussion of their plans. 
 Riles was eager to know the details, of which he 
 had been kept in complete ignorance, but Gar- 
 diner would disclose nothing until they were on 
 the road. ' ' Jim may come in any minute, ' ' he ex- 
 plained, "and Jim might hear enough to make 
 him curious. And it's just a little too soon to 
 excite his curiosity. 
 
 "That reminds me," Gardiner continued. 
 
230 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Jim has a very neat little revolver Jiere some- 
 where. I think I'll borrow it. "We might see 
 some game, as Allan says." 
 
 A search disclosed revolver and cartridges in 
 Travers trunk. Gardiner loaded the weapon 
 and put it in his pocket. 
 
 "What about me?" demanded Riles. "Ain't 
 I t' have no gun?" 
 
 "Better without it," said Gardiner. "It might 
 go off. If we really see any game, and there's a 
 chance of a second shot, I'll lend you this one." 
 
 The sun was dipping almost to the mountains 
 when they set out on a cross-trail through the 
 valley. Down by the river, well screened with cot- 
 ton-woods, Travers fished in a pool close by the 
 ford. He heard voices, and, looking up quickly, 
 saw Riles and Gardiner riding slowly down the 
 road. At first he thought Gardiner had seen him, 
 but in a moment he revised that opinion. The 
 two rode close by, and stopped their horses to 
 drink with their forefeet in the river. Jim was 
 going to call to them when he heard his own name 
 mentioned. He was no eavesdropper, but he obey- 
 ed the impulse to listen and keep out of sight. 
 
 "Travers doesn't suspect a thing," Gardiner 
 was saying. "It's just as well. He figures on 
 making old Harris his father-in-law some day, 
 and he might do something foolish if he caiight 
 on. If the old man loses all his money he won't 
 be so desirable from a son-in-law's point of view. 
 . . . Well, we '11 see how he stands the night in the 
 old shanty up the river road- Strange things 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 231 
 
 f 
 
 have happened there before now, let me telLyou, 
 Riles." 
 
 If Jim had been prompted by curiosity at first 
 a very differe'nt emotion laid hold of him as he 
 caught the gist of Gardiner's remarks. He had 
 not delusions about the principles of either Gar- 
 diner or Eiles. His relations with his present em- 
 ployer had been pleasant but by no means con- 
 fidential, as he had never sought nor valued Gar- 
 diner's friendship. He was convinced that Gar- 
 diner was kind in a general way to those Avith 
 whom he came in contact, because kindness cost 
 nothing and might upon occasion be exceedingly 
 profitable. Eiles, on the other hand, was coarse 
 and unkind simply because his nature rose to nq 
 higher plane. Gardiner was clever enough to con- 
 ceive almost any depth of villainy, and Eiles was 
 brutal enough to carry out the muscular part of 
 the plot. Travers had not known Harris to be in 
 the district, but he had suspected for some days 
 that Gardiner and Eiles were hatching mischief 
 in their long absences together. The information 
 that Harris was going up the river to-night, ap- 
 parently with a large sum of money, and the fact 
 that these two men also were going up the river, 
 gave to Travers' nimble mind framework on 
 which to hang almost any kind of plot. 
 
 He leaned forward in the treefe, but at that 
 moment Eiles clutched Gardiner's arm and said 
 something in a low voice. The two men rode 
 through the river, and their words were drowned 
 in the lisp of the water. 
 
 The smile did not le^ve Travers' lips as he 
 
232 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 wound up his reel and stole swiftly along a cattle- 
 track, lip from the river, but a sudden light 
 gleamed in his eyes and his muscles hardened 
 with excited tension. He knew the shanty to 
 which Gardiner referre^, as they had once been 
 there together, and he resolved that if there were 
 going to be any "doings" in that locality to- 
 night he would furnish a share of the excitement. 
 Unfortunately, the ford was on a cross-road little 
 used, and it was two miles back to the ranch. Had 
 he been raised on the ranges he would not have 
 been caught so far from his horse, but a Mani- 
 toban sometimes uses his legs to walk with, while 
 his brother in Alberta finds them useful only for 
 wearing schaps and straddling a saddle. By tb'^ 
 time Travers reached the ranch buildings, caught 
 and saddled his horse, made a fruitless search for 
 his revolver, substituted a rifle which lay at hand, 
 and at length found himself upon the trail, dark- 
 ness was setting in, and Gardiner and Eiles had 
 many miles' start of him. 
 
 When the two plotters stopped to let their 
 horses drink at the ford Gardiner suddenly 
 broke off from their conversation to make a few 
 remarks about Travers and Harris. ' Eiles had 
 listened indifferently ilntil his eye caught sight of 
 Travers, half concealed among the cotton-woods 
 that fringed the stream. He clutched Gar- 
 diner 's arm. 
 
 "S-s-h," he cautioned. "Jim's just behind the 
 bank, I'm sure I saw him, an' he heard you, 
 too." 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 233 
 
 "Good," said Gardiner, quite undisturbed. 
 "Now we can go on." They reined up their 
 horses and plunged into the swiftly- running 
 water. "You see," said Gardiner, as the horses 
 took the opposite bank with great strides, their 
 wet hoofs slipping on the round boulders that 
 fringed the stream, — "You see, I knew Jim, was 
 there all the time. Those remarks were intended 
 for his benefit. ' ' 
 
 Kiles parted with a great chew of tobacco. 
 "You beat me," he said, wiping his lips with 
 the back of his hand. "You plumb beat me." 
 
 Gardiner enjoyed the note of admiration in 
 his companion's voice. He enjoyed also the 
 knowledge that Riles was utterly at sea; that he 
 had no more idea than the horse he rode what lay 
 before them that night. 
 
 "It's all quite simple," said Gardiner, after 
 a pause. "Jim will hurry back to the ranch, sad- 
 dle his horse, and foUow us. By the way, I 
 didn't tell him I borrowed his revolver. That 
 inay delay him some. But he should arrive at the 
 shack in time to be taking a few stealthy observa- 
 tions just about the moment the Harrises are 
 himting for their money bag. I hope Allan 
 doesn't use that shot-gun on him. A shot-gun 
 makes an awful hole in a man, Eiles." 
 
 Riles experienced an uncanny feeling up his 
 spine. 
 
 "Well," continued Gardiner, "I promised to 
 lay the whole plan before you, when we were safe 
 on the road with no possibility of any strange 
 gars cocked for what a man might happen to say. 
 
234 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 . . . Look at that sunset, Eiles; isn't that mag- 
 nificent ! ' ' 
 
 "Good enough, I suppose," said Eiles, "but I 
 hope we didn't come out here to see the sunset. 
 How about this plan of yours?" 
 
 "Eiles," admonished Gardiner, "you've no 
 more soul than a toadstool. You haven't any 
 imagination. I wonder you have faith enough to 
 wind your watch. Now if you could paiat a 
 picture like that it would make you more money 
 than you ever saw — including what you're going 
 to see to-night. 
 
 "But to get down to the scheme. It's aU easy 
 sailing now. The big thing was to get them^on 
 the road with the coin. That's what I needed you 
 for, Eiles. And you didn't do too bad. I had to 
 prod you along a bit, but you'll thank me for it 
 when it's all over." 
 
 "Yes, but it's them that's got it, not us," com- 
 mented Eiles. 
 
 "Sure, but it'll be different in the mornin'. 
 Eiles, you are a gloomy devil. Here you have 
 ten thousand dollars right in your mit and 
 you're as happy as a man Avith a boil. Now this 
 is.how it will work out, to a T. The two Harrises 
 mil get up to the shanty about dark. They'll 
 pitch camp there and begin to wonder when we'll 
 be along. Well, we won't be along until it's good 
 and dark, even if we have to kill time on the road., 
 If Travers catches up on us we'll just let him 
 make one of the party, which will be sorf of em- 
 barrasing f or Jim. But he won't catch up. Well, 
 when it's good and dark — there'll be no moon till 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 235 
 
 after midnight— and they're both sleepy with 
 their long drive in the high altitude, we will arrive 
 near by. • You will go up to the door and take a 
 look on the quiet. I will go up to the window and. 
 do the same. There's no glass in the window, and 
 there's no door on either, as I remember. We'll 
 size up things inside, particularly the location of 
 the coin. Then you show yourself. Tell 'em I 
 have the owner of the mine out there in the trees, 
 but the old feUow won't come in imtil he has a 
 talk with them. TeU 'em they better not show 
 the money until they chat with him a few minutes. 
 Likely they'll fall for that, as they don't seem to 
 have the slightest suspicion. But if they balk at 
 leaving the money let them bring it along. Once 
 out in the dark the rest will be easy. But I figure 
 they'll leave the nioney in the shack — it's just for 
 a few minutes, you know — and they'll reason that 
 it's safe enough with no one but ourselves with- 
 in miles. "Well, you lead them off down through 
 the bush. As soon as you do that I'll slip in 
 through the window, gather up the long green 
 and cache it somewhere in the scrub. You won't 
 be able to find me at first, but when you do I'll 
 say that the old fellow wanted to go up to the 
 shack himself to meet them, and I let him go. 
 T^hen we'll all go back to the shack, and find, both 
 the money and the old man — the mipe-owner, you 
 know — ^missing. Then we'll start a hue and cry 
 and all hit into the bush. You and I will gather 
 up the spoil and make a quiet get-away for the 
 night. Of course we'll have to turn up in the 
 morning to avert suspicion, but we can tell them 
 
236 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 we got on the robber's trail and followed it until 
 we lost ourselves in the bush. In the meantime 
 the Harrises will be tearing around ia great ex- 
 citement, and they're almost sure to run on to 
 Travers. Harris recently fired Travers, and 
 Allan had a fight with him, if you told me right, 
 so it's not likely they'll listen to any explanations. 
 They'll turn him over to the police, and as it's the 
 .business of the police to get convictions, they'll 
 have to frame up a case against him or be made 
 to look stupid^ — and that 's the last thing a police- 
 man likes. Then you and I will quietly divide the 
 proceeds of our investment, and you can go back 
 to your farm, if you like, and live to a ripe old 
 age and get a write-up in the local paper when 
 you shuffle off. As for me — ^I'm not that tjrpe, 
 Eiles, and I'll likely find some other way to spend 
 my profits." 
 
 "It looks easy," Eiles admitted.- "But what 
 about Jim? He'll tell what he heard you say at 
 the ford." 
 
 "Let him. Nobody '11 believe it. Remember 
 that when he tells that he '11 be under arrest, and 
 when a man's imder arrest his word is always 
 discounted. To be arrested means to be half con- 
 victed. It takes two good witnesses to offset the 
 moral effect of arrest, and Travers will have no 
 witnesses. 
 
 "It's all quite easy," Gardiner continued. 
 "And if it should fail there are a dozen other 
 ways just as easy. But we won't let it fail. We 
 mustn't let it fail, on your account." • 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 237 
 
 "On my account? What more account mine 
 than yours?" 
 
 "Well, you see, Harris, no doubt, has your 
 letter stowed away somewhere, and it would make 
 bad evidence for you. I don't think it mentions 
 me at all. Besides, I know a way through a pass 
 in these mountains, and if it doesn't turn out 
 right — why, I'm glad I know the way. You see, 
 I've nothing to lose, and nobody to worry over 
 me. But it's different with you, Hiram. You 
 have a wife and a fine farm down in Manitoba, 
 and it would be inconvenient for you to slip away 
 without notice. So I say that on your account we 
 mustn't let it fail." 
 
 "You didn't say nothin' about that before, I 
 notice," said Eiles. 
 
 "You mustn't expect me to do your private 
 thinking as well as that of the firm," Gardiner 
 retorted. "You had the facts— why didn't you 
 patch them together for yourself? You're in a 
 mess now if things don't go right. But, as I said, 
 I'm going to stick with you and see that they do 
 go right." 
 
 They rode along in silence in the gathering 
 darkness. Had they been able to read each other's 
 minds they would have beeji astonished at the 
 coincidence of thought. Gardiner was planning 
 to make away with the money when he got out of 
 the building. Why should he divide with Eiles — 
 Eiles, who would only hoard it up, and who had 
 plenty of money already? Not at all. Eiles 
 might sue him for his share, if he wanted to — 
 and could find him, to serve notice ! . On the other 
 
238 THE ilOMBSTEADEES 
 
 hand, Eiles' slow wits had quickened to the point 
 of perceiving that there lay before him a chance 
 of making twenty thousand dollars instead of ten 
 thousand, if he only had the nerve to strike at the 
 strategic moment. When he got the Harrises out 
 of the shack, by hook or crook he would leave them 
 and follow Gardiner. He was much more than 
 Gardiner's match in strength and he had little 
 fear of the revolver, provided he could take his 
 adversary unawares. If the worst came to the 
 worst, and he could notgive the Harrises the slip, 
 he would take them with him, and they would all 
 come upon Gardiner red-handed with the loot. 
 Then he would explain to Harris how he had dis- 
 covered Gardiner's plot and frustrated it. . i . . 
 The idea grew upon Eiles, and he rode along in a 
 frame of mind bordering upon cheerfulness. 
 
 It was now quite dark, and the horses picked 
 their steps carefully along the hillside trails. At 
 last Gardiner drew up and pointed to a heavy 
 clump of trees. A faint glimmer of light shone 
 through it. 
 
 "''That's the shack," he whispered. "They 
 have a lantern there. "We better get off the road 
 and tether our horses in this coulee,. Don't go 
 too close ; their horses may call to ours, and they 
 will come out to meet us." 
 
 They turned down a narrow ravine with scarce 
 room to walk single file between the branching 
 trees. The stream was almost dry, and the 
 hoi;ses' hoofs clanked alarmingly along the bed 
 of the creek. They tied them where the woods 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 239 
 
 closed all about them, and there seemed no chance 
 of discovery. i 
 
 "Quietly, now," said Gardiner, as they stole 
 toward the old building. "Things, seem to be 
 working out as we ;^lanned, but we must make 
 sure of every detail, so that we can change the 
 attack if necessary. " . 
 
 The two men stole up the rough road leading to 
 the hut. Eiles felt his heart thumping, and his 
 lungs seemed half choked for air, but Gardiner 
 lost none of his composure, and would have lit a 
 cigarette had he not feared the light would be- 
 tray them. The glow of the lantern came from 
 the building, shining in a long, fading wedge 
 from, the sashless window, but seemed strangely 
 obscure about the door. As they approached this 
 mystery was revealed ; a blanket was seen to hang 
 over the doorway. 
 
 "That's a good sign," whispered Gardiner. 
 ' ' One, or both of them, are sleeping. That 's why 
 they feel .the cold. If they had stayed awake 
 they would have built a fire and perhaps walked 
 about outside. This mountain air gets a man 
 that isn't used to it. I'll bet you could go to 
 sleep yourself, this minute, Eiles, if you weren't 
 so seared." 
 
 "I ain't scared,, damn you," said Riles though 
 the words trembled in his teeth. "If it comes to 
 a show-down we'll see who's scared." 
 
 "That's good," said Gardiner. "That's the 
 way to talk. If you just keep that up for a few 
 minutes it'll all be over." 
 
 They paused for a moment to listen. The night 
 
240 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 was moonless and starry, except where a bank 
 of clouds came drifting up from the south-west. 
 A moist breeze, smelling of soft, mountain snow, 
 gently stirred the trees about them. But from the 
 shanty no sound could be discerned. They ap- 
 proached nearer, and still nearer. 
 
