A Man of Two Countries
by Alice Harriman · English · Gutenberg #28070 · 353,199 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Man of Two Countries
Author: Alice Harriman
Illustrator: Colista Murray Dowling
Release date: February 14, 2009 [eBook #28070]
Most recently updated: January 4, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN OF TWO COUNTRIES ***
Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Carla Foust and the Online
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Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.
A MAN OF TWO COUNTRIES
A MAN _of_ TWO
COUNTRIES
BY
ALICE HARRIMAN
Author of SONGS O' THE SOUND, CHAPERONING ADRIENNE
THROUGH THE YELLOWSTONE, SONGS O'
THE OLYMPICS, etc.
Chapter Headings by
C. M. DOWLING
1910
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
NEW YORK & SEATTLE
COPYRIGHT 1910, BY
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
All rights reserved
PRINTED BY
THE PREMIER PRESS
NEW YORK
U. S. A.
TO THE READER
Prior to the days of the cowboy and the range, the settler and
irrigation, the State and the Province, an ebb and flow of Indians,
traders, trappers, wolfers, buffalo-hunters, whiskey smugglers,
missionaries, prospectors, United States soldiery and newly organized
North West Mounted Police crossed and recrossed the international
boundary between the American Northwest and what was then known as the
"Whoop Up Country." This heterogeneous flotsam and jetsam held some of
the material from which Montana evolved its later statehood.
To one who came to know and to love the region after the surging tide
had exterminated the buffalo and worse than exterminated the Indian,--to
one who appreciates the limitless possibilities of the splendid
Commonwealth of Montana on the one side and the great Province of
Alberta on the other of that invisible line which now draws together
instead of separating men of a common tongue, this period seems
tremendously interesting. The "local color" has, perhaps, not been
squeezed from too many tubes. Types stand out; never individuals.
As types, therefore, the characters of this book weave their story as
the shuttle of time, filled with the woof of hidden purpose and open
deed, runs through the warp of their friendships and enmities.
And with the less attractive strands the shifting harness of place and
circumstance enmeshes a thread of Love's gold.
BOOK I. THE RIVER
BOOK II. THE PRAIRIE
BOOK III. THE STATE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
BOOK I
I. Twisting the Lion's Tail 15
II. The Girl on the Fontenelle 30
BOOK II
I. Under the Union Jack 47
II. Hate 58
III. The Hot Blood of Youth 72
IV. The Return to Fort Benton 88
BOOK III
I. Visitors from Helena 107
II. Charlie Blair's Sister 125
III. A Man of Two Countries 141
IV. The State Republican Convention 155
V. Despair 165
VI. Il Trovatore 180
VII. Debauching a Legislature 196
VIII. Danvers' Discouragement 211
IX. A Frontier Knock 219
X. Wheels Within Wheels 226
XI. The Chinese Legend 241
XII. Recognition 251
XIII. The Lobbyist 257
XIV. The Keystone 268
XV. An Unpremeditated Speech 281
XVI. The Election 291
[Illustration]
BOOK I
_THE RIVER_
_"I beheld the westward marches
Of the ... nations,
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving."_
--_Longfellow_
[Illustration]
Chapter I
Twisting the Lion's Tail
Philip Danvers, heading a small party of horsemen, galloped around the
corner of a warehouse and pulled up on the levee at Bismarck as the mate
of the _Far West_ bellowed, "Let 'er go!"
"Hold on!" he shouted, leaping from his mount.
"Why in blazes!" The mate's impatience flared luridly as he ordered the
gang-plank replaced. His heat ignited the smouldering resentment of the
passengers, and they, too, exploded.
"We're loaded to the guards now!" yelled one.
"Yeh can't come aboard!" threatened another.
"Haven't yeh got a full passenger list a'ready, Captain?" demanded a
blustering, heavy-set man with beetling eyebrows, as he pushed himself
angrily through the crowding men to the deck-rail.
"Can't help it if I have, Burroughs," retorted the autocrat of the
river-boat. "These troopers are recruits for the North West Mounted
Police----"
"The hell yeh say!"
Philip Danvers noted the unfriendly eye, and realized that this burly
fellow dominated even the captain.
"Their passage was engaged three months ago," went on the officer.
"It's nothing to me," affirmed Burroughs, reddening in his effort to
regain his surface amenity.
The young trooper, superintending the loading of the horses, resented
the manifest unfriendliness toward the English recruits. A dreary rain
added discomfort, and the passengers growled at the slow progress
hitherto made against the spring floods of the turbulent Missouri and
this prolonged delay at Bismarck.
As he went up the gang-plank and walked along the deck, bits of
conversation came to him.
"He looks like an officer," said one, with a jerk of his thumb in his
direction.
"An officer! Where? D'yeh mean the dark-haired one?" The voice was that
of Burroughs again, and as Danvers met his insolent eye an instant
antagonism flashed between the roughly dressed frontiersman and the
lean-flanked, broad-shouldered English youth.
"Hello! 'F there ain't Toe String Joe!" continued Burroughs, recognizing
the last to come on board, as the line was cast off and the steamer
backed into the stream. "What you doin' here, Joe?"
"I met up with these here Britishers when they came in on the train from
the East, an' I'm goin' t' enlist," admitted the shambling Joe, his
breath confirming his appearance. "Where you been?"
"Back to the States to get my outfit. I'm goin' ter start in fer myself
up to Fort Macleod. So you've decided to be a damned Britisher, eh?"
Burroughs reverted to Joe's statement. "Yeh'll have to take the oath of
allegiance fer three years of enlistment. Did yeh know that?" He closed
one eye, as if speculating how this might further his own interests.
"You'll make a fine police, Joe, you will!" he jeered in conclusion.
"You goin' to Fort Macleod?" questioned Joe. "You'll git no trade in
Canada!"
"Don't yeh ever think it!" returned Burroughs, with a look that Danvers
sub-consciously noted.
Beyond the crowd he saw a child, held by a man with a scarred face. His
involuntary look of amazement changed the pensiveness of her delicate
face to animation, and she returned his smile. This unexpected exchange
of friendship restored his self-respect and his anger evaporated. He
recalled the childhood spent in English lanes with his only sister. He
beckoned enticingly, and soon she came near, shy and lovely.
"What's your name, little girl?"
"Winifred."
"That's a pretty name," said the young trooper. "Are you going to Fort
Benton with your papa?"
"No. Papa's dead--and--mamma. That's my brother," indicating the man who
had held her. "He came to get me. His name is Charlie."
"Dear little girl!" thought Philip Danvers, as the child ran to
brotherly arms.
"Howdy!" Charlie gave unconventional greeting as he took a bench near
by.
"I've been getting acquainted with your sister," explained the
Englishman.
"Glad of it. Winnie's afraid of most o' the men, an' there aren't more'n
three white women up the river. I've had to bring her back with me, and
I don't know much about children. But there's one good old lady at
Benton," the frontiersman proceeded, cheerfully. "She'll look after her.
You see, I'm away most of the time. I'm a freighter between the head of
navigation and the Whoop Up Country--Fort Macleod."
"Oh!"
"I got the contract to haul the supplies for the North West Mounted
Police this spring. I'll be in Fort Macleod 'most as soon as you, I
reckon. What is it, Winnie?" he questioned, as the child drew shrinking
closer to him.
"I don't like that man," asserted Winifred, as Robert Burroughs passed.
"You mustn't say that, Winnie," reproved Charlie.
"Burroughs"--addressing Philip--"Sweet Oil Bob, we call him, is goin' to
start a new tradin' post at Macleod. He's clerked at Fort Benton till he
knows more about the profits of an Injun tradin' post than any man on
the river! Yeh'll likely see quite a little o' him. Most of the Canadian
traders 'd rather he stayed this side o' the line."
"Surely there are other American traders in this Whoop Up Country, as
you call it."
"Not so many--no. But Sweet Oil Bob is shrewd, an' the Canadians are
afraid he'll get the biggest share o' the Injun trade. You know how it
is."
Before Danvers could answer, his attention was caught by:
"The ambition of my life is to sit on the supreme bench of some State,"
spoken by a fair-haired young man as he passed with a taller, older one.
"Montana will be a State, some day," the would-be judge went on, eagerly
boyish.
"Hello, Doc," called Charlie, as he sighted the elder pedestrian. "Stop
a minute."
Before the invitation was accepted the physician gave impetus to the
other's desire.
"Hope your hopes, Latimer. Honorable and honest endeavor will reach the
most exalted position." Then he put out his hand to the child, who
clasped it affectionately.
"Well, Charlie," he smiled genially at the English lad as well as on his
former river travelers. "How goes it?"
"All right," returned Charlie, amiably. "So Latimer wants to dabble in
territorial politics, eh?"
"I didn't say so," flushed the embryonic lawyer. "I said I'd like to be
a judge on the supreme bench, some day. I'm going to settle in Montana,
and----"
"What do you think about politics?" suddenly quizzed Charlie, turning to
Danvers.
"I'd not risk losing your friendship," smiled Philip, "by stating what
an Englishman's opinion of American politics are."
"Better not," laughed the doctor, with a keen glance of appraisal.
"I'll admit they're rotten," Latimer hastened to add. "But I'd love to
play the game. No political affiliations should bias my decision."
"Bet you'll be glad to get home, Doc." Charlie changed the subject, so
foreign to his out-of-door interests. "You can't keep the doctor away
from Fort Benton," he explained to the two strangers. "He thinks she's
got a big future, don't you, Doc?"
"To be sure! To be sure!" corroborated the physician, as his arm went
around the little girl. "Fort Benton will be a second St. Louis! Mark my
words, Latimer." He turned to his companion, whose charm of manner
appealed unconsciously to the reserved Danvers.
"I hope your predictions may prove correct, since I am to set up a law
office there," replied Latimer. "And you?" He turned to include Philip
Danvers in a smile which the lonely Englishman never forgot.
"He an' I 's for Fort Macleod," explained Scar Faced Charlie, before
Philip could speak. These ready frontiersmen had a way of taking the
words out of his mouth.
"He's for the Mounted Police, yeh know, an' I'm freightin' in the
supplies. An' what d'yeh think, Doc? Toe String Joe says he's goin' to
enlist when we get to Fort Benton. Burroughs won't mind havin' him in
the Force."
"Isn't it unusual for Canadian troopers to come through the United
States?" inquired Arthur Latimer.
This time it was the doctor who answered the question directed toward
the silent Danvers.
"The first companies marched overland from Winnipeg two years ago, when
the North West Mounted Police was organized, and a tough time they had.
They were six months making it, what with hostile Indians and one thing
and another, and at last they got lost in an awful snowstorm (winter set
in early that year), and they nearly died of cold and starvation--most
of their horses did. An Indian brought word to one of the trading posts.
Remember that rescue, Charlie?" He turned for corroboration to the
freighter, but continued, without waiting for an answer that was quite
unnecessary to prod the reminiscent doctor.
"Fort Macleod is only two hundred miles north of Fort Benton," he
concluded, "and I understand the recruits will hereafter be taken into
the Whoop Up Country by way of the Missouri."
The blue eyes of the lawyer instinctively sought the dark ones of the
young trooper in a bond of subtle feeling at this recital of pioneer
life. It was all in the future for them.
"We came from Ottawa by rail to Bismarck," explained Danvers at the
unspoken question, "and brought our horses."
"They are a civil force under military discipline," added the doctor to
Latimer's questioning eyes.
As they talked, the steamboat came to a series of rapids, and Danvers
and Latimer went to the prow to watch the warping of the boat over the
obstruction. Burroughs stood near, and took no pains to lower his voice
as he remarked to the mate: "Jes' watch my smoke. I'm goin' to twist the
lion's tail."
"Meanin' the feller with the black hair?" The mate looked critically at
Danvers. "Better leave him alone, Burroughs," he advised. "Yeh've been
achin' to git at him ever since yeh set eyes on him. What's eatin' yeh?"
"Yeh talk too much with yer mouth," flung back Burroughs, as he moved
toward the Englishman. "Ever been up the river before?" he demanded of
Danvers.
"No." Philip barely glanced away from the lusty roustabouts working the
donkey engines.
"Are yeh a 'non-com' or a commissioned officer?"
The young recruit turned stiffly, surprised at the persistence.
"Neither," he answered, laconically, returning to the survey of the
swearing, sweating crew. Several bystanders laughed, and the mate
remarked:
"You'll git nothin' outer that pilgrim that's enlightenin', Bob. He's
too clost mouthed."
"Some say 'neether' an' some say 'nayther,' but 'nyther' is right,"
sneered Burroughs, "fer the Prince o' Wales says 'nyther.'"
Danvers, disdaining to notice the cheap wit, watched the brilliant
sunshine struggling through the lessening rain as it danced from eddy to
sand-bar, from rapids to half-submerged snags. The boiling river
whitened as the steamboat labored to deeper water above the rapids. The
islands, flushed with the fresh growth of a Northern spring, and the
newly formed shore-line where the capricious Missouri had recently
undermined a stretch of bank, gave character to the scene, as did the
delicately virent leaves of swirling willow, quaking aspens and
cottonwoods loosened from their place on shore to float in midstream.
A party of yelling Crees attracted their attention, and the stranger's
indifference gave a combative twist to Burroughs' remark:
"Them's Canadian Injuns."
Something in his tone made the men draw nearer. Was it a sneer? A slur
on all things English? A challenge to resent the statement, and
resenting, to show one's mettle? Frontiersmen on the upper Missouri
fought at a word in the early seventies. No need for cause. Men had been
shot for less animus than Burroughs displayed.
"A fight?" asked Scar Faced Charlie, drawn from the cabin.
"No; a prayer-meeting," Toe String Joe gave facetious answer.
"Run back to our stateroom, Winnie," said Charlie, as he glanced at
Burroughs' face. "What's the matter?" he inquired as she obeyed.
"Search me." Joe still acted as fourth dimension. "Bob and Danvers seem
to hate each other on sight."
Burroughs moved nearer the quiet trooper.
"The Mounted Police think they're goin' to stop whiskey sellin' to the
Injuns," he began. "But they can't. I know----" A meaning wink at his
friends implied disloyalty even in the Force.
The baited youth faced the trader, his countenance darkening. But his
hand unclasped as he started for the cabin with Latimer. Why notice this
loud talk? Why debase himself by fighting this unknown bully? His
bearing voiced his thoughts. The expectant crowd looked noncommittally
at the tall smokestacks, at the snags. Burroughs laughed noisily.
"'The widdy at Windsor' 's got another pretty!" he taunted. Hate flared
suddenly from his deep-set eyes; he could not have analyzed its cause.
"Jes' cut loose from home an' mammy," he continued, intemperately.
"Perhaps he's the queen's latest favorite, boys. We all know what women
are!"
What was it? A crash of thunder? A living bolt of fire? Something threw
the intervening men violently to the deck. The stripling who had
accepted the traditional shilling brushed the crowd aside and knocked
down the slanderer of all women--and of his queen!
"Take that back!" Philip breathed, not shouted, as one less angry might
have done. "You will not? You shall!"
Burroughs sprang to his feet instantly and returned the blow valiantly.
He did not draw his Colt's as frontiersmen were prone to do, for he
thought that a knock-down fight would show that a man must not stand too
much on dignity on the upper Missouri. Besides, the lad was English,
therefore to be punished.
At once the trifling affair widened into a promiscuous scrimmage of
recruits against civilians. In the excitement Winifred, frightened at
the uproar, came searching for her brother, just as Danvers again
delivered a blow that sent Burroughs reeling against the deck railing.
It was not strong enough to withstand the collision and the aggressor in
the fight barely kept his balance as the wood broke. But Winifred,
pushed forward by the struggling men, clutched at the air and dropped
into the whirling yellow river far below.
"My God!" groaned Charlie, springing after her. But his leap was
preceded by that of Philip Danvers.
The alarm was given; the engines reversed. As the roustabouts jumped to
lower the boats the men pressed forward, but the mate beat them back
and got the crew to work.
Nowhere could the soft curls be seen. Charlie, nearly drawn into the
revolving paddles, was taken into the boat. Presently the watchers saw
Winifred's little red dress caught on an uprooted sapling. Tree and
child were in the center of the current. While so much debris stayed
near the shore or drifted on the shallow sand-bars, this one tree with
its human freight hurried on.
"Save her! Save her!" sobbed Scar Faced Charlie, kept by force from
jumping again into the stream. "_Let me go!_" he roared.
"No, Charlie," said the mate firmly. "We're goin' to pick up yer sister
an' Danvers. No need fer yeh to risk yer life again. That English lad is
goin' to turn the trick."
Philip swam on, strongly, while vociferous ejaculations reached him.
"That feller's got sand!" he heard Joe say, as he dexterously avoided a
whirlpool and dodged a snag.
"He's a fool!"
"He'll drown, an' the girl, too!"
"It's caught--he'll overtake her!"
A devilfish-like snag held tree and burden. With a burst of speed Philip
swam alongside. Winifred? Thank God! Still alive, although unconscious;
face white, eyes closed. As he grasped her, her eyes opened.
* * * * *
After the excitement, the shouts and the cursings, the crashing of wood
and the fighting, quiet reigned on the _Far West_.
Robert Burroughs, sitting in the long northern twilight, rubbed his sore
muscles while Scar Faced Charlie and the doctor paced the deck.
"Danvers did a big thing. He saved my sister's life. I'll never forget
it. If the time ever comes I'll do as much for him," declared Charlie.
"Perhaps you may," mused the doctor. "We can never tell what the future
holds. Perhaps you'll not save his life, but life isn't everything. He
may ask you to do something that you won't want to do."
The grating of the steamer on a sand-bar interrupted him.
Brought into high relief by the rising moon, the lead-man stationed
forward called:
"Four feet scant--four feet--by the lead five n' a half! No bottom!"
Then came:
"Three--t-h-r-e-e--f-e-e-t--scant!" Again the boat scraped the sand.
As the pilot shouted down the tube to the engineers to pile on more
steam Charlie reverted to the rescue.
"Danvers looked pretty well used up when he was brought aboard. But
darned if he yipped. He was all for lookin' after Winnie."
"I like the lad," nodded the doctor approvingly. "He has the gift of
silence. Shakespeare says: 'Give thy thoughts no tongue.'"
In their next turn they saw Burroughs.
"It'll never do for you to locate at Macleod, Bob, 'f you're goin' to
aggravate every recruit you don't happen to like," suggested Charlie,
with the privilege of friendship.
"I was a fool!" Burroughs confessed. "But somehow that youngster----"
"You an' he'll always be like two bull buffalo in a herd," said Charlie,
wisely.
"I'll do him yet," snarled Burroughs, as he rose to go to the cabin.
[Illustration]
Chapter II
The Girl on the _Fontenelle_
The passengers on the _Far West_ rose early. Danvers stood watching the
slow sun uplift from the gently undulating prairie. He threw back his
head, his lungs expanded as though he could not get enough of the air.
He did not know why, but he suddenly felt himself a part of the
country--felt that this great, open country was his. The banks of the
Missouri were not high and he had an unobstructed view of the vast,
grassy sea rolling uncounted miles away to where the sky came down to
the edge of the world.
The song of the meadow lark, sweet and incessant as it balanced on a
rosin-weed, of the lark bunting and lark finch, poured forth
melodiously; twittering blue-birds looked into the air and back to
their perch atop the dead cottonwood as they gathered luckless insects;
the brown thrush, which sings the night through in the bright starlight,
rivaled the robin and grosbeak as Philip gazed over the blue-skyed,
green-grassed land. The blue-green of the ocean had not so fascinated as
the mysticism of this broad view. He was glad to be alive, and anxious
to be in the riot of life on the plains, where trappers, traders and
soldiers moved in the strenuous game of making a new world.
His abounding vitality had recouped itself after the strain of yesterday
and he forgot its unpleasantness in the glorious morning; yet at the
sight of Burroughs coming from his cabin, the sunlight dulled and
involuntarily he felt himself grow tense.
"I didn't mean a damn thing," began Burroughs awkwardly.
"That's all right," broke in Philip, as uncomfortable as the other.
Just then the doctor, with Joe and Charlie, came on the upper deck.
"What 'd I tell you, Charlie?" triumphantly asked the physician, as he
saw the trader and trooper shaking hands.
"What 'd you tell us?" repeated the man with the scarred face, in doubt,
as Burroughs moved away and Danvers turned toward the prow of the boat
staring, with eyes that saw not, into the western unknown.
"Didn't I tell you that Bob would do the right thing?" asked the
charitable surgeon impatiently, unconscious that he had voiced no such
sentiment.
The three looked at the river and at the long lances of light streaming
from the East, then at the English youth, abstracted, aloof.
"Perhaps yeh did," assented Joe, easily. "But I know one thing. It'll
stick in Bob's crop that he craw-fished----." A nod indicated his
meaning. "Somehow Danvers strikes me as a stuck-up Britisher."
"A man shouldn't be damned for his look or his manner," exploded the
doctor, although he recognized the truth of the criticism. "He's young
and self-conscious. A year or two in the Whoop Up Country will season
him and be the making of him."
"He'll not always stay in the Whoop Up Country," Charlie said,
presciently. "I wish I could do something for him," he added. "He'll
make his mark--somehow--somewhere."
"Prophesying, eh?" smiled the doctor. "All right; we'll see."
The light-draft, flat-bottomed _Far West_ made slow progress. The dead
and broken snags, the "sawyers" of river parlance, fast in the
sand-bars, seemed waiting to impale the steamboat. The lead-man called
unceasingly from his position. One bluff yielded to another, a flat
succeeded to a grove where wild roses burst into riotous bloom, and over
all lay the enchantment of the gay, palpitant, young summer.
