The Girl From Keller"s.
by Harold Bindloss.
CHAPTER I
THE PORTRAIT
It was getting dark when Festing stopped at the edge of a ravine on the Saskatchewan prairie. The trail that led up through the leafless birches was steep, and he had walked fast since he left his work at the half-finished railroad bridge. Besides, he felt thoughtful, for something had happened during the visit of a Montreal superintendent engineer that had given him a hint. It was not exactly disturbing, because Festing had, to some extent, foreseen the line the superintendent would take; but a post to which he thought he had a claim had been offered to somebody else. The post was not remarkably well paid, but since he was pa.s.sed over now, he would, no doubt, be disappointed when he applied for the next, and it was significant that as he stood at the top of the ravine he first looked back and then ahead.
In the distance, a dull red glow marked the bridge, where the glare of the throbbing blast-lamps flickered across a muddy river, swollen by melting snow. He heard the ring of the riveters" hammers and the clang of flung-down rails. The whistle of a gravel train came faintly across the gra.s.s, and he knew that for a long distance gangs of men were smoothing the roughly graded track.
In front, everything was quiet. The pale-green sky was streaked along the horizon by a band of smoky red, and the gray prairie rolled into the foreground, checkered by clumps of birches and patches of melting snow.
In one place, the figures of a man and horses moved slowly across the fading light; but except for this, the wide landscape was without life and desolate. Festing, however, knew it would not long remain a silent waste. A change was coming with the railroad; in a few years, the wilderness would be covered with wheat; and noisy gasoline tractors would displace the plowman"s teams. Moreover, a change was coming to him; he felt that he had reached the trail fork and now must choose his path.
He was thirty years of age and a railroad builder, though he hardly thought he had much talent for his profession. Hard work and stubborn perseverance had carried him on up to the present, but it looked as if he could not go much farther. It was eight years since he began by joining a shovel gang, and he felt the lack of scientific training. He might continue to fill subordinate posts, but the men who came to the front had been taught by famous engineers and held certificates.
Yet Festing was ambitious and had abilities that sprang rather from character than technical knowledge, and now wondered whether he should leave the railroad and join the breakers of virgin soil. He knew something about prairie farming and believed that success was largely a matter of temperament. One must be able to hold on if one meant to win.
Then he dismissed the matter for a time, and set off again with a firm and vigorous tread.
Spring had come suddenly, as it does on the high Saskatchewan plains, and he was conscious of a strange, bracing but vaguely disturbing quality in the keen air. One felt moved to adventure and a longing for something new. Men with brain and muscle were needed in the wide, silent land that would soon waken to busy life; but one must not give way to romantic impulses. Stern experience had taught Festing caution, his views were utilitarian, and he distrusted sentiment. Still, looking back on years of strenuous effort that aimed at practical objects, he felt that there was something he had missed. One must work to live, but perhaps life had more to offer than the money one earned by toil.
The red glow on the horizon faded and an unbroken arch of dusky blue stretched above the plain. He pa.s.sed a poplar bluff where the dead branches cut against the sky. The undergrowth had withered down and the wood was very quiet, with the snow-bleached gra.s.s growing about its edge, but he seemed to feel the pulse of returning life. The damp sod that the frost had lately left had a different smell. Then a faint measured throbbing came out of the distance, and he knew the beat of wings before a harsh, clanging call fell from the sky.
He stopped and watched a crescent of small dark bodies plane down on outstretched wings. The black geese were breaking their long journey to the marshes by the Arctic Sea; they would rest for a few days in the prairie sloos and then push on again. Their harsh clamor had a note of unrest and rang through the dark like a trumpet call, stirring the blood. The brant and bernicle beat their way North against the roaring winds, and man with a different instinct pressed on towards the West.
It was a rich land that rolled back before him towards the setting sun.
Birch and poplar bluffs broke the wide expanse; there was good water in the winding creeks, a black soil that the wheat plant loved lay beneath the sod, and the hollows held shallow lakes that seldom quite dried up.