 •^'Now, you go to the door, and I'll take the 
 window, ' ' Gardiner ordered. ' ' Shove the blanket 
 aside a little and size up the situation before you 
 speak. We must make sure they're there, and 
 there alone." 
 
 Gardiner waited until he saw Riles fumbling 
 carefully with the blanket that hung in the door- 
 way. Then he darted quickly to the window. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 WHILE Allan sat in the little cabin he 
 gradually became oppressed with a 
 sense of great loneliness. , From time to 
 time he looked at the face of his sleeping father, 
 and suddenly the knowledge struck him like a 
 knife that it was the face of an old man. He. hafi 
 never thought of him as an old man before, but 
 as he lay on the rough floor, sleeping soundly 
 after his long drive, there was something in the 
 form that told of advancing years, and Allan 
 could see plainly the deepening furrows in his 
 strong, still handsome faCe. As he looked a vast 
 tenderness mingled with his loneliness ; he would 
 have stooped and caressed him had he not feared 
 to disturb his slumbers. Allan's love for his. 
 father was that of man to man rather than son 
 to parent; it was the only deep passion of his 
 young life, and it ran with a fulness that could 
 not be checked. Of his mother he thought with 
 kindliness, tinged with regret that all had not of 
 late been quite as it should be in their domestic 
 circle; toward his sister he felt a vague longing 
 and uneasiness, and a new feeling which had tak^n 
 root that afternoon that perhaps after all she was 
 
 241 
 
242 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 right in seeking to live her life as she would ; but 
 it was to Ms father that his great emotion turned. 
 
 He looked upon the sleeping man now, with the 
 wealth of a lifetime's labour at his side, arid the 
 bond of trust and confidence betw;eeH[' thenx seem- 
 ed so tight it brought' the moisture to his eyes. • 
 He thought of the past years ; of their labour on 
 the farm together — ^hard labour, but always re- 
 lieved by their comradeship and mutual am- 
 bitions. A hundred half-forgotten incidents came 
 to mind, in all of which his father was companion ■ 
 and chum rather than parent and corrector. And 
 after all, hadn't it been worth while? Had not 
 they, in their way, really given expression to 
 their lives as best they could in the black-, earth- 
 smelling furrows, in the scent of tallowy, straw- 
 , aromaed steam from their engine, or the wet 
 night-perfume of ripening wheat? How those old 
 smells beat up from the mysterious chambers of 
 memory and intoxicated his nostrils with fond- 
 ness and a great sense of having, in some few 
 hallowed moments,: dove-tailed his own career 
 into the greater purpose of creation! Allan did 
 not analyze these thoughts and memories, or try 
 to fit them into words, but they brought to him 
 a consciousness of having lived — of having known 
 some experiences that were not altogether ma- 
 terial and temporal. 
 
 And then his memory carried him still further 
 back — ^back to the days when he was a little child, 
 and in the mirror of the darkness he could see his 
 own small figure trudging in the track ' of the 
 plough and hanging to the rein-ends that drop- 
 
THE HOMBSTEADBES 243 
 
 ped from the knot on Ms father's ample back. 
 Back to the old sod shanty, -With its sweet smell 
 of comfort when the snow beat against the little 
 window and the wind roared in the rattling stoye- 
 pipe, and his mother sat by the fire and plied her 
 flying needles. What wonderful times they were, 
 And what wonderful dreams in the little, thought- 
 ful child-mind just catching the first glimmerings 
 of life! Could it be this old cabin, these rotting 
 logs, this earthy floor, that were stirring memory 
 cells asleep for twenty years? He would not 
 allow his mind to be drawn into speculation — the 
 thing was the remembrance, now, when it was of- 
 fered him. Old lullabies stole into his brain ; a 
 deep peace • compassed him, and consciousness 
 f adied thinner and thinner into the sea of the in- 
 finite 
 
 AUan sat up in a sudden, cold chill of terror. 
 Had he been asleep 1 What cold breath of dread 
 had crossed his path? He was no coward; the 
 sense of fear was almost unknown to him, but now 
 it enveloped him, stifled him, set his teeth chat- 
 tering and his limbs quaking. He had heard 
 nothing, seen nothing. The gun was in his hands 
 as it had lain when last he remembered it; his 
 father slept by his side, and near the wall lay the 
 precious satchel. And yet he shook in absolute, 
 unreasoning, unfounded terror. His eyes wand- 
 ered from the lantern to the door— to the blanket 
 hanging limply in the door; and there they 
 stared and stayed as though held in the spell 
 of a serpent. Subconsciously, certainly without 
 any direction of will of his own, he raised the 
 
244 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 shot-gun to Ms shoulder and. kept it trained on 
 the sagging blanket. . . . The blanket seemed to 
 move ! It swayed at first as though a light breeze 
 had touched it, and yet not as though a breeze 
 had touched it. The impulse seemed too far up 
 — about the height of a man 's shoulder. The 
 blood had gone from Allan's face; he was as one 
 in a trance, obeying some iron law outside the 
 realm of the will and the reason. He cocked his 
 gun and tightened his finger on the trigger, and 
 watched. . . . And then, so plain that it must have 
 been real, he saw stealthy fingers feeling their way 
 about the blanket. 
 
 Then Allan fired. 
 
 In an instant he was wide awake, and wonder- 
 ing terribly what had happened. The explosion 
 blew out the lantern. His father was clambering 
 to his feet with "Allan, what is it? What is it, 
 Allan?" The blanket had been torn from its 
 hangings as by a heavy weight, and something 
 was writhing in it in the doorway. Allan sprang 
 up and would have rushed upon it, but in the 
 darkness he collided with another man. His 
 fingers found his adversary's arm and ran up it 
 to his throat, but before they could fasten in a 
 fatal grip there was another flash of light, and a 
 hot pang stabbed him in the breast. . There was a 
 strange gurgling in his lungs, a choking in his 
 throat, a spinning dizziness in his head, as he 
 staggered over the mass in the doorway and fell 
 into the night. 
 
 Gardiner had reached the window just in time 
 to see Allan's gun trained on the doorway. For 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 245 
 
 an instant he stood dumf onnded ; there was some- 
 thing uncanny in the sight of the young man sit- 
 ting there in silent, absolute readiness for the 
 attack. He drew back to warn Riles, but he was 
 too late. At that moment the gun spoke ; there 
 was the sound of a heavy body falling, and stifled 
 noises bore ample evidence of the accuracy of 
 Allan's aim. But even in that moment of un- 
 certainty Gardiner had not lost thought of their 
 purpose, and his quick eye took in the sleeping 
 form of John Harris and the location of the 
 leather bag beside the wall. Without an instant's 
 hesitation he vaulted through the window and, 
 revolver in hand, began to steal his way softly 
 toward the treasure. 
 
 He had not taken three steps when Allan 
 plunged full force into him. He staggered with 
 the shock, but recovered himself only to find the 
 young farmer's strong fingers clutching for his 
 throat. It had been no part of Gardiner's plan 
 that there should be bloodshed in the carrying out 
 of the robbery, but he was a man of quick de- 
 cision, who accepted conditions as he found them. 
 ... A slight pressure on the trigger, and Allan 
 fell, coughing through the door. 
 
 Gardiner retained his sense of location, and 
 slipped silently to the wall. Harris was rushing 
 about the "rotten floor in the darkness, crying, 
 "What is it, Allan? For God's sake, what has 
 happened ? Are you shot ? ' ' and for his own noise 
 he could not hear Gardiner's stealthy inovements. 
 Gardiner's hand fell on a log of the wall, and his 
 keen fingers traced their way along it. Five steps, 
 
246 THE HOMESTEADBBS 
 
 he judged, and the bag would be at his feet. At 
 the fifth step his toe touched an object on the 
 lioor; he leaned over and raised the booty in his 
 hand. 
 
 By this time his eyes had responded to the 
 intense darkness, and he could discern a square 
 of greyer gloom where the window admitted the 
 night. He, moved rapidly and silently toward it, 
 but almost with the last step his foot slipped 
 through a broken spot on the floor, and he stag- 
 gered and fell. The revolver was thrown from his 
 grasp, but he was able to pitch the bag through 
 the window as he crashed to the floor. 
 
 The sound arrested Harris, and before Gar- 
 diner could extricate himself the farmer was upon 
 him. At first he seemed to think it was Allan, 
 and felt about in the darliness without attempting 
 to defend himself. This gave Gardiner an op- 
 portunity; he was able to clasp his arms about 
 Harris 's shins, and, with a quick turn of the body, 
 cast his adversary headlong to the floor. At the 
 same moment he freed himself from his entangle- 
 ment and made another dash for the window. 
 
 But Harris, still numbed from his heavy sleep, 
 now realized that some kind of tragedy had oc- 
 curred, and guessed enough to believe that Allan 
 was a victim. From his prostrate position, with 
 one powerful leg he interrupted Gardiner's flight, 
 and the next moment the two men were rolling on 
 the floor in each other's arms. Harris was much 
 the stronger man of the two, but Gardiner was 
 active and had some skill in wrestling. Besides, 
 Harris had been taken wholly by surprise, and 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 247 
 
 had no idea who his antagonist was, while Gar- 
 diner had full knowledge of all the circumstances^ 
 and the struggle was less uneven than might have 
 been supposed.- Inwardly cursing the luck that 
 had thrown the revolver from his hand, Gardiner 
 sought in the darkness for his adversary's throat, 
 nose, or eyes. Harris, seizing the younger man 
 by the waist, lifted him bodily from the floor and 
 crashed him down again upon it, but the npxt 
 instant Gardiner had one of his hands in both 
 of his, and, bringing his knee down with great 
 force on Harris's elbow, compelled him at the 
 risk of a broken arm, to turn face downward on 
 the floor. Gardiner again wrenched violently to 
 break free, but Harris's grip was too much for 
 him, so with the quickness and fury of a tiger- he 
 threw himself upon the -farmer's back and wrap- 
 ped his free arm about his throa^t. With his air 
 partially cut off Harris released the grip of his 
 other hand, and Gardiner instantly took advant- 
 age of this move to bring both arms to bear on 
 Harris's throat. Things began to go badly with 
 the farmer ; vface downwards on the floor, he was 
 unable to shake his adversary off, and was los- 
 ing strength rapidly with his choking. ' Gardiner 
 no longer sought an opportunity to breiak away; 
 his blood was up and he was in the fight to the 
 finish, ruled at last by his heart instead of his 
 head. Had he been content merely to retain his 
 present advantage, unconsciousness would soon 
 have overcome his victim, but he tried to improve 
 his grip, and the attempt proved disastrous. His 
 thumb, seeking better vantage, fell into Harris's 
 
248 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 gaping mouth. Harris was no more depraved 
 than most of mankind, but when fighting for life, 
 and choking to death in the hands of an unknown 
 enemy, he was ready to seize any advantage, and 
 with a great effort he brought his jaws together 
 upon his intruder. 
 
 With a yell of pain Gardiner sprang to his 
 feet, jerking the farmer into a half -sitting posture 
 as he did so, and Harris, with a great gasp for 
 air, relinquished his sudden and unexpected ad- 
 vantage. But Gardiner's head was again in com- 
 mand; he rushed through the door, half falling 
 over the obstruction as he went, and in an instant 
 was lost in the glocm of the night. 
 
 For some minutes Harris lay on the floor, re- 
 covering his breath. As the oxygen welled back 
 into his lungs he began to realize that, save for 
 his choking, he was unhurt. With returning 
 strength his thought reverted to Allan, and, call- 
 ing the- boy's name, he sprang to his feet. The 
 first thing was to get a light. He found matches 
 in his pocket, struck one, and peered eagerly into 
 the gloom as its flickering flame beat bg,ck the 
 darkness. A blanket, rolled and stained, lay in 
 the doorway, and within it was a figure that might 
 once have been a man. Harris's heart almost 
 stopped at the sight: "Allan," he gasped, "my 
 boy, Allan!" He tiptoed across the crumbling 
 floor toward it, holding the. match before him. A 
 man's boot and part of a trouser leg protruded 
 from the mass. He held the match downward, 
 leaning ovei* them. They were not Allan's. 
 
THE HOMBSTJEADERS 249 
 
 "Thank God," he murimired, swelling with a 
 great hope, "thank God for that." 
 
 He struck anqther match and found the lantern. 
 When he had lighted it he surveyed the li-ttle 
 building, and saw Allan's gun lying at the end 
 farthest from the door. Not until that moment 
 did he think of the money. Allan had been upper- 
 most in his mind, and Avhen he thought of Allan 
 money was no consideration. But now a great 
 wave of understanding rushed in upon him. Yes, 
 the bag was gone. They had been attacked by 
 robbers. Knowledge of their expedition had in 
 some way got to evil ears, and while he slept 
 Allan had been set upon. The boy had emptied 
 his gun — the huddled mass in the doorway told 
 that tale plainly enough — but other robbers had 
 seized the cash and Allan had pursued them 
 empty-handed. They had fired at him as he rush- 
 ed from the building — that was the flash he saw 
 a few seconds after the first loud report. He was 
 not quite clear as to his own share in the fight, 
 but he saw the general plan of it plainly enough. 
 He began to wonder what had happened to Gar- 
 diner and Riles. Had they been shot down as 
 they wound through the woods'? This was evi- 
 dently the work of a gang prepared to stop at 
 nothing. Harris never for a /moment suspected 
 his old neighbour of treachery. He was himself 
 a hard, grasping, money-seeking man, but he had 
 a code of honour none the less, and within" its 
 limitations none was more honourable than he. To 
 have done what Riles had done would have been 
 quite impossible for John Harris, and because it 
 
250 THE HOMESTBADEES 
 
 was impossible for him its possibility for Riles 
 never suggested itself. 
 
 Harris had not yet fully realized the loss of his 
 money. It was overshadowed by the more tragic 
 events of which one evidence lay before him. His 
 anxiety for Allan loomed larger in his mind, al- 
 though he had little doubt the boy would take 
 proper care of himself, and, even if tinarmed, 
 would come back with the money and perhaps 
 Avith a prisoner. The fact that Allan had not 
 taken his gun was reassuring; if there had been 
 any great danger he would not have left it be- 
 hind. But he must get out now and aid in the 
 search. 
 
 As he reached this decision, his eye caught a 
 gleam of something shining on the floor. He 
 walked to it and found a revolver, fully loaded 
 except for one chamber, which had beetn dis- 
 charged. "This is evidence," said he — "im- 
 portant evidence." Harris had all the Old 'On- 
 tario contempt for this kind of weapon, and knew 
 comparatively little about it, but he concluded 
 from its appearance that it was almost new. As 
 he examined it his eyes fell on the initials, 
 "J. T.," cut in the grip. 
 
 "J. T." he said to himself. "J. T. Those 
 initials seem familiar. I'll just le^ve this thing 
 where I found it, until the police see it." 
 