The journey was monotonous until, with a bend of the river, they sighted
another steamer, the _Fontenelle_, stuck fast on Spread Eagle Bar--the
worst bar of the Missouri. Among the passengers at the rail Philip
Danvers saw--could it be? a woman--a white woman, young and beautiful.
What could be her mission in that far country which seemed so vast to
the young Englishman that each day's journey put years of civilization
behind him?
The girl on the _Fontenelle_ was evidently enjoying the situation, and
Danvers discovered at once that she was holding court on her own boat as
well as commanding tribute from the _Far West_. The men about him stared
eagerly at the slender, imperious figure, while Burroughs procured a
glass from the mate and feasted his eyes.
"I'm goin' to see her at closer range," he declared, and soon had
persuaded the captain to let him have a rowboat.
Philip and Latimer, by this time good friends, watched the trader go on
board and disappear into the cabin.
"The nerve of that man amazes me!" declared Latimer. "What can he be
thinking of?"
"Of the girl, and the first chance at Fort Benton!" answered the doctor,
who joined the two in time to catch the remark. "If you'd known Bob
Burroughs as long as I have at Fort Benton, you wouldn't be surprised at
anything. He's determined to win, wherever you put him, and he'll make
money easy enough."
"But his eagerness and offensiveness----" began Danvers.
"It isn't so much ignorance," explained the doctor, always ready to give
credit wherever due. "He can talk English well enough when he thinks
there is any occasion. He's one of the self-made sort, you know. But he
doesn't estimate men correctly--puts them all a little too low--and
that's where he's going to lose the game."
When Burroughs came back he was met with a fusillade of questions.
"Who is she, Bob?"
"Major Thornhill's daughter, Eva Thornhill."
"Didn't know he had a daughter," quoth Joe. "He never tol' me----"
This created a laugh, as Joe meant it should.
"The major hasn't been so social since he was stationed at Fort Benton,
as to tell us his family affairs," reminded Charlie.
"Bob's thinkin' o' that girl," surmised the mate, openly, as Burroughs
looked longingly toward the _Fontenelle_.
The boats, obstructed by the bar, were delayed the better part of two
days, and came to feel quite neighborly. The enamoured Burroughs made
another call, but he came back with a grievance.
"She wanted to know who the fellow was with the complexion like a
girl's. I told her that if she meant Danvers," here he turned toward the
object of his comment, "that he was nothin' but a private in the
Canadian North West Mounted Police. She wasn't interested then,"
maliciously.
"Army girls don't look at anything under a lieutenant, you bet!"
seconded Toe String Joe. "She probably won't even take any notice of
me!"
"She'd heard, through the captain, about the 'hero' who saved Charlie's
sister, and she wanted to know all about it," sneered Burroughs.
"Did you tell her how the railin' happened to break?" insinuated
Charlie.
Philip Danvers remembered the fling. However, what did it matter what
Miss Thornhill thought of him or his position? He would probably never
meet her. Yet as the _Far West_ followed the _Fontenelle_ up the river,
he watched the girl's face turned, seemingly, toward him; and as the
first steamer disappeared around a bend, the alluring eyes seemed like
will-o'-the-wisps drawing him on. As he turned, other eyes, soft and
affectionate, were upraised to his, and a child's hand crept into his
with mute sympathy.
And thus by following the endless turn and twist of the erratic
Missouri; warping over rapids and sticking on sand-bars; running by
banks undermined by the flood; shaving here a shore and hugging there a
bar; after the tie-ups to clean the boilers, or to get wood, or to wait
for the high winds to abate; after perils by water and danger from
roving Indians, the _Far West_ swung around the last curve of the river
and behold--Fort Benton. The passengers cheered; the crowds on the
levees answered, while fluttering flags blossomed from boat and adobe
fort and trading posts as wild roses blossom in spring.
"Whew!" whistled the doctor, wiping his forehead as he joined Philip and
Latimer on the prow of the steamer. "It's warm. Here we are, at last. I
wish," turning to Danvers, "that you were going to stay here. Latimer
and I will miss you."
"Indeed we shall!" echoed the young lawyer. "Here we've just gotten to
be friends and you must leave us. But you must write, old boy, and if I
don't make a success of the law business at Fort Benton, I'll run up to
Fort Macleod and make you a visit, while I look over the situation."
The Americanism of the phrase "law business" struck oddly on British
ears, as lacking in dignity. Philip thought of "doctor business,"
"artist business," and wondered if Americans spoke thus of all
professions. Latimer changed the subject.
"Is this all there is to Fort Benton?" with a wave of his hand.
"Sure," answered the doctor, offended, "what did you expect--a St.
Louis?"
"N-o," hesitated the lawyer, divided between a desire to gird at the
doctor, or to soothe his civic pride. "But I'll confess I expected a
town somewhat larger, for the port of entry of the territory of
Montana."
"Thirty years from now Fort Benton will be a second St. Louis," affirmed
the doctor, oracularly. "The river traffic will be enormous by that
time."
The physician's faith in the ultimate settlement of the Northwest and
Fort Benton's consequent growth was shared, Danvers knew, by many
another enthusiast; but as he looked back, mentally, over the lonely,
wind-swept miles through which the Missouri flowed, uninhabited save by
a few adventurers, trappers and Indians, the prediction seemed
preposterous.
"So the town looks small to you, eh?" asked the doctor, returning to
Latimer's comment. "But let me tell you, Fort Benton does the business!
Our boats bring in the year's supply for the mining camps, for the
Indian agencies, for the military posts and for the Canadian Mounted
Police. No other town in the West has its future."
The three were silent for a time. The little town was very attractive,
nestling in the bend of the Missouri and protected by the bluffs in
their springtime tints.
Several stern-wheelers, many mackinaws, and smaller boats lay along the
water front.
The _Fontenelle_, first to arrive, was discharging her cargo. Danvers,
boy-like, took a certain pride in knowing that even the Canadians,
through the establishment of the North West Mounted Police and their
immediate needs, were adding to the prosperity of this Northwestern
center. Much sectional talk among the passengers had strengthened his
opinion that Americans were unfair and unjust to their brothers of a
common language, though when it came to business, he noticed that the
loudest talkers were the most anxious to secure Canadian trade.
The longer Philip looked at Fort Benton the more he was attracted.
Decisions about places are as intuitive as convictions about people. One
place is liked, another disliked, and no logical reason can be given for
either. Fort Benton, that blue and golden day, touched his heart so
deeply that the sentiment never left him. Others might see only a raw,
rough frontier trading post; but for the trooper, the glamour of the
West was mingled with the faint, curling smoke dissolving into the
clear atmosphere. He had been right in his strong impulse to cross the
seas! Never had he been more sure.
By this time the steamer had cautiously nosed its way to its moorings
and tied up to a snubbing post. An officer from Fort Macleod came on
board to look after his recruits, and in the bustle of landing Philip
saw Scar Faced Charlie and little Winifred but a moment. Soon the doctor
and Latimer disappeared around the end of a long warehouse on their way
to the hotel, after a promise to look him up on the morrow.
The captain was ordering his men, and presently Burroughs sauntered
near.
"Well, here we are! I wonder 'f I'll see Miss Thornhill again?" As
Danvers made no reply. Burroughs smiled heavily. "I'll see yeh agin.
Likely I'll pull m' freight soon after you do and we'll meet at
Macleod."
* * * * *
"G'bow thar! ye cussed, Texas horned toad! Haw, thar! ye bull-headed son
of a gun, pull ahead! Whoa! Haw! Ye long-horned, mackerel-back cross
between a shanghai rooster an' a mud-hen, I'll skin ye alive in about a
minute!" The pop of a bull-whip followed like a pistol shot.
These vibrating adjurations, rending the balmy Sunday air, would have
amazed and shocked the citizens of a more cultured community, but
served in Fort Benton merely to start Scar Faced Charlie's bull-team,
loaded almost beyond hauling.
Charlie's shouts, delivered in the vernacular which he avoided when his
small kin was near, waked Philip Danvers, and soon he was outside the
walls of the 'dobe fort which Major Thornhill had courteously placed at
the service of the Canadian officer and his recruits. He called to the
driver and fell into step beside the bull-team heading for the western
bluffs, while the bull-whacker told him that little Winifred was being
cared for by "a real nice old lady."
As he returned to town, after a pleasant good-by, he turned more than
once to note the slow, swinging plod of the bulls. Finally he walked
more briskly, and, finding the doctor and Latimer, they sought the
levees, where the bustle and hustle of the frontier town were most
apparent. Early as it was, the river-front was thronged with river-men,
American and English soldiers; traders, busy, preoccupied and alert;
clerks, examining and checking off goods; bull-whackers and
mule-skinners; wolfers and trappers, half-breeds and Indians, gamblers
and squaws--all constantly shifting and reforming into kaleidoscopic
groups and jovial comradeship.
Everywhere he encountered the covert hostility toward the English, but
it was not until late in the afternoon that it became openly manifest.
"Hi there!" a staggering man hiccoughed as he turned to follow Philip
and his American friends.
"Go slow, so's folks c'n take yeh in. I'm goin' to kick yeh off'n the
face of the earth," he continued, prodding uncertainly at Danvers.
"Stop, I tell yeh! Why do I want yeh to walk slow? 'Cos (hic) I want to
wipe the road up with yer English hide. Yeh think yeh're all ri', but
yeh ain't. Yeh look's if yeh owned the town, an' yeh're walk's
convincin', yeh----"
"That's Wild Cat Bill," said the kindly man of drugs, seeking to remove
the sting whose effect Danvers only partially succeeded in concealing,
as they outdistanced the drunken man. "He's ostensibly a wolfer, a man
who kills wolves by scattering poisoned buffalo meat on the prairies in
winter, you know," he interjected, "and then makes his rounds later to
gather up the dead wolves which have feasted not wisely, but too well.
He's a great friend of Sweet Oil Bob's."
Before Danvers had time to speak they passed Burroughs in close
conversation with Toe String Joe.
"Those three! Bob and Joe and Bill!" snorted the doctor contemptuously.
"You'll likely see considerable of Bob's friends if he goes to Macleod.
He might be 'most anything he liked--he's clever enough, but
unscrupulous. He's crafty enough to get the most of his work done by his
confreres. He can speak English as well as I can, but he thinks bad
grammar will give him a stand-in with the frontiersmen. And it's easy
for a man to live on a lower level. He'll be sorry some day to find
himself out of practice, when the right girl comes along."
"Here he comes--he's behind us," warned Latimer.
As Burroughs passed them he threw a glance of triumph that was
unexplainable until a corner turned brought to view Major Thornhill,
also walking abroad, accompanied by his daughter. Burroughs, smooth,
ingratiating, joined them as if by appointment.
After Philip retired that night the monotone of the soldiers' talk
merged into confused and indistinct recollections of his first Sunday at
Fort Benton. Eva Thornhill's scornful yet inviting face seemed drawing
him through deep waters, to be replaced by the face of the child
Winifred, terror-stricken as when she was in the river. Then came the
memory of the even-song at home, threading its sweetly haunting way
through the wild shouts of a frontier town that continued joyously its
night of revelry, until, at last, he fell asleep.
[Illustration]
BOOK II
_THE PRAIRIE_
_"On Darden plain
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions."
--Troilus and Cressida_
[Illustration]
Chapter I
Under the Union Jack
The arrival of the troopers at Fort Macleod, after the long journey on
horseback over the prairie, was a relief to Philip Danvers, and the
weeks that followed were full of interest. Nevertheless, he felt a
loneliness which was all the greater when he remembered his new-found
friends at Fort Benton. The two hundred miles that separated him from
the doctor and Arthur Latimer might have been two thousand for all he
saw of them, and save for an occasional letter from the hopeful
Southerner he had little that could be called companionship. Among all
the troopers and traders there were none that appealed to Danvers, and
had it not been for the devotion of O'Dwyer he would have been alone
indeed.
This gay Irish trooper had come out the year previous, and when the
recruits arrived from Fort Benton had been the first to welcome them,
"from the owld counthry." There was nothing in common between the silent
Englishman and this son of Erin, but from the night when Danvers had
discovered him, some miles from the Fort, deserted by his two convivial
companions, and had assisted him to the barracks, O'Dwyer had been his
loyal subject and devoted slave.
Now, after three months, his zeal had not abated, and while Danvers lay
stretched on the bank of the wide slough, O'Dwyer could be seen, not far
distant, sunning himself like a contented dog at his master's feet.
Long the English lad lay looking over the infinite reaches of tranquil
prairie, domed with a cloudless September sky.
This island in Old Man's River had become the little world in which he
lived. To the right was the Fort--a square stockade of cottonwood logs,
enclosing the low, mud-roofed officers' quarters, the barracks, the
quartermaster's stores, and the stables. To the left, and separated from
the fort by a gully, straggled the village of Fort Macleod. Conspicuous,
with its new board front, loomed the trading post of Robert Burroughs.
These beginnings of civilization seemed out of place in the splendid,
supreme calm of nature. Against the space and stillness it appeared
crude and impertinent.
Across the river he saw the Indian lodges, and heard the distant hallo
from rollicking comrades, swimming on the opposite side of the island.
The troopers, the traders and the 'breeds were as dependent upon one
another as if they were a colony upon an island in mid-ocean. He did not
care to be with these men, but he desired comradeship. How could he
overcome his natural reserve, make friends, yet not sacrifice his
individuality and family traditions? He recalled his father's haughty:
"Associate with your own kind, or walk the path alone." But he was too
young to find joy in aloofness. The facility of speech, the adaptive
moulding to another's mood was not in him!
"I'll have to be myself," he concluded. "I never cared before for men's
good-will; but Arthur Latimer's camaraderie has made me see things
differently."
O'Dwyer slept peacefully in the late afternoon, and Danvers envied him
the contentment of his simple nature. He drew a package of letters from
his red tunic and fingered them idly as he read the addresses. He
selected the last from Arthur Latimer and read again the already
familiar lines:
_I am coming to the Whoop Up Country with Scar Faced Charlie. He
leaves again for Fort Macleod in about a week. The doctor says
that office work is bad for me and that I ought to get out in the
open for a year or two. Really I am curious to see you in your
giddy uniform, and shall enjoy a visit, though if I could get work
I might stay permanently._
_How is Burroughs progressing? Is he selling beads and tea to the
Indians at a thousand per cent. profit, or selling them whisky on
the Q. T. at fifty thousand per cent. profit? How are you and he
hitting it off?_
_I saw Miss Thornhill last week, but, between you and me, poor
devils of lawyers are not what my lady wants._
As Danvers folded the letter and replaced it, he felt a thrill of
gladness at the thought of the meeting. There would be some one to share
his joy in the sunsets and the prairie distances.
Then the future swept toward him; he wondered if this companionship with
his friend would be all that he should ever know. The intangible, divine
understanding that others knew--the possibility of an appreciation that
would be sweet, came vaguely into his awakening heart. He took a
newspaper clipping from his notebook and read:
_There is an interesting old Chinese legend which relates how an
angel sits with a long pole which he dips into the Sea of Love and
lifts a drop of shining water. With an expert motion he turns
one-half of this drop to the right, the other half to the left,
where each is immediately transformed into a soul, a male and a
female; and these souls go seeking each other forever._
_The angel is so constantly occupied that he keeps no track of the
souls that he separates, and they must depend on their own
intuition to recognize each other._
The golden haze of the setting sun was not more glorious than the dreams
that came of a loved one ever near, of a son to perpetuate his name; but
the trumpet's brazen call sounding retreat, and its echoing
reverberations, made Danvers spring to his feet, romance and sentiment
laid aside. The present satisfied. Soldiering was good.
O'Dwyer sat up rubbing his eyes, with an exclamation of surprise at the
late hour.
As they ran through the big, open gate with its guard-room and sentry,
they saw Burroughs moving toward the lodges near the timber on the
eastern side of the island, while Toe String Joe, leaving his crony,
came to the fort.
"Sweet Oil Bob's a favorite in the lodges all roight," remarked O'Dwyer.
"There'll be trouble if he don't let Scar Faced Charlie's squaw alone."
"Pine Coulee?" questioned Danvers.
"The same!" said O'Dwyer, and with a salute prompted by affection and
not military compulsion he left Danvers at the barracks.
The arrival of Arthur Latimer with Scar Faced Charlie, making his second
trip since Danvers came to Macleod, unexpectedly settled most of the
problems baffling the silent and lonely Danvers. Charlie's freighting
outfit pulled into Macleod when the troops were drilling, and Philip,
though attentive to the commands of his superior, looked across the
gully and watched the gate-framed picture of the arrival of supplies.
The lurching wagons, the bulls, the men and dogs, loomed large as their
slow movements brought them into the one street of Fort Macleod. Though
there were two outfits, Danvers instantly recognized Scar Faced Charlie,
and saw Latimer run across the dry gully. He warmed with delight as the
troops swept along in their evolutions, for he knew his friend was
watching, and he smiled a welcome as Arthur's cap rose high in happy
salute.
After the parade Philip joined Latimer. The clasp of their hands told
more than the conventional greetings. They leaned on the rail fence of
the reservation and Latimer looked round eagerly. "I like it up here!"
he cried.
"Better than Fort Benton?" questioned Danvers hopefully.
"You are here, Phil," came the quick answer from the Southerner, with
his old, appealing charm of voice and smile.
Night fell as they surveyed the scene. The freighters had built
camp-fires and the flare lighted the scene weirdly as they walked toward
Burroughs' trading-post. Latimer greeted all as comrades, even the
officers in mufti, and Danvers, seeing the responsive smiles, realized
how a sunny nature receives what it sheds.
"Whose outfit came in with Charlie's?" inquired Danvers, as they neared
the store.
"The mule teams? Oh, that was McDevitt--an odd character, from all I
hear; Charlie gave me his version on the way up."
Danvers waited for the narrator to continue.
"He is what they call a missionary-trader--though evidently there is
little difference in the varieties in this country. He's supposed,
however, to be an example to the Indians, and to furnish them with
material supplies, as well as spiritual food."
As they entered Burroughs' store, the trader met them cordially.
"Glad to see yeh, Latimer," he said, grasping the outstretched hands. "I
'spose yeh've seen that pretty Miss Thornhill every day since we left
Fort Benton," he went on. "That's a girl for yeh!"
Danvers felt his face change. He had not yet ventured to broach Miss
Thornhill's name. This loud mention of her in the rough crowd was
unbearable.
Latimer made a vague reply. He sympathized with Danvers' involuntary
stiffening.
"Well, glad to see yeh!" repeated Burroughs, after more questions and
answers. "Make yerself to home. Guess yer glad to see yer friend," he
said, turning to Danvers. "Yeh ain't seemed to take up with any of us
fellers," and he passed on to other arrivals.
It was not long before McDevitt entered, having come, evidently, to
provoke a quarrel with Burroughs. While argument waxed hot between the
rival traders over the respective shipping points for furs and the
tariff on buffalo robes, Danvers and Latimer looked around the long
building lined with cotton sheeting not yet stained or grimed. Blankets,
beads, bright cloth, guns, bright ribbons, scalping-knives, shot, powder
and flints (the Indians had not seen many matches), stood out against
the light background. The bizarre effect was heightened by the garb of
the men. Suits of buckskin, gay sashes, blankets and buffalo robes
decked traders, scouts or Indians, as the case might be, while the
trooper costume--red tunics, tiny forage caps, and blue trousers with
yellow stripes--accentuated the riot of color. A few bales of furs, of
little value, were on the high counters. In the warehouse in the rear,
however, hanging from unhewn beams or piled in heaps, were buffalo robes
and skins of all the fur-bearing animals, awaiting shipment to Fort
Benton.
The babel of tongues grew louder. Burroughs' quick temper suffered from
McDevitt's repeated assertion that Americans were ruining the fur trade
by paying the Indians more than the Canadian traders.
"I'm losing money right along," McDevitt affirmed.
"Th' hell yeh are!" sneered Burroughs. "Yeh preach an' then rob; rob an'
preach. _I_ pay a fair price an' don't invite the Injuns to git religion
in the same breath that I offer 'em a drink o' smuggled whiskey."
"You! _You_--talking! You sell more whiskey than any other trader in the
Whoop Up Country, right here under the noses of the Police!"
"Prove it!" taunted Burroughs provokingly. "'F the Police ever suspect
me an' make a search, they'll not fin' me holdin' a prayer-meetin',
same's they did you not so very long ago. Le'me see--how much was yer
fine, anyway?" with a laugh.
"Is that so? Think yeh're smart, don' yeh?" snarled McDevitt, furious.
"Look here, Bob Burroughs, come out an' we'll settle this right here an'
now! No? Well, let me tell yeh this! Yeh'll be sorry yeh said that.
Bygones is bygones, an' I don't want that fine throwed up in my face
again!"
"Did yeh say just the exact amount of the fine?" repeated Burroughs,
disdaining to fight either in or out of his trading-post.
McDevitt's voice shook with vehemence as he strode from the crowded
room.
"I'll have something to throw up to you, Bob Burroughs, some o' these
days. I'm like a Injun, I furgive 'n furgit, but I'm campin' on yer
trail! Yeh won't be so smilin' then--le'me tell yeh!"
"An' the fine?" once more insisted Burroughs, as McDevitt vanished, amid
a roar of laughter at the American's persistence.
The moon was rising when Danvers wended his way to the barracks an hour
later, Arthur walking to the reservation fence with him.
"I wish we could prove where the Indians and 'breeds get their whiskey,"
said Danvers.
"Haven't you any idea?"
"Suspicion is not certainty," dryly.
"It's a queer world," thought Latimer aloud.
"But we're 'pioneers of a glorious future,'" quoted Danvers, lightly.
