A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration

by F. S. Brereton

  CHAPTER VI

  A Canadian Bad Man

  "You jest put the hosses into the rig and make along to Hurley's," saidPeter, Joe's employer, one early morning when the land was alreadyploughed, harrowed, and sown, and there was little to do but tend theanimals and await the growth of the wheat crop, upon which Peteranticipated so much. "And don't stop longer than you need, lad. He'sa bad man is Hurley, one of England's ne'er-do-weels, who came outyears ago, and has now taken to farming. I've lent him a seeder thistwo seasons, and he hasn't returned it. Jest hitch it on to the backof the rig and bring it along."

  "And you can take something from me along to Mrs. Hurley," said Peter'swife, who was one of those kind-hearted colonists one so often meets."She's a poor, down-trodden thing, and most like she doesn't have toomany of the good things. Here's butter for her, and eggs, and a leg ofpork."

  Joe was by now quite an adept at the management of the rig, and soonhad his horses harnessed in, an operation of which he had beensupremely ignorant before his arrival. He mounted into the cart,having placed Mrs. Strike's basket there already, cracked the whip, andwent off across the prairie track between the ploughed acres alreadysprouting into greenness.

  Hurley's quarter section was a matter of four miles away, and Joe hadmet the man only once before. But already something of his reputationhad reached his ears, and Joe had gathered that amongst a farming classof industrious fellows this Hurley was looked at askance.

  "He's a bully, and a sullen bully with it all," Peter had said oncebefore. "He don't keep a hand more'n a month, as a general rule, whileI reckon the boy as he has apprenticed to him has none too good a time.Hurley's a man I don't take to."

  Bearing all this in mind, Joe whipped up his horses and took them at asmart pace across the fields. On every hand lay wooded country, withclearings to right and left, where the industry of the settlers hadfelled the trees, paying toll to the Government of Canada for them, andhad then rooted the land, broken it, and placed therein the seed whichwas to spring into such bounteous growth. In every case a log hut waserected somewhere on the quarter section, consisting of one hundred andsixty acres; and these log huts often enough disclosed from theiroutward lines something of the character of the inmates, for in onecase the shack was barely twelve feet by twelve.

  "Jim Canning's," Joe told himself, for he had met Jim and liked him."A confirmed old bachelor; been in Canada for ten years and more, andseems to like living by himself. He's a jovial fellow. Hallo, Jim!"he shouted, seeing that worthy crossing his section towards him."How'dy."

  Observe the expression, and gather the fact that even his own shortresidence in the Dominion had already caused Joe to copy those wholived about him. He was becoming quite a Canadian in his speech.Already one could detect something of that pleasant drawl that marksthe sturdy colonial.

  "Hallo, Joe!" shouted the stranger, beaming at our hero and disclosinghandsome features, sunburned to a degree, while even his chest was of adeep brown; for Jim wore no collar, and had discarded the customaryneckcloth. He was, in fact, a tattered-looking object--a huge patch inthe seat of his trousers, a shirt which might have been blue or greenor red in its palmy days, but which was now of a curious brown,evidently from much exposure to the sun. "How'dy," he cried. "Whereaway?"

  "Hurley's, fetching a seeder."

  "Huh! Then you look lively back agin," came the answer. "There'sructions down there. Hurley's been fighting with his hands, and thoughI believe they've settled the quarrel for the time bein', you neverknow when it won't break out again; he ain't no use ain't Hurley."

  They waved to one another and then parted, Joe jogging along the roughtrack, now with the wheels on one side deep in an old rut, whichthreatened to upset the rig, and then bumping over boulders and treestumps, which made riding anything but comfortable. But what caredJoe? He whistled shrilly; his face was rosy and tanned, his eyesclear, his broad-brimmed hat thrust back on his head, till a lock ofhair showed to the front. Nor could his own clothing be veryfavourably contrasted with Jim's; for Joe's shirt had a large rent init, made that very morning. A portion of the brim of his hat wasmissing, while the ends of his trousers were threadbare, to say theleast of them.

  "Clothing don't make the man, anyhow," Peter had said many a time."You ain't any the wuss fer a rent in yer breeks."

  "Hallo, Joe!" came a hail across from another quarter section. "How'sthe Strikes?"

  Joe shouted back a greeting, and was soon exchanging others withfarmers farther on. Indeed, he called at one of the shacks, amagnificent affair, showing the pluck and ability of its owner. Itbelonged to a city clerk from the city of London, one who had beenignorant of farming conditions, and when Joe was last in this directionit was not entirely finished.

  "I thought I'd just drop in and see the house," he said, as he pulledup at the door. "It wouldn't have been neighbourly to have passedwithout a call."

  "That it wouldn't," laughed a small but active lady, who emerged andshook hands with him. "Hi, Jack, here's Mr. Joe come to see us! Isn'tthe shack a beauty, just?"