Soon the land would be covered with grain; already there were scattered patches on which the small homesteaders labored to free themselves from debt. For the most part, their means and tools were inadequate, the haul to the elevators was long, and many would fall an easy prey to the mortgage robber. But things would soon be different; the railroad had come. For all that, Festing resolved that he would not be rash. His pay was good in the meantime, and he would wait.
By and by a cl.u.s.ter of buildings rose out of the gra.s.s. A light or two twinkled; a frame house, a sod stable, and straw-covered wheat bins that looked like huge beehives grew into shape. The homestead was good, as homesteads in the back townships went, but Festing knew the land was badly worked. Charnock had begun well, with money in the bank, but luck had been against him and he had got slack. Indeed this was Charnock"s trouble; when a job got difficult, he did not stay with it.
Festing crossed the fall back-set, where the loam from the frost-split clods stuck to his boots, pa.s.sed the sod stable, noting that one end was falling down, and was met on the veranda by Charnock"s dogs. They sprang upon him with welcoming barks, and pushing through them, he entered the untidy living-room. Charnock sat at a table strewn with papers that looked like bills, and there was a smear of ink on his chin.
"Hallo!" he said. "Sit down and take a smoke while I get through with these."
Festing pulled a chair into his favorite corner by the stove and looked about when he had lighted his pipe. The room was comfortless and bare, with cracked, board walls, from which beads of resin exuded. A moose head hung above a rack of expensive English guns, a piano stood in a corner, and lumps of the _gumbo_ soil that lay about the floor had gathered among its legs. Greasy supper plates occupied the end of the table, and the boards round the stove were blackened by the distillate that dripped from the joint where the pipe went through the ceiling.
These things were significant, particularly the last, since one need not burn green wood, which had caused the tarry stain, and the joint could have been made tight.
Then Festing glanced at Charnock. The latter was a handsome man of about Festing"s age. He had a high color and an easy smile, but he had, so to speak, degenerated since he came to Canada. Festing remembered his keenness and careless good-humor when he began to farm, but disappointment had blunted the first, though his carelessness remained.
He had been fastidious, but one now got a hint of a coa.r.s.e streak and there was something about his face that indicated dissipation. Yet Festing admitted that he had charm.
"You don"t look happy," he remarked.
"I don"t feel particularly happy," Charnock replied. "In fact, the reckoning I"ve just made looks very like a notice to quit." He threw Festing a paper and swept the others into a drawer. "You might examine the calculations and see if they"re right. I"m not fond of figures."
"That was obvious long since. However, if you"ll keep quiet for a few minutes----"
Festing studied the paper, which contained a rough statement of Charnock"s affairs. The balance was against him, but Festing thought it might be wiped off, or at least pulled down, by economy and well-directed effort. The trouble was that Charnock disliked economy, and of late had declined to make a fight. Festing doubted if he could be roused, but meant to try.
"I see an error of a hundred dollars, but that doesn"t make much difference. Things look pretty bad, but I imagine they could be straightened out."
"How long would it take you to put them straight?"
"Three years," said Festing, when he had made a rough calculation. "That is, if I got moderately good crops, but I"d cut out drinks, the pool game, and some other extravagances. You want to keep away from the settlement."
"You"d cut out all that makes life bearable," Charnock replied, and added while his face went hard: "Besides, three years is too long."
Festing thought he understood. The portrait of an English girl hung on the wall behind the stove, and Charnock had already been some time in Canada.
"Anyhow," the latter resumed, "you take much for granted if you count upon a moderately good crop; I haven"t got one yet. We"re told this is a great country for the small farmer, and perhaps it is, so long as he escapes a dry June, summer hail, rust, and autumn frost. As a matter of fact, I"ve suffered from the lot!"
"So have others, but they"re making good."