"It will all come out right." He longed to hear of Eva Thornhill,
hesitated, then inquired: "Was Miss Thornhill at Fort Benton when you
left?"
"Yes. She asked several times about you." Danvers took off his cap. So
she remembered him. "But she asked for Bob, too." The cap went on.
"We'll all make a try for her heart, old man," laughed Latimer. "By the
way," he added, as they paused before separating for the night, "that
wasn't a bad looking squaw I saw just as we left Bob's. What is her
name?"
"The one to our right, as we struck the trail? That was Pine Coulee.
She's Scar Faced Charlie's squaw, but Burroughs is trying to get her
away from him. However, one of her own tribe, Me-Casto, or Red Crow,
will steal her some of these days. He hates the white men because they
take the likely squaws."
"Whew!" whistled the visitor.
[Illustration]
Chapter II
Hate
A day or two after Christmas, O'Dwyer, a lonely sentinel on his midnight
beat, strode with measured step, alert, on duty. Outside the town,
Robert Burroughs skulked toward the lodge, while Me-Casto followed
covertly.
An hour afterward O'Dwyer heard moccasined feet approaching the stockade
gate. Challenging quickly, his "Halt, who goes there?" was answered by
Me-Casto. As that Indian had done some scouting for the Police, the
postern gate was unlocked, after some delay, and Me-Casto admitted to
the Colonel's presence.
When Me-Casto left the fort, Danvers, lying deep in sleep, with others
of his troop, felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Don't speak," whispered the orderly sergeant, who roused them. "Get up
and dress for special duty. Report at stables at once, armed."
The men knew what was before them. They had been so roused before, when
it was expedient to have some party leave the fort with secrecy, and it
was not long before the chill water of the ford splashed them as they
rode away from the sleeping town and garrison.
Almost before the sound of carefully led horses had died away, Toe
String Joe was dressing, and soon was making his way through a secret
opening in the stockade where he had sawed off a log near the ground and
hung it with wooden pins to each adjoining post in such a manner that it
would easily swing.
As he lay on his cot of woven willows, he had watched, with narrowed
eyelids, his comrades leave the troop room. Now he must report to his
chief. The fort was soon behind him. Arriving at Burroughs' store, he
passed to the rear and tapped on the small pane of glass doing duty as a
window. He tapped again, again; then turned, cursing, to find Burroughs
at his elbow.
"What's up?" Burroughs interrupted Joe's blasphemy.
"A party went out from the fort."
"M-m-m! Who was at the fort before you turned in?"
"Nobody."
"Who was ordered out?"
Joe told him. "Danvers was one," he concluded.
"Always that black-haired Englishman! I hate him!"
"What yeh goin' to do? Ain't them goods comin' this week? Somebody's
blabbed. Me-Casto's been watchin' yeh mighty clost, lately. Perhaps it
was him."
"Perhaps," concurred the trader, looking at the disloyal trooper
thoughtfully. "We kin only hope fer the best. Wild Cat Bill is bringin'
it in, an' Scar Faced Charlie is drivin'. 'F they git a chance to
_cache_ the stuff they will. Maybe," he concluded hopefully, "the
detachment won't run across 'em, an' they'll fool the Police, with their
little pill boxes stuck on three hairs."
Meantime the mounted detail, with Me-Casto as scout, galloped past the
lodge fires of the outlying Indians and pressed their way through a
falling sleet with not a sound but the muffled thud of the horses' hoofs
and the moan of the wind.
The stars dimmed; the east lightened. In the early morning the troopers
came to a small trading-post, where they saw a group of men awaiting
their arrival.
"I thought it was you, Danvers, the minute I piped yeh off!" Wild Cat
Bill stepped forward as he spoke, and shook hands with the young
trooper as cordially as if they were old friends. Bill breathed as
though he had been running, but went on immediately:
"We've come up here to see what the chances were fer wolfin' this
winter. Here's Charlie, yeh see. What yeh out fer? Horse thieves?"
Philip did not answer, as the officer in charge, singularly lacking in
perspicacity, took it upon himself.
"We are looking for smugglers," he frowned. "You haven't seen any loaded
outfits headed this way from Fort Benton, have you?"
"Nope!" Bill promptly answered. "We've been here two days, and nobody
passed here--has they, Charlie?" The freighter confirmed Bill's
assertion and the troopers were then ordered to stable their horses for
an hour.
"How is your sister, Charlie?" Danvers asked at his earliest
opportunity. He was sorry to see the freighter, feeling something was
amiss.
"She's in the East, at boarding-school," answered Charlie. "I couldn't
do by her as I should," he went on. "Fort Benton's no place to bring up
Winnie."
"Remember me to her when you write," said Danvers, walking his horse
away as Charlie passed inside the trading-post.
"What are yeh thinkin'?" whispered one of the detail in the dark of the
stables as the horses were being fed.
"Not much of anything," Danvers whispered back.
"Yes, yeh are. Yeh know they's _cached_ whiskey somewhere around."
Coming from the stables, Danvers passed the conspicuously empty wagons
belonging to the Americans. He noticed that the pile of refuse near by
was not covered with snow, although the stables had not been cleaned.
Walking nearer, he detected a strong odor of whiskey rising from the
wagon boxes. He remembered the sweat on the men's foreheads. Getting a
stable fork he struck sharply into the compost. Something clinked. A
quick throwing of the litter uncovered a case, such as was commonly used
to convey liquor.
As it was his duty, Danvers walked to the captain and saluted.
"I've found a _cache_ of whiskey, sir," he answered, respectfully.
The captain investigated. Then he opened the door of the shack and
surprised the Americans eating breakfast.
When placed under arrest, they seemed stunned, submitting without demur.
"I bet Danvers found that _cache_!" muttered Bill. "He's too foxy fer
me!"
On the return trip to Fort Macleod, Me-Casto began to fear that the men
would attempt to prove that the whiskey was not Burroughs'. He knew what
he had heard in the lodges; but what would his word be, as against these
defiant men? He pondered for many miles, then thought of another way to
bring disgrace on Burroughs. He would yet have Pine Coulee, himself!
Riding close to the wagon where the morose Charlie sat, Me-Casto
craftily engaged in conversation.
"_Kitzi-nan-nappi-ekki?_" (your whiskey?) he asked. The Blackfeet would
make no effort to learn English, although they understood a little; but
most white men had a fair knowledge of the Indian dialects.
"No," answered Charlie.
"_Nee-a-poos?_" (Burroughs?)
"No."
"Whose?" was the next question in Blackfoot.
"I don't know."
"You'll get six months in the guard-room if they get you."
"I s'pose so," was the reluctant admission. The prospect was not
pleasing.
"Then Burroughs have Pine Coulee all time!"
"What'd you mean?" thundered Charlie, effectually interested.
"Burroughs give Pine Coulee a new dress--new beads--new blanket," was
the candid reply.
The teamster was stricken dumb. He made no comment on the gossip, but
when it came his turn to be examined before Colonel Macleod, he swore
that Burroughs was the owner of the seized liquor and that he had been
employed to drive these men North. In every way he could, he offset the
perjured testimony of Bill, who posed as the victim of circumstantial
evidence.
The commandant-magistrate was puzzled. Me-Casto had testified that he
had heard Burroughs in one of the lodges, arranging for the _caching_ of
expected whiskey, in one of the cut banks of the river. The teamster
corroborated the Indian. Wild Cat Bill and Burroughs swore that neither
owned the confiscated liquor. Colonel Macleod knew nothing of Charlie or
Bill; but he considered the standing of Burroughs, also the
unreliability of most Indians' testimony, and finally acquitted
Burroughs unconditionally, while declaring Bill and Charlie guilty of
smuggling, and he sentenced them accordingly. Burroughs promptly
furnished the money for the payment of Bill's fine, and Latimer,
believing Charlie's tale, loaned him money to escape the guard-room.
* * * * *
Great was the rejoicing in Burroughs' post that night. Long after
midnight Bill waited for a moment with his chief.
"I done the best I could, Bob," he said dejectedly, when they were at
last alone. "'F Phil Danvers hadn't been along I'd 'a' made it."
"I'll get even with him," growled Burroughs.
"The Police mos' caught us red-handed," explained Bill. "We hadn't
more'n got the pitchforks back in the stable when they rode up."
"Say no more about it, Bill," suggested Bob. The smuggler looked
comforted.
"Danvers is all right," mused Bill, while his friend prepared a drink.
"Is that so?" queried Bob with unpleasant emphasis.
"You're as cocky as a rooster," expostulated the other. "Phil Danvers
has swore to do his duty--an' he does it. The most of us is on the make
up here, an' the Police've got their traitors, as you know. Danvers is
sort of unusual, that's all."
"He ain't my style!" was the retort.
"No," was the dry comment, "I shouldn't presume he was." But the sarcasm
was lost on his hearer.
"What was eatin' Scar Faced Charlie, anyway?"
"He's squiffy." Bill had heard the conversation between Me-Casto and
Charlie on the trail, but was in no mind to retail it.
"I'm goin' out," said Burroughs, presently, and at this broad hint Bill
rose.
"I'm in yer debt," he began awkwardly.
"That's all right." The trader knew and Bill knew that the paid fine was
another cord to bind him. "An' now we'll make a pile o' money 'f we're
careful. Joe's inside the fort an' you an' me are outside, an' the
Injuns are always dry--see? This deal's goin' to be pretty hard on me,
what with the government confiscatin' all them nine hundred gallons of
whiskey; but we've got more comin', an' we'll have to mix it a little
thinner, that's all."
Burroughs went toward the Indian lodges and soon discovered Charlie also
sneaking thither.
No superfluous words were spoken. "What'd yeh do it fer?" The angry
trader whirled, the teamster facing him.
"You let Pine Coulee alone!" mumbled Charlie, far gone in liquor.
"That's it, eh?" commented the enlightened Burroughs, turning away
contemptuously. "Like hell I will!"
Not long after Arthur Latimer answered a recent letter from the doctor
in Fort Benton. He gave a vivid account of recent events and of a dinner
that had been given at the military post on Christmas day to which he
had been invited.
_"After the dinner," he continued, "the boys sang for an hour or
more. They have good voices, and it was worth a long journey to
hear them sing 'The Wearing of the Green.'_
_"Colonel Macleod seemed to enjoy the music immensely, and (I don't
see how he happened to think of it) he called Danvers up and asked
him if he knew anything from 'Il Trovatore.' Phil saluted and said
that he had heard it in London. Thereupon the colonel asked him if
he could sing any of the airs. Phil hesitated, but the commanding
officer's request is tantamount to a command, and after a moment he
began the 'Miserere.' The men were still as death. Probably they
had never heard it before. You, of course, remember that superb
tenor solo--the haunting misery, the despair! And what do you
think? When he got to the duet I took Leonora's part. Phil gave a
little start, but kept on singing, and we carried the duet through.
My! but the men nearly tore us to shreds. O'Dwyer fairly lifted
Phil off his feet, at this triumph of his hero, for he has taken a
great liking to our silent Englishman. The colonel thanked us with
delightful appreciation and soon after went out--more quiet than
ever. I reckon he was homesick. We all were--a bit. Sweethearts
and wives seemed very far away that night._
_"You speak of Scar Faced Charlie's avowed intention of abandoning
his freighting. He'll probably never come up here again. He
recently sent me some cash I'd loaned him, and he intimated as
much. Before he left here he returned his squaw, Pine Coulee, to
her father; then Burroughs bought her for a bunch of ponies._
_"Me-Casto couldn't compete--poor devil. He, like all Indians, had
gambled away his small stock of ponies early in the fall--as
Burroughs well knew."_
"Come on, Arthur," called Danvers, cheerily, as he stuck his head into
the room. "There's a dance on at Bob's trading-post."
"All right." Latimer hurriedly put away his writing and soon they ran
along the trail to the rendezvous.
"Look, there is Me-Casto!" exclaimed Philip.
"Where?"
"Skulking in the shadows back of Bob's place."
"Bob better look out," said Arthur, as they pushed open the store door.
"Me-Casto is not here for any good."
The candle-lighted room was well filled with traders, troopers, trappers
and squaws. No buck ever participated in a white man's dance, but
several stood by the door and looked on. Every one was in high spirits,
and when the fiddler, a French 'breed, struck up, stamping his
moccasined feet to keep time, each man secured a squaw and took his
place. A brazen-lunged 'breed shouted, "Alleman' lef'! Swing yer
partners!" and the couples swung giddily around.
Danvers joined in with right good-will. Occasionally he danced; more
often he sat on the long trade counter and kept time to the emphatic
music by beating his spurs heavily against the boards behind his feet.
Latimer and O'Dwyer danced joyously; but Burroughs, apparently uneasy,
as the evening wore on, kept a watchful eye on the outer door. Philip
noticed, too, that Pine Coulee was less phlegmatic than usual, although
she danced faithfully at the command of her lord and master.
Presently Me-Casto came in and stood by the door. With blanket muffling
the lower part of his face, he looked piercingly at Pine Coulee--at
Robert Burroughs. The trader caught Me-Casto's eye, and, ostentatiously
clasping Pine Coulee's hand as he swung her in the dance, he smiled full
in the Blackfoot's face, purposely flaunting his ownership of the squaw.
Me-Casto turned and left the room.
"'On wid the dance, let j'y be unconfined!'" yelled O'Dwyer, as he
combined an Irish jig and a Red River reel. He had not noticed Me-Casto,
but Latimer and Danvers exchanged glances. Just then Pine Coulee looked
wistfully toward the opening door. Burroughs, ever watchful, caught a
glimpse of Me-Casto as his lips gave an almost imperceptible signal to
Pine Coulee. The trader's anger was quick; his discretion slight. He
struck the girl flat on the cheek.
"Take that!" he said savagely. "I'll teach yeh to hanker after that
lousy buck!"
The words and the blow were simultaneous. So was the leap of the
indignant Danvers.
"You coward!" he cried, "to strike a woman!" He took the trader by the
nape of the neck and shook him soundly.
Before Burroughs could close with the trooper there came three rifle
shots. Each time a singing bullet whizzed by a dodging form. Only one of
the shots took effect. Pine Coulee sank to the floor, blood flowing from
her bosom.
Screams, oaths and shouts mingled as Danvers raised the squaw. Latimer
assisted him in placing her on a counter, while Burroughs, certain of
the would-be murderer, ran outside for the assailant, the crowd
following. A head pushed past the half-opened side door.
"Didn't I kill Burroughs?" The question was in Blackfoot.
"You shot Pine Coulee!" replied Danvers, sternly. In an instant renewed
shouting indicated that the men had tracked the Indian. A moment later
the sound of fleeing hoofs told that Me-Casto had made a get-away. The
trot of other horses followed, but soon the eternal silence of the
prairie reigned alone.
By the time Burroughs returned to the store Pine Coulee had revived.
As the trader was dragging the squaw to his near-by house, he paused on
the threshold.
"Phil Danvers," he said, moistening his dry lips as his rage increased,
"as true as they's a God above I'll pay yeh back for interferin'
to-night. I've hated yeh from the first time I set eyes on yeh! 'F I
live I'll make yeh feel what hate'll do! Yeh're too good fer the Whoop
Up Country, an' I've got a long score to settle with yeh! 'F ever white
women come to this country an' yeh git a sweetheart I'll do my best to
separate yeh! 'F yeh've got a sister I'll have her! I'll--I'll--God! But
I hate yeh!"
[Illustration]
Chapter III.
The Hot Blood of Youth
The spring warmed into summer, the summer melted into autumn. Autumn, in
turn, chilled into the white world of winter. All thoughts of the little
girl on the _Far West_ had slipped from the mind of Danvers, and even
the memory of Miss Thornhill became faint--obliterated by the strenuous
life of the service. Promotion came in his third year of service as a
reward for intelligence and efficiency. Danvers was offered and accepted
a commission. He felt that life was good. Fears and homesickness had
long since disappeared; the longings for other and more congenial,
refined and feminine associates came but seldom; still, the desire for
the understanding of one alone, for a loved wife and a son to bear his
name was not dead--it was simply dormant in that womanless land.
"The doctor will be here next week," announced Arthur Latimer, who had
been bookkeeper in one of the trading-posts ever since he had come to
Macleod, soon after Danvers was made a second lieutenant. "Colonel
Macleod, I hear, has invited quite a party to visit him from Fort
Benton."
"Yes. I heard from the doctor, too." Philip smiled at thought of his
friend's surprise at his new rank.
It was not long before the visitors arrived, and, greatly to Danvers'
surprise, Miss Thornhill, accompanied by her father, the major, was
among them.
The first white woman that he had seen for three years! He had never
before realized how dainty a lady is in comparison with her sisters of
the lodges. They may be kin in the world relationship, but, oh! the
difference one from the other. The squaws, standing stolidly by, were
intolerable. As Eva walked consciously past with Colonel Macleod,
attended by the staff officers, she gave no sign of recognition other
than a heightened color and lowered eye-lashes; but Philip felt that she
recognized him. Before the girl reached the barracks Mr. Burroughs
entered the stockade. With the assurance of a favored acquaintance, he
advanced and pressed the hand of Miss Thornhill.
Danvers turned away. So new a mood assailed him that he went outside the
stockade and prowled along the outer wall, not waiting to do more than
greet the doctor. How he longed for a touch of that dainty hand, for a
word from Eva--from _any_ young woman of his own race! All the manhood,
all the heart-hunger of the isolated years, surged within him. He smiled
rather piteously. He had not realized that he was starving for the sight
of fair skin, sunny hair and slender hands; for a bonny white
face--white--white! That was it! A white face, a womanly face! He hardly
noticed the muttered "How" of Pine Coulee as she passed, her young babe
slung over her back. But he returned her salutation, and after they
passed each other he recalled a look on her usually expressionless face
that he had never seen there before.
"Here, Phil! Wait for us!" Latimer was calling, and Danvers soon forgot
his perturbation in the pleasure of the doctor's presence and
congratulations, as he came up with Arthur.
"Got so you can talk, eh?" asked the doctor, noting how the young men
vied in their efforts to entertain him. "I told the colonel that I was
coming up here to see you, fully as much as him--good friends as we are.
You are good to look at, both of you."
"Arthur always could talk," smiled Danvers, "and I can--with my
friends."
"How is Burroughs getting along?" asked the doctor, as the trader passed
them, too absorbed, apparently, in the recollection of his meeting with
Miss Thornhill to note either them or Pine Coulee, who followed him.
"Remarkably well, from a financial standpoint. His living with a squaw
makes him popular with the Indians, and the colonel swears by
him--thinks he's perfect."
"And the trade in whiskey?"
Latimer shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"That's Bob's squaw," said Arthur, after an awkward pause. "She's as
proud as a peacock of that papoose. She rather lords it over her former
associates of the lodges."
The doctor whistled. He knew Pine Coulee's story, but had not heard of
the child. "Bob will want to marry some day," was his sole comment. "Has
Me-Casto ever been caught?"
"No. When he does turn up, Robert Burroughs may look out for trouble."
"Why did Toe String Joe leave the Force?" asked the doctor presently.
"He has been in Fort Benton for some little time."
"Drummed out of the service. But he wouldn't tell who supplied him with
the whiskey. What is he doing now?"
"Joe is mining. He declares he will be a millionaire."
"He'll be a millionaire when Danvers turns American and runs for
office," scoffed Latimer, remembering Joe's shiftless disposition and
making the most improbable comparison that he could think of.
"He will never be one, then," said Philip, quietly. "I cannot think of
anything that would make me break my allegiance to England. I am going
to stay in the service--I like it! And as for American politics!... You
know what I think of them." He smiled affectionately to atone for the
words.
The glimpses that the troopers and younger officers caught of Eva
Thornhill in the following week were few. Nevertheless a gust of
love-madness swept through the ranks, from the officer commanding to the
newest recruit. Nor were the townsmen behind in their attempts to win a
part of the girl's time and thoughts--if not herself. Burroughs easily
led in favor, and Lieutenant Danvers effaced himself. So rigidly did he
do so that it was not long before Miss Thornhill found the flavor of rue
in her Canadian visit. The smart lieutenant had made no advances, had
sought no introduction. Eva demanded the homage of all, accustomed as
she was to the frontier life where women were too rare to be neglected.
No chaperon was thought of in the freedom of the frontier, and, indeed,
none was needed among the innately chivalrous Westerners. This little
world of Macleod revolved around her--all but the silent, unobtrusive
Danvers, whose acquaintance seemed the more desirable in direct ratio to
his aloofness. Eva resolved to win him, and Arthur Latimer was artfully
sounded for the cause of his friend's indifference. The Southerner,
already playing at love with the fair-haired belle, and at no pains to
conceal it, readily undertook to find out.
"Why don't you meet Miss Thornhill?" he asked.
"I am very busy these days," interrupted the lieutenant, giving his
excuse hastily. Not even to his friend could he disclose how he was
drawn toward the only white representative of her sex at Macleod.
"But she wants to know you. She wants to meet you," insisted the loyal
Arthur, who had sung Danvers' praises industriously and unselfishly.
"Why, Arthur!" Philip cried, gaily, to cover the tremor in his voice
that would not be subdued when he learned that this haughty maid had
thought of him. "If you are as much in love with Miss Thornhill as you
pretend to be, you want to speak for yourself. But she evidently
prefers Bob Burroughs, and I, for one, think I'll keep out of
temptation." He slapped the ardent Southerner affectionately on the
back. "No chance for either of us, old man! Don't talk of me to her! She
will think us asses--amiable idiots!"
"I know there's no chance for me," replied Latimer, aggrieved. "What
have I to offer a wife--I'm poor as the proverbial church mouse."
"Anyway, leave me out of your conversations."