 Replacing the weapon on the floor, he stole out 
 of the cabin, avoiding the silent obstruction in the 
 doorway. Outside he stood for a moment unde- 
 cided. The circle of light from his lantern might 
 beacon Allan back to the shanty, but it would also 
 
THE HOMESTEADBES 251 
 
 prove a signal to the robbers, if they were still in 
 the vicinity. The night was now very dark, 
 clouds having obscured the stars, and an oc- 
 casional big drop of rain spat about him. The 
 roar of water came up from the valleys, but 
 above or through that roar suddenly he fancied 
 he heard a sound from the bushes near at hand. 
 He held his breath and listened intently. He half 
 wished he had brought the revolver with him. Yes, 
 there it was again — a human sound, beyond ques- 
 tion, half groan, half gurgle. He turned in the 
 direction from which it came and stole quietly 
 forward. Half-a-dozen yards from the buiding 
 the light revealed, first a shadow, and then a fig- 
 ure lying on the ground. With some trepidation 
 Harris approached. The man's arms had been 
 extended when he fell, and his coat was thrown 
 over his head. Harris stooped and drew it down 
 over the shoulders exposing the face. 
 
 It was Allan. 
 
 The first shock of the revelation almost stopped 
 the heart of the old farmer, and he sat back as 
 one dazed, unable to accept the testimony of his 
 own eyes. Then came a panic of uncertainty, g-nd 
 he fell upon the boy, groping wildly for his heart, 
 and at last pressing upon it in an agony of fear. 
 . . . Yes, the beat wa§ there, faint and uneven, but 
 unmistakable. With a sudden surge of returning 
 hope he brought his ear down to the open mouth, 
 fringed with light red foam, and could hear the 
 air labouring in the ravaged lungs. Then came 
 that human sound, half gurgle, half groan; but 
 to Harris, in the reaction from his first paralyz- 
 
252 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 ing fear, it was as very music from heaven. His 
 boy still lived, and still should live. 
 
 Tenderly he turned the body to a more comfort- 
 able position, laying his folded coat beneath the 
 head for a pillow. He loosened the shirt about 
 the neck, and far down the heaving chest saw the 
 sodden red that marked his wound. Kain fell in 
 scattered drops, and he brought another blanket 
 from the cabin, caring little now for the silent 
 form in the doorway in the sudden shadow of his 
 greater tragedy. He spread the blanket over the 
 wounded boy, and sat down by his side, caressing 
 his temples with his big fingers, arid wondering 
 what to do next. 
 
 As he sat the helplessness of his position- grew 
 upon him. He was deep in the foothills, many 
 miles, as far as he knew, from the home of any 
 settler. In daylight he could, no doubt, find his 
 way back to town, but daylight might be too late. 
 He did not know whether Allan was dying on his 
 hands at that moment. Certainly to attempt to 
 move him in the buggy would be dangerous in the 
 extreme. 
 
 And as he sat he thought of the missing money, 
 the fruit of his life's labour, snatched from him 
 in a moment in the darkness. The loss did not 
 hurt him as deeply as he might have thought ; he 
 was numbed by the greater blow that hung over 
 him. If Allan would only live!' - . . The boy had 
 been his constant companion since babyhood. AU 
 his hopes, all his ambitions, which had found 
 their expression in his years of feverish toil, had 
 been wrapped about Allan. He had no one else. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 253 
 
 . . . His better self revolted at that thought. 
 "You. have va wife and daughter/' it said, 
 "ready to share your life as soon as you are 
 ready to share theirs." He forced his mind frpm 
 that phase of his position, but it reverted to it 
 again and again. He could not wander in mem- 
 ory up the path of his boy's life without meeting 
 his boy's mother. And all the pain and unhappi- 
 ness of the later years — ^how it cut like an evil 
 bank of fog across the once bright course of their 
 career! But he had suffered for their sakes, 
 holding fast to his own course because he knew 
 it to be best. , . . Best? And it had brought him 
 to this? . . . The question would not down. Eather 
 than relax an iota from his own purposes he had 
 broken up his family ; he had crushed them under 
 the wheels of his inflexible will, and now that 
 same will had driven his son to destruction and 
 himself to ruin. 
 
 - It is not easy for a man who has laid out a 
 career and followed it with all the energy of a 
 virile nature, recasting his gods from time to 
 time to conforih with the evolution of his ideals, 
 but recasting always in the mould of his own will 
 rather than any vessel of creed or persuasion— it 
 is not easy for such a man to stop at iifty and say, 
 "1 was wrong." It requires a break in his pro- 
 cess of evolution, a shock suflficiently powerful to 
 pulverize his gods before his face, to drive home 
 the truth that they were not gods at all but merely 
 idols of his own creation. In Harris's later life 
 two idols had groAvn up to the exclusion of all 
 others ; they .were the wealth which' he had build- 
 
254 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 ed with his hands and the boy Allan about whom 
 he wrapped aU the affection of his nature; and 
 they had crumbled to dust even while he wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 He found a flask throAvn. from some camper's 
 pack, and filled it with water at the mountain 
 stream that rushed by a few rods below the cabin. 
 He placed the liquid to the boy's lips and 
 fancied that some drops found entrance. He had 
 staunched the wound as best he could with frag- 
 ments torn from the lining of his coat, and he sat 
 down again to watch. Until morning he could do 
 nothing more. Then some camper, lumberman, 
 or surveyor might happen along the road. If not, 
 he would have to move Allan at all risks. 
 
 It took time for him to realize the utterness 
 with which his plans had collapsed. As the night 
 wore on he was able to weigh his disaster in a 
 more balanced mind, but its magnitude grew in 
 the weighing. From prosperous ambition he had 
 been swept in an hour to penniless ruin. His de- 
 struction was almost complete. The old farm, 
 the scene of his labours — his and Mary's — ^was 
 ,gone. If Allan should die there remained nothing 
 more.- 
 
 Suddenly he fancied he heard the sound of 
 horses' hoofs in the clay road along the hillside, 
 now softened with the light rain. The sound 
 ceased as suddenly as it began, and it occurred to 
 him that it might be one of the robbers returning. 
 The lantern was burning low, but as a precaution 
 he now turned it quite out. There were some cart- 
 ridges in Allan's pocket; he felt for them and de- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 255 
 
 cided to bring the gun out of the cabin. But be- 
 fore he could put his decision into effect he ob- 
 served the form of a man moving silently but 
 briskly toward the cabin. He held his breath and 
 remained obscured in the bushes. Dimly he dis- 
 cerned the form stop at the door and peer into 
 the darkness. 
 
 There was no doubt in the mind of Hart-is as to 
 the evil intent of the visitor. He had come on 
 horseback neg,r the building, and had then dis- 
 mounted and stole up to it on foot. That in itself 
 was sufficiently incriminating. One who was rid- 
 ing through the' mountains on a legitimate errand, 
 and who knew nothing of the night's affray, 
 would take no such precautions. Unarmed as he 
 was, Harris resolved that the robber^ probably the 
 murderer of his son, should not on any account 
 escape him. With the blanket which he had 
 brought to cover Allan was a bag in which 
 ,they had carried oats for their horses; this he 
 found in the darkness, and stole after his victim. 
 He overtook him standing at the door, in appar- 
 ent hesitancy whether to enter the building. With- 
 out an instant's warning Plarris threw the bag 
 about his head, and with a quick twist of his 
 powerful wrist had his prisoner securely gagged. 
 Throwing him violently to the ground, he tied 
 the sack in a hard knot, and despite all struggles, 
 dragged him back to where Allan lay. Here he 
 relighted the lantern, and, cutting part of the 
 blanket into strips with his pocket-knife, securely 
 tied his captive hand and foot. At first the prisoner 
 tried to talk, but he could not speak intelligibly 
 
256 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 througli the closely-draAvn sack, and presently he 
 gave up an<i lay in silence in the wet grass. 
 
 And again the leaden night wore on, broken 
 only by occasional gurglings in the throat ef 
 Allan, or futile struggles by the prisoner. Harris 
 felt little curiosity concerning the identity of the 
 man in gags before him, or the victim of Allan's 
 gun in the doorway. They were absolute 
 strangers to him, and he even feared that if he 
 should look into the face of the one that still lived 
 his anger over the assault upon Allan would 
 burst all bounds and he woTjild kill his victim on 
 the spot. He was slowly forced to the conclusion 
 that Eiles and Gardiner had also met with folil 
 play, and that no help was now to be expected 
 from that quarter. The light rain had drifted 
 past, and bright stars. ~ gleamed through great 
 rents in the shajttered clouds. The gibbous moon, 
 too, looked 'down, and its light intensified the 
 shadows. The night grew colder, and Harris 
 spread his own outer garments upon his son, and 
 at last lay down with Allan in his arms that he 
 might communicate heat from his body to the 
 struggling frame so sorely robbed of blood. And 
 even in his distress and his terrific fear for Allan 
 there came some reminiscence of old delight at 
 the feel of the boy's limbs against Ijis, and fleet- 
 footed memory ran back again to the childhood 
 of Allan. But on its way it met the childhood of 
 Beulah, and conjured up the mother-face leaning 
 in tenderness over the sick-beds of infancy. And 
 John Harris buried his face in the heaving chest 
 of his child and wept in his grief and loneliness. 
 
THE HpMBSTEADERS 257 
 
 Just as the first bars of grey in the eastern sky 
 proclaimed approaching dawn, the sound of 
 horse's hoofs came distinctly up the valley. 
 Harris drpw himself into a sitting posture, and 
 listened. Allan was stiL. breathing, and a,pparent- 
 ly with less effort than earlier in the' night. The' 
 sound of the horse came nearer and nearer. At 
 last it was in the road just below, and a moment 
 later would have passed by had not Harris called 
 out. His voice sounded strange and distant in his 
 oAvn ears and cost him an unwonted effort. 
 
 Sergeant Grey ;nstantly swung his horse from 
 the road and, dismounting, proceeded in the di- 
 rection of the voice. 
 
 Harris told his story with such coherence as he 
 could. He and his son had cpme up into the hills 
 to arrange for the purchase of a property which 
 they had become interested in through a third 
 ,party, Gardiner. They carried with them a large 
 sum of money as proof of the sincerity of their 
 intentions. At this little cabin they were to be 
 joined by Gardiner and by another, named Eiles, 
 who also was taking an interest in the property. 
 As they waited in the cabin, and as' he, Harris, 
 slept after his long drive, they were suddenly set 
 upon by outlaws. Allan shot one down — the body 
 still lay in the doorway — ^but was himself badly 
 wounded, and had not spoken since. Harris had 
 encountered another, but after a severe fight the 
 robber had escaped, The little black bag in which 
 the money was carried was gone with all its con- 
 tents. Although he had waited all night in great 
 anxiety, Gardiner and Eiles had failed to appear, 
 
258 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 . and it could only be supposed i)iat they tolo had 
 met with foul play. But some hours after the 
 assault one of the party had returned, dismounted 
 from his horse at some distance, and stolen softly 
 up to the shanty. Harris had followed him, and, 
 taking him by surprise, had been able to make 
 him prisoner. 
 
 Sergeant Grey looked from Harris to Allah, 
 and then to the prisoner, who seemed to lie in a 
 semi-conscious condition amid his bonds and gags. 
 
 "You were foolish to come into the hills with 
 so much money alone," he said. "I would have 
 been at your service for the asking, and this would 
 not have happened. But now that it has happen- 
 ed, the first thing is to provide for the wounded 
 man, and the next is to place this suspect in 
 custody. And you will need some toning up, your- 
 self after your night's experience. Then we will 
 have a full investigation. I knoW' a rancher's 
 house a few miles down the valley where you and 
 your son will have the best attention." 
 
 The mounted policeman made a brief examin- 
 ation of AUan, as best he could in the grey jdawn, 
 for the lantern now had no oil. "He has not 
 bled very much,'' he said. "He has a strong 
 frame and ought to have a fighting chance. I will 
 just have a look at the scene of the crime, and 
 then we will move him." 
 
 He made a hurried survey of the cabin, merely 
 satisfying himself that the man in the doorway 
 was quite dead, and then, with Harris's assist- 
 ance, quickly found the horses and hamiessed 
 them to the buggy. He also found another horse 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 259 
 
 near the roadway, saddled and bridled. "We will 
 make the prisoner ride his own horse," he said, 
 "while you take your son ia the buggy." 
 
 They placed the wounded and still unconscious 
 Allan in the buggy as gently as they could, and 
 then Grey gave his attention to the prisoner. 
 Having searched his clothing for weapons, he cut 
 away the bonds that securely held his arms and 
 feet, and released the sack from his half-choked 
 throat. The man writhed and gasped for fresh 
 air, and the policeman drew the sack away and 
 revealed the face of Jim Travers. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CONVERGING TEAILS 
 
 BEULAH HAREIS raised her arms above" 
 her head and drank in the fresh mountain 
 air that flooded through the open window. 
 A smoky red, with brighter shafts of yellow be- 
 hind, streamed up from the eastern sky and sent 
 a glow of burnt-orange colour through her bed- 
 room. The girl stretched her spread fingers to 
 the limit of their reach, and with extended toes 
 sought the iron bars at the foot of the bed, filling 
 her lungs with the fresh foothill ozone. Then 
 she dropped her hands, palm upward, -with the 
 backs of her finger-tips resting on her eyes, and 
 felt that it was go'od to be alive. 
 
 They had been great times — ^wonderful timqs — 
 these weeks spent in the freedom, and harmony 
 of the Arthurses ' household. Mr. and . Mrs. 
 Arthurs — Uncle Fred and Aunt Lilian, as she 
 now called them — had opened their hearts and 
 their home to Beulah frortl the first. Indeed, the 
 girl was often conscious of their gaze upon her, 
 and at times she would look up quickly and sur- 
 prise a strange, wistful look of yearning in their 
 eyes — a look that they tried very hard to hide 
 from her. They wanted to leave her free to live 
 
 260 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 261 
 
 her own life^to shape her career, for a time at 
 least, wholly in accordance with her imptilses. 
 
 >A.nd such a life as she had lived ! Arthurs had 
 at once placed a horse at her disposal, and with a 
 fierce delight at the leap she was taking through 
 conventions she swung her right leg over the sad- 
 dle and sat to place like "any man. Although 
 horn and raised on a farm, horseback riding was 
 to her something of a novelty, and the assump- 
 tion of the masculine position was a positive 
 epoch, in her career. How the people of Plain- 
 ville would have been scandalized if they could 
 have witnessed her shocking familiarity with a 
 horse! She thought of an English girl who had 
 been cut by the good society of Plainville because 
 she dared to ride like a biped instead of a mer- 
 maid. And she laughed in a wild exultant free- 
 dom, while the wind whipped her hair about her 
 shoulders, and she felt her mount firm beneath 
 her as they cantered across the brtwn foothills. 
 Such hills they were ! In her native plains they 
 would have been mountain's of themselves, wond- 
 ers of Nature to point out to strangers and to 
 hold in a kind of awe across the country-side, but 
 here they were foothills, mere fragments dropped 
 from the trowel of the Builder as He reared the 
 majestic Eockies behind. And though she often 
 in the early morning, or at sunset, or when the 
 moon was full and white, feasted her eyes and 
 her soul on the cold splendour of the mighty 
 range, it was to the warm brown foothills, with 
 their stubbling of little trees and their solemn 
 warts of grey-green rock, that her heart turned. 
 