"At a price! They sweat, when it"s light long enough, sixteen hours a day, deny themselves everything a man can go without, and when the grain is sold the storekeeper or implement dealer takes all they get. When the fellow"s sure of their honesty he carried them on, for the sake of the interest, until, if they"re unusually lucky, a bonanza crop helps them to wipe off the debt. But do you imagine any slave in the old days ever worked so hard?"
Festing knitted his brows. He felt that Charnock must be answered, and he was not a philosopher.
"Canada"s a pretty hard country, and the man without much capital who undertakes to break new soil must have nerve. But he has a chance of making good, and a few years of self-denial do a man no harm. In fact, I expect he"s better for it afterwards. A fool can take life easily and do himself well while his dollars last."
Charnock smiled sourly. "I"ve heard something of this kind before!
You"re a Spartan; but suppose we admit that a man might stand the strain, what about a woman?"
"That complicates the thing. I suppose you mean an Englishwoman?"
"I do. An Englishwoman of the kind you used to know at home, for example. Could she live on rancid pork, mola.s.ses, and damaged flour? You know the stuff the storekeepers supply their debtors. Would you expect a delicately brought-up girl to cook for you, and mend and wash your clothes, besides making hers? To struggle with ch.o.r.es that never end, and be content, for months, with your society?"
Festing pondered. Life on a small prairie farm was certainly hard for a woman; for a man it was bracing, although it needed pluck and resolution. Festing had both qualities, perhaps in an unusual degree, and his point of view was essentially practical. He had grappled with so many difficulties that he regarded them as problems to be solved and not troubles to complain about. He believed that what was necessary or desirable must be done, no matter how hard it was. One considered only the best way of removing an obstacle, not the effort of mind and body it cost. Still, he could not explain this to Charnock; he was not a moralizer or clever at argument.
Then half-consciously he fixed his eyes on the portrait which he had often studied when the talk flagged. The girl was young, but there was something in the poise of her head that have her an air of distinction.
Festing did not know if distinction was quite what he meant, but could not think of a better term. She looked at one with steady eyes; her gaze was frank and fearless, as if she had confidence in herself. Yet it was not an aggressive confidence, but rather a calm that sprang from pride--the right kind of pride. In a way, he knew nothing about her, but he was sure she would disdain anything that was shabby and mean. He was not a judge of beauty, but thought the arch of her brows and the lines of nose and mouth were good. She was pretty, but in admitting this one did not go far enough. The pleasure he got from studying her picture was his only romantic weakness, and he could indulge it safely because if he ever saw her it would be when she had married his friend.
The curious thing was that she had promised to marry Charnock. Bob was a good sort, but he was not on this girl"s level, and if she raised him to it, would probably feel uncomfortable there. He was slack and took the easiest way, while a hint of coa.r.s.eness had recently got more marked.
Festing was not fastidious, but he lived with clear-eyed, wiry men who could do all that one could expect from flesh and blood. They quarreled about their wages and sometimes struck a domineering boss, but they did their work, in spite of scorching heat and biting frost. Raging floods, snowslides, and rocks that rolled down the mountain side and smashed the track never daunted them. Their character had something of the clean hardness of finely tempered steel. But Charnock was different.
"So you think of quitting?" Festing said at length.
"I"m forced to quit; I"m in too deep to get straight. It"s possible that the man I owe most money might give me time, but it would only mean that I"d slave for another year or two and come down after all. I don"t see why I should sweat and deny myself for somebody else"s benefit, particularly as I"m not fond of doing so for my own."
"Then you have made a plan?"
Charnock laughed. "I"d a notion of applying for a railroad job. The pay"s pretty good, and I daresay you could put me on the track."
"I could. The trouble is that somebody else might afterwards put you off. However, if you"d like to try--"
"I"ll wait a bit. I don"t know that it"s prudent to plunge into things."
"It is, if you plunge in and stop in until you struggle out with what you want. Come up to the track and ask for me when you decide to let the farm go."