"I'll see that you do not meet her!" returned the Missourian, in mock
alarm. Then they laughed light-heartedly. "I know whom she'd choose--if
she had the opportunity. Burroughs wouldn't stand a show, nor I either."
"There she is now." Danvers nodded toward the ford, where he had seen,
for several moments, the trader and Eva riding easily.
"Bob's got his nerve! How about Pine Coulee and the child?" exploded
Latimer.
"S-sh!" warned Philip, seeing a movement of the bullberry bushes near
them.
As the young men looked toward the riders, whose mounts were close
together and walking slowly, a dark face, with passionate eyes gleaming,
pushed cautiously out from the sheltering branches, and Pine Coulee also
watched the unconscious maid and the trader.
* * * * *
When Colonel Macleod, wishing to impress his American visitors, ordered
the troops under his command to go through their cavalry exercises, Miss
Thornhill sat on a glossy mare beside him, while troopers passed at a
walk or trot, and wondered why she had found it so difficult to meet
Lieutenant Danvers. As the lines of superb and faultlessly groomed men
and horses swept past on the last mad gallop she forgot her brooding and
clapped her hands enthusiastically.
"Oh, Colonel Macleod! That was splendid! Make them go on, and on!" she
cried.
"Why, of course, if you wish," assented the gallant Macleod, forgetting
that the rise of ground directly in front of him had the river on its
farther slope.
"Phat's the colonel thinkin' of?" growled O'Dwyer, as no halt sounded.
"He's not thinkin' at all!" responded the man next in alignment, sourly.
"A man can't think when a slip of a girl's near by."
"He's forgot the river!" groaned the fleshy Irishman, dreading the
certain plunge.
Into the stream they dashed, many of the men over their heads, for there
was no turning back.
As the horses balked, Lieutenant Danvers' stallion threshed viciously,
hitting O'Dwyer, and then ceased to swim.
O'Dwyer groaned, "Me a-r-rm!"
It was over in an instant. Those on shore assisted Danvers and the
Irishman to land. O'Dwyer was left in Philip's care, while the rest of
the men rode back, as the review must not be interrupted.
Eva saw the break in the ranks.
"Lieutenant Danvers has dropped out," she exclaimed, and straightway bit
her lip.
"Philip?" hastily asked the Fort Benton doctor, on a horse near by.
"Then there has been an accident!"
The sergeant-major rode up to report, but the impulsive Eva did not wait
for details. She touched her mare and was after the doctor.
"I'm so sorry!" cried the girl, as she met Danvers and O'Dwyer
returning. "It's all my fault that you are wet--and hurt! Which one is
hurt?" She turned provocative eyes to the dripping lieutenant.
"O'Dwyer has a sprained elbow," answered Philip, his heart dancing at
her solicitude. "It was through my carelessness."
"Don't ye be belavin' a wor-rd he says, miss!" burst out O'Dwyer. "That
is (beggin' yer pardon fer spakin' to the loikes of yez, an' me a
private!), don't ye belave 'tis his fault. He kep' me from drownin',
that's what he did!"
O'Dwyer had noted his idol's preoccupation since Miss Thornhill's
advent, the self-imposed aloofness, and had drawn his own shrewd
conclusions. He determined, here and now, to do Danvers a good turn,
despite the frown on the doctor's face and Philip's frantic signaling.
"Lieutenant Danvers is the finest feller God ever made!" he blurted,
regardless.
"Oh, keep still! _Keep still!_" cried the exasperated Englishman. This
misplaced loquacity!
Eva reached out suddenly, frankly.
"I think it's time we knew each other," she said, sweetly, and their
hands met.
That touch! Never had the unsophisticated youth felt such a touch! A
thrill of exquisite life went from her hand to his; from his hand to his
feet and the vibrations went tingling back to the girl. For the first
time Philip looked full into the blue eyes of Eva Thornhill.
"You're a fool, O'Dwyer!" Danvers heard the doctor remark, as they
proceeded toward the fort. The humbled trooper, hitching his arm in the
improvised sling which Philip had made, groaned doleful assent. Too late
he remembered the barrack-room decision that Miss Thornhill was after
every scalp in the Whoop Up Country.
And Eva Thornhill? Her opportunity had come, and she had taken it as a
gift from the gods. Suddenly she knew that Philip was merged in her
personality, and she reveled in the bloom of quickly grown, fully
developed passion. By the time the lieutenant assisted her from her
mare at the colonel's headquarters she was ready to think that there was
nothing to keep them apart. So quickly, hotly, does young blood run!
Her answer to the question that was ready to slip from his tongue--what
would it be? As Danvers lifted the flushing girl from her mount, her
eyes gave promise beneath their long-lashed veiling that the answer
would not be "no."
It was not many days before Major Thornhill took his daughter to task
for her neglect of Mr. Burroughs.
"Don't you let go of Burroughs," he counseled, with brutal sordidness.
"These young lawyers and lieutenants haven't a cent, so far as I can
find out. Burroughs has money and will have more. Remember that an army
officer never has anything to leave to his mourners."
Eva shrugged her shoulders; but her training showed her the wisdom of
her father's advice, and she bestowed more favor on the trader than he
had received for several days. However, she decided that one more ride
with the lieutenant she must have, and so impetuous was Philip that she
allowed him to say more than she intended he should. His wooing was
eager, headlong.
As they drew near the town on their return from their long ride, the
girl saw a squaw peering from the bushes beside the trail.
"Who is that squaw?" she asked, petulantly. "It seems to me that I never
go out but she is near me!"
"Oh--er----" he stammered, losing, for a moment, his self-possession as
he recognized Burroughs' property. He knew that the trader had pledged
his intimates to secrecy as to his relations with Pine Coulee while Miss
Thornhill was a visitor at Macleod, and he, while not pledged, would be
the last one to bring her in any way to Eva's notice. "Oh," he began
again, "she's a Blackfoot."
"That is evasion, pure and simple!" retorted his companion. "She wants
either to speak to me--or to kill me, I've not decided which. Wait here!
I am going to speak to her!"
"You are probably the first white woman she ever saw," Philip tried
vainly to make a satisfactory explanation; but, to his consternation,
Eva was gone.
Pine Coulee stood motionless as the fair-haired girl drew rein beside
her. Never had she shown her Indian blood more clearly than in the
stolid awaiting of her rival. Danvers drew nearer, fearing results.
"Do you speak English?" Pine Coulee was asked. "I think that you want to
speak to me. What is it? What can I do for you?" The look of dejection
on the dark face touched even Miss Thornhill.
Silence.
"What a big baby!" was Eva's next effort to gain good-will.
She was sure that the squaw could, at least, understand English; and the
gleam of motherhood, kindling at her praise, confirmed her belief.
Silence.
"What is the baby's name?"
Silence prolonged. Eva turned away, impatient that her advances should
be met so churlishly. Then, swift, malignant, Pine Coulee spoke:
"Him name Robert Burroughs! _Robert Burroughs!_" The words came with
startling distinctness.
Eva's surprise was great. She shuddered uncontrollably.
Pine Coulee understood the incredulity in the girl's eyes, and rushed
on, bitterly, in broken English:
"Yes. Robert Burroughs! Ask him!" pointing to Danvers with her lips, as
Indians will. "Burroughs mine! You not have him! You take this man! You
have everything--Pine Coulee have nothing but Bob and his baby! You
sha'n't have him! No! No!" The squaw, crazed with jealousy, started
towards Burroughs' house, but turned back with real dignity. "I hate
you! Why you come to steal my man?"
Then she abruptly took her bitter way along the trail till--Burroughs
blocked her. He gave her one look and rode forward.
"Your father sent me to look for you, Miss Thornhill," he began, as he
drew rein. He resolved to carry the matter off boldly, if Eva referred
to the Indian woman. "If you like, we will ride back together," he
added, nodding to Danvers.
"No, no, no!" cried Eva, hysterically. "I'm afraid of--of that--squaw!"
She pointed to Pine Coulee, who had followed Burroughs like a blighting
shadow.
"Git out of here!" Burroughs emphasized his command to the squaw with a
vicious kick. Not realizing how much the words would reveal, he added:
"I tol' yeh ter stay in the house!"
"I'll care for Miss Thornhill, Burroughs," interrupted Danvers. "Let us
pass, please! Take Pine Coulee back and leave decent white women to
others."
"To you?" sneered the trader, with suddenly loosened rage at maid and
man.
"Yes, to me!" proudly answered Philip, drawing closer to Eva's mount.
The girl was scarlet with rage.
"Oh, it's that way, is it?" snarled Bob. "You told Miss
Thornhill--that's plain to be seen!"
"He did not tell!" Eva slipped from her lover's protection and reined
her horse toward Burroughs. "Lieutenant Danvers tried to shield you.
She--she----" Eva looked at Pine Coulee, nursing her bruised forehead
(for Burroughs had kicked to hurt) and changed her words. "The
lieutenant never--he never intimated--such--a--horrid--thing. Of course
you will understand that I no longer care for your acquaintance!" The
reaction came and she begged: "Oh, Lieutenant Danvers, take me to
father!"
"Oh, you don't, eh?" sneered the trader. "There are many years ahead of
us both, and the time may come when you will want my help! And you,"
turning to Danvers, "I'll get even with you! If I can't win Eva
Thornhill, you never shall, mark my words! I'll----"
"You dare to threaten--us? Get out of our way!"
With a touch Danvers quickly started both his horse and Miss
Thornhill's. After a brief interval he slowed the pace.
"And now, darling, you must let me care for you always," urged Philip,
after he had restored Eva to some semblance of calm. "Let me speak to
your father to-night!" He talked on, encouraged by the girl's silent
yielding and the long kiss he laid on her willing lips. She was told of
his prospects, both in the army and in England, where his father and
sister lived. He told her of his lovely American mother, who had died so
young. He had enlisted, he said, for sheer love of a military life.
"Father wanted to buy a commission for me, but I knew I could get
one--without money!" was the modest close.
The afternoon together ended by Philip's putting his mother's engagement
ring on Eva's hand for their plighted troth. She looked at it a moment.
"I cannot wear this now," she said. "If we are engaged, I want it to be
kept secret until next spring. Don't you see, dear," she rubbed her face
caressingly on Philip's impatient hand, "that it will be better so?
Father will be furious when he knows that I've given Mr. Burroughs his
conge, and you'll come into your fortune when you are twenty-one next
June. Father'll never consent until then. He'll make me miserable all
winter!"
[Illustration]
Chapter IV
The Return to Fort Benton
That autumn visit of Eva Thornhill glowed in Danvers' heart like the
riotous colors in the gray landscape that precedes the frost of winter;
for winter was coming, her visit was over, and Eva and her father were
to leave for Fort Benton on the morrow. Danvers inwardly chafed under
the secrecy imposed upon their engagement, and yet it would have been
hard for him to have spoken of his love for Eva, even to the sympathetic
Latimer.
But he longed to see more of her, to drink his fill of her beauty and
fix her image in his memory that he might not famish in his loneliness
during the dreary winter months when they should be separated.
Though it was hard to evade her father, Eva Thornhill granted her lover
a last interview. His reserve, now softened by his love, fascinated the
girl, and the element of secrecy lent a romantic touch that did not
lessen her enjoyment of the situation. Yet it was a relief to return to
Fort Benton, where she could think it all over and avoid her father's
anger at a possible discovery.
"You will write to me?" said Danvers eagerly, as he held her hands, in
parting. "There are few mails in the winter, but some one will be coming
up." He looked imploringly into her eyes, as she hesitated.
"Of course I'll answer your letters--Philip," she spoke the name
deliberately, as though enjoying her right to the familiarity of its
use. "And when shall I hear from _you_?"
"_Always_; whenever you will close your eyes and listen! It may be weeks
before a freighter makes the trip; but without a written message you
will know that I am thinking of you, loving you! Remember it, Eva!"
His arm drew her close, and the girl caught his ardor as she returned
his good-bye kiss.
"I will, dear; oh, I will!" She clung to him and for a moment caught the
glory of his vision. Real tears dimmed her eyes as her lover tenderly
released her, and the man was satisfied.
That night Latimer had a long talk with his friend.
"You see, old man, I may as well go now, when the doctor and the
Thornhills are returning to Fort Benton. It may be weeks before I have
another chance."
Latimer, too! The thought sent a chill to the heart of the lieutenant,
now doubly sensitive to the love of this only friend! He had long known
that Latimer would return to his law practice in Fort Benton, but the
time had never been set for his going.
"The years of outdoor life," continued Latimer, "have made a new man of
me!" patting his chest, not yet so broad as Danvers'. "And if I am ever
to go back to the law I must get about it before I forget all I ever
knew." He gave his arguments with a half apology as if to soften the
sharpness of his decision, which to his loyal heart seemed like a
desertion of his friend.
Danvers was silent. He saw, more clearly than his companion, that the
doctor's visit, the presence of Major Thornhill and his daughter, and
the association with those of his own class, had roused in the
Southerner a longing for the old life of civic usefulness, had drawn him
back to his office, to his books and civilized associations.
"And if I get away to-morrow," went on Latimer, "I must pack up my few
belongings in the morning, and shall not have time for much of a
good-bye--you will understand, Phil?"
"Yes, indeed!" said Danvers, realizing that he had been too long silent.
"Write to me when you can, Arthur. You know what the winters are up in
this country."
They smoked in silence for an hour or more--that strange communion that
men find gives greater sympathy than any speech. Then Danvers wrung the
hand of his friend, and set out for the barracks.
Many sober faces clustered around Eva when she said good-bye next
morning, but Burroughs' was not among them. He had said nothing of his
humiliation, but had avoided meeting Miss Thornhill again. Her father
was greatly dissatisfied; he thought that Eva's reception of the
attention of other men had offended the trader, and he did not spare his
blame for such a condition of things. Eva maintained her equanimity,
feeling that she had done well to preserve the secret of her engagement,
and to win Philip's pledge to silence.
Two months later Robert Burroughs sold out his trading-post, and he,
too, prepared to return to the States. When he told Pine Coulee that she
was to return to her father's lodge with the boy, he was, for the first
time, afraid of the woman. All her savage blood surged in protest; his
offers to support their child were spurned. He was glad when the squaw
was sullenly silent in the lodges of her tribe, and he determined never
to come again to Macleod--to leave the past behind him. That was his
dominant thought as he started out for Fort Benton, accompanied by his
familiar, Wild Cat Bill.
Their life at Fort Macleod had been in many ways one of jeopardy. He had
run incredible risks of exposure and ruin, but he had won, through sheer
audacity and bravado. He smiled covertly as he recalled the fact that
he, the greatest whiskey smuggler in the Whoop Up Country, was also the
privileged friend of an unsuspecting, honorable, upright
officer--Colonel Macleod. Even his hardened conscience pricked as he
thought how he had deceived one who, with somewhat more of acumen, and
somewhat less of belief in men, would have been most severe on his
wrong-doing.
But that was over. To turn to less reprehensible and underhand ways
would be easy, he was sure. Or, if he found that the old ways of
accomplishing his purpose were more profitable, he would exercise them
on bigger projects in Montana. He had made a fortune in the Whoop Up
Country. Now he intended to increase it in the development of Montana's
resources. He proposed to marry and rear a family, as became a
prosperous and respected citizen.
Dreams of statehood were beginning to waken into hope of reality among
the sturdy men who dwelt in the territory, and during this journey south
Burroughs confided to Bill his ambition to sit in the United States
Senate. Fortune had favored him so far. All that was necessary to
further his ambitions was to be as shrewd and cautious as he had been
hitherto, and all things should be his--with Bill's help. Bill
listened--that was his role for the time being. But he thought well of
the plans, and said so before his chief referred to quite another
subject--Pine Coulee and the boy. Here Bill found no words.
Burroughs opined that the episode with Pine Coulee was nothing. She was
a fool to expect him to continue their relations simply because there
was a child. He would see that they did not suffer. Really Sweet Oil Bob
felt a glow of self-approval as he talked. But few men in the Whoop Up
Country gave a thought to the comfort of the squaws when they left them.
And as for the children--let them go with their mothers! It was the
easiest thing imaginable.
To Danvers it seemed that half the population of Fort Macleod was
leaving, since Scar Faced Charlie had departed months before, and Toe
String Joe had been dishonorably discharged and gone out of the
country. Only the loyal O'Dwyer remained, and to him he sometimes spoke
of Fort Benton friends. To Eva he wrote with every outgoing mail, and
watched eagerly for a sign from her when a chance freighter should bring
the Fort Benton mail. Then fever broke out in the barracks and Danvers
spent his nights caring for the others and had little time for thought.
His splendid constitution seemed able to bear any amount of fatigue, and
he boasted that the loss of sleep was nothing--that he preferred to talk
to some one--he had not enough to do to keep busy!
But he overestimated his strength, and when a mail was brought with no
letter from Eva the disappointment and anxiety told on his already
overtaxed constitution. O'Dwyer was the last to convalesce, and even he
was no longer in need of constant attention. With the relaxing of the
strain came Philip's utter collapse. The fever was on him, and for weeks
he talked deliriously of English lanes, of his sister Kate, of his rise
in the service, but never of Eva Thornhill. It was as if some psychic
power guarded his lips and loyally preserved his secret.
The spring flowers were budding when he again breathed the outer air,
and it was a gaunt figure which sat in the lee of the stockade one day
in May and took the package of letters brought from Fort Benton.
At last! Eva's first letter lay in his hand. He forgave her the long
silence. The winter had been unusually severe and to the irregularity of
the mails he ascribed his love's apparent defection. With trembling
fingers he opened the thin envelope. The letter had no heading.
_"I have told father of my promise to you. He refuses absolutely to
sanction it and declares I shall never marry an Englishman. I now
agree with father that it would be very unwise. I hate the army,
and you say you will never leave it. It is best that we understand
each other at once, and very fortunate that we agreed not to speak
of our engagement. I have not heard from you in three months, and
so I presume you are tired of it and as glad to break as I am."_
That was all. The dazed convalescent remembered that his letter was
mailed the very day that he went to the hospital, and his promise of
silence made it impossible to ask another to notify her of his
condition. Fate's cruelty bit deep. The heartlessness of Eva's dismissal
pierced his soul. Mechanically he took up a letter from his sister.
"_Dear brother Philip_," her letter began. _"We have written and
written. What has become of you these last months? Haven't you
received the solicitor's letters or mine, telling you of father's
sudden death, and the discovery that we are almost penniless--all
the fortune gone?"_
Danvers gasped, weakly, at the wealth of disaster. He had always
regarded his father as an exceptionally acute man of business. And
now.... The letters of which his sister Kate wrote had never reached
him. The mail service was wretched, he knew; but it seemed incredible
that such important letters should be lost. He turned to the other
envelopes just received. Yes, there were three from the family
solicitors, and one from Arthur Latimer. These from England had probably
lain at Fort Benton all winter. Presently he read on:
_"However, you no doubt have received them all by this time. I
write this, in haste, to ask you to meet me at Fort Benton by the
middle of June, as I shall come to America in time to take the
first boat leaving Bismarck. I shall have about a hundred pounds
when I start. I am determined to come to you."_
With some expression of grief at their bereavement, and anticipation of
seeing her brother, the letter closed.
Come up to the Whoop Up Country! His young, unsophisticated sister? She
must not! He started up, thinking to send a rider to Fort Benton with a
message to cable to London. But she would already have started. And how
could he support her in England? How support her in any country on his
small income, used as she was to every luxury? It was horrible! What to
do! What to do! At last he took up Latimer's letter. At least here would
be something to put heart into a fellow, he thought, hopefully. The bold
handwriting seemed so like the light-hearted Southerner that a wan smile
played over Philip's ghastly face. The smile faded to be replaced by
agony as the sense of the words was absorbed--words leaping at him,
fiendishly:
_"Dear Old Chum--I am the happiest fellow alive. Eva Thornhill and
I were married last week, and our only regret was that you could
not be my best man. I spoke of it several times. How did this
happen, you ask? Why, I was fortunate enough to fall heir to
something like twenty-five thousand dollars this winter, and, after
settling the question whether there was any understanding between
you and Eva (she assured me there never had been) I sailed right
in--and she is mine._
_"Old boy! Eva's the dearest little piece of guilelessness in the
world. She's told me all about Burroughs, and even confessed that
she used to admire you; but she thought you very reserved. I have
told how companionable you really are and how she should have
captured you. But she shakes her pretty head and says that she is
jealous of you--that I am fonder of you than of her! She's a rogue!
I used to be dumbly jealous of the other fellows, knowing how poor
I was. I had to keep myself well in hand, I tell you, especially
when I used to see you two together. But if Eva had cared for you
(how could she help it?) I'd have been the first one to
congratulate you. We could not be rivals, could we, dear old man?_
_"We are going East for the summer, and the doctor goes with us as
far as St. Louis. Wish us well, Phil! Why haven't you written? I
know it has been a bad winter and only two mails from Macleod, but
I expected to hear at least once._
_"I wish that you could find so ideal a wife as mine. Dear,
innocent, truthful--what more can man ask?"_
Danvers pulled himself up from the bench, wondering why the day had
grown so cold, where the sunshine had gone. He replaced Latimer's letter
in its envelope, dully, slowly:
"'Truthful--innocent!'" he quoted. "Poor Arthur!" He laughed--a dreadful
sound. Then he fell face downward--and so they found him.