262 THE HOMESTBADBES 
 
 with something of human affection. At first Uncle 
 Fred, or Aunt Lilian, or, a little later, one of the 
 two cowboys tode with her on her expeditions, 
 but her prairie sense of direction quickly adapted 
 itself to her new surroundings, and she soon 
 learned to keep a keen eye for the precipitous cut- 
 banks that drop sheer from a level plain and lie 
 as unsuspected in the saffron sunlight as a coyote 
 among the ripened willows. There were quick- 
 sands, too — spots where the water sprang from 
 the hillside in a crystal stream and in a few yards 
 ■soaked into the kneady earth as in a sponge — ^but 
 all these places were fenced; even in Alberta^ 
 where cattle grew like rabbits on the range, the 
 paving of sink-holes with beef steers is an ex- 
 pensive expedient. So Beulah quickly got her 
 foothill sense, and in a week was riding, care- 
 free and exultant, across, the ranges as her heart 
 listed or her horse preferred. 
 
 One morning, just as the first grey of dawn 
 mottled the darkness of her chamber, Beulah 
 heard her door open, an,d through the uncertain 
 light she discerned Arthurs gently entering with 
 a rifle in his hand. She sat up, alert, but not 
 afraid; the tingling health in her veins left no 
 place for fear and suffered no foolishness on the 
 part of her nervous ■ system. 
 
 "What is it, Uncle Fred?" she whispered. 
 
 "H-s-h," he cautioned. "You know we have 
 been losing calves with the timber wolves? Well, 
 there are two of the murderers just across from 
 the corral. I thought you might want to see 
 them. ' ' 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 263 
 
 In an instant lier feet were on the floor, and, 
 hand in hand, she and Arthurs stole to the win- 
 dow. At first her eyes could distinguish nothing 
 in the darkness, but by following Arthurs' index 
 finger she at last located two gaunt, shaggy 
 creatures a little way up the hillside beyond the 
 corral, and a couple of hundred yards from the 
 house. 
 
 "However did you know they were there?" 
 she "whispered. "You must have cat's eyes. I 
 could hardly see them when you pointed them 
 out." 
 
 "Not cat's eyes, Beulah," he answered. "Just 
 rancher's eyes. I heard the horses snorting, and 
 I fancied there were visitors. Now, will you take 
 first shot?" 
 
 "Oh, that would be a shame. They would get 
 away, and besides, I might kill a horse," 
 
 "Well, won't press it this time," said Arthurs, 
 "because I have a little personal score to settle 
 with these fellows. I guess I have about five 
 hundred dollars invested in each of them." 
 
 The wolves were moving leisurely about on the 
 hillside, showing no disposition to run away, but 
 apparently afraid to approach closer to the ranch 
 buildings. Arthurs leaned his jifle across the 
 window sill and took steady aim, while the girl 
 held her breath with excitement. Then there was 
 a quick flash, that shut the scene momentarily 
 from their eyes ; the next moment they saw one of 
 the wolves leap into- the air and fall, a sprawling 
 mass, upon the ground, while the other darted 
 witb the speed, of a greyhound toward the neigh- 
 
264 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 bonring bushes. Arthurs followed with a bullet, 
 but even so fine a marksman could have found 
 him only by chance in that uncertain light. , 
 
 "Well, I guess there's a widow in WolfviUe 
 this morning," said Arthurs, as he leisurely 
 threw the discharged cartridge from the barrel. 
 "My apologies, Miss Beulah, for this somewhat 
 unconventional call and the interruption of your 
 beauty sleep." 
 
 But Beulah was standing, wrapped in admira- 
 tion. "Oh, Uncle Fred," she exclaimed. "You're 
 just wonderful. If I could only shoot like that!" 
 
 "It's all a matter of training," he told her. 
 ' ' Of course, you must have good eyes and steady 
 nerves, but you have those already. The rifle is 
 yours whenever you want it, and all the ammuni- 
 tion you can carry. There's just one stipulation 
 — for the first week shoot only at foothills, and, 
 remember, aim low. ' ' 
 
 So Beulah became a rifle enthusiast, and it 
 astonished her how rapidly she improved in 
 marksmanship. With a little instruction from 
 Arthurs and the cowboys in the matter of sight- 
 ing and holding her weapon, she developed quick- 
 ly from a stage of dangerous uncertainty in her 
 gunnery to one of almost expert accuracy. Then 
 she made of the rifle a companion on her horse- 
 back excursions, to the destruction of gophers, 
 rabbits, and even a badger and a coyote. It was 
 a brave day when she rode into the corral with 'a 
 coyote strung across her saddle. 
 
 The river near by teemed with trout, and the 
 girl soon caught the fascination of the angler. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 265 
 
 Mrs. Arthurs had a pair of high rubber boots, 
 which she used when she herself went whipping 
 the blue water, and, anchored in these as far out 
 as she dared go into the gravel-bottomed stream, 
 the girl laced the cold current back and forth. 
 And the wild exultation of her first bite! The 
 fish darted up and down stream, pulling out line 
 faster than she could reel it in, and Beulah, in her 
 excitement waded deeper into the stream as she 
 followed tha quivering line. But mountain 
 streams are treacherous ; one step too far plung- 
 ed her into twenty feet of water, and the next 
 moment she was spinning round and round in the 
 current. She had learned to swim a few strokes 
 in the creek on her father's farm, and her meagre 
 skill now stood her in good stead, for she was a,ble 
 to keep afloat until the current threw her against 
 a gravel bar that jutted into the river. She drag- 
 ged herself ashore, very wet, and of a sudden, 
 very frightened, and sat doAvn on the warm 
 stones'. It was here that she recorded another 
 resolution ; she would learn to swim — not a feeble 
 stroke or two, but to be master of this river which 
 had so nearly mastered her. "I will do it," she 
 said. "I will swim it across and back, if it takes 
 till December, and — ^bur-r-r-rh^— it's cold enough 
 now." Then it occurred to her that there was no 
 better time to start than the present. She lopk- 
 ed out a place where the current was not too 
 strong, and where there was no treacherous rook- 
 splits in the bottom, spread her wet/clothing to , 
 dry in the sun, and for an hour fought the cold 
 teurrent at its own game. 
 
266 TSB HOMESTEADERS 
 
 It is not recorded how it came about, but 
 Arthurs passed the word among the ranch hands 
 that a certain stretch of river bank was sacred 
 from all intrusion. 
 
 But it was in the life of the home, even more 
 than in the joyous freedom of the out-of-doors, 
 that Beulah found her great delight. The 
 Arthurs, she knew, were wealthy — ^many times 
 richer than her father, who passed as a wealthy 
 man among the farmers of Plainville. But with 
 the Arthurs wealth was merely an incident — a. 
 pleasant but by no means essential by-product of 
 their lives. They lived simply, but well; they 
 worked honestly, but did not slave; and in all 
 their living and working they shed a kindliness 
 and courtesy that communicated itself to all with 
 whom they came in contact. The cowboys, Beulah 
 soon discovered, were as unlike the cowboys of 
 fiction and of her imagination a,s a Manitoba steer 
 is unlike his Alberta brother ; they did not carry 
 revolvers, nor swagger in high hoots, nor rip the 
 air with their profanity ; and their table manners 
 reminded her of George and Harry Grant, and 
 the Grants were outstanding examples of right 
 living in the Plainville district. And Mrs. Arthurs, ^ 
 gentle and kind in all her doings, and yet firm 
 and strong and calm, she was — ^such a woman 
 Beulah told herself, as her own mother might 
 have been, had her soul not been crushed under 
 a load of unceasing labour. 
 
 Bttt, most of all, it was to Fred Arthurs that 
 the heart of the yoxmg girl turned. Whether he 
 sat over his desk at his letters, dispensed 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 267 
 
 hospitality at his table (for all who pass- 
 ed up or down the valley, as a matter of course, 
 stopped for a meal at the Arthurses), or can- 
 tered across the foothills,, or shouted ;behind his 
 lagging heards (such shouting as it was, fit to 
 split the canyons!), or played ball with the- boys 
 in the evening, or discusspd theology with the 
 travelling missionary, or philosophy with his 
 book-worm neighbour from across the river, or 
 read poetry with his wife on the Sunday after- 
 noons, or sang with his great voice in the mellow, 
 yellow eiventide, or — ^most of all — ^when he looked 
 at Beulah with his fine eyes, and she caught the 
 mirrored reflection of the hunger in his soul, she 
 felt that here was a man who had lived his life to 
 the uttermost and. would go on living it through, 
 all eternity. She only half guessed what his 
 thoughts toward her were— ^she did not know 
 that Fred and Lilian Arthurs had at last agreed 
 that they could do better than leave their wealth 
 .to charity, and that a new will was soon to be 
 drawn — ^but to her he seemed pure gold, and a 
 gentleman to his last gesture. 'And she vowed one 
 night that if ever she met a single man like Fred 
 Arthurs she would marry him althoilgh all the 
 canons and conventions of Christendom stood be- 
 tween them. !^> 
 
 And then, quite unexpected, it came upon her,' 
 and thrilled her frame from toe to temple. Jim 
 Travers! It had been in the background of her 
 mind for months, the centre of the sub-conscious 
 processes which culminated in this revelation. Yes, 
 Fred Arthurs at twenty-five must have been such 
 
268 THE HOMBSTBADBES 
 
 a man as Jim Travers. Jim Travers at fifty 
 would be such a man as Fred Artlrars. She was 
 absolutely sure of it. Jim was living his own life, 
 seeking out that which 'was worth while, culling 
 the incidental from the essential, just as Fred 
 Arthurs must have done. She remembered with 
 sudden joy how Jim had held a little kindness to 
 her of greater moment than the impatient engine 
 in the plough-field; the scores of little labours he 
 had undertaken, not as a sacrifice, but as a privi- 
 lege — as his contribution to human happiness. 
 She would marry Jim Travers. The strange part 
 of it was her sudden certainty that she should 
 marry him. She found herself enveloped in a 
 flame of possession, a feeling that he was hers — 
 hers now, this minute, and hers for ever. Beulah 
 was a fatalist, although she had never analyzed 
 her own beliefs enough to know it, but she knew 
 that Destiny had linked her life with his and that 
 Destiny would not be balked. Her mind had been 
 feeling its way, through the darkness of months, 
 to this sudden ecstasy, but now that she had 
 reached it she felt that it could never, never fail 
 her. Her sense of possession, of mergement, was 
 complete; she felt that already their souls had 
 mingled irrevocably and indistinguishably. 
 
 The arrival of her mother at the Arthurses' 
 ra!nch had brought fresh joy to Beulah 's life. She 
 saw the colour coming back to the old face, the 
 frame straightening up a little, the light rekind- 
 ling in the eye, the spring returning to the instep. 
 She had not, thought that her mother, after 
 twenty-five years of unprotesting submission, had 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 269 
 
 still the nerve to place a limit on that submission, 
 and the discovery had surprised and delighted 
 her. True, Mary Harris let it be known that she 
 was only on a visit, and in due course would re- 
 turn to her home; but Buelah knew the die had 
 been cast, and things could never again be -quite 
 as they were. And Beulah told her secret, and 
 her mother just kissed her and let a tear or two 
 fall in her hair. 
 
 So this morning, as the girl stretched her 
 young limbs,, rounding with life and energy, and 
 the burnt-orange glow of sunrise suffused the 
 room and lit the pink tissues of her slender 
 fingers, she rested in the deep peace which, ever 
 since her revelation, had enveloped her about. 
 For a minute she let her mind dwell on the pict- 
 ure she carried in her brain, until the association 
 became too keen and threatened to overwhelm her 
 from very tenderness; then she sprang from her 
 bed, and, flipping the window-blind to the top, 
 drank in the beauty of the valley through the 
 open window. Her bedroom had windows both 
 to the east and the west; and it was her custom 
 to awaken early and feast on the glory as it surg- 
 ed up the valley, and then, turning, watch the long 
 waves of light sink slowly down the white mount- 
 ains. And this morning, when she thought the 
 first beams must be gilding the highest peaks, 
 she turned to the westward window and saw the 
 light playing under a Chinook arch across a 
 segment of sky so soft and near she could almost 
 feel it with extended fingers. And then a sound 
 caught her ear, and up the trail she saw two men 
 
270 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 on horseback, a mounted policeman and another, 
 and behind them other men driving in a buggy. 
 
 By intuition Beulah knew that a mishap had 
 occurred. The Arthurses' ranch was the first 
 abode of real civilization on the way out from the 
 mountains, and it was nothiitg unusual for a 
 lumberihan with a chopped foot, or a prospector 
 caught in sliding rock, or a river-driver crushed 
 between logs, or a hunter the victim of his own 
 markmanship, to come limping or riding down the 
 trail 'to this haven of first aid. Quickly she drew 
 on her simple clothing and hurried downstairs, 
 but Arthurs was already at the door. The little 
 party came into the yard, and the policeman rode 
 up to the door. The other horseman sat with his 
 back to the house; his hands were chained to- 
 gether in front of him. 
 
 " G-ood-morning, Sergeant Grey," said Arthurs. 
 "You're early out." 
 
 The sergeant saluted. The salutation was in- 
 tended for Arthurs, but at the moment tlae police- 
 man's eye fell on Beulah, and even the discipline 
 of the Force could not prevent a momentary turn- 
 ing of the head. 
 
 "I've a badly hurt man here," he said, "a man 
 who will need your hospitality and care for some 
 days. There was a shooting up the valley last 
 night. His father is here, too, unhurt physically, 
 but on the vergei of collapse, if I am not mis- 
 taken. " 
 
 "We will bring both of them in at once," said 
 Arthurs. "Beulah, will you call Lilian, and your 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 271 
 
 mother, too? They may be needed. But who is 
 the third?" he continued, turning to Grey. 
 
 "A prisoner. It seems the older man oyer- 
 powered him. Now let us get this poor fellow in." 
 ' The policeman beckoned and Harris drove the 
 buggy up to the door. Arthurs glanced at him 
 with a casual "Good-morning," but the next in- 
 stant his eyes were riveted on the visitor. "John 
 Harris I" he exclaimed, taking a great stride for- 
 ward and extending his strong arm. "Man,, John, 
 I'm glad to see you, but not in these troubles." 
 
 Harris took his hand in a silent clasp, and 
 there was a warmth in it that set his heart beat- 
 ing as it had not for years. "It's hard, Fred," 
 'he managed to say, in a dry voice, "but it's good 
 to have you by. " 
 
 Arthurs bent over Allan, who was half sitting, 
 half lying, in the buggy. His face was sapped 
 and, grey in the growing light. Tenderly the three 
 men lift'ed him. out. "Take him straight up- 
 stairs," said Arthurs. "It wiU save moving him 
 again." Both spare-rooms in the house were 
 occupied, but Arthurs led the way into 
 Beulah's, and they laid the wounded boy on the 
 white bed. 
 
 -' Ai*thurs heard Beulah in the hall. "Take off 
 his clothes. Grey," he said, and turned to the 
 ■ doorway. "Where's your mother, Beulah?" he 
 asked in a low voice, closing the bedroom door 
 behind him. 
 
 "Dressing." The girl looked in his face, and 
 drew back with a little cry. "What's the matter. 
 Uncle Fred? What's Wrong?" 
 
272 THE HOMESTEADEKS 
 
 "A friend of mine has been hurt, and an old 
 friend of your mother's. She must not see him 
 gust now. You will arrange that?" 
 
 "Yes. But I must see him — I must help." 
 