  She stood away from the shack, regarding it with a proud eye. And Joeeagerly extolled its magnificence; for this city clerk had built ahouse which none need be ashamed of.

  "Not bad by half, eh?" he grinned, as he came up to Joe. "My cousin,who's farming with me, gave a hand. There's four rooms inside, and acovered way to the stables and the piggeries. It's cost us a heap oflabour, but it's done now, and mighty pleased we are. How's theStrikes? Crops showing well, eh? We're doing fine; and the wife ismaking money with her fowls and eggs and such things. My boy, Iwouldn't be back on an office stool for double the pay. I'm freehere--free, my boy! I can breathe out in this country. And look atthe kids--they're as healthy as we could wish."

  Joe took in his surroundings with an observant eye, and heartilycongratulated his friends. Here he saw before him an example of what aman from a city can do in the Dominion, if only he have the pluck andthe tenacity to face the difficulties and disappointments which aresure to come along at first, and have the perseverance to work.

  "How did you manage?" he asked Jack, the owner of the place.

  "Manage! Well, now, like this. I was ill back in the Old Country, andI'll say this for the people who employed me--they treated mehandsomely. They paid my salary for a whole year; then the doctorrecommended Canada, and out we came, drawing all our savings. Tom, mycousin, had been here four years working on the farms, and we went intopartnership right away. Of course I knew nothing. I trusted to him,and I've learned steadily. It's been uphill work, my boy. But thereyou are."

  He held out an open palm towards the house, eyeing it with supremesatisfaction. And no wonder. Here was a man who through ill-healthhad failed, more or less, in England. Canada had given him a new leaseof life and new opportunities. But let us remember that the Dominiongives nothing without effort on the side of immigrants. Jack hadworked--his elaborate shack showed that distinctly--while he had beenaided and abetted by a clever wife who fell in at once with the ways ofthe country, who did not grumble because she was far outside a town,but set to work to master the intricacies of chicken rearing, or buttermaking, and a thousand and one things, hidden arts to her till thatmoment. And the result was success--success and happiness.

  Joe shouted a farewell, promised to call in for a meal on his way back,and again whipped up his horses. In half an hour the rough track andhis rig brought him to the door of the Hurleys, a tumble-down shack,showing obvious slackness on the part of the owner; and as he climbedout of the rig he heard cries and shouts coming from the interior ofthe shack.

  "A ruction," he told himself. "Perhaps I'd better wait; other people'squarrels have nothing to do with me."

  He paused half in and half out of the rig for a little while, till, ofa sudden, the door of the shack flew open, and a lad some fifteen yearsof age dashed out. After him came a burly, bearded fellow, whoseknitted brows and scowling face showed that he was in a temper.
Therewas a whip in his hand, and no sooner was he out of the door than hesent the lash curling about the flanks of the lad who had preceded him,causing the latter to give vent to a cry of pain and to take cover bythe rig. Then Hurley--for he it was--swung round on our hero.

  "Huh!" he growled, drawing in the slack of his lash. "What do youwant? You ain't been asked here. Clear off!"

  Joe dropped from the rig and stepped a pace nearer. "I've come forPeter Strike's seeder," he said.

  "Strike! Eh? You get off!" came the furious answer, for it seemed asif Joe's arrival had increased the anger of the individual. "You getright off, or I'll give yer strike jest as I'm a-going to do with thislittle rascal. Come you here, Tom; I'll learn you to leave the door ofthe stable open of a night and have all the cattle treading over thecorn. You ain't coming? Then I'll have to fetch you."

  The huge bully bore down upon the trembling lad he had addressed, andwho seemed too scared to move. He cowered by the side of the rig tillHurley was upon him, and was then dragged towards the door of the shack.

  "What! You ain't gone?" growled Hurley, seeing that Joe had made nomovement, but stood beside the rig regarding him, and gripping the buttof his whip. "Ef you ain't away in a jiffy, I'll give you summat ofthe same too."

  "You'll give me the seeder first," said Joe, keeping his temper, andshowing an unflinching front, "and then you'll take your hands off Tom.Even if he did leave the stable door open, he's sorry, no doubt, andthere's no excuse for treating him so badly. I'd be ashamed if I was abig fellow the same as you."

  Hurley let his lower jaw drop with amazement, showing a set ofirregular teeth which were all discoloured. He almost foamed at themouth, while his eyes narrowed with anger and seemed to disappearwithin their sockets. Joe could see the fingers of his one free handcrushed into the palm, while the man's muscles hardened and stood outprominently under the skin of his arm. He bellowed when he answered.

  "So you'd like to concern yourself with things that ain't got nothingto do with you," he shouted. "You're one of the green chaps from overthe water that thinks things out here should be run as if the boys wasdressed in silk, and every one of them mammy's darlings. I'm going tolick this kid, and when I'm done, if you ain't gone, I'll give you ahiding jest the same."