* * * * *
A pale-faced youth looked with dilated eyes on the nearing town of Fort
Benton. It was Philip Danvers, late second lieutenant of the North West
Mounted Police of Canada. He had lived through the shock which the three
letters had brought on his fever-weakened frame, and during his
convalescence determined to leave the service and seek employment at
Fort Benton. To his colonel alone he gave his reasons. His sister Kate
was a delicate girl, unused to adversity. His pay was insufficient to
support her, even if she could have lived at Fort Macleod. She must be
safe-guarded. For three long, hard, lonely years he had dreamed of a
commission, and now that he had secured it he must give it up, together
with hope of further advancement. There was no alternative.
As the band played "The Girl I Left Behind Me" (invariably rendered when
men in the English service change garrison), O'Dwyer stepped forward to
say good-bye.
"Sure, Phil," he blubbered, "I'll lave the service 's soon's me time's
up, now ye're gone! I'll folley ye to Fort Benton!"
Danvers turned tear-dimmed eyes away from his friend, from the low fort
and the weather-beaten stockade, and resolutely denied himself the pain
of looking back to catch the last flutter of the Union Jack as the long
rise of land dipped toward the south. How often had he strained his eyes
to see that symbol of his country as he returned from the various forays
and hunting trips! But duty called! This was the only thought that he
dared allow himself--and his sister, his sister! She had no one but him
to look to, and in his loneliness she was a comforting thought, and
worth all the sacrifice of his life's ambitions.
While he had lain unconscious, in his illness, she had arrived at the
head of navigation, and had written him girlish, impatient letters. He
knew that Latimer would look out for her if he and Eva had returned from
their wedding trip, but he was sure they had not, and felt an equal
relief that he need offer no congratulations. The doctor, too, Arthur
had told him, was in St. Louis. He wondered how his sister had passed
the time. Once she had mentioned meeting Burroughs, and he knew that she
was living at the little hotel that he remembered. He was frantic to
reach his destination and assume a brother's responsibility for the
simple-hearted, yielding, young English girl, brought abruptly into the
rough Western life.
As he drew near the growing town of Fort Benton he was astounded at the
sight of what seemed quite a metropolis to his eyes, so long accustomed
to the log buildings and the scant population of Fort Macleod.
As the road dipped over the bench and led into town he saw, riding to
meet him--was it his sister?--and with her, Robert Burroughs!
But Danvers was on his feet, and as he assisted the girl to dismount she
slid into his arms and put up her lips for a kiss.
When something like coherence was evolved from the rush of questions and
answers, Kate turned shyly toward Burroughs, who still sat upon his
horse.
She took her brother by the hand.
"Phil, dear, you have not spoken to Mr. Burroughs. He has told me so
much of your life together in the Whoop Up Country, and what friends you
are. He has been most kind to me. When I learned that you were ill, I
was so alarmed--alone! But he--that is--I----"
"Why, it's this way, Danvers," interrupted Burroughs, speaking with more
correctness than Phil had before heard him, and willingly taking the
onus of explanation--his hour had come. "Your sister couldn't go to
Macleod, of course. She couldn't stay here, alone. You'll stay with the
Police, no doubt; and, as Latimer and his wife are away, it fitted right
in with my plans"--he paused to enjoy the dismay on Danvers' face--"to
ask Kate to do me the honor of marrying me. You remember," he hastened
to add, "don't you, that I once told you that you'd not only never marry
Eva Thornhill, but that I'd marry your sister?"
The dark, exultant face flashed the same look of hate that greeted
Philip on the _Far West_, and later gloomed through the dimly lighted
trading-post on the night of the dance! With a groan Danvers realized,
as he looked at his suddenly shrinking sister, that the sacrifice of his
life's ambition had been in vain.
[Illustration]
BOOK III
_THE STATE_
"_What constitutes a state?_
* * * * *
_Men who their duty know._"
[Illustration]
Chapter I
Visitors from Helena
Philip Danvers, cattleman, nearing Fort Benton on his return from a
round-up, found his thoughts reverting to the past. The spring day was
like another that he remembered when he first caught sight of the
frontier town more than a dozen years before. He noted the smoke of a
railroad locomotive as it trailed into nothingness, and involuntarily he
looked toward the Missouri River; but there was no boat steaming up the
river, and the unfurrowed water brought a sadness to his face.
He recalled the doctor's vigorous opposition a few years previous, when
the question of a railroad came before the residents of Fort Benton.
Perhaps the doctor had been right in thinking that the river traffic
would be destroyed, and with it the future of the town. Certainly his
derided prophecy had been most literally fulfilled. Instead of becoming
a second St. Louis, the village lay in undisturbed tranquillity, but
little larger than when the _Far West_ had brought the first recruits of
the North West Mounted Police to its levees. To those who loved the
place, who believed in it, the result caused by the changing conditions
of Western life was well-nigh heartbreaking.
Instead of the terminus of a great waterway--the port where gold was
brought by the ton to be shipped East from the territorial diggings; the
stage where moved explorer, trader, miner and soldier--instead of being
the logical metropolis of the entire Northwest, Fort Benton lay a drowsy
little village, embowered in cottonwoods and dependent upon the
cattlemen who made it their headquarters for shipping.
The lusty bull-whacker's yell, the mule-skinner's cry and the pop of
long, biting whips were heard no more in the broad, sweeping curve of
the Missouri. The levees were no longer crowded with bales of
merchandise, piles of buffalo hides and boxes of gold. No steamers tied
up to the rotting snubbing-posts; the bustle of the roustabouts, the
oaths of the mates, the trader's activity had vanished forever, as
irrevocably as the buffalo on the plains. Nothing in the prospect
before him suggested to Danvers the well-remembered past except the old
adobe fort on the water's edge. One bastion and a part of a wall
recalled to the Anglo-American his first homesick night in the
Northwest. Even the trading-posts on the river between Bismarck and Fort
Benton were abandoned.
The man had altered as well. It was evident that the shy reserve of the
Kentish youth had changed to the dignity of the reticent man. The
military bearing remained; the eyes were steady and observant, as of
old; but the youthful red and white of his face had been replaced by a
clear tan, marked by lines of thought. In a country of bearded and
seldom-shaved men, Philip's clean face added not a little to that look
of distinction which had impressed the passengers on the _Far West_ and
gained the first enmity of Robert Burroughs.
Danvers was still unmarried. At rare intervals he read the old clipping
of the two souls separated and seeking each other, but the legend had
grown dim. The romantic dreams of boyhood were gone. He doubted that his
heart would ever be roused again; that the phoenix flame of love would
rise from the ashes of what he knew had been but the stirring of
adolescent blood when he fancied that he loved Eva Thornhill. The home
life of others had not impressed him as a dream fulfilled. The gradual
disillusionment of the many was disheartening, and Latimer's worn,
unhappy face was a constant reminder. Arthur Latimer! That blithe
Southerner--believer in men--and women! Philip knew what had made him
seek forgetfulness in the law and politics. The success of his friend,
who had reached his goal, on the supreme bench, had gratified Danvers,
and Latimer's enthusiasm and persistent belief in the ultimate good,
when the builders and founders of the newly formed State should merge
personal desires into one--one that had the best good of all for its
incentive, tempered his dislike for American politics.
Not long after the round-up, Philip Danvers received a call from Wild
Cat Bill, now known in Montana as the Honorable William Moore. His
ability to promote big enterprises, whether floating a mining company or
electing a friend to the legislature, was publicly known, and Danvers
wondered silently what had brought the politician from Helena to the
semi-deserted town of Fort Benton, and induced him to favor him with a
call.
"Yes, Danvers," volunteered the affable Moore, "I just thought I'd take
a few days off and see what the old place looked like."
Danvers noticed that he had dropped the vernacular, though his speech
was characteristic of the West.
"It's always a pleasure to go back to the early days, when we roughed it
together," Bill went on.
Philip doubted the pleasure. He recognized this sentiment as a very
recent acquisition in the Honorable William Moore, and waited for
further enlightenment as to the real purpose of the visit.
"The old bunch turned out pretty well, after all," Moore commented.
"Robert Burroughs is a millionaire! Your sister was in luck, all right!
And Bob was tickled to death when a baby came. A big girl by this time!"
A dangerous look--a look that made Wild Cat Bill remember the night of
the dance at the trading-post--warned the Honorable William to drop
personalities. The one fact that made the position of his sister
tolerable to Danvers was the knowledge that Burroughs took pride in his
wife and child and lavished his wealth upon them.
"And you and the doctor still cling to Fort Benton!" The next remark of
the caller was spoken with commiseration. "Is the doctor still preaching
its future?"
Danvers winced at what seemed a thrust at an old friend. "My cattle make
it necessary for me to ship from Fort Benton and--I like the place," he
acknowledged without apology.
"And Joe Hall--you recall Toe String Joe?"
There was ample reason why Philip Danvers should remember the disloyal
trooper, dishonorably discharged.
"Queer idea of Joe's to enlist in the first place," continued Moore. "He
made a much better miner. You're following his case in court, I
suppose?"
A subtle change in expression made the cattleman aware that all his
visitor's remarks had been preliminary to this one. It was, then, the
famous case of Hall vs. Burroughs that for some reason Bill Moore
thought worth a trip from Helena to discuss.
"Burroughs can't afford to lose that case," declared Moore.
"He'll lose it if Joe has fair play!" cried Danvers.
Philip felt no love for the recruit of early days, but his sense of
justice asserted itself when he recalled the years that Burroughs had
made a tool of Toe String Joe at Fort Macleod, and later robbed him of
his mining claim at Helena. Burroughs had grub-staked him and secured a
half interest. At a time when Joe was down sick, and hard pressed with
debts, Burroughs rushed a sale with Eastern capitalists and forced Joe
Hall to relinquish the claim for $25,000. When Joe discovered that it
had brought $125,000, and that Burroughs had pocketed the difference,
he went to law and won his suit. Burroughs had appealed, and now the
case was before the Supreme Court.
"There are politics in the Supreme Court as well as elsewhere," ventured
Moore, with a meaning look.
"It is usually thought otherwise, I believe."
"I don't know what's usually thought. I know it's a fact."
"Perhaps corruption can be found----"
"Perhaps!" sneered the caller. "I tell you politics is a matter of
a-gittin' plenty while you're gittin'."
"I was not speaking of politics, but of corruption."
"What's the difference?" cynically. "Now, I say that Judge Latimer can
be influenced."
"Indeed!"
"I'm thinking that it would be safe to approach him in this case of
Bob's."
"Are you going to try it?" Danvers' tone continued impersonal.
The Honorable William Moore hurried on. He breathed as one having put
forth more strength than was required--breathed as he had breathed when
the detachment of Mounted Police rode up to the small trading-post where
he had barely succeeded in concealing his smuggled whiskey. He laughed
a little, threw his cigar away and put his thumbs firmly together with
fingers clasped--a familiar mannerism.
"See here, Danvers! This case mustn't go against Burroughs. Bob's a good
fellow. He did what any one else would have done. He wasn't looking out
for Joe Hall. He did all the head-work, and at the time Joe was
satisfied with the price. Of course you know that Bob's going to run for
United States Senator next winter. And he's not over popular in Montana;
you know how it is, moneyed interest against labor (so the common herd
think), and this case has made more talk than everything else put
together that Bob ever did."
"Well?" Philip's eyes had a gleam that Moore did not care to meet.
Perhaps he had been too confidential. He walked about the room,
nervously, his right hand grasping the rear of his coat. At last he
forced himself to say bluntly:
"If you'll go to Judge Latimer and tell him how you feel--that Burroughs
is your brother-in-law--that sort of talk, and that if the case goes
against Bob, Latimer'll never get re-elected to the supreme bench--oh,
you know what to say. Anyway, if you'll do this you'll be twenty-five
thousand dollars better off--that's all; and I tell you, you'll need the
money before next winter is over if this drouth continues. Your cattle
must be in bad shape now. Just tell Latimer how you feel."
"How do you know how I feel about this case?" Danvers kept himself well
under control, though he felt his blood pounding.
"It isn't so much what you feel as what you say."
Philip looked at the man.
"You haven't got the money, Bill."
"Haven't I?" boasted Moore. "Look at this!" He made a quick dive inside
his coat. "Three packages of twenty-five thousand each!" He exulted as
he displayed the bills. "They were handed to me just before I took the
train, and----"
"Bill Moore," said the cattleman curiously, "did you think for a moment
that I could be purchased?"
The Honorable Mr. Moore sparred.
"Or Arthur Latimer?" continued Danvers.
"What else am I here for?" cried Moore in a rage. "Every man's got his
price. Latimer's poor as a church mouse. He's got a wife like a vampire.
And as for you--I know cattle raising isn't all profit!"
"The trouble with you, Bill," said Danvers, dispassionately, "is that
you judge every man by yourself. You can't understand a man like Judge
Latimer--the thing would be impossible!"
"It's you who are judging by yourself! We all know you're a fanatic--or
used to be. I thought perhaps you'd gotten over some of those notions. I
know Judge Latimer as well as you do. If we don't get him one way, we'll
take another. We're goin' to win!"
Danvers made no reply. The Honorable William waited for a moment, and
then put back the packages he had flung on the table. He looked his
surprise; he could not understand how he had been foiled with no anger.
"You say you know my standards," began Danvers, slowly. "Then why did
you come to me?"
"We had to make the try; nobody could influence Judge Latimer like you."
"But what good would the money do him?" questioned Danvers, unable to
follow the reasoning of the politician. "It would be found out and
Latimer would be ruined."
"Oh, no, it wouldn't." Moore was hopeful again.
"Why didn't you approach him yourself?" It was an afterthought.
"It looks more natural for you to be interested in your brother-in-law.
Bob said to see you."
"So this is his method of beginning a campaign for a seat in the United
States Senate!"
"We knew we could trust you!" replied Moore.
And Danvers knew that the man believed he was paying a sincere tribute.
More than a month after this conversation Judge Latimer also paid a
visit to Fort Benton and straightway sought his dearest friend.
"I wanted to get away from business, from--everything that distracts
one," he explained, "and I wanted to see you, Phil, and the doctor, and
dear old sleepy Fort Benton again."
He looked worn and distracted--thinner than Philip remembered him, and
in need of something more than physical relaxation.
"Are you quite well, Arthur?" asked Danvers solicitously. "I'm going to
have the doctor over to give you a thorough examination, and I'll see
that you carry out all his directions. You don't take a bit of care of
yourself!"
But in the evening, after a day in the open air, he brightened, and
under the old spell of comradeship he took on the boyish manner that had
been so marked a characteristic.
"And how are all our friends at Helena?" inquired the doctor, after he
had secured a favorable report of Eva and the baby. "All well, of
course, or I should have heard from them!" he went on, with the
geniality that Latimer remembered so well. "And little Arthur--he must
be quite a lad now----"
"Six--and so proud of his new sister," replied the father, with a note
of pride that Danvers marked with thankfulness. The tenderness in the
man's eyes told him that this little son was the sole balm of a
harrassed life, and he wondered if even this great compensation was
adequate for all the man had given--and lost.
"Why didn't you bring the little chap with you?" questioned the doctor.
"I did think of it," confessed Latimer, "but this is a business trip
chiefly, if I must own up to it. I want to talk over the situation with
someone I know--someone I can trust."
"Anything special?" asked the doctor.
"Politics!" replied the judge. "The political pot is beginning to get a
scum on the top, preparatory to boiling."
"How domestic a simile!" jeered the doctor.
Latimer laughed. "We've been without a maid lately, and I've had a
chance to see the inside workings of a kitchen. Not that it's Eva's
fault," he added hastily. "Maids are hard to get."
"H-m-m," assented the doctor, judicially, and soon the three were deep
in Montana politics.
The probable nominees for state officials were gone over, and Danvers
remarked:
"You are sure of re-election, Arthur."
"No, I'm not; not even of nomination," objected the judge. "The
Honorable William Moore has been to see me----"
Danvers shot him a keen glance, and the doctor listened curiously.
"He was interested in the Hall and Burroughs case." Latimer hesitated,
and a spot of color suddenly burned in his cheeks. "Moore evidently
thought it necessary to come to me and ask that Burroughs have _fair
play_!"
The doctor laughed. It was an opportunity to tease the boy he loved; not
a serious impeachment of the character of the judge of the Supreme
Court.
"He offered me a hundred thousand dollars if I'd take a rest! Suggested
Europe!" The judge's voice trembled.
"The devil he did!" burst from the physician.
"He raised his price by the time he got to you," commented Danvers.
"What?" Latimer whirled, amazed, toward the speaker.
"When Moore asked me to intercede with you for Burroughs he had only
twenty-five thousand for each of us."
"What does Burroughs think I am?" groaned the judge. "He should know me
better than to send Moore on his dirty business, but nothing I could say
made any impression. He left, telling me to think it over."
"Do you know if he tried the others?"
"No. I've not mentioned the matter to anyone--except Eva. I was so
outraged that I had to speak to someone. And she--she doesn't
understand. She would enjoy a trip to Europe, and I--I can't give it to
her."
His two friends were silent, and presently Latimer went on.
"And all this means that when it comes time to go before the convention
this fall I shall have Burroughs and his cohorts against me."
"You seem sure of his opposition," remarked Danvers. "The case isn't
decided yet. If it is in favor of Burroughs----"
"The decision was handed down this morning. It was in favor of Hall."
"Good!" chorused Danvers and the doctor.
"The election will turn out all right for you, too," prophesied the
doctor, "and especially with Danvers to help. The judge and I have been
plotting against you for some time, Phil," he explained. "We want you to
go into politics."
Danvers shook his head.
"Wait a minute," urged the doctor. "It's like this, Danvers. You're an
American, as much as we are. You have taken out your naturalization
papers. You never think of leaving Montana. You have a splendid cattle
business, and you love Fort Benton almost as much as I do."
The cattleman smiled as the doctor outlined his position, and owned that
he did love the country of his adoption.
"And here's poor Latimer struggling on alone up there at Helena, while
you and I devote our time to making a fortune----"
"What are you offered for lots in Fort Benton now, Doctor?" teased
Latimer, with a flash of his old humor. "Let me explain, Phil," he said.
"I know it would be a sacrifice for you to leave your business here;
you've made a success with your cattle, and I envy you the independent,
care-free existence."
"You don't appreciate the difficulties with drouths and blizzards," put
in Danvers, "to say nothing of competition and low prices."
"Nothing!" exclaimed Latimer, with a gesture of his hand that swept away
such trivialities like mere cobwebs that annoy but do not obstruct the
vision. "All this is nothing! It is the complications with men--the
relations with people--that weary and sicken and break the heart! I've
tried to put up a clean record, a straight fight; I've tried to give
honest service, and it seems as if the odds were all against me!"
"What do you want?" asked Danvers, more moved at the sight of his
friend's distress than the need of his country.
"We want to put you in the Legislature as the senator from Chouteau
County!" cried Latimer, flushed and eager. "If only a better class of
men would go into politics! I can't blame them for wanting to keep out,
and yet what is our country coming to? What can one man do alone? If you
or the doctor or men of that character were in office, it wouldn't be so
hard a fight. And with you in Helena, Phil----"
The familiar name, in the soft voice of the Southerner, stirred the
heart of Danvers like a caress. He was lonely, too--he had not realized
how much so, till the hand of his friend was stretched out to him, not
only for aid, but for companionship. His heart throbbed as it had not
done since a woman fired his boyish imagination. In the long years on
the range he had grown indifferent, and rejoiced in his lack of feeling.
Now he was waking, he was ready to take up his work in the world of men,
ready to open his heart at the call of one who would be his mate.
"I might be induced to run, since you put it so strongly," said Danvers,
with a lightness that did not conceal from either of his friends the
depth of his feeling.
"Thank you, Phil."
Danvers took the thin, nervous hand extended to him, and held it with a
grasp that sent courage into the heart of Judge Latimer. It was a hand
that had guided bucking bronchos and held lassoed steers, and the man
weary with life's battles knew that a friend had come to his aid who
would blench at no enemy.
"Do you need any more men?" inquired Danvers, with a tone of assurance
and natural leadership that amazed them both.
"Do we _need_ them? Can you produce any more? That is the question,"
said Latimer.
"There's always O'Dwyer, of course!" laughed Danvers.
"Is he as devoted as ever?" inquired Latimer.
"The same old worshipper," declared the doctor. "And, by George! now you
speak of it, he wouldn't make a bad representative!"
The three men talked over the situation and planned a brief campaign,
sending Arthur Latimer home, cheered and strengthened. Nevertheless,
after they had said good-bye at the station, the doctor turned to
Danvers with a heavy sigh.
"Latimer's heart is in bad condition. He's going to have trouble with
it. And the nervous strain he lives under so constantly is more than I
can reckon with. If he could rest at home--but I know how it was when
they lived at Fort Benton!"
"Arthur has changed," said Danvers, sadly.
"I'll never forget," said the doctor, speaking more freely than ever
before, "the time when Latimer first discovered that Eva did not care
for him. He took it all to himself, and was broken-hearted because he
had failed to keep her affections. Think of it!"
"Did she ever care for him?" Danvers could not resist asking.
"I hardly think so. I always had an idea that her heart--what there is
of it--was captured by an army officer." He looked slyly at his
companion as they walked through the gloom.
"Nothing so low in rank as a second lieutenant!" evaded Danvers.
"You were fortunate, after all, Philip, though it would have been better
for Eva. She needed a master--and she took our gentle, sensitive,
chivalrous Arthur! He will break; break like fine tempered steel when
the strain becomes too great."
[Illustration]
Chapter II
Charlie Blair's Sister
The summer sped hot and with but little rain. Some ten days before the
state convention, the Doctor and Danvers went to Helena. A strong
opposition to Judge Latimer's renomination had developed, which was not
traceable to any definite source. Although Danvers avowed a dislike for
politics, in reality he had the inherent instinct for political life
characteristic of the upper-class Englishman, and he threw himself into
the maelstrom with all his forces well in hand. Office-seeking was
disgusting to him, but the fight for his friend seemed worth the effort.