 Beulah hurried to the room where her mother 
 was rapidly dressing. "A man has been hurt, 
 mother," she said, with suppressed excitement; 
 "We need hot water. Will you start a fire in the 
 range?" 
 
 Mary Harris mistook Beulah 's emotion for 
 natural sympathy over a suffering creature, and 
 hurried to the kitchen. Mrs. Arthurs was 
 whispering with her husband in the hall, but a 
 moment later joined Mary at the range. 
 
 Then Beulah entered the room. The policeman 
 was speaking to Arthurs. "I must go into town 
 now with my. prisoner," he was saying. "I will 
 send out a doctor at once, and in the meantime I 
 know you will do everything possible." 
 
 Beulah turned her eyes to the bed. A man was 
 lying there, and an old man was sitting beside 
 it. At the second glance she recognized him, but 
 in an instant she had herself under control. She 
 walked with a steady step to the bed and looked 
 for a full minute in her brother 's face. Then she 
 looked at her father. 
 
 "What have you done to him?" she said. 
 
 He threw out his hand feebly. "You do well 
 to ask me that," he said. "I take all the blame." 
 He raised his face slowly until his eyes met hers. 
 They were not the eyes she had known. They 
 were the eyes of a man who had been crushed, 
 who had been powdered between the wheels of 
 
THE HOMBSTEADfeRS 273 
 
 ^ate. The old masterful quality, the old in- 
 domitable will that stirred her anger and ad- 
 miration were gone, and in their place were coals 
 of sorrow and ashes of defeat. For a moment she 
 held back ; then, with arms outstretched, she fell 
 upon her father's breast. 
 
 And then he felt his strength return. He drew 
 Irer to him as all that remained in the world; 
 crushed her to him; then, very gently, released, 
 her a little. . . . He found his fingers threaiding 
 her fine hair, as they had loved to do when she 
 was a little child. 
 
 She sank to her knees beside him^ and at last 
 she looked up in his face. "Forgive me, my 
 father," she whispered. 
 
 He kissed her forehead and struggled with his 
 voice. "We all make mistakes, Beulah," he isaid. 
 "I have made mine this twenty-five years, and 
 there — there is the price ! " 
 
 His words turned Beulah 's thought to Allan, 
 aiid the necessity for action brought her to her 
 feet. "We must save him," she cried. " We must, 
 and we will! Is the policeman gone!- We must 
 have the best doctors from Calgary." Looking 
 about she found that Grey and Arthurs had 
 left the room. They had slipped out to leave 
 father and child alone with their emotion, but 
 she jfound them at the front of the house. 
 
 She seized the policeman by the arm. "You 
 must get us a doctor — the best doctor in the 
 country," she pled. "We will spare nothing " 
 
 "My guest, Miss Harris, Sergeant Grey," said 
 
274 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 Arthurs, and the policeman deftly converted her 
 , grasp into a handshake. 
 
 "Mr. Arthurs has tOld me the injured man is 
 your brother. He sha,ll want for nothing. And 
 the sopner I go the sooner you will have help." 
 
 "Your prisoner seems docile enough," Ar- 
 thurs remarked, as the policeman swung on to, 
 his horse. 
 
 "Eather a puzzler," said Grey. "Doesn't look 
 the part, but was caught in the act, or next thing 
 to it, and his revolver was found lying on the spot 
 where the young man was shot. By the way, I 
 had almost forgotten. One of the robbers, was 
 shot and kUled. I had to leave his body, but I 
 wish you would send a man up to stay about the 
 place until I can get a coroner out here." 
 
 "Robhers, did you say?" demanded Beulah. 
 "Then it was for robbery?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Harris. It seems your father had 
 a large sum of money on him. We have found no 
 trace of it yet, but it is not likely that more than 
 two were implicated, and as one was shot on the 
 spot this other must know where the money is. 
 "We wiU bring it out of him in due time." 
 
 So saying lie rode to the gate, thanked the 
 cowboy who had been keeping an eye oti the 
 prisoner, and the two started off at a smart trot 
 doTvn the trail. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 PRISONERS OF FATE 
 
 BEULAH returned to the house to mihister 
 to her brother, but Mrs. Arthurs stopped 
 her on the stairs. 
 
 "Yoiir mother knows," she said, "They are 
 both in the room with Allan." 
 
 Her first impulse was tb rush in and complete 
 the family circle, but some fine sense restrained 
 her. For distraction she plunged into the task 
 of preparing breakfast. 
 
 At length they came doA\rn. Beulah saw them 
 on the stairs, and knew that the gulf was bridged, 
 
 "Allan is better," her mothej said, when she 
 saw the girl. "He has asked for you." And 
 the next minute Beulah was on her knees by the. 
 white bed, caressing the locks that would faU over 
 the pale forehead. 
 
 "How did I get here, Beulah?" he whispered. 
 "How did we all get here? What has happened?" 
 
 "You have been hiirt, Allan," she said. "You 
 have been badly hurt, but you are going to get 
 well again. When you are stronger we will talk 
 jlbout it, but at present you must lie still and 
 rest," 
 
 '275 
 
276 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "Lie still and rest," he repeated. "How good 
 it is to lie still and rest!" , 
 
 Later in the ^ay the pain in his wound began 
 to give much discomfort, but he was able to swal- 
 low some porridge with pure cream, and his 
 breath came easily. His father atayed about the 
 house, coming every, little while to look in upon 
 son and daughter, and as Allan's great con- 
 stitution gave evidence of winning the fight a 
 deep happiness came upon John Harris. He was 
 able to sleep for a short iime, and in the after- 
 noon suggested a walk with his wife. Beulah 
 saw that they were arm in arm as they disap- 
 peared in the trees by the river. 
 
 "I haven't told you all yet," Harris said. to 
 her. "I have done even worse than you suppose, 
 but in some way it doesn't seem so bad to-day. 
 Last night I was in Gethsemane. ' ' 
 
 It was strange to hear a word suggestive of re- 
 ligion from his lips. Harris had not renounced 
 religion ; he ha,d merely been too busy for it. But 
 this word showed that his mind had been travel- 
 ling back over old tracks. 
 
 "And to-day we are in Olivet," she answered, 
 tenderly. "What matters if — if everything's all 
 right?" 
 
 ' ' If only Allan: ' ' he faltered. ff 
 
 "Allan will get well," she said. "When he 
 could withstand the first shock he will get well. 
 Of course he must have attention, but he is in the 
 right place for that." 
 
 "The Arthurses are wonderful people," he 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 277 
 
 ventured, after a pause. ' * Mary, they have found 
 something that we missed." 
 ■ "But we have found it now, John. We are 
 going to take time to live. That is where we 
 made our mistake." 
 
 There was another pause, broken only by the 
 rustle of leaves and the rushing of the river. 
 
 "Beulah was right," he said, at last. "Beulah 
 is a wonderful girl, and a beautiful. " 
 
 "She will not be wanting to go back home 
 with us, ' ' said the mother. 
 
 "So much the better. Mary, Mary, we have no 
 home to go back to ! " 
 
 She looked at him with a sudden' puzzled, half- 
 f Tightened expression. "No home, John I No 
 home 1 You don 't mean that ? ' ' 
 
 He nodded and turned his face away. "I said 
 I hadn't told you all," he managed at length. . . . 
 "I sold the farm." 
 
 ' She was sitting on a fallen log, very trim, and 
 grey, and small, but she seemed suddenly to be- 
 come smaller and greyer still. 
 
 "Sold the old farm," she repeated, mechani- 
 cally. 
 
 "Yes, I sold the old farm," he said again, as if 
 finding some delight in goading himself with the 
 repetition. "I thought I saw a chance to, make 
 a lot of money if only I had some ready cash to 
 turn in my hand, aind I sold it. I thought I would 
 be rich and then I would be happy. But they took 
 the money last night. They found, out about it 
 some way, and took it, and nearly killed our boy. 
 
278 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 Mary, you worked hard all your life, and to-day 
 you have nothing/ I brought you to this." 
 
 She looked with unseeing eyes through the 
 trees at the fast-running water. Her thoughts 
 were with the old home, with the ideals they had 
 cherished when they founded it, with the hard- 
 ships and the sorrow, and the sickness and the 
 pain,/ and the joy ithat had hallowed it as no other 
 spot in all the universe — ^the place where their 
 first love had nursed them in its tenderness, 
 where they had sat hand in hknd in the gathering 
 dusk, drinking the ripple of the water and the 
 whirr of the wild duck's wing; where she had 
 gone down into the valley of the shadow and their 
 little children had come into their arms. And it 
 was gone. He had sold it. Without so much as 
 by-your-leave from the partner of his labours and 
 his life he had sold it and left them destitute. 
 
 She saw it all, and for the moment her heart 
 shrank within her. But she saw, too, the futility 
 of it all. She might have upbraided him; she 
 might have returned in part the sorrows he had 
 forced upon her, for he was wounded now and 
 could not strike back. But she rose and stretched 
 her arms toward him. 
 
 "You said I had nothing, John. You are 
 wrong. I have you. I have everything ! ' ' 
 
 . . . "And it was to you, beloved, to you, a wo- 
 man of such great soul, that I could do this thing. 
 ... I should be utterly wretched. . . . But I'm 
 not." He spoke slowly and deliberately, as one 
 having ample time, and with the diction of earlier 
 years. "I should be scouring the valleys with 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 279 
 
 a troop of men, liimting for our money. But I'm 
 not. It seems such a puny thing, it's hardly 
 worth the while— except for the happiness it 
 might bring to you, and Beulah." . , . 
 
 They sat long in the sunshine of. the warm 
 autumn afternoon, living, again through sweet, 
 long-forgotten days, and already planning for 
 their future. Harris would again exercise home- 
 stead right, and with Allan to take up land along- 
 side they should have comfort and happiness. 
 They would go back to the beginning ; they voi^ld 
 start over again; and this time they would not 
 stray from the path. 
 
 When they returned to the house it was almost 
 evening, and they found the doctor from town 
 busy with Allan. "Would have killed nine men 
 out of ten," he told Harris, quite frankly; "but 
 this boy is the tenth. He's badly hurt, but he'll 
 pull through, if we can arrest any infection. His 
 constitution and his clean blood will saye him." 
 
 " Before the doctor left Arthurs inquired if the 
 police had any further details of the crime. Harris 
 appeared to have lost interest in everything ex- 
 cept the members of his family. 
 
 "Quite a mystery," said the doctor. "I un- 
 destand one of the robbers was shot, and I will 
 go on up from here to make an examination, as 
 coroner. To-morrow the police will bring out a 
 jury, and a formal verdict will be returied. A 
 systematic search wUl also be undertaken to re- 
 cover \h.e money, as I understand that you" — 
 turning to Harris — "suffered a heavy financial 
 loss in addition to the injury to your son. Qf 
 
280 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 course, it is impossible to say how many took part 
 in the affair, but it is not likely the outlaws num- 
 bered more than two, in which case they are both 
 accounted for. The one captured had no money 
 to speak of in his possession, but he may have 
 cached it somewhere, and when he sees the rope 
 before him it will be likely to make him talk. 
 They seem to have a pretty straight case against 
 him. Not only was he captured practically in the 
 act, but they have another important clue. He 
 owns up to his name frankly enough, and it seems 
 the revolver found on the scene of the crime had 
 his initials, 'J.T.' — Jim Travers, cut in the grip. 
 In fact, he admits the revolver is — . What's 
 wrong, Miss Harris? Are you ill?" 
 
 Beulah's breath had stopped at the mention 
 of Travers' name, and she staggered to a chair. 
 Harris, too, was overcome. 
 
 "We knew him down East," Beulah explain-' 
 ed, when she had somewhat Recovered her com- 
 posure. "I Qould not have thought it possible!" 
 
 "I didn't think he would have carried it that 
 far, ' '■ said Harris, at length,, speaking very slow- 
 ly and sadly. "Jim, Jim, you've made a worse 
 mistake than mine. ' ' 
 
 Mary learned of the disclosure in a few min- 
 utes, and followed Beulah upstairs. 
 
 "You poor child!" she said, as she overtook 
 her daughter. 
 
 "It's not me," she ishot back. "It's Jim. He 
 must be saved, some way.. It's impossible to 
 think — I won't think it, no matter what they say! 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 281 
 
 Let them find what they like! . . . But he's in a 
 hole, and 'we've got to get him out." 
 
 The mother shook her head with some recollec- 
 tion of the blindness of love. And yet her own 
 heart refused to accept any idea of guilt on the 
 part of Travers. 
 
 , *'I want to be alone, mother," said Beulah. "I 
 want to be alone, to think. I'm going down by 
 the river." 
 
 As she strode rapidly through the paths in the 
 cotton-woods the girl gradually became conscious 
 of one dominating impulse in her maze of emo- 
 tions. She must see Jim. She must see him at 
 once. She must see him alone. There were 
 things to be said that needed — that admitted — ^no 
 witness. She knew that. Arthurs or one of thfe 
 men would willingly ride to town for her, or with 
 her, but this was a task for her alone. They must 
 know nothing until it was over. 
 
 Outwardly calm, but inwardly b-qming with 
 impatience, she returned to the house and went 
 through the form of eating supper. Then she 
 dallied through the evening, giving her attention 
 to Allan until all the household, except her moth- 
 er, had gone to bed. 
 
 "I will watch with Allan to-night," her mother 
 said. "You need rest more than I do. Lie down 
 in my room and try to get some sleep." 
 
 Her mother kissed her, and Beulah went to her 
 room. But not to sleep. When silence filled all 
 the house she slipped gently doAyn the stairs, 
 through the front yard, and into the corral. 
 Fortunately her horse had been stabled. She 
 
282 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 harnessied him with, some difficulty in the dark- 
 ness, and threw herself into the saddle. For a 
 hundred yards she walked him; then she drew 
 him off the hard road on to the grass and loosed' 
 him into a trot. Half a mile from the house she 
 Avas swinging at a hard gallop down the dark 
 vaUey. The soft night wind pressed its caresses 
 on her flushed cheek, but her heart beat fast with 
 excitement a,nd impatience, and she galloped the 
 foaming horse to the limit of his speed. More than 
 once even the sure-footed ranger almost fell over 
 the treacherous badger-holes, but she had learii- 
 ed to ride like the saddle itself, and she merely 
 tightened the rein and urged him faster. 
 
 Two hours of such violence were a safety-valve 
 to her emotions, and both horse and rider were 
 content to enter the little town at a walk. Here 
 and there a coal-oil lamp shed its cube of yellow 
 light through an unblinded window, but the. 
 streets were deserted and in utter darkness. She 
 had now teached the point at which her genera,! 
 plan to see Travers must be worked out into de- 
 tail, and she allowed the horse his time as she 
 turned the matter over in her mind. She had no 
 doubt that if she found Sergeant Grey he would 
 permit an interview, but she shrank from making 
 the request. She might do so as a last resort; 
 but if possible she meant to seek out her lover — 
 for so she thought of him — for herself. She knew 
 that the jails in the smaller towns were crude 
 affairs, where the prisoner was locked up and 
 usually left without guard. The firt thing was to 
 find the jail. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 283 
 
 At a CTOssing her horse almost collided with a 
 boy returning home from some late errand. "Oh, 
 Mr. Boy," she said. "Come here^ please, I want 
 you to help me." 
 