In the midst of the political excitement, Mrs. Latimer gave a
dinner-party, and Philip Danvers could not refuse his invitation
without causing comment, and, what was of more consequence to his
independent nature, wounding his friend Arthur. He had met Eva Latimer
occasionally when they lived at Fort Benton, but had preferred to lure
Arthur to his own quarters, or the doctor's office, for an old-time
visit, rather than invade the formalities of the Latimer residence.
Since his friend had been on the supreme bench Danvers had not often
seen Eva, and now the great house in the suburbs of Helena--so much more
elaborate than Latimer could afford, impressed him, as it had on
previous calls, unpleasantly. It was not a home for Arthur; it was an
establishment for social functions, and a burden of expense; yet Danvers
knew it was the goal of Arthur's thoughts, where his little son awaited
him at the close of the day.
Danvers rang the bell, not a moment too early; nevertheless he found the
Western men standing self-conscious and ill at ease, waiting for the
announcement of dinner. Arthur greeted him warmly, and Eva sparkled,
smiled and chatted, moving among her guests and tactfully putting each
at his best, while they waited for the last arrival--a Miss Blair, who
was to be, so Philip learned, his own partner at dinner.
Presently the tardy one arrived, beautiful in her serene,
straightforward gaze from under fine brows and a wealth of dark hair
that caught threads of light even under the gas-jets, and made hurriedly
breathless excuses to her hostess. Danvers was introduced to her
immediately, and the dining-room was invaded.
"So awkward of me," she explained in an undertone. "I turned my ankle as
I came across the lawn, and had to wait quite a bit before I could move.
I was afraid at first I couldn't come to dinner, but I hated to
disappoint Eva. Little Arthur must have left his hoop on the lawn, and I
tripped on it. We live in the next house, and always come across lots.
Doesn't that sound New England-y?" She laughed softly. "My brother says
I'll never drop our Yankee phrases. I say pail for bucket, and path for
trail, and the other day I said farm for ranch."
"Your voice has more of _Old_ England than of New England," said
Danvers, appreciatively. He had not spoken before except to acknowledge
Mrs. Latimer's hurried introduction.
"Oh, thank you!" Miss Blair smiled, frankly pleased. "Not that I'm a bit
of an Anglo-maniac," she hastened to affirm, "but, do you know," she
leaned toward Danvers in an amusingly confidential way, "I've always
felt mortified over my throaty voice--that is, I used to be."
Philip smiled, a smile that but few had ever seen. He listened with
enjoyment. Something in his companion's tacit belief that he would
understand her feeling was wonderfully pleasing. He seemed taken into
her confidence at once as being worthy, and it did not lessen his
pleasure to observe that the Honorable William Moore, who sat at the
left of Miss Blair, received only the most formal recognition, despite
his effort at conversation, to the neglect of his own dinner partner.
Wit and merriment flashed from one to another, and all but the host
seemed overflowing with animation. Although Latimer looked after the
needs of his guests, he was often preoccupied.
"Why so silent, judge?" asked the doctor in a lull of conversation.
"I beg your pardon," Arthur apologized. "I fear I was rude. Perhaps I
was trying to work out the salvation of my country--from my own point of
view."
"Planning for re-nomination?" asked Moore, innocently.
"And your ankle?" asked Danvers of Miss Blair, under cover of the laugh
that followed Moore's attempt at wit. "I hope that you are not suffering
from it." His observant eye had noted the smooth contour of the girl's
face, but as the moments passed the natural lack of high coloring seemed
to grow more colorless.
"It hurts--a little," confessed the girl. "But it is of no consequence.
Mrs. Latimer's dinner must not be marred by my blundering in the dark. I
should have come by the walk."
"You are thoughtful." Danvers looked again at the girl, and wished for
the first time that he could use the small talk of society. Politics was
debarred from the table conversation, but when they were again in the
parlors Miss Blair turned to Danvers.
"Aren't you the senator from Chouteau?"
"Not yet," smiled Philip.
"Oh, but you will be. My brother says so."
"I'm glad some one is optimistic. I'm afraid I shall not be the deciding
party."
"Who will be our United States senator?"
"That is hard to tell. So many straws sticking out of the tangle make it
difficult to prophesy which will be pulled out."
"Your party is so split up this year," said the girl. "Which wing are
you affiliated with?"
This was not "small talk," as Danvers recognized with an amused feeling
that he had not expected a lady to know anything outside his
preconceived idea of feminine chat.
"Montana politics have no wings," he quibbled.
Miss Blair laughed. "Really, haven't you decided which of the candidates
you'll support for United States senator?" She ran over the names.
"That's rather a leading question, isn't it?" evaded Philip. "If a _man_
asked me, I'd give him no satisfaction. I will say to you, though, that
I am going to do my best to send some one to Washington who is pledged
to place community interests before his own."
"I did not mean to ask impertinent questions, or to cross-examine,"
quavered Miss Blair. "One who finds out anything from you must have
taken his thirty-third degree in Masonry. I am not trying my hand at
lobbying," she added as an afterthought. "You mustn't think that. I'm
just interested in the political situation. And brother Charlie won't
talk politics with me any more than he'll recount his experiences as a
freighter."
"Charlie? Brother Charlie?" A dim memory revived. "I beg your pardon! Is
Scar Faced Charlie your brother?"
"Yes. Didn't you know?"
"Then you are the little girl----"
"Winifred. I thought you didn't recognize me, though I knew you at once.
But you would scarcely remember me, while I--you know you saved my
life."
"And to think that you have so changed--grown up! And that you are here!
I remember asking for you when Charlie was in Fort Benton, shortly after
I went there to live; but you were away at school. I don't recall ever
hearing your brother called Blair, though as a matter of fact I wasn't
thinking of your name. I was thinking of you!"
"What a pretty speech! And Mrs. Latimer is always telling what a
woman-hater you are!"
"I was not aware that I was of enough importance to be the subject of
Mrs. Latimer's strictures," replied Danvers, his brow contracting. "But
I believe I do have that reputation," he added, and smiled into her
unbelieving brown eyes.
"Moore is not running for office this year," said Danvers presently,
finding it easier to talk of matters politic.
"No. Charlie wants a place in the Senate--perhaps you know." She changed
the subject by asking, "Do you think that a man should ever vote for a
candidate not in his own party?"
"If he votes for the better man--especially in local politics--yes. Is
it a political crime in your eyes?"
"I believe most politicians think so." Miss Blair also resorted to
evasion.
They were joined by other guests, and the conversation became general.
The Honorable Mr. Moore, resplendent in a new dress suit, was saying
pleasant things to his hostess.
"What a lucky dog the judge is, my dear Mrs. Latimer! You would carry
off any situation. You deserve a wider field than this small Western
city."
"Really?" cooed the flattered lady.
As she moved away, Moore's glance followed her, and a look of sudden
inspiration illumined his shiny face. Wild Cat Bill, with his rotund
form, resembled a domesticated house cat far more than the agile
creature which had given him his frontier title. The incongruity struck
Danvers, and he smiled at Winifred Blair as she drifted to another part
of the room--a smile that she returned with a friendly nod of farewell.
He did not see her again that evening, and not long afterward he and the
doctor bade their hostess good-night.
"Not sorry you went, are you, Phil?" asked the doctor, as they walked to
their hotel. "Goodness knows, Arthur and I labored hard enough to get
you there."
"I have always disliked dinner parties." The observant doctor noticed
the wording of the reply and drew his own conclusions.
"Come in and have a smoke with me," said the doctor, as they reached his
room, and he bent over to insert the key. For years it had been Danvers'
habit to drop into the physician's office during the late afternoon or
evening, to talk or smoke in silence, as the case may be. To-night he
followed the doctor, and sat down for a half-hour's chat.
"That was a fetching gown that Mrs. Latimer wore; I don't envy Arthur
the bills!" remarked the astute doctor, as he filled his pipe.
"I didn't notice," was Philip's indifferent reply. "I never know what
women have on."
"And how lovely Miss Blair looked in blue!"
"Soft rose!" came the correction from the man who never noticed.
The doctor's mouth twitched, but he smoked on in silence, and when he
bade Philip good-night he gave him a God-bless-you pat on the shoulder,
which the coming senator from Chouteau interpreted solely as due to his
long friendship.
Danvers was wakeful that night, and a name sang through his drowsy brain
until he roused, impatient.
"It was only her voice that interested me!" he exclaimed aloud. "She's
probably like the rest of them." The nettle of one woman's fickleness
had stung so deeply when he first took to the primrose path of love that
he had never gone farther along the road leading to the solving of
life's enigma, and now the overgrowth of other interests had almost
obliterated the trail.
Although the days at Helena were busy ones for Philip Danvers, he found
time before the convention to make his dinner call at the Latimer's. On
the shaded lawn before the house he found Miss Blair entertaining little
Arthur while she kept watch over the baby asleep in its carriage.
"Mrs. Latimer is away for the afternoon. She will be sorry to have
missed you," exclaimed the girl, as Arthur ran to greet the visitor,
always a favorite.
"You called on Aunt Winnie and me! Didn't you? Didn't you?" chanted the
boy, tugging at the hand of the visitor.
"May I stay?" asked Danvers, smiling at the eager little man. "And how
is the sprain?"
"Of course you may," assented Winifred brightly. "And as for the
sprained ankle, wicked and deceitful creature that I am, I made it the
excuse for not going with Mrs. Latimer. Good people, really good people,
would think that I merited punishment for not doing my duty in my small
sphere of life. Yet see! Instead of that I'm rewarded--here _you_ come
to entertain Arthur and me!"
"It is a bad example!" decided Danvers, with a stern eye that did not
deceive anyone. He was amused at her naivete, and had no wish to decry
such open good-will.
"But I do limp! Don't I, Arthur?" Miss Blair appealed to the child,
gravely.
He nodded and stooped to examine the low, narrow shoe, peeping from her
sheer summer gown. Winifred pulled the foot back with a sudden flush. "I
am, perhaps, helping along in this world as much as though I were
playing cards, by staying with the children instead of their being with
the maid," she said hastily.
Philip leaned over to look at the baby. Arthur pulled the parasol to one
side proudly.
"Her name is Winifred," he announced.
"I believe I never saw a really little baby before," said Danvers,
looking with awe at the tiny sleeper. "My sister and I were near of an
age; we grew up together. How _little_ babies are!"
Miss Blair laughed. "Winifred is a very nice baby--big for her few
months of life. I'm very proud to be her godmother." Danvers watched as
she pulled the fleecy covering around the sleeping child. With the act a
maternal look came into her lovely face, unconscious as she was of
scrutiny, and a thrill of manhood shook him deeply.
"So you did not care for the party?" inquired the caller, presently. "I
thought all ladies adored card parties and enjoyed fighting for the
prizes."
"Play cards when the mountains look like that?" Winifred rejoined. "It
would be a sacrilege!"
"I do not care for cards myself," agreed Danvers.
"Wouldn't you like to be out there?" Winifred seemed scarcely to have
heard him.
Following the direction of her gaze, he thought her wide-flung gesture a
deserved tribute to the view. The Prickly Pear Valley lay before them,
checkered in vivid green or sage-drab as water had been given or
withheld. The Scratch Gravel Hills jutted impertinently into the middle
distance; while on the far western side of the plain the Jefferson Range
rose, tier on tier, the distances shading the climbing foothills, until
the Bear's Tooth, a prominent, jagged peak, cleft the azure sky. A
stretch of darker blue showed where the Missouri River, itself unseen,
broke through the Gate of the Mountains. The view took one away from the
affairs of men. On their side of the valley towered Mount Helena and
Mount Ascension with auriferous gulches separating and leading up to the
main range of the Rockies. As the foothills sank into the valley the
gulches, washed of their golden treasure, were transformed into the
streets of Helena--irregular, uneven, unpaved often; in the residence
part of the town young trees ambitiously spread their slender branches;
the main street and intersecting steeper ones were bordered with
business blocks as ambitious, in their way, as the transplanted trees.
"'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,'" quoted Winifred, softly.
"What a singer David was. But these mountains seem worthy of the grand
old psalms."
"Yes," assented Danvers, simply; and he liked her better on this second
meeting than he had at the dinner party--a crucial test where a woman is
concerned.
"I never weary of looking," she breathed.
"I think--I never should, either," he declared, and looked--at her!
Unconscious of his gaze, she absently jogged the carriage while the baby
slept, and Arthur, holding Danvers' hand, waited his turn.
"Mamma hates Helena," was his contribution.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Winifred.
"Then if I can't talk, make Uncle Phil show us a good time." The lad
turned appealing, beautiful eyes toward Danvers, so like his father's
that Philip drew him closer. "Tell us about the Crow Indians stealing
the Blackfeet ponies." This was a favorite story.
"Not to-day, laddie," refused Philip, gently. "Miss Blair would not----"
"Yes, I should," contradicted Winifred.
"Aunt Winnie will just love to hear that story," affirmed Arthur. "_I_
do! She tells me lots of stories. She was telling one when you came--the
one I like the best of all. It had a be-u-ti-ful trooper in it who
rescued her from a water-y grave!" The child's recital was as
melodramatic as his words. "He held her just so!" Arthur illustrated by
a tight clasp of the embarrassed girl. "Now, you tell one."
Philip saw that Winifred had a real interest in the old days, and while
relieving her embarrassment by gratifying the little story-teller, he
spoke of the Whoop Up Country.
Winifred had the rare gift of bringing out the best in people. Danvers
needed such incentive; although denying it, he was a good
conversationalist. Now his whole being responded to this clear-eyed,
pleasant-voiced girl who sat in the low rocker beside him. She would
understand. The few times he had essayed to speak to others of his
service in the Mounted Police, he had met with such indifference that
the words were killed; and with the exception of the Doctor, Danvers had
never shared his experiences with any one. To the women he had met in
Helena and Fort Benton that lonely life had brought a shudder, and to
the men unpleasant reminiscences. So far as his associates of the early
days were concerned it was a closed chapter.
To the child Winifred, Danvers had been a hero--handsome, debonair; to
the woman Winifred, he found himself talking as easily as to the little
girl who listened years before. The life at Fort Macleod was the one
subject that would win Danvers from his silence, and in the next hour
Miss Blair had good reason to think that she would not exchange this
call for all the card parties in the world.
Presently he challenged, "You are bored?"
"I've been delightfully entertained. It is all fascinating to me.
Charlie will seldom speak of the freighting days, and I remember very
little of Fort Benton."
"The old place isn't big enough for most of us. The Macleod men are
scattered, too."
"Have you ever been back?"
"Never! I could not bear to see the country fenced in, the old
cottonwood barracks replaced, the railroad screaming in the silence, and
Colonel Macleod dead. No, I shall never go back."
The baby awoke and diverted them, and soon the maid came for both
children. Half-way to the house little Arthur ran back.
"I'm going to be a Police when I grow up," he announced. "I prayed about
it last night. I know God'll fix it. I put it right to Him. It was
peachy!"
"Arthur is always saying the drollest things," remarked Miss Blair as
the child ran out of hearing distance. "Yesterday he told me that when
he went fishing with his papa his fish wouldn't hook on tight."
"I'm afraid he'll find the same difficulty later in life," laughed
Philip, and rose to say good-afternoon.
"I will not wait longer for Mrs. Latimer, but leave my card," he
decided. "The doctor will be wondering what has become of me."
But the doctor found him very silent over his pipe that evening. The
sight of Arthur Latimer's little son had wakened the old longing, the
inborn desire of every Englishman to bestow the ancestral name upon the
heir of his house. Philip Danvers! For eight generations a son had borne
the name. Would he be the last to inherit it in this far country that
had come to be his own?
[Illustration]
Chapter III
A Man of Two Countries
On the Sunday spent in Helena the doctor proposed to Danvers that they
give over politics and call at the Blairs. "They won't stand on
formalities, and we both need to get our minds out of this political
struggle. I'll be glad when I can go home to Fort Benton!"
"Charlie seems to be doing well in Helena," remarked Philip, as they
approached the house next Judge Latimer's.
"He's up, then down. He isn't much of a business man, and hasn't head
enough to keep in the swim. He worships that sister of his, and just now
he's doing pretty well. I fancy that she knows nothing of his financial
standing."
"I imagine Miss Blair knows more about Charlie's difficulties than
either you or he give her credit for. She sees more than she tells."
The callers found brother and sister on the wide porch, and after the
greetings and a half-hour of general conversation, Charlie Blair asked
the doctor if he would come inside and give a little advice on a private
matter.
"Good," cried Winifred. "For once I'm glad that Charlie can think of
nothing but business. Now I can talk to Mr. Danvers."
"See that you do!" commanded Philip. "Yesterday I went away feeling like
a garrulous dame; it is your turn to-day."
Winifred affected to reflect. "What shall be my theme--art, music,
literature or our mutual friends?"
"Tell me of yourself."
"As a subject of conversation, that would be soon exhausted. Women, you
know, are too idle to be good; too conventional to be bad."
"Indeed!" returned the cattleman, catching her mood. "I have known many
women of that description. Pardon me, but I had imagined you were a
different type."
"You say the nicest things! I feel that we are going to be very good
friends."
Danvers bowed. "Thank you. I think we are."
She returned his frank gaze, and settled herself comfortably for an
afternoon's enjoyment.
"Now talk!" she in turn commanded, with the sweeping imperialism she
sometimes manifested toward a chance companion.
"I refuse. It is your turn."
"How you like to put on the mask of silence! Do you bolt the door to
everyone but the doctor and Judge Latimer?"
"Thoughts are hard things to express, unless one forgets himself, and
they come spontaneously."
"Go ahead and forget yourself, then!"
"You are inexorable," laughing. "Your demand makes me think of an Indian
Council. Of course, you know that when they meet to discuss problems,
they sit silent for hours. The avowed purpose of conferring paralyzes
their tongues, apparently, as you have paralyzed mine. If I ever had an
idea I could not produce it now."
"The Quakers have a prettier custom. They sit in silence till the spirit
moves. I will be the spirit that moves you;" and so adroitly did she
continue that unconsciously the man spoke of more serious things--his
likings, his beliefs.
"Why did you become an American?" she asked at length, the question that
had often puzzled her.
"My mother was an American." His voice took a note of tenderness which
Winifred remembered long. "But when I left the service it was with no
thought of choosing this as my country. I had no desire to return to
England, however, and the chances for business seemed greater on this
side of the line."
The girl's deep eyes gazed directly into his with flattering intentness.
"And so the years slipped by until I found that my interests were all
here, and I could not leave, even if I had cared to. Isn't that true,
judge?" he remarked, as Arthur Latimer came across the lawn. "You wanted
to make a voter of me, for your own dark purposes----"
"Philip always hits the bull's-eye," admitted the judge, interrupting
with a menacing gesture of affection at the implication. "You would not
leave the State. That's just it. The most of us came into the Northwest,
as we thought, to make a fortune and go back East or South to enjoy it.
But whether we have made money or not, we discovered that we are here to
stay. The old ties in other communities are gone. Old friends are dead.
Old memories faded. We aren't all such enthusiasts as the doctor, who
lives at Fort Benton for sheer love of the place, but----"
"I know just how he feels," cried Winifred, quick to defend her old
friend. "I could go back there myself to live. We have a love-feast
every time we speak of the dear old town, and that's every time I see
him."
"I think," said Danvers, slowly, making sure of his words, "that I have
come to love Montana more than my native land, though that was certainly
very far from my feeling when I came back to Fort Benton as a civilian,
and asked for work. I told the man that I was an Englishman, but I made
a mistake. There was a long list of applicants ahead of
me--Americans--to whom preference would be given. I thanked the manager,
but from that day I determined to succeed without being forced into
citizenship. I did succeed, and of my own choice I became an American!"
"Words, words! What are you talking about?" the doctor asked, breezily,
as he appeared with Blair. "Let us into your charmed circle. I, for one,
promise to be silent. Any occasion gains dignity by having an audience,
and I'll promise not to be critical. I will consider your youth."
After a general laugh, the judge gave the trend of the conversation, and
the doctor quite forgot his promise. The discussion of good citizenship
became general, and presently Philip was appealed to for testimony on
the subject of foreigners becoming naturalized.
"I hardly think I can tell you much that you do not already know," he
said, "concerning Englishmen becoming American citizens. We must give
the inhabitants of every great European country the credit for believing
their own country to be the greatest. With the possible exception of
Russia and Turkey, I am inclined to the opinion that they think their
liberty is not infringed upon, any more than it should be; and they are,
I suppose, contented with their lot. John Bull has every reason to think
himself a favored being. He is proud of the institutions of his
country--royalty, aristocracy. The knight, the 'squire, the merchant,
manufacturer, skilled workman and laborer--each has his place. The
laborer, cap in hand, bows to his master. So, too, aristocracy bends the
knee to royalty--being taught to keep allotted rank in society, and to
defer to those above. What is more, all have a supreme regard for the
law itself, as well as for those who administer it."
Winifred listened. Her bright, upturned face was an incentive for
Danvers to continue.
"When we Englishmen come to this country," he said, "knowing but little
of the government, we care nothing for it. We generally come to better
our condition financially, not politically. When we see the actions of
political heelers at elections we are often astounded. We hear of Tweed,
of Tammany, and it is not surprising that we have a certain contempt for
American politics. If we watch very closely we see men elected to
office who are entirely incompetent, and we even have suspicions of
their honesty."
The girl laughed lightly.
"You choose to be very sarcastic," she commented. But Danvers had more
to say.