 The boy approached hesitatingly, as though 
 suspicious that some kind of trick were being 
 played on him. 
 
 "Can you tell me," she" said, in a low voice,' 
 "where the jail is? I'll give you a dollar if you 
 do." ' ' 
 
 "There ain't no jail here, nai'ss," he replied 
 frankly, evidently satisfied that the question was 
 bona fide. "There's a coop, but you Avouldn't 
 give a dime to see it. It's just a kind of a, shed." 
 
 "That's just what I want to find," she con- 
 tinued, "and I'll give you a dollar to show me 
 where it is." 
 
 "Easy pickin'," said the boy. "Steer your 
 horse along this way. ' 
 
 He led her through the main part of the town, 
 ,to where a one-storey building, somewhat apart, 
 stood aloof in the darkness. 
 
 "Some coop, ain't it?" said her guide, with 
 boyish irony. "My dad says that's what we git 
 fer votin' against the Gover'ment. The -fire 
 -truck's in the front end, an' there's a cell with 
 bars behind- Do you want to see that, too ? " 
 
 "Yes, that's what I want to see, but I can find 
 it myself liow, thank you. " . 
 
 "Say, miss, you better be kerful. They've got 
 a murd'rer in there now — Oh, say"-^with a sud- 
 den change in his voice — "maybe he's somethin' 
 
284 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 to you? They ain't proved notHn' against Mm 
 
 yet." 
 
 "Yes, he's a good deal to me," she said.. 
 
 "Brother?" he demanded, with disconcerting 
 persistence. 
 • "No." 
 
 If her eyes conld have pierced the darkness she 
 would have seen a broad smile of understanding 
 spreading over his yoang face. But it was a 
 sympathetic smile withal. "Then I guess this 
 dollar stands for 'beat it'?" he remarked. 
 
 "You win," she said, falling into his slang. 
 "Also, forget it." 
 
 "I gotchuh, miss," he said, trotting off. Then 
 he called back through the darkness, "An' I hope 
 he gits off." 
 
 "God bless him for that," she said to herself, 
 as she dismounted and made her way to the back 
 of the building. She saw the outline of a door, 
 which was undoubtedly locked, and further down 
 the same wall was a little square window, with 
 bars on it. There appeared to be only one cell, 
 so there was no problem of locating the right one. 
 
 She stole up along the wall, but the window 
 was too high for her. Searching about the lit- 
 tered yard ,she. found a square tin; such as the 
 ranchers use to carry coal-oil. Mounting this she 
 was able to bring, her face to the bars. The 
 window was open for ventilation, and she strain- 
 ed-her ear, but at first could hear nothing for the 
 tumultous beating of her OAvn heart. But at 
 length she seemed to catch the sound of regular 
 breathing from within. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 285 
 
 "Jim," she said, in a low yoice, listening in- 
 tently. But there was no response. 
 
 "Jim," she repeated, a little louder. She 
 fancied she heard a stir, and the sound of breath- 
 ing seemed to cease. 
 
 "Jim Travers!" 
 
 "Yes!" came a quick reply.. "Yes! Who is 
 it?" V 
 
 "Come to the window, Jim." 
 
 In a moment she saw the outline of his face 
 through the darkness. 
 
 "Beulah Harris," he demanded, in his quiet 
 voice, "what are you doing here!" 
 
 A great happiness surged about her at the 
 sound of his Voice and the warmth of his breath 
 against her face. "I might ask the same, Jiin, 
 but such questions are embarrassing. Anyway, 
 I am on the right side of the wall." 
 , She saw his teeth gleam in the darkness. What 
 a wonderful soul he was ! 
 
 "But you shouldn't have come like this," he 
 protested, and his voice was serious enough. 
 "You are compromising yourself." 
 
 "Not I," she answered. "These bars are more 
 inflexible than the stiffest chaperone. Ajid I just 
 had to see you, Jim, at once. We've got to get 
 you out of here." 
 
 "How's AUan?" 
 
 "Getting better." 
 
 "And your father? Pretty angry at me, I 
 guess." , 
 
 "No. Father isn't angry any more. He's just 
 sorry." 
 
286 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 ''Times are ciiatigiiig, Beulah. Biit if he 
 wound that sack around my neck in sorrow, I 
 don't want him at it when he's cross." 
 
 She laughed a little, mirthful ripple. Then 
 with sudden seriousness. ''But, Jim, we shouldn't 
 he" jesting. We've got to get you out of here." 
 
 "I'm not worrying, Beulah," he answered. 
 "They seen! to have the drop on me, but I know 
 a few things they don't. Shall I tell you what I 
 know?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because it would seem like arguing — like try- 
 ing to prove you are innocent. And you don't 
 need to prove anything to me. You understand? 
 You don't need to prove anything to me." 
 
 She felt his eyes hot on her face through the 
 darkness. "You don't need to prove anything 
 to me," she repeated. 
 
 For a moment he held himself in restraint. The 
 words were simple enough, but he knew what 
 they meant. And this country girl, whom he had 
 learned to like on her father's farm, had grown 
 largqr and larger in his scheme of things with 
 the passing weeks. At first he had tried to dis- 
 suade himself, to think of it only as a passiilg 
 fancy, and to remember that he~ was engaged in 
 the serious business of earning enough money to 
 build a! shack on a homestead, and buy a team and 
 a plough, arid a cow and some bits of furniture. It 
 would be a plain, simple life, but Beulah was ac- 
 customed— — What had Beulah to do with it? 
 He scolded himself for permitting her intrusion, 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 287 
 
 and turned his mind to the mellow fields where 
 he would follow the plough until the sun dipped 
 into the Eockies. And then he woiild turn the 
 horses loose for food and rest, and in the shack 
 the jack-pine knots would be frying in the kitchen 
 stove, and the little table would be set, and 
 Beulah 
 
 And now this girl had come to him, while he 
 was under the shadow, and because the shadow 
 would not let him speak, and because her soul 
 would not be bound by custom, and because her 
 love could not be concealed, she had let him know. 
 
 "Have you thought it over, Beulah 1" he said. 
 "I have no right,- 'as matters stand' to give or 
 take a promise. I have no^right— — " 
 
 "You have no right to say 'as matters stand' 
 as though matters had anything to do with it. 
 They haven't Jim. No, I have not thought it 
 over. This isn't something you think. It is 
 something that comes to you when you don't 
 think, or in spite of your thinking. But it 's real 
 — ^more real than anything you can touch or 
 handle — ^more real than these bars, which are not 
 so close as you seem to fancy " 
 
 And then, between the iron rods across the 
 open window, his lips met hers. 
 
 . . . "And you were seeking life, Beulah," he 
 said at last. "Life that you should live in your 
 own way, for the joy of living it. And "> 
 
 "And I have found it," she answered, in a 
 voice low and thrilling with tenderness. "I have 
 found it in you. We shall work out our destiny 
 together, but we must keep our thought on the 
 
288 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 destiny, rather than the, work. Oh, Jim, I'm just 
 dying to see your homestead— our homestead. 
 And are there two windows? We must have two 
 windows, Jim — one in the east for the sun, and 
 one in the west for the mountains. ' ' 
 
 "Our house is all window, as yet," he answer- 
 ed gaily. "And there isn't as much as a fence 
 post to break the view." 
 
 "What are you doing here?" said la sharp 
 voice, and Beulah felt as though her tin box were 
 suddenly sinking into a great abyss. She turned 
 with a little gasp. Sergeant Grey stood within 
 arm's length of her. 
 
 "Oh, it's Sergeant Grey," she said, with a tone 
 of relief. "I am Beulah Harris. And I've just 
 been getting myself engaged to your prisoner 
 here. Oh, it's not so awful as you think. You 
 see, we knew each other in Manitoba, and we've 
 really been engaged for quite a while, but he 
 didn't know it until to-night." 
 
 For a moment the policeman retained his re- 
 serve. He remembered the girl, who had already 
 cost him a deflected glance, and he reproached 
 himself that he could doubt her even as he doubt- 
 ed, but how could he know that she had not been 
 passing in firearms or planning a release? 
 
 "What she says is right, sergeant/' said, 
 Travers. "She has just broken the news to me, 
 and I'm the happiest man in Canada, jail or no 
 jail." 
 
 There was no mistaking the- genuine ring in 
 Travers' voice, and the policeman was convinced.- 
 "Most extraordinary," he remarked, at length. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 289 
 
 "but entirely natural on your part, I must say. I 
 congratulate you, sir." The officer had not for- 
 gotten the girl who clung to his arm the morning 
 before.- "Hang me, sir," he continued, "there's 
 luck everywhere but in the Mounted Police." 
 
 He unlocked the door of the cell. "I ought to 
 search you," he said to Beulah, "but if you'll 
 give me your word that you have no firearms, 
 weapons, knives, or matches, I'll admit you to 
 .this — er^drawing-room for a few minutes." 
 
 "Nothing worse than a hat-pin," she assured 
 him. "But you must come, too," she added, 
 placing her hand on his arm. "You must' under- 
 stand that." 
 
 He accompanied her into the cell, but remained 
 hi the doorway, where he suddenly developed an 
 interest in astronomy. At length he turned quick- 
 ly and faced in to the darkness. 
 
 "Speaking, not as an affieer, but as a fellow- 
 man, I wish you were damned well — that is, very 
 well— out of this, old chap," he said to Travers. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," Jim assured him. "You 
 couldn't help taking me up, of course, and for all 
 your kindness you would quite cheerfully hang me 
 if it fell to your lot. But it isn't going to. " 
 
 "I stand ready to be of any service to you that 
 is permissible." 
 
 "The inquest is to be to-morrow, isn't it?" 
 asked Beulah. "I think you should be at the 
 inquest, Jim." 
 
 "That's right," said the sergeant. "You may 
 throw some new light on the ease. ' ' 
 
290 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 "I've just one request," said Travers. "You 
 know Grardiner?" 
 
 "I've heard of liim." 
 
 "Have him at the inquest." 
 
 "As a juror or witness?" 
 
 "It doesn't matter, but have him there." 
 
 "All right. I'll see to it. And now. Miss 
 Harris, if you will permit me, I will bring your 
 horse for you. " 
 
 Grey took a conveniently long time to find the 
 horse, but at last he appeared in the door. Beulah 
 released her fingers from Jim's and swung her- 
 self into the saddle. 
 
 "Sergeant G-rey," she said, "I think you're the 
 second best man in the world. Grobd-night. " 
 
 The sergeant's military shoulders came up 
 squarer still, and he stood at attention as she rode 
 into the darkness. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 AST INQUEST — AND SOME EXPLAKATIONS 
 
 THE inquest party consisted of the coroner, 
 who was the doctor that had already at- 
 tended Allan; Sergeant Grey; six jurors, 
 selected from the townspeople ; the manager of the 
 bank, whose suspicions had first been com- 
 municated to Grey; Travers; and Gardiner. In 
 the early morning the policeman had ridden out 
 to the ranch for Gardiner, but had met him on his 
 way to town. News of the tragedy had reached 
 him, he said, and he was hurrying in to see if he 
 could be of some assistance to Travers, in ar- 
 ranging for a lawyer, or in any way that might 
 be practicable. Grey told him that as yet no 
 formal charge had been laid against Travers ; 
 that he was merely being held pending the finding 
 of the coroner's jury, and suggested that if Gar- 
 diner would accompany him to the inquest he 
 might be able, not only to throw some light on 
 Travers' character, but also on his whereabouts 
 'on the night of the tragedy. To this Gardiner 
 readily agreed. 
 
 It was noon when the party reached the Ar- 
 thurses' ranch. Beulah counted '-them out with 
 a field-glass while they were still miles down the 
 
 291 
 
292 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 valley, and a big table was set in the bunk-house 
 where the cowboys were accommodated during , 
 the branding season. It was a matter of course 
 that the men should be fed when they reached 
 Arthurs'. At intervals in the setting of the table 
 the girl returned to her field-glg,ss, until she was 
 quite sure of the straight figure riding beside 
 the mounted policeman. 
 
 They swung into the yard amid a cloud of dust, 
 the jingle of trappings, and the hearty exchange 
 of greetings between Arthurs and his acquain- 
 tances from town. Gardiner was introduced to 
 Arthurs, and shook hands without removing his 
 gauntlets. He had learned that the party were 
 to have dinner here, and he excused himself, say- 
 ing that the long ride in the heat had upset him 
 somewhat, and he thought he would be wiser 
 to lie in the shade for^ an hour or two before 
 eating. Arthurs pressed his hospitality upon 
 him, but as Gardiner seemed fixed in his purpose 
 he did not insist. Then the rancher walked over 
 and shook hands with Travers. There was no 
 signs of handcuffs now, and an outsider would 
 not have known that the young man's position 
 differed from that of the others present. 
 
 After the meal Gardiner joined them again, and 
 the party, which now included Arthurs and Har- 
 ris, proceeded up the valley to the scene of the 
 tragedy. It was a great shock to Harris to find 
 that the victim of Allan's gun was his old neigh- 
 bour, Biles. He stood for a long time as one 
 dazed by the discovery, but gradually out of the 
 confusion a horrible fear took shape in his mind. 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 293 
 
 Allan had shot this inan, with whom they had 
 an appointment at this spot ; had shot him down, 
 as far as could be sho-^yn, without excuse or pro- 
 vocation, before he had so much as entered the 
 door. The body proved to be unarmed, and from 
 its position had evidently fallen into the build- 
 ing after receiving the fatal charge. 
 
 The old man turned dry eyes from the grue- 
 some thing across the warm, shimmering valleys. 
 On the farther slopes, leagues distant through 
 the clear air, ripening, fields of wheat lay on the 
 hillsides like patches of copper-plate, and farther 
 still thin columns of smoke marked the points 
 where steam-ploughs were wrapping the virgin 
 prairie in her first black bridal of commerce. But 
 he saw none of these. He saw Allan, and he saw 
 bars, and a prisoner's dock. And there was 
 something else that he would not see; he would 
 close his eyes; he would not let its horrid gaunt 
 ligaments thrust themselves into his vision! 
 
 After a thorough examination of the scene they 
 laid the body, in a democrat and returned to 
 Arthurs', where the coroner held his court in the 
 bunk-house. 
 
 Harris's evidence was first received. He found 
 it difficult to give his story connectedly, but item 
 by item he told of his acquaintance with Riles in 
 the eastern province; of their decision to come 
 west and take up more land ; of . the chance by 
 which they had fallen with Gardiner, and the 
 prospect he had laid before them. of more profit- 
 able returns from another form of investment ; of 
 how his hesita.tion had finally been overcome by 
 
294 THE, HOMESTEADERS 
 
 the assurance that all he need do was to have his 
 money ready — :he was to be under no obligation 
 to go any farther in the transaction unless entirely 
 satisfied ; of the the offer wired by the New York 
 capitalists; of the sale of his farm for a disap- 
 pointing sum, and their journey with the money 
 to the old shanty up the valley^ where they were 
 to be met by Riles and Gardiner, and also, as 
 they expected, by the owner of the mine, with 
 whom they would open direct negotiations, pro- 
 ducing the money as proof of their desire and 
 ability to carry out their undertaking; of how' 
 they. hoped the owner would-be induced to accept 
 a deposit and accompany them back to town, 
 where an option would be secured from him for a 
 period sufficient to enable them to turn the pro- 
 perty over to the New York investors at a hand- 
 some profit ; and how he — Harris: — wearied by 
 the long ride in the bright, thin air, had gone to 
 sleep confidently with Allan at his side, and of 
 how he had suddenly beeii awakened by a shot 
 and had heard Allan spring to his feet and rush 
 across the floor of the old building. Then there 
 had been another shot — a revolver shot this time 
 — -and everything was darkness, and he could 
 hear only something struggling at the door. Then 
 he told of his own fight; of how they had fallen 
 and rolled' about on the rotten floor, and how, in 
 desperation, he had not hesitated to use his' teeth 
 on the haiid of his assailant, who had finally brok- 
 en away and disappeared in the darkness. Then 
 he told the rest of his stdry; of his vigil with 
 Allan, of the loss of the money, of the capture of 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 295 
 
 Travers, and finally of the arrival of the police- , 
 man on the scene. , 
 
 "Didn't it. seem to yon a foolish thing to go 
 into the hills with all that money to meet a man 
 yon had never seen, and buy a property yon had 
 nevei* examined?" asked the corner. 
 
 "It wasn't foolishness; it was stark, raving 
 madneiss, as I see it now," Harris admitted. 
 "But I didn't see it that way then. It looked 
 like a lot of easy money. I didn't care what the 
 coal mine was like — ^I didn't care whether there 
 was a coal mine at all or not, so long as we made 
 our turn-over to the New York people." 
 
 "But did it not occur to you that the whole 
 thing — coal mine and mine owner and New York- 
 ers and all — ^was simply a scheme hatched up to, 
 induce you away into the fastnesses of the foot- 
 hills' with a lot of money in your possession?" 
 
 A half-bewildered look came over Harris, as 
 of a man gripped by a new and paralyzing 
 thought. But he shook his head. "No, it couldn't 
 have been that," he said. "You see Biles was 
 an old neighbour of mine', and Mr. Gardiner, too, 
 I knew for a good, many years. It wasn't like 
 as if I had been dealing with strangers. ' ' 
 
 "We will go deeper into the matter after a 
 little," said the coroner. "It's very fortunate 
 Mr. Gardiner is here to add what light he can to 
 the mystery. We will now adjourn to the room 
 where the younger Mr. Harris lies and hear his 
 evidence. It would be unwise to move him for 
 some days yet." 
 
 They found Allan partly propped up in the 
 
296 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 white bed. His face was pale, and his hands 
 were astonishingly thin and white, but his mind 
 wag clear, and he' could talk without difficulty. 
 He covered much the same ground as his father 
 had done, up to the point where the elder Harris 
 had fallen asleep in the old building. 
 
 "I can't tell, you how it happened, Doctor," he , 
 said, turning his eyes, larger now in his pale face, 
 upon the coroner, "but I think I got very hom- 
 sick — I guess I was pretty tired, too — and I be- 
 gan thinking of things that had happened long 
 ago, back when I was a little child, in a little sod 
 shanty, that the old shack in the valley some way 
 seemed to bring to mind. And then I guess I 
 fell asleep, too, but suddenly I sat up in a great 
 fright. I'm not a coward," he said, with a faint 
 smile. "When I'm feeling myself it takes more 
 than a notion or a dark night to send the creeps 
 up, the back of my neck. But I own I sat up there 
 so frightened' my teeth chattered. I had a feel- 
 ing that I was going to be attacked — ^I didn't 
 know by what — ^maybe by a wild beast — ^but some- 
 thing was going to rush in through that old blank- 
 et hanging in the door and pounce on me." 
 
 The sweat was standing on Allan's face, and he 
 sank back weakly into the pillows. Beulah placed 
 a glass to his lips, and the doctor told him to take 
 his time with his story. The jurors stood about 
 the bed in silence, looking from one to the other 
 ■with expressions that suggested they were almost 
 in the presence of the supernatural. If the black 
 bag with the money had slowly risen out of the 
 . floor someone would have quietly set it in a 
 
THE, HOMESTEADERS 297 
 
 corner until Allg,n was ready to eolitinue his 
 evidence. 
 
 "As the minutes, went by," Allan continued, 
 after an intervals, "that terrible dread grew upon 
 me, and my sense of danger changed from fear to 
 certainty. Something was going to attack me 
 through that door! I raised my gun and took 
 careful aim. I saw the blanket, swing a little; 
 then I saw the fingers of a man's hand. Then I 
 fired." 
 
 "Perhaps I am a murderer," he continued, 
 simply, "but before Grod I know no more why I 
 fired that sh6t than you do. ' ' 
 
 There were deep breathing and shuffling of feet 
 as Allan completed this part of his statement, 
 but only the coroner found his voice. "Most re- 
 markable evidence," he ejaculated. "Most ex- 
 traordinary evidence. I have never heard any- 
 thing so obviously sincere aiid at the same time 
 so altogether unexplainable." 
 
 "Perhaps it's not so tinexplainable, " ' said a 
 quiet voice; and Marry Harris made her way 
 through the circle of men to the side of the bed. 
 She sat down on the coverlet and took the boy's 
 hand' in hers. It mattered not how many were 
 looking on; he was her little boy again. 
 
 "Tou will understand. Doctor, and some of you 
 men are parents," she began. "Allan will be 
 twentyyfive years old this coming winter. A 
 little less than twenty-five years ago my husband 
 was obliged to leave me alone for a considerable 
 period in our little sod shanty on the homestead 
 
298 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 where we had located down in Manitoba. There 
 were no near neighbours, as we count distance in 
 well-settled districts, and I was altogether alone. 
 I stood it all right for the first day or two, but 
 my nerves were not what they should have been, 
 and gradually a strange, unreasoning fear came 
 upon me. I suppose it was the immensity of the 
 prairies, the terrible loneliness of it all, and my 
 own state of health, but the dread grew from day 
 to day and from night to night. I tried to busy 
 myself,"^ to keep my mind active, to throw off the 
 spectre that haunted me, but day kad night I wa,s 
 oppressed with a sense of impending danger. 
 We had no wooden door on the house, we hadn't 
 money to buy the boards to make one, and all my 
 protection was a blanket hung in the doorway. 
 I used to watch that blanket at i^ight; I would 
 light the lantern and sit in the corner and watch 
 that blanket. My fear gra(iually pictured to it- 
 self an attack through that doorway — ^I didn't 
 know by what; by white man, or Indian, or wild 
 beast, or ghost, or worse, if that is possible; my 
 mind could not balance things; nothing seemed 
 too unreasonable or terrible to expect. So I 
 took the gun, and sat in, the corner, and waited." 
 ''And then at last it came. I didn't see any- 
 thing, and I didn't hear anything, but I knew it 
 was there. I still remember how frightened' and 
 yet how cool I was in that last moment. I held 
 the gun to my shoulder and waited for it to thrust 
 itself against the blanket. In another moment I 
 am sure I should have fired. But before that 
 moment I heard my name called, and I knew my 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 299 
 
 husband's voice, and I came out of the night- 
 mare. " j 
 
 She brought her eyes slowly from the face of 
 the doctor over the group of men assembled in the 
 room, and then dropped, them to meet Allan's. 
 He was breathing her ijame softly. "If it was a 
 wrong thing for Allan to shoot this man," she 
 said, "don't blame Allan for it. Let me pay any 
 price that must be paid. ' ' 
 
 "Most extraordinary," the coroner repeated, 
 after a silence. "It seems to account for the 
 shooting of Eiles, but it leaves us as much as ever 
 —more than ever,, I should say — in the dark con- 
 cerning the disappearance of the money, and the 
 part which has implicated the young man Travers 
 in the affair." ' 
 
 The banker gave his evidence. It was not un- 
 usual, he said, for considerable sums in bank- 
 notes to be handled among speculators and land- 
 buyers, but the amount withdrawn by Harris was 
 so great that It had left ,him somewhat ill at ease, 
 and as Sergeant Grey had happened his way he 
 had mentioned the matter to him. 
 
 The policeman shed little new light on the case. 
 .He had followed the party into the hills as best he 
 could, taking the off chance of something sinister 
 afoot. He had found Harris, with his wounded 
 son, and a prisoner, and a man dead in the door- 
 way. He had notified the coroner and taken 
 Travers in charge. Here his eyes met Beulah's. - 
 "I don't think there is anything more to be said," 
 he concluded. 
 
300 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 During the hearing of the various witnesses 
 Gardiner had attempted an air of impersonal in- 
 terest, but with no great success. His demean- 
 our, studied though it was, betrayed a certain 
 anxiety and impatience. He was dressed just 
 as he had dismounted from his horse, having 
 only removed his hat. But he smiled confidently 
 when asked for his evidence, and told his story 
 calmly and connectedly. 
 
 It was quite, true that he was associated with 
 Riles and Mr. Harris in the coal-mine investment. 
 He. was acting for the owner of the property, but 
 had seen that a large profit was to be made from 
 the turn-over, and had been glad to place the 
 opportunity in the way of two old friends. The 
 offer from the New York concern was entirely 
 bona fide; he had the telegra,m in his pocket at 
 that moment, notwithstanding the suggestion 
 made by the coroner, which, if he might say so, 
 he thought was hardly warranted, and would not 
 have been made with a full knowledge of the cir- 
 cumstances. The owner of the mine could be 
 produced at the proper moment, if that became 
 necessary. 
 
 "I feel a grave responsibility in the, whole 
 matter," Gardiner protested, with some emotion. 
 "I feel that I am, at least indirectly, responsible 
 for the serious loss that has befallen Mr. Harris, 
 and for the injury to his son. But when you 
 have heard the whole circustances you will agree 
 that the situation was one I could not possibly 
 have foreseen. Let me give them to you in some 
 detail." 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 301 
 
 "The day before yesterday, in company with 
 Eiles, I met Mr, Harris and his son, and found 
 that their money had arrived. The remittance 
 was not as large as they expected, but I believed 
 that I could raise some money privately, and that 
 we would still be able to put the deal through, I 
 advised against losing any time, as I knew that if 
 the owner should meet anyone else interested in a 
 proposition of a similar nature we would find it 
 much harder to make a bargain with him. It was 
 arranged that the two Mr. Harrisses were to 
 drive ahead, taking the money with them, and 
 that Eiles and I would follow. We were to over- 
 take them at the old building where this unfor- 
 tunate tragedy occurred. As it happened, I had 
 a sick horse at the ranch, and, as I Was delayed in 
 getting some medicine for him, Eiles suggested 
 that he would ride out to the ranch— that is, 
 where I live — and wait for me there. Up to that 
 time I had no suspicions, and, I agreed to that." 
 
 "Well, when I reached the ranch, I could find 
 nothing of Eiles, and, on further search, I could 
 find nothing of Travers, who was working for me. 
 Their riding horses were gone, and so were their 
 saddles and bridles. I found that Travers had 
 taken his revolver out of the house. "I confess 
 my suspicions were then somewhat aroused, but 
 I found myself with the sick, horse on my hands, 
 and I could not very well leave my place. Of 
 course, I never thought of anything so bad as has 
 happened, or I would not have considered the 
 horse, but I admit I was at a loss to understand 
 their conduct. But when I heard, early this 
 
302 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 morning, what had happened, it was all clear to 
 me." 
 
 During the latter part of this evidence Travers 
 had fixed his eyes on Gardiner, but the witness 
 had steadily avoided hini. Jim was now con- 
 vinced that he was the victim, not of a coinci- 
 dence, hut a plot. Of course, he could give his 
 evidence, which would be directly contradictory 
 to that of Gardiner, but he was already under 
 suspicion, and anything he might say would be 
 unconsciously discounted by the jurors. But he 
 began calmly, a quiet smile still playing about his 
 thin lips and clean teeth. 
 
 "I am sorry I cannot corroborate all the last 
 witness has said," he commenced. "I, did not 
 leave the ranch with Riles ; on the contrary, I was 
 fishing down by the river when J saw Riles and 
 Gardiner ride by. Gardiner was talking, and I 
 heard him mention Mr. Harris's name. I work- 
 ed for Mr. Harris not long ago, but I did not know 
 he was in this part of the country. I heard 
 
 Gardiner say^ " Jim coloured a little, and 
 
 stopped. ■ 
 
 "Well, what did you hear him say?" said the 
 . coroner. ' ' That is what we are anxious to know. ' ' 
 
 "I heard him say something about Mr. Har- 
 ris losing all his money that night, in the old 
 shanty up the river road. 'Strange things have 
 happened up there, Riles,' he said. That made 
 me suspicious, and I hurried back to the ranch, 
 determined to follow them. I found that my re- 
 volver had been taken. I armed mySelf as best I 
 could, and set out. When I came near the build- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 303 
 
 mg which Gardiner had mentioned I dismounted 
 and approached it carefully. It was very dark. 
 Suddenly I was attacked from behind. A sack 
 was thrown over my head, and I was overpower- 
 ed, and bound. I didn't know how long I was 
 kept in that condition, but when at last the sack 
 was removed I was in the presence of Sergeant 
 Grey." 
 
 With the progress of Travers' narrative all 
 eyes had turned to Gardiner, but, whatever his in- 
 ward emotions, he -outwardly showed no signs 
 of discomfiture. "This seems to be a day of 
 strange tales," he said to the coroner, "and the 
 last we have heard is stranger than the first. Of 
 course, it is quite absurd on the face of it. The 
 suggestion that I would be a party to robbing 
 Mif. Harris of twenty thousand dollars, and so 
 balk a transaction in which I stood to make a 
 profit of more than' twice that amount, is too 
 ridiculous for discussion. I didn't say so before 
 because it didn't seem to bear on- the case, but I 
 have at home a telegram which I received a few 
 days ago from the New York investors, offering 
 me a personal commission of twenty per cent, on 
 the transaction if I was able to get this property 
 for them at the price they had offered. So, from 
 a purely selfish point of view, you see where my 
 interests lay. But there are other reasons for 
 this fine tale which you have just heard. To 
 spare the feelings of some present, I intended to 
 say nothing of them, but if I must tell what I 
 know, why I must tell what I know; This man 
 Travers was a farm hand working for Harris on 
 
304 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 his farm back in Manitoba. Harris ia — or was — 
 well-to-do, and Travers accordingly mustered up 
 an attachment for his daughter; This the young 
 lady, it seems, was foolish enough to return. 
 They " 
 
 ''That'll do Gardiner," interrupted Travers, 
 in a quiet, vibrant voice. "You are getting away 
 from the subject." 
 
 "On the contrary, I'm getting close to the sub- 
 jest — a little too close for your comfort, it 
 seems." 
 
 "I am not investigating any family closets," 
 said the coroner. "You will have to show the 
 connection between these matters and the inquiry 
 we are making." 
 
 "I will do that in a moment, sir," Gardiner re- 
 turned. "But I cannot show the connection until 
 I have shown the events that are connected. 
 Travers had trouble with Ha;rris and had a fight 
 with Allan. Then he and the young, lady ran 
 away. They have both been in this part of 'the 
 country for some time. But Travers' plan to 
 inherit the Harris property was upset on account 
 of the girl quarrelling with her parents, and his 
 ardour seems to have cooled off noticeably. But 
 he was as keen for the property as ever. Riles 
 was a weakling in the hands of a man like Tra- 
 vers, and no doubt he betrayed the fact that Har- 
 ris was taking his money with him into the hills. 
 Then the two of them framed up the plan which 
 has resulted in the death of one and the arrest of 
 the other." 
 