"As time goes on we watch events, comparing the government of this
country with that of our own. Little by little we are brought to feel
that these States are being fairly well governed, after all. In my own
case, when Judge Latimer asked me to take an active part in politics, I
hesitated. But I had cast my lot in Fort Benton, and it seemed wrong to
accept all that America had to give with no return from myself."
The Anglo-American looked around his circle of friends. Never before had
he expressed himself so fully. He could not understand how he had been
beguiled. But never before had he felt that a woman's brain would grasp
every reason adduced, and understand--that was it; he felt that he was
understood!
"Montana politics are like an Englishman's game--high. They smell to
heaven," said Charlie Blair, after the men had further discussed the
political situation.
"I don't believe that Montana is any worse than many other States,"
defended Winifred, quickly.
"We are building history," said the doctor, dreamily, "and history
repeats itself. As the powerful nobles of Greece and Rome dictated harsh
terms to the common people and ruined their nations, so it will be with
us. Machine politics, money and whiskey, millionaires and
monopolies--truly the outlook is depressing."
"You are not usually so pessimistic, doctor," reproached Winifred.
"Well"--Blair's contented philosophy was refreshing--"politicians seldom
get more than one-fourth their money's worth, when they use it
unlawfully. Three-quarters of it is wasted by giving it to hangers-on."
"Public men should be unhampered by demands for spoils."
"They invite the demands, Phil," replied the doctor, dryly. "If it were
not openly known that a man could get a position as a corporation
lawyer, or timekeeper in a big mine, or some other inducement, do you
think any would-be senator, for instance, would be troubled by
distributing 'spoils of office'?"
"He would not be troubled with superfluous votes, either," remarked the
judge, caustically.
"Oh," cried Winifred, with a vision of what might be, "if only the
candidates and the voters could be brought to see that public office is
a public trust; that the honor of election is enough!"
"That is the way it is in England," answered Danvers. "There, for
instance, a man is elected to a city council for his personal fitness
and ability to hold office. No questioning of his political
affiliations. No perquisites--no privileges. Only the honor of his
fellow citizens, which is enough. It is the same in other positions,
even in Parliament."
"Here comes Mrs. Latimer." Miss Blair rose and advanced to meet her
friend. "I see by your eyes, Eva," she said gaily, "that I have to
placate you for monopolizing all the men in sight."
Mrs. Latimer laughed, and the circle widened to admit her.
"You are talking of politics," she accused, lazily. "Either that or of
Fort Macleod."
"Madam," the doctor affected remorse, "we were talking of politics. But
when you burst upon our enchanted vision, as beautiful as when you
dazzled us sixteen----"
"Oh, don't!" shuddered Eva. "Why--why will men be so exact as to dates?
Why not say 'some years ago'?" She looked around rebelliously. "I will
not grow old, even if you, dear doctor, have silvery hair, and Arthur's
is growing thin, and Mr. Blair--well, I'll admit the years have dealt
kindly with Charlie and Mr. Danvers."
"And with you, dear," added her husband, loyally.
"How do you like my gown?" asked Eva, turning to Miss Blair as the men
began to talk of other subjects.
"It's lovely! You are so artistic! It must please your husband to have
you so perfectly gowned."
"Oh, Arthur--as for one's husband, I simply can't imagine dressing for
one man."
"I can," breathed the girl, her thoughts afield. But the sentiment was
lost upon Eva.
"If I lived nine miles from nowhere I would dress and walk among the cow
corrals or on the range for the cowboys--if there were no other men to
admire me!"
"You say such dreadful things," Winifred answered, gently, "but I know
you do not mean them."
"But I do!" wilfully.
"I have grown away from the East," the doctor was saying, when the
ladies again listened. "I want more room than the crowded cities can
give.
"'Room, room to turn 'round in,
To breathe and be free.'
"I fancy the Puritans wanted physical as well as religious freedom, if
the truth were known." He mused; then suddenly:
"How can you make one who has never experienced it _feel the West_?"
"You can't," laughed Latimer. "I tried once, but my companion looked
bored, and I stopped. 'Oh, go on,' he said, politely; '_you_ are
interested!'"
When the merriment had subsided, Eva exclaimed:
"I'm sick and tired of the West! I want to live in New York, Washington,
abroad--anywhere but Montana!"
"I wish that we might, dear," said the judge, patiently; "perhaps we can
some day."
"By the way," remarked Eva, her thoughts flying inconsequently to
another subject, "I've promised to read a paper on 'The Judiciary of
Montana' before our club to-morrow. Tell me all about it, Arthur, and
I'll write the essay this evening." She looked at the group in surprise.
What had she said to raise such shouts?
As soon as her husband could speak he wiped his eyes.
"It's a pretty big subject for me to discuss now," he said; "but I'll
write something. That will be better than confusing your mind with it.
These club-women," he went on indulgently, addressing the others, "are
so fervid--so much in earnest."
"Are you a club-woman, too?" the doctor asked Winifred, and Danvers
waited her reply.
"I used to be," dolefully. "But I am a renegade, or a degenerate. I was
allowed to join the classic circle of a Dante Club, and for two years
we (perhaps I'd better say I) agonized over the prescribed study--the
course was sent out by the university. But when the third year arrived I
wearied of well-doing. I was horrid, I know; but the subject was remote
as to time, and dead as to issues. I like live topics, real
issues--Montana politics, for instance."
"You might have joined the Current Events Club," reproached Mrs.
Latimer. "To be sure, it's sometimes hard to find topics for the next
meeting, but we get along. Club work broadens our minds and widens our
sphere," she concluded, with a pretty air of triumph.
"And when topics fail--to write about," put in Blair, "you can talk. You
ladies always find enough to talk about!"
"Why, Charlie Blair! You're just as horrid as you used to be!" responded
Eva, hotly.
"Didn't I hear something about one lady's stabbing to death another
lady's imported hat, just on account of too much talk at one of the club
meetings?" Blair was persistent.
"That story about the hat has been grossly exaggerated! It is nothing
but gossip."
"'Current Events,' too," murmured Charlie, properly deprecatory.
Not long afterwards Danvers made the first move toward breaking up the
group.
"Must you be going?" Winifred rose also. "I suppose I shall not see you
again before the Assembly meets. You'll be sure to be here then, as
senator from Chouteau."
"Thank you for your optimism. May I call?"
"Certainly. I should feel hurt if you didn't. We are friends of many
years' standing, you know."
Never before had he asked to call upon a lady. The importunity had
always been on the other side.
Late in the evening the doctor came to Danvers' room for the good-night
call; but the talk was wholly of Judge Latimer's interests.
"I'm afraid that Arthur will have a hard pull," regretted the old
friend, "but we will do all we can for him. I've had a telegram calling
me back to Fort Benton, and must leave on the midnight train."
Danvers walked to the little depot, a mile from the city proper, with
his friend, and after the train pulled out he again thought of Winifred.
As he passed, on his way back to town, the huge piles of loose rock that
the miners had left in their sluicing for gold in bygone days, his
thoughts followed the girl back into the long years since he had first
met her on the _Far West_--a child eager for sympathy. It was odd that
he had never seen her in all that time--the years when he had
unconsciously longed for friendship, and the sight of a woman's face--a
white face. The rings from his cigar melted around him, softening his
face until it took on the boyish fairness of youth.
[Illustration]
Chapter IV
The State Republican Convention
The evening before the convention found Judge Latimer at the club in
conference with his friends. His nomination seemed doubtful, yet there
was a possibility that he might win, and Danvers was working hard and
hopefully.
The Honorable William Moore had arrived from Butte that day, and as he
greeted various members of the club, watched for a chance to approach
Judge Latimer.
"What are the prospects?" he inquired, after a chat on politics in
general. "I calculate you'll need the support of Silver Bow County, and
we'd like to help you out."
"Of course, I shall be glad of your support," responded Latimer, who
knew it would be impossible to win without this important section of
Montana.
"Very well. What can you do for us--that is, for Burroughs?"
The judge moved uneasily. "It doesn't seem to me that I can do very much
for a man who has practically the whole State at his command."
"You know what we want!" scowlingly.
"I shall have no influence."
"Bah! What's the use talking? He'll make it worth your while. Get
Danvers to vote for Burroughs when it comes time to elect United States
senator. He never will unless you can persuade him. You know his feeling
toward Burroughs, although Bob's been a good husband and father. And
there's Charlie Blair, get him pledged and he'll be elected; and----"
"Hold on, Moore!" Latimer's voice trembled with anger. "Why should you
oppose me? Haven't my decisions always been just and----"
"I'm not saying anything about your decisions," broke in Moore,
"although it would have paid you to be amenable. I knew the time would
come when you'd want our political help."
"I _don't_ want your help!" cried the judge, passionately. "If I should
be elected through your instrumentality I should feel as though every
man in the State believed that a decision handed down by the Supreme
Court was tainted with your money. As yet the Supreme Court of Montana
has been above suspicion, and so far as it is in my power, it shall
remain so!" He struck out, his slight form quivering righteously.
Across the room Danvers saw him, and walked quickly toward the men.
"I want to speak to you, Arthur," he said, and drew the judge into the
street.
"The elephant and the gazelle are trotting together," said Latimer,
presently, trying to be facetious in an effort to regain control of
himself. He looked up at his stalwart companion.
"Yes, and the gazelle is always looking for trouble when the elephant is
around, so he can be pulled out!" returned Danvers, in the same strain;
yet with the undercurrent of affection that always crept into his tone
when speaking to Latimer.
Words failed the harassed judge as he attempted to reply. This friend of
his! This dear friend!
"It is just as I thought, Phil," he remarked, after they had walked for
a time in silence. "Burroughs will block me."
"That's bad; but it might be worse. Let me see. Who are the delegates
from Silver Bow?"
"Bill Moore is the chairman. No need to specify the individual men, for
every one of them will vote as instructed. Oh, Burroughs has that
county well organized!"
"H-m-m!" mused Danvers, nodding affirmation. "Silver Bow is not the only
county, and Moore is not the only chairman. I am chairman of the
Chouteau County delegation, and we are solid for you. I have more or
less influence in other counties," modestly. As they walked they
canvassed the situation. Without Silver Bow it did look dubious.
Turning a corner they met O'Dwyer, ruddy and smiling as ever.
"Here's O'Dwyer!" cried Danvers. "He is always good in an emergency. His
fertile brain will contrive some method of procedure that will land you
safely on the bench for a second term."
A conference ensued. O'Dwyer shook his head doubtfully when he learned
of Burroughs' strong following, but said nothing until the three were in
Danvers' room.
"I heard Wild Cat Bill talking to yeh," he acknowledged, "and I think
I've got something up my sleeve." But he refused to disclose his plans,
only warning Danvers not to be surprised if he was late to the
convention, and they separated.
* * * * *
The convention was called to order. Campaign issues did not appear to be
of great moment; but when the chairman announced that the candidates
for chief justice would now be considered, there suddenly arose so much
controversy and ill-feeling that the meeting was adjourned until
evening. An active canvass was begun by Danvers for Judge Latimer, and
by Moore for his candidate. O'Dwyer of Chouteau County, seemingly not so
much interested in the business in hand as in looking up old friends
whom he had known at Fort Macleod, circulated joyously among the men. It
was not long before he was cheek by jowl at the hotel bar with Wild Cat
Bill (Moore never objected to the old nickname), and after sundry
refreshments and their accompanying chasers, he proposed that they dine
together. Mr. Moore was agreeable, and suggested a private room for the
meal, being under the impression that O'Dwyer would look favorably on an
effort to turn his allegiance from Latimer's candidacy.
As the dinner progressed he told O'Dwyer that he had in mind a lucrative
position which Mr. Burroughs would gladly bestow on an old friend, if
the Irishman saw fit to accept. Moore carefully explained, as the
glasses were filled and emptied, that he had no ulterior motive. Oh,
certainly not! O'Dwyer must not think that Burroughs ever offered a
bribe, even in so small a matter as this of defeating Judge Latimer in
state convention!
"Of course not!" agreed O'Dwyer, and surreptitiously glanced at his
watch. He redoubled his efforts to be the good fellow, and apparently
coincided with Moore's views on politics.
The clock in the court house struck half after eight. The convention was
called to order, and Mrs. Latimer, thrilling with the sense of unknown
possibilities, sat in the crowded gallery, and settled expectantly to
the excitement of the balloting. Strong and spicy speeches were
anticipated. Silver Bow, notoriously the hotbed of political agitation
in the State, possessed in Mr. Moore a star speaker. He always had
something to say, and was the chief factor in filling the ladies'
gallery. His fiery remarks and impassioned appeals were as exhilarating
as cocktails. Full well did Mr. Burroughs know the value of his trusted
henchman, both in caucus and on the floor, and he had left his cause
against Judge Latimer wholly in Moore's hands, with no understudy. He
had made the trip over from Butte the day before, and now expectantly
awaited the appearance of the Honorable William.
As the delegates and spectators listened to the blaring band they
watched the rapidly filling seats and noted the tall staffs and placards
indicating the various counties. Danvers looked in vain for Latimer;
Burroughs for Moore.
O'Dwyer had not appeared, and the chairman of the Chouteau County
delegation smiled as he thought of the Irishman's devotion to his
friends, and the possible discomfiture of their common enemy. But
Latimer's absence was disquieting. He had said something about little
Arthur's having a cold, but surely that would not keep him from so
important an occasion.
Nine o'clock. The chairman declared the convention ready to proceed.
Burroughs, hovering near the doors of the auditorium, looked anxious as
he saw Danvers rise to make his nomination speech for Judge Latimer.
Moore--the invaluable Moore--was not in the hall. The moments were
slipping by, and Burroughs hastily dispatched a messenger to his hotel
and to the club.
As Danvers gave a simple, earnest recital of Judge Latimer's
qualifications and the need for such men in the State of Montana, he saw
the judge enter. He spoke of his devotion to his family, his business
integrity, his high ideals; and ended with the plea that in this day of
corruption in high places, his own State preserve her prestige by
maintaining in office one who had been found able and incorruptible in
discharging his duties as judge of the Supreme Court of the State of
Montana.
As Danvers returned to his seat he was met by the recalcitrant Moore,
walking carefully, and blandly indifferent to Burroughs' angry oath with
which he had been greeted at the door.
Danvers tried to avoid the wavering path, but the Honorable William had
a set purpose in his muddled brain. He fell upon the neck of the
delegate from Chouteau, and his arms met around Danvers' neck.
"I d'know yer name," he hiccoughed, enthusiastically, "but I know yeh're
a gen'lmun." The unexpected followed. Holding himself upright by the
embarrassed Danvers, he bellowed: "Mishter Chairman! I seconsh the
nomination!"
Pandemonium ensued--laughter in the galleries, drowned by the roar of
disapproval from Burroughs' candidate and his following. O'Dwyer hastily
gained the recognition of the chairman and again seconded the nomination
of Latimer, and the balloting began.
Burroughs, not being a delegate, had no place on the floor, and was
powerless. The leaderless flock from Silver Bow made weak efforts to
assert themselves, but O'Dwyer saw to it that Moore did not get to them
until affairs were well settled. The first ballot was taken, and Latimer
had a majority. He had received the nomination!
There were cheers and loud calls for Latimer, and he responded briefly.
In the excitement Burroughs succeeded in enticing the torpid Bill into
the lobby, and so effective were his words, emphasized by his fists,
that Moore returned to the hall a chastened man, and demanded that the
nomination be set aside. In the uproar Burroughs ventured onto the floor
and yelled to the cheering delegation from Chouteau County, "Howl, ye
hirelings!" He violently accused Danvers of collusion with O'Dwyer in
detaining Mr. Moore.
O'Dwyer was in no mood to permit this. For years he had idolized the
Englishman. In a moment he placed himself in front of the ex-trader, and
reaching, grabbed for Burroughs' nose.
"Do I understand yeh're talkin' agin me friend, Philip Danvers?" he
shouted, with a twist of the olfactory member. "If I hear anither
whimper out of yez, I'll smash yeh one! I got Bill Moore drunk--I! Yeh
can settle wid mesilf!"
In the tumult the meeting adjourned, and Danvers was glad to get out of
the hall and have a word with his friend.
"Why were you so late, Arthur?" questioned Danvers, as soon as they had
a moment together.
"My boy is not well," Arthur explained, as his eye roved anxiously
around the circling balcony. "Eva had set her heart on hearing the
nomination speeches, and so I stayed with the laddie until the last
minute. I couldn't bear to leave him alone with the nurse-girl."
"Let me go for a doctor!" begged Danvers, anxious to be of some help.
"No, he isn't sick enough for that--I did call a physician about dinner
time. Perhaps I'm foolish," he smiled wanly, "but if anything should
happen----"
"Tut! tut!" Danvers put his hand on the stooping shoulders. "I'm going
home on the midnight train, and I'll send the old doctor up to see the
lad; or," with a sudden thought, "why not wire him? I will do it as I go
to the station."
"Perhaps you'd better," agreed Latimer. "I wish he had remained here for
the convention; but I know he will be glad to make the trip for the sake
of the boy, and the sight of his face will do me good."
"You've been working too hard. Take it easy now and don't worry,"
counseled Danvers. "I shall be up again in a few weeks, and in the
meantime write to me, Arthur."
He stood a moment as Judge Latimer waited for Eva. He felt, somehow,
that his friend needed him. But his train would soon be due, and with a
hearty hand-clasp he said good-night and hurried away for the Fort
Benton express.
[Illustration]
Chapter V
Despair
The days that followed the convention were like a dream to Danvers when
he remembered them afterwards. He had scarcely picked up the old life at
Fort Benton--looked over his cattle and gone over his neglected
correspondence, when a telegram from the old doctor recalled him to
Helena.
Arthur Latimer's tragedy had come, and Danvers, unfamiliar with death,
knew no words of consolation for the father bereft of his firstborn. A
numbness mercifully comes during those first hours, which makes it
possible to move about and go through strange, meaningless ceremonies
with a calm that surprises those who have not known the searing touch of
the death angel.
A few days later he and the doctor were back at Fort Benton again, and
life moved on as before. Only there was always the memory of Latimer's
drawn face that no laddie's voice would lighten, no little hand caress.
The doctor hoped that the political campaign would occupy his thoughts
for the present, but when the election went against Latimer he shook his
head.
"Read this letter," he said to Danvers one evening. "It came to-day, and
I should have sent for you if I hadn't felt so certain you would drop
in. You're the one to go."
It was a letter from Winifred, and Danvers felt a peculiar sensation of
satisfaction in seeing her handwriting, as if it gave him an added bond
to their friendship.
But he forgot Winifred in his anxiety over the message her letter
conveyed.
_"I wish that you or Mr. Danvers could come to Helena," she wrote.
"Judge Latimer is so changed since little Arthur's death that we
sometimes fear for his reason. Since the election has gone against
him there is no direct interest to take his attention and he has
sunk into a deep melancholy. You could rouse him as no one else
could. Please come--one or both of you."_
Danvers read no further, but looked up to catch the doctor's eye. He
nodded. "All right, doctor. I'll go to-night."
His heart was drawn still more closely to the stricken man. He longed to
bring back to that sad face the smile that he remembered on the _Far
West_, when Latimer's buoyancy had been like wine to his lonely heart.
He felt confident that the friendship of one man for another could reach
the heart of his friend, now closing against all human sympathy.
It was noon before Danvers reached Helena and made his way to Judge
Latimer's residence. He was startled by the absence of life, the silence
and drawn shades. Turning, he saw Miss Blair entering her own gate.
"I'm so glad you've come!" cried the girl, with unaffected pleasure, as
he hastened towards her. "But didn't you know that the Latimers had gone
to the hotel for the winter?"
Danvers had not known.
"Come in and have lunch with Charlie and me," she urged; "it will be
ready in just a minute. Charlie will be here soon and will want to
congratulate you on your majority."
"But Arthur--I feel I must get to him."
"Come in and telephone. He has opened offices down town and you may find
him there. I call up Eva every morning, but Judge Latimer is out a
great deal."
While she was speaking Danvers had followed her into the house. It was a
homelike room; a canary's trill greeted them, and a glimpse of
old-fashioned plants in the bay-window wakened memories of English
homes. How different it was from his rooms at Fort Benton!
Winifred smiled brightly as she made him at home, and excused herself
for a moment.
"And how is Judge Latimer?" questioned Danvers, as she reappeared from
the dining-room with a big apron, which she fastened about her waist in
a most businesslike manner.
"He needs cheering--needs loving! With the old routine of office
suddenly lacking, and little Arthur gone, the man is lost--aimless.
There seems to be nothing worth while--nothing to keep him with us! And
there are other troubles--I don't understand them myself, but you will
know how to help him. I'm so glad you have come!" she repeated, with a
warmth that made his heart beat faster. What would it be like to find
such a welcome for his own sake--and every night when he came home!
"Did you 'phone the office?" The words recalled him.
"Yes. He is down in the valley; the clerk didn't know when he would
return."
"We won't wait for Charlie. He's often late, and I know you are anxious
to find the judge."
After a few minutes' absence Winifred announced that luncheon was ready.
As Philip held the curtains for her to precede him to the dining-room he
looked longingly at the sweet-scented blossoms in the window.
"I have seen nothing more delightful in years," he explained. "I am
old-fashioned enough not to care for palms or rubber plants."
"Another bond of friendship," smiled Winifred, lightly. "Shall I make
the salad dressing, or would you prefer to mix it yourself?" she asked,
after she had persuaded him to take the head of the table.
"I make a dressing that is the despair of my friends," she continued.
"So I make them shut their eyes when I mix it, else my one
accomplishment would be mine no longer."
Philip promised, with a smile, to "play fair." He delighted in the
housewifely nonsense, and ate the salad, though he hated olive oil.
"Salads are a woman's folly," he had once said. But he did not repeat
it.