 During these exchanges the sympathies of the 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 305 
 
 jurors seemed to veer from side to side. The 
 theories propounded were so ^contradictory that 
 opinions wavered with each sentence of evidence. 
 But a new bolt was ready -for the shooting. 
 
 "Mr. Coroner," said Beulah, rising and point- 
 ing at G-ardiner, ''will you make that man take 
 his gauntlets off?" 
 
 There seemed an instant recession of the 
 blood from Gardiner's face. But it was for the 
 instant only. "My hat is off," he said, with a 
 smile. "Is not that sufficient?" 
 
 "Make him take them off!" Beulah insisted. 
 
 "There is no rule against wearing gauntlets in 
 a coroner's court," said the coroner. "I do not 
 see the point of your objection. ' ' 
 
 "Make him taie them off," said Beulah- 
 
 "As the young lady insists,'' said the coroner, 
 turning to Gardiner, "I suggest that you comply 
 with her request." 
 
 "I should be glad to," said Gardiner, "but the 
 fact is I have a sore hand. When I was giving 
 the horse medicine the night' Travers left me 
 alone the brute nipped me a little, and I have been 
 keeping it covered up since." 
 
 "Make him take them off," said Beulah. 
 
 "Why should you be so insistent?" said the 
 coroner. "Surely it makes no difference " ^ 
 
 "Only this difference. You have heard my 
 father's evidence of the fight in the old house. 
 The man with whom he fought wiU have tooth- 
 marks in his hand. Make him take them off. Or 
 if you won't — ^look at these hands." She seized 
 Jim's hands in hers and held them up before the 
 
306 THE H0MBSTEADE3RS 
 
 coroner and the jury. "Any toothmarks there? 
 Now make this other man show his." 
 
 For a moment all eyes were on Travers' hands. 
 In that moment Gardiner rushed for the open 
 window, and in another instant would have been 
 through it, had not the quick arm of the police- 
 man intercepted. 
 
 "Not so fast, my man," said Grey. "Now we 
 will see this horse-bite of yours. "^ Gardiner 
 niade no further resistance, and he drew the glove^ 
 from his hand. There was a fresh scar on the 
 right thumb. 
 
 The coroner examined it ca,refully. When he 
 spoke it was in the voice of a judge delivering' 
 sentence. "That is not a horse-bite," he said. 
 "Those are the marks of human teeth!" 
 
 Gardiner smiled a faint smile. "Well, what 
 are you going to do about it?" he said. 
 
 '^We are going to put you in Travers' place 
 and tender him our apologies," said th,e coroner. 
 
 "Very well," said Gardiner. "And do I mar- 
 ry the girl?" 
 
 "This is no time for levity," said the coroner, 
 sternly. "You have escaped a murder charge 
 only by grace of this young man's excellent con- 
 stitution." ^ 
 
 But Travers had crowded into the centre of 
 the circle. "Gardiner," he said, "if you weren't 
 under arrest I'd thrash you here and now. But 
 you can at least do something to square yourself. 
 Where is that raoney?" 
 
 "That's right, Jim. Everyone thinks of what 
 is nearest his heart." 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 307 
 
 "You scoundrel! Yot; know why it is near my 
 heart. ;;JYou have robbed Mr, Harris of all that he 
 had spent his whole life for. You will have no 
 chance to use that money yourself. You are sure 
 of your living for the next twenty years. Why 
 not ,show that you are not all bad — that you have 
 some human sentiments in you? It seems as 
 little as you can do." 
 
 "There may < be something in what you say," 
 said Gardiner. "I have a slip of paper here 
 with the key to the secret." 
 
 He reached with his finger and thunib in his 
 vest pocket and drew out a small folded papei:. 
 This he unfolded very slowly and deliberately be- 
 fore the eyes of the onlookers. It contained a 
 small quantity of white powder. Before any 
 hand could reach him he had thrown his head 
 back and swallowed it. 
 
 "Too late!" he cried, as Grey snatched the 
 empty paper from his fingers. "Too late! Well, 
 I guess I beat you all out, eh? And, as I said be- 
 fore, what are you going to do about it? Twenty 
 years, eh, Jim? You'll be scrawney and rheu- 
 matic by that time, and the beautiful Beulah will 
 be fat and figureless. Twenty , years for you, 
 Jim, but twenty minutes for me — and I wouldn't 
 trade with you, damn you! I beg the pardon of 
 the ladies present. One should never forget to 
 be a gentleman, even when--when " 
 
 But Gardiner's breath was beginning to come 
 fast, and he raised his hands to his throat. A 
 chokiag spell seized him, and he would have fall- 
 en had not the policeman and the coroner held 
 
308 THE HOMBSTBADEES 
 
 Mm on Ms feet. "Let me lie doAvn," he said, 
 when he got his breath. "Let me lie down, can't 
 you ? Have I got to die on end, like a murderer ? ' ' 
 
 They led Mm to the adjoining room, where he 
 fell upon the bed. The muscles of his great arms 
 and neck were working in contortions, and his 
 tongue seemed to fill his mouth., 
 
 "Most extraordinary," said the coroner. 
 "Strychnine, doubtless. 'We can't do much for 
 him, I'm afraid. We might try some mustard 
 and hot water, Mrs. Arthurs." 
 
 "Take your time, Lil," whispered Arthurs. 
 "You might save the country a long board bill." 
 But Lilian Arthurs' abhorrence of Gardiner's 
 perfidy had been overwhelmed in a wave of sym- 
 pathy for a suffering fellow-being. She hurried 
 to the kitchen, while the men of the party filed 
 down the stairs and out into the yard. John 
 Harris was the last to leave the house, and he 
 walked slowly, .with bare, bowed head, into the 
 group who were excitedly discussing the amazing 
 turn events had taken. He took -no part in their 
 conversation, but stood a little apart, plunged 
 deep in his own inward struggle. 
 
 At last he turned and called his wife in the 
 kitchen door. "Bring Beulah," he said. 
 
 The two women joined him. At first Harris 
 stood with face averted, but in a moment he spoke 
 in a clear, quiet voice. 
 
 "I havefn't played the game fair with you 
 two," he said, "and I want to say so now. Per- 
 haps it would be truer to say that I played the 
 wrong game. Twenty-five years have proved it 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 309 
 
 was the wrong game. Now, without a penny, I 
 can start just where I started twenty-five years 
 ago. The only difference is that I am an old man 
 instead of a young one. I'm going to take an- 
 other homestead and start again, at the right 
 game, if Mary will start with me." 
 
 She put her hand in his, and her eyes were 
 bright again with the fire of youth. "You know 
 there is only one answer, Johii," she whispered. 
 
 Harris called Travers over from the group of 
 men. 
 
 "There's one thing, more," he continued. 
 "When I started I had only a wife to keep, and 
 I don't intend to take any bigger responsibility 
 now. ' Allan will be having, a homestead of his 
 own. Jim Travers, I am speaking to you! I 
 owe you an apology for some things and an ex- 
 planation for some things^ but I'm going to 
 square the debt with the only gift I have left." 
 
 The light breeze tossed the hair of Beulah's 
 uncovered head, and the light of love and health 
 glowed in her face and thrilled through the fine 
 symmetry of her figure. 
 
 "Take her, Jim," he said. 
 
 "She is a godly gift," said the young man re- 
 verently. 
 
 "You think so now," said her father. "You 
 know nothing about it. In twenty-five years you 
 will know just how great a gift she is — or she 
 will not be worthy of her mother. " 
 
 Harris and his wife were gazing with unsee- 
 ing eyes into the mountains when Arthurs handed 
 them a letter. "It- came in the mail which the 
 
310 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 boys brought out this morning," he said, "and I 
 forgot all about it until this minute." 
 
 It was from Bradshaw. Harris opened it in- 
 differently, but the first few lines aroused his 
 interest, and he read it eagerly to the end. 
 
 "My dear Harris," it ran, "on receipt of 
 your telegram I inomediately opened negotiations 
 through my connections looking to a sale of your 
 farm with its crop and equipment, complete as a 
 going concern. I succeeded in getting an offer of 
 the $40,000 you set on it, and had all the papers 
 drawn up, when I discovered that among us we 
 had made a serious omission. You will remem- 
 ber that, a good many years ago when you were 
 taking on some fresh obligations, you transferred 
 the homestead' into your wife's name. I assur- 
 ed the purchaser that there' would be^ no difficulty 
 about getting title from your wife, but as all the 
 buildings are on the homestead quarter he would 
 agree to notbing better than paying $20,000 for 
 the rest "of your land, leaving the homestead 
 quarter, with the buildings, ' stock, and imple- 
 ments, out of the transaction. As his price seem- 
 ed a fair one for the balance of the property,- and 
 as I presumed your need of the money was ur- 
 gent, I closed the deal on that basis, cashed the 
 agreement, and remitted the proceeds to you at 
 once by wire. I trust my actions in the matter 
 meet with your approval. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "George Bbadshaw-;" 
 Harris placed the letter in the hands of his 
 wife. She tried to read it, but a great happiness 
 
 & 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 311 
 
 enveloped her as a flood and the typewritten 
 characters seemed to swim, before her. "What 
 does it mean, John?" she asked, noting his re- 
 strained excitement. "What does it mean?" 
 
 "It means that the homestead quarter was not 
 sold — after all — that it is still yours, with the 
 buildings, and machinery, and stock, and this 
 year's crop just ready for cutting." 
 
 She raised hei? eyes to his. "Still ours, John, 
 you mean. Still purs. " 
 
 In the rapid succession of events everyone 
 seemed to have forgotten, or disregarded, Gar- 
 diner. But at this moment the doctor came 
 rushing out of the house. 
 
 "Gardiner's gone!" he exclaimed, as he came 
 up to the men. 
 
 Some of the party removed their hats. 
 
 "Oh, not that way — not that way!" exclaimed 
 the doctor. "I mean he's gone — skipped — ^beat 
 it^ if you understand. Most extraordinary! 
 I was taking his pulse. It was about normal, and 
 he seemed resting easier, so I slipped downstairs 
 for the antidote. When I went back — I w:as only 
 gone a moment — there wasn't sight or sound of 
 him." 
 
 The men stared at each other for a moment; 
 then followed the doctor in a race for Gardiner's 
 room. They found it as he said. There was 
 neither sight nor sound of Gardiner. 
 
 Sergeant Grey conducted a swift examination 
 not of Gardiner's room, but of the one in which 
 Allan was lying. He was rewarded by finding 
 the little slip of paper, with a few crystals of 
 
312 THE HOMESTEADERS 
 
 powder still clinging to it. The coroner examin- 
 ed the crystals through his magnifying-glass ; 
 then, somewjhat dubiously, raised them on a 
 moistened finger to his tongue, and after a mom-, 
 ent's hesitation swallowed in an impressive, 
 scholarly fashion. 
 
 " Saccharum album!" he exclaimed. "Com- 
 mon white sugar! Most extraordinary!" 
 
 But Sergeant Grey was at the open window. 
 It was only an eight-foot drop to the soft earth, 
 and to the policeman there was no longer any 
 mystery in Gardiner's disappearance. The mock 
 suicide was a carefully-planned ruse to be em- 
 ployed by Gardiner if the worst came to the 
 worst. ' 
 
 At that moment the sound of horse's hoofs was 
 heard on the gravelly road, and three hundred 
 yards away Gardiner dashed through a gap in 
 the trees that skirted the base of the hills. He was 
 on the policeman's horse, and riding like wild fire. 
 
 "I want all of you men, -and a horse for each," 
 said Grey, quickly, turning upon them like a gen- 
 eral marshalling his officers. "There are a doz- 
 en different trails he may follow, and we must 
 put a man on each. I will give immediate pur- 
 suit, in the hope of riding him down before he can 
 throw us off the scent, and I will leave it to you, 
 Mr. Arthurs, to organize the posse and scour the 
 whole country until he is located." 
 
 At Grey's first words two men had rushed to 
 the corral, and were already saddling horses. The 
 first and fastest was placed at the command of 
 the policeman, and in a minute he, too, was rid- 
 
THE HOMESTEADERS 313 
 
 tng break-neck into the hills. But the delay was 
 enough to give Gardiner almost a mile's lead, 
 and the Government horse was a match for any 
 on the ranch. 
 
 Grey knew that the main road, if followed far 
 enough, dwindled into a pack trail, which in 
 turn seemed to lose itself in the fastness of 
 the mountain, but in reality opened iato a pass 
 leading through the range. He gave Gardiner 
 credit for knowing as much, and concluded that 
 the fugitive would make a bolt straight through 
 the mountains. There was no time to watch for 
 tracks ; his chance to ride his man down depended 
 entirely upon speed. If he miscalculated, and 
 Gardiner, instead of making for the pass, sought 
 refuge in the mountains, the posse would certain- 
 ly locate him or starve him into surrender. So 
 the officer urged his horse to the limit and gal- 
 loped straight into the mountain battlements 
 ahead of him. 
 
 An hour's hard riding brought him into a tre- 
 mendously rough country, where the trail at 
 times was nothing more than a narrow defile^ or 
 ledge, and sheer walls of rock rose thousands of 
 feet above, their giant edges cutting the blue sky 
 like the teeth of a mighty saw. Far below, a 
 ribbon 'of green and white, the river rolled in its 
 canyon. Here and there a thin stream of water 
 sprayed down the mountain side, cutting a damp, 
 treacherous belt across the trail. But at one 
 such spot Grey's heart leaped within him, for 
 there, unmistakably clear in the thin soil and soft 
 rock, were the marks of a horse's shoe, not an 
 
314 THE ' HOMESTEADERS 
 
 hour old. A few minutes later he saw Gf-ardiner 
 swinging round a spur of rock half a mile further 
 up the pass, 
 
 The policeman began to watch the moist spots 
 for the tell-tale hoof -prints, and invariably their 
 evidence revealed itself. He knew now that he 
 had guessed Gardiner's course correctly, and it 
 was a matter of minutes until he should ride him 
 down. 'He wondered whether the man was arm- 
 ed or not; it would be an easy trick to hide be- 
 hind a rock and pick the policeman off as he rode 
 
 by- 
 
 Suddenly, at a turn in the path, his eye caught 
 a sight which made him throw his horse back on 
 his tracks. A sheer precipice fell away a thou- 
 sand feet below him, and beetling cliffs cut off the 
 sky above. Across the path trickled a little 
 stream. And there in the stream, so clear they 
 could not be misread, were marks cut by a horse 's 
 feet sliding over the precipice. 
 
 The policeman dismounted Carefully. There 
 was scarcely room for him to pass his horse on 
 the narrow ledge. Where the stream, had worn 
 it it' sloped downward at an uncomfortable angle. 
 He knelt beside it and traced the marks of the 
 shoe-calks with his finger. They led over the 
 edge. Eighteen inches down the mountain was 
 a fresh scar where steel had struck a projecting 
 corner of rock. 
 
 A thousand feet below the green water slid 
 and swirled in the bed of the canyon. 
 
 The End. 
 

 DATE DUE 
 
 
 nK^frA-^ 
 
 W — S 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PBINTEOINU S.A 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PR 9299.S79H7 
 Thehomesteaders,a_nove.om^^^^^^^ 
 
 3 1924 013 244 714