"How do you like it?" Her mood suited the visitor. The light
conversation took his mind from the more serious purpose of his visit,
and Winifred's accent implied accepted friendship. He needed this
relaxation.
"I never cared for salads, before," he replied truthfully.
"Why did you eat it?"
"I ate it, and I liked it because you made it for me. I am not used to
being waited upon, and I rather like the experience."
"You poor man!" Winifred sympathized without reflection. "It must be
horrid not to have anyone to do things for you. I should think--I
mean----" she colored as she met Philip's eyes, "I mean--Charlie says
that I have spoiled him completely."
The advent of Blair relieved the girl from her condition of fragmentary
speech, and they talked of the Latimers and the political outlook for
the coming winter.
Danvers took his leave with a feeling of regret at parting from
unexpectedly congenial friends. How little he had known of Blair--the
good fellow. How cheery and unaffected Winifred was! The years were
bridged which had separated him from his kind, and as he walked down the
street he felt a glow of kindness toward all the world.
He called at the hotel, thinking Latimer might have returned, but Mrs.
Latimer pettishly denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. He often went
for long walks, she said, and seldom returned until late. "Won't you
stay until he returns?" she invited, but Danvers pleaded business.
Twice during the afternoon Danvers ran up to the judge's office, but
failed to find him until evening. Seeing a light in the inner office, he
opened the door and entered.
The judge did not look up. He sat with his back to the door, and gazed
intently at a revolver, while his hand played idly with the trigger.
Danvers stepped forward and silently reached for the weapon.
"No, no, Arthur! Not that!"
"Phil! You?" Latimer sprang from his chair. "Why--why----"
Danvers was shocked at the haggard face.
"I ran up from Fort Benton, Arthur, just to see you. I've been looking
for you all the afternoon." He gently pushed the trembling man back into
his chair.
"Why--why did you stop me? It would have been over--now--if----"
"Life is not so bad as that, old friend."
"Isn't it?" bitterly. "If you----"
"I can understand--I know. But you must promise me that you will not
attempt this--again." Danvers spoke firmly, feeling that he could never
leave his friend if he were not given a pledge.
The broken man looked into the kind eyes opposite. "You think me a
coward, don't you? I promise."
"No," refuted Danvers, warmly. "You are worn out, mentally and
physically; that is all. Take a run to the coast with me for a month or
two----"
Latimer began to laugh, mirthlessly. "I couldn't take a run to Fort
Benton, Phil. I haven't a dollar--not a dollar. I'm a ruined man!"
"Arthur!"
Latimer took a paper-knife and checked off his sentence. His voice was
impersonal.
"You made a mistake, Phil, when you interrupted me. No, do not speak,"
he raised his hand. "I was in possession of what sanity I've had since
Arthur----" He did not complete the sentence. "I've deliberately decided
that a quick shot was the only solution of my problem. Boy gone; home
gone; my dearest ambition frustrated; hopelessly in debt----"
"I can help you in that."
"And disbarment proceedings about to be instituted," finished Latimer.
"What!" ejaculated Danvers. "Who will institute them? On what grounds?"
"Burroughs. He has trumped up some infamous charge. I got a hint of it
only this morning--a straight tip."
"He shall not do it! I shall have something to say to him--to the
papers. He would not like to have them get hold of Moore's interviews
with you and me on the matter of that Supreme Court decision. I----"
"Papers!" Latimer threw out his hands with a helpless gesture.
"Burroughs _owns_ every paper in the State!"
"Well, then, I have another card to play. You leave this matter to me.
You are not going under, and you are not going to--die--not yet! Bob
will drop the disbarment proceedings, I promise you; and if he is not
amenable to reason--why--he does not own the Associated Press!" grimly.
"N-no. But I'm broke--ruined."
"What do you think a friend is for, Arthur?" said Danvers,
reproachfully. "If I had had any idea that financial matters were
troubling you, I would have fixed you out in short order!"
"I can't accept favors."
"Favors!" slightingly, to cover his feeling. "I shall be a
Shylock--never you fear!" Then a hand, heavy with love, fell on
Latimer's shoulder. "What is mine is yours, Arthur."
Within a week, not only were the judge's difficulties relieved, but the
proposed disbarment proceedings were dropped.
"I had means," said Danvers, sternly, when pressed for details by the
grateful judge, and none but Burroughs ever knew of the threatened
exposure.
Before Danvers returned to Fort Benton, he had the pleasure of seeing
Judge Latimer off for the East on legal work and knew that his low
mental condition was replaced by a more healthy one. Mrs. Latimer he
avoided. The gratitude of Winifred Blair came as a surprise, and
strengthened their sympathy in this common cause. He called to say
good-bye, but found her not at home, and he left Helena with a distinct
feeling of disappointment.
* * * * *
The state election in November gave Danvers a handsome majority, and it
was as the senator from Chouteau County that, early in the new year, he
attended the governor's reception to the legislators. He came in late,
and after paying his respects to the governor and his wife, wandered
rather helplessly toward the hall, seeing many whom he knew, but finding
little pleasure in their casual greetings.
Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs, as well as the Hon. William Moore, had come from
Butte to attend the brilliant society function. Other acquaintances who
now lived at the capital were among the guests whom Danvers recognized.
His sister he seldom saw, and the lack of any common interest between
them made it possible to meet her husband in only the most formal way.
Presently he saw Winifred Blair at the salad table, who, chancing to
look up from her task, smiled invitingly.
"May I not serve you with salad?" she asked, as he approached.
"If you will make the dressing," recalling their lunch of the late
summer.
"It is already dressed," laughed the girl.
"Then you will let me get you some punch; come with me for it."
She was perishing of thirst (by her own statement), and Danvers finding
some one to take her place for a time, discovered a quiet corner of the
library past which swept the tide of callers. Hither he enticed Miss
Blair, and soon brought the refreshing drink. She sank on the window
couch.
"How nice to be looked after," she said, gratefully. "I believe that you
knew I was tired of the silly things one must say to men whom one never
expects--or wants--to meet again."
"Never say silly things to me or I shall think I am in the category."
"Very well, I will not. I've always had to be to other people what they
wanted me to be--what they expected. Somehow, with you--I am myself."
"You could not pay me a higher compliment."
For some minutes they chatted of the coming assembly and then wandered
to the discussion of a book which denied love to be the greatest thing
in the world. By that instinct which prompts men and women to talk of
this one subject they enlarged on the topic, impersonally at first, as
if it were a matter of the price of cattle.
"Then you do believe in the great passion?"
"Certainly; don't you?"
"I used to think that I did--years ago. But one sees the counterfeit so
often."
"There could be no counterfeit unless the real existed."
"You are right. The real is so rare, then, that one despairs of knowing
it." The subject grew more personal. "But we all want the genuine."
"I don't care for paste diamonds myself, no matter how well they
imitate."
"You have had opportunity to discriminate?" tentatively.
"I--think so," Winifred replied, reflectively, as if he had asked
whether she liked cucumbers, and his face clouded, for no reason.
"Vicarious experience," she added, mischievously.
"Oh!"
"I have admired men; liked a few immensely," she admitted, frankly. "But
the mysterious glow which comes--it has never enveloped me," she ended
abruptly. "Since we are getting so personal, how about yourself?"
"I----" he hesitated.
"You needn't finish!" Winifred nodded, laughing. "Other men swear by the
little god that they have never loved--never--until----" Once more
Winifred found her facile tongue had led her into difficulties.
"Other men lie--I do not; yet you evidently do not believe me."
"Yes, I do! That is what I so like about you. People believe you, trust
you, know where you are to be found."
"I know no other way," replied the Senator. "It is no merit. I simply
find it awkward and inconvenient to prevaricate."
"You are to be congratulated," murmured the girl, ransacking her memory
for another man who could say as much.
An eddy of the flowing stream of guests brought Mrs. Burroughs towards
them. Mrs. Latimer, too, came into the deep window space, the ladies
talking animatedly.
"Am I not right, Winnie?" appealed Mrs. Latimer, after the felicitations
of the day had been exchanged. "I say that a woman has never had a love
affair worthy of the name who hasn't had a lover called 'Jack.'
Jack--the care-free; Jack--the debonair; Jack--the dare-devil! It's all
in the name, Jack."
"Alas!" moaned Winifred, entering into the gay spirit of the moment.
"Alack, woe is me! That I must confess my poverty before woman"--she
glanced at Danvers--"and man! I've had lovers of many names--Henry and
Jim and--and--Bi----" she seemed out of names--"and of many hues--Brown
and Green and Black; but never a Jack for me!"
"If you haven't had an adorer by that name," laughed Mrs. Latimer, "it's
because no man in the state answers to the name of Jack!" They all
joined in the merriment, to Winifred's confusion.
"'Thou, too, Brutus!'" she quoted reproachfully. "What will Senator
Danvers think of me, with such a reputation as you give."
"Suppose I have my name changed," suggested Danvers.
"Philip suits you very well," Miss Blair answered, sedately. "You
intimated a few minutes ago that you were rather inexperienced," she
went on daringly. "If this winter you will try for such a reputation as
Mrs. Latimer gave me, I'll agree to meet you on the field of battle." As
she concluded the doctor came up and the joke was explained to him. He
turned to the Senator.
"_You're_ too old to have your name changed, or to affect the tender
passion, Phil. Leave that to younger men--to me! I'll have my name
changed to Jack, right away; and as for loving, I have always loved
thee!" bowing to Winifred.
A chorus of shrieks greeted the doctor's declaration.
"No," insisted Philip, when his voice could be heard, "I am going to
enter the lists, inexperienced as I am."
The challenge in his eyes was good to see, but Winifred could not meet
them. Delighted at the sight, the doctor changed the subject, and soon
the group broke up.
As Danvers greeted others, he noticed Eva Latimer in earnest
conversation with Mr. William Moore. He bowed in passing, but their
lowered voices paused only long enough for the conventional greeting.
After making the round of the parlors, Danvers found the doctor and soon
afterward they returned to their hotel.
[Illustration]
Chapter VI
Il Trovatore
The next morning Judge Latimer was surprised to find his wife taking a
sudden interest in politics.
"Why is there so much opposition to Mr. Burroughs for United States
senator?" she inquired.
"Several reasons," he answered, evasively, thinking she would not be
interested to pursue the subject.
"But he will be elected."
"That remains to be seen."
"He has thirty pledged out of the whole ninety-four, and several----"
"How do you know? Where did you get your information?" Latimer spoke
sharply.
"Mr. Moore--nobody talked of anything else, it seems to me," amended
Mrs. Latimer, with what carelessness she could assume. "Since the
legislators have been arriving I have heard nothing discussed so much as
Mr. Burroughs' chances of winning the election."
"That comes of living in a hotel," said the judge, bitterly. "Burroughs'
headquarters are on this floor, too, confound it! I wish we had not
given up our home."
"I don't," cried Eva. "Politics are lots of fun! I had no idea how much
until this winter. It's so exciting!"
She did not tell her husband that the Honorable William Moore had been
at considerable pains to interest her in the coming struggle, even
prolonging his frequent calls unduly, in giving her an insight (so far
as he thought necessary) into the workings of practical politics as
expounded and promulgated by Mr. Burroughs and himself. So delicately
had he broached what had been in his mind since the night of Eva's
dinner party that before she was aware she had promised that she would
do what she could to forward Burroughs' cause with recalcitrant members.
The political manager had assured her that his patron, in his gratitude,
would make the reward for her services magnificently great.
Mrs. Latimer had not been cajoled into this without some scruples, for
she well knew what her husband would think. She remembered, too,
certain interviews of her own with Burroughs, which she would have liked
to forget; but it was many years ago that he had made love to her, and
she succeeded in allaying the troublesome reproaches of conscience by
the justification of the urgent need of retrieving their fortunes. If
Arthur could be made minister to some foreign capital (her ambition had
vaulted to Berlin) he need never suspect her share in its offer.
Mr. Moore had told her that only a rich man could afford to be at the
head of one of the larger legations, and had most thoughtfully placed
certain mining shares in her name, whose value had already increased
gratifyingly. When Arthur should ask her how he could accept such a
position, she would triumphantly produce the fortune made from these
shares, and explain that she had judiciously invested the small
patrimony from her father's estate. It all seemed easy to the ambitious
woman. Only a little effort to interest certain men--could anything be
easier?
And the gold which she had found after Moore's last call! When she had
sent him word he told her that he had its duplicate; to use the money,
since she had found it. The temptation was great. Arthur was always
complaining of unpaid accounts. She settled certain debts with a light
heart. He would never think to inquire about them.
So now she merely looked misunderstood as she continued: "It is nothing
to us, of course, whether Mr. Burroughs is elected; but"--she hesitated,
not knowing how best to proceed--"I'm sure a word from you would have
great influence with the members."
Latimer was dumfounded. Then he began to laugh.
"You would make a first-class lobbyist!" he said lightly. "Have a care!
A word from you would be worth ten of mine." Then, more seriously:
"Don't talk too much of this, Eva. It is going to be a bad business
before a senator is elected. Ugly rumors are heard already. I know
of----" He changed his words. "Mr. Burroughs is not respected among men
of integrity. Not even among men of low standards. His wealth is his
only asset. Unscrupulous, defying investigation----" He pulled himself
up. Never before had he expressed so definite a judgment on the
millionaire.
But though he cautioned his wife, Latimer had no suspicion that it might
be necessary. She had lived purely on the surface, showing no interest
in anything but dress, society, herself. It did not occur to him that
ambition might render her something more than a butterfly. In this
respect Moore read the woman more accurately.
That week Helena was billed for Italian opera. The announcement of _Il
Trovatore_ made Danvers' heart leap with desire to hear it once more. He
knew it was doubtful whether the company could sing, but it could not be
wholly bad.
When he first heard the opera, during a boyish holiday in London, it was
at the height of its popularity, and every evening of his vacation found
him enthralled in the boxes. The isolation of the frontier had but made
the old music more loved, and Philip decided to make up a box party of
his friends. Miss Blair had told him that she had never heard it in its
entirety. She should be the guest of honor. Judge and Mrs. Latimer,
Blair, the doctor from Fort Benton and O'Dwyer should complete the
party.
"The opera has been given for the last twenty years," said Senator
Danvers to Miss Blair, as she expressed herself delighted to accept his
invitation. "You could hardly get a corporal's guard to go across the
street to hear it in New York, I fancy; but it was the first opera I
ever heard, and I love the old airs."
The theater was filling fast as Danvers held the curtain aside for his
guests to enter the box. The distractions of the opposing forces at the
capitol were, for the time, dismissed, and he listened with amusement
to Miss Blair as he assisted to remove her light opera cloak.
"I've never been in a theater box before," she confessed. "It makes one
feel exclusive, doesn't it? And, oh, dear! dreadfully self-conscious.
Suppose I fall out--over the railing? I'm sure I shall bring disgrace
upon us!" She looked gaily at her host. "Suppose I should fall over?"
she repeated, her eyes wide with pretense.
"Somebody would catch you," said matter-of-fact Eva.
"If you think that you are growing dizzy from looking over that fearful,
two-foot precipice," said Danvers, adopting Winifred's tone, "I'm going
to be the one to save you from a tragic death! I'll go around now, and
get ready to be a hero!"
"Don't! A lady in an opera box is worth two in the orchestra seats,"
paraphrased Winifred, blithely. "I will not fall out."
As Danvers pulled her chair a little further from the low rail, Winifred
noticed his face change.
"What is it?" she asked, in quick response.
Philip smiled a little sadly. "'My heart is on the ground,'" he
answered, using an expressive Indian phrase. "I cannot be light and
witty. I am cursed with seriousness."
"Your friends like you just as you are." But in this frank avowal the
senator found no consolation.
Danvers' enjoyment of the familiar opera was augmented by the
appreciation shown on Winifred's earnest, mobile face. The company
proved to be exceptionally good, the voices above the average, the
acting intelligent and _con amore_. The passionate intensity of the
Italians soon enthused Miss Blair into forgetfulness of those around
her. While her brother and O'Dwyer sat stoically, the doctor
contentedly, and Mrs. Latimer indifferent in her secret musing, Arthur
and Philip followed, with her, the fortunes of _Leonora_. Not until the
curtain fell on act three did she readily join in the chatter of her
friends, and then only when Judge Latimer said to his wife: "You should
have heard Phil sing '_Di quella pira_' when we were at Fort Macleod. He
reached that high note quite as easily as this Italian."
"Don't you believe him, Mrs. Latimer," besought Danvers. "Make allowance
for his well-known partiality."
"Certainly," responded Eva, trying to make her tone indifferent. She
never was quite sure of her voice when speaking directly to this man who
ignored the past.
"Do you sing?" Winifred turned with a quick motion which was
characteristic. "Do you, Senator Danvers?"
"I do not."
"But you did?"
"You bet he did!" blurted out O'Dwyer, ever ready to recite the good
qualities of Danvers. Thereupon he told of the Christmas supper, Colonel
Macleod's request, and the duet. "But they sang in English, so a
Christian could understand--not this Dago lingo," he concluded. The
Irishman's contempt for the soft Italian syllables was irresistible.
"Oh," sighed Winifred, after the laugh had died away, "I wish that I
could have been at Fort Macleod that Christmas night!" she included
Judge Latimer in her friendly glance.
"Mr. O'Dwyer did not tell you that he could sing!" chortled Latimer. But
O'Dwyer begged to be spared, and after some good-natured raillery the
judge acquiesced.
"Has that particular duet already been sung?" Winifred's eyes shone as
she leaned toward her host. "If it has I shall insist upon its being
repeated."
"You are so used to having people do as you ask that I believe you
would," volunteered Eva.
"Of course I would. Everybody does as I wish."
"Perhaps that is because you do not ask impossible things," put in
Senator Danvers. "But to relieve your anxiety, and to prevent your
rising and asking for something that might be refused, I hasten to
assure you that the duet has not been sung. Mr. O'Dwyer forgot to say
that it was the _Miserere_ that we tried to sing for dear old Colonel
Macleod. I'm afraid we did it pretty poorly."
From this the conversation drifted to other matters.
"I don't see Mr. Burroughs, Senator Danvers, although your sister and
niece are in one of the opposite boxes," said Eva, sweeping the house
with her glasses. "Nor Mr. Moore, nor Senator Hall--although his wife is
here," she added.
"Politics are more exciting than Italian opera, I fancy," said Winifred.
"The politicians are pretty busy," confirmed the judge.
"Whom do you think I saw on the street to-day, Danvers?" asked Blair,
suddenly. "McDevitt!" he announced, waiting for no speculations.
"No!"
The men were surprised, for McDevitt, the missionary-trader, had long
since been forgotten.
"He says that he lives in Montana now, somewhere near the Canadian
line."
Just then a messenger boy brought a telegram for Danvers, who excused
himself to read and answer it. As he returned the opening bars of
_Leonora's_ florid song sounded, and under cover of the music the doctor
whispered to O'Dwyer: "You did better to-night in your whole-souled
praise than when your elbow was sprained at Fort Macleod. _This_ is the
girl!"
"Betcher life she is! An' what's more, she's on!" The Irishman reverted
to trooper slang in his ardor, and got a sharp nudge from the doctor in
consequence.
The beautiful melodies followed in swift succession. Miss Blair gave a
sigh of appreciation as the _Miserere_ "_Ah che la mort_" was sung, and
unconsciously put out her hand. The sleeve of her soft evening gown
brushed Danvers' arm, and instantly his heart began to sing. Not so had
he been stirred by Eva's conscious touch, years before. Eva had not
struck the chord divine--this thrill revealed it.
"I want to live," breathed Winifred, "while there is such music and such
love in the world. I don't care if it is old--the opera. Music and love
never grow old."
As the duet ended, Winifred and Philip, each in the thrall of the divine
song, looked deep into each other's eyes. Confused, startled, the spell
was broken, and Winifred turned again to the stage.
* * * * *
When the Latimers were alone in their apartments the judge remarked on
Danvers' generosity. "I never knew a man who so delighted in giving
pleasure to other people. He sent tickets to a family of four to-night
because he heard me speak of their love for music; and they'll never
know their benefactor."
"You're always ready to sing the praises of Senator Danvers!" Mrs.
Latimer stifled a yawn. "I really get tired of hearing his good
qualities enumerated."
* * * * *
While Danvers and his friends were enjoying the opera Joseph Hall sat in
a hotel office in Helena, watching the crowd and grumbling at the
excitement and bustle of the politicians and hangers-on.
He was something of a power in the political affairs of the State, but
to-night the swarming activity of the candidates for the appointive
offices displeased him mightily. So did the well-organized methods of
one man who wanted to go to Congress--Robert Burroughs. Hall did not
belong to the party in power, although he had been elected from his
county. As he saw Burroughs' friends hobnobbing with the country
legislators he shut his eyes, cursing all men impartially. Like a thorn
in the flesh the memory of Burroughs' trick and the resultant lawsuit
pricked his anger into poisonous hate. Outwardly he showed no enmity,
but revenge would be sweet. To be sure, he had won his suit and
recovered his share of the proceeds from the sale of the mine, but the
cause rankled, and had become a mania, not the less dangerous because it
was nursed secretly.
In the jostling, good-natured throng of senators, representatives, boys
who wanted to be pages, and girls who boldly or coyly tried to interest
unintroduced men in their clerical abilities, Joe Hall saw no one with
whom he cared to speak. Montana was not yet populous enough to make its
leading men unknown to each other, especially the old-timers. As he rose
to go he heard his name spoken, and turned to face a man whom he could
not for the moment place.
"McDevitt!" he finally exclaimed.
"To command," was the fawning response. "May I speak to you for a
moment?"
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