  Joe began to gather the fact that he was in for trouble, and debatedwhat he ought to do. There may be some who, under similarcircumstances, would have clambered into the rig and driven off; butfew, very few we imagine. Joe, at any rate, was not to be numberedwith them; he clenched the hand not gripping his whip and watched tosee what happened. And Hurley did not keep him long waiting. He tookthe boy Tom by the scruff of his neck, forced him against the doorpostof the shack, and proceeded to bind him to it with a length of cord.

  "That'll do," said Joe curtly, walking towards him. "Let that lad go!"

  "Eh? Why, ef I don't think you're mad!" declared the bully, openinghis mouth in amazement. Indeed, he never once thought seriously thatour hero would interpose between him and his victim. For Hurley stoodsix feet in his socks, and was burly and heavy. Joe perhaps topped themeasure at five feet nine, and wanted to fill out a great deal yetbefore he could compare with this fellow. If he had any advantage oversuch a man, and that was an extremely doubtful point, it lay in hisactivity. Joe was light and "nippy" on his feet. In the boxing ringhe could dodge round his opponent till the latter was exhausted almostin his efforts to force the battle. Hurley, however, was heavy and fatand unwieldy; besides, the bully's face bore abundant evidence ofindulgence. There were heavy lines beneath the eyes; the healthy tanand colour of the average colonist who works in the open wasconspicuous by its absence, and instead his face was deadly pale. Hisdeep and rapid breathing, too, told of his soft condition.

  "He'd smash me like an egg," Joe told himself. "This is going to be anasty business. But I can't, I really can't back out of it. Lookhere, Hurley," he said, attempting to reason with the angry man, "leaveTom alone. You know better than I do that your neighbours would neverstand seeing you knocking him about. Bullying don't go down out inthese parts."

  There came a roar from Hurley. Reason was thrown away on the maddenedruffian, and if only the truth had been known, he had imbibed asufficiency of liquor that morning to account for a great deal ofviolence. Indeed, this was a habit which had grown with him, and whichspelled ruin to his farming and to the happiness of his home. Theveins in his bull-like neck swelled out prominently, then he launchedhimself at Joe, and, swinging the whip overhead, sent the lash coilingabout his face. Our hero answered with a rapidity that must have beenstartling. He dashed in with the quickness of lightning and broughtthe butt end of his whip handle down with a crash on the middle ofHurley's head. A minute later they were locked in one another's armsand engaged in a desperate struggle. Hurley gripped Joe round theshoulders, compressing his chest and arms. Then Joe managed to wrenchhis right fist free, and without a particle of hesitation sent it againand again into the bully's face, till blood streamed down upon him,while Hurley shouted and foamed with rage, and strained as if he wouldcrush the life out of his youthful antagonist. His breath came ingasps, so great were his exertions. His eyes were bloodshot, andaltogether he wore anything but a taking appearance.

  "Now, let me go, and end the matter," said Joe, keeping his wits, andpressing the man away from him as far as possible.

  "Not till I've half-killed you," came the grunting answer. "I'll learnyou to interfere; I'll break yer back, young feller."

  And thereupon he proceeded to attempt to put that plan into execution.He lifted Joe as if he were a feather, swung him round and hurled himagainst the shack, jarring the breath out of his body. It was onlywith a great effort that our hero kept his senses and struggled to holdan upright position, then, just as he had got his breath again, the manwas on him. Joe let out with his right and left fists in quicksuccession, getting home on the bully's face on each occasion. Then,stooping quickly, he picked up his whip, and, gripping the handleagain, brought the butt heavily across Hurley's head, sending the manstaggering backward. Indeed, the fellow seemed to be incapable offurther exertion, for he rested his back against the shack and stoodthere panting.

  Joe went to the boy at once, cut the rope which bound him, and pointedto the shack.

  "Get your traps at once," he said, "then climb into the rig. I'll takeyou along with me."

  He turned once more to see what was happening to Hurley, and was onlyjust in time to spring aside, and thereby escape a sweeping blow from aheavy fork handle with which the ruffian had armed himself.

  "I'll show you who's master," shouted the fellow, his beard bristlingwith rage, his hat fallen from his head, and his clothing all awry."I'll show you who's winner here, I will. I'll brain you before I'vedone with you."

  Up went his formidable stick again, to be swung over his head; thenwith a rush he advanced on Joe. But the latter dodged behind the rig,and for a while attacker and attacked were separated. Joe, in fact,could have retired. But there was the lad Tom to be considered, for atthis moment he emerged from the shack, a huge bundle under his arm.

  "Go back, right in," bellowed Hurley. "I'll finish you too if you'renot careful. Go right in; I'll give you what you've earned when I'vedone with this cub. Eh? You ain't going to?"

  The smallest hesitation on the part of Tom was sufficient to send theblood again rushing to the face of the bully. He looked a terribleobject as he sprang at the boy, and there is little doubt that he wouldhave done him a serious injury, had not Joe again pluckily come to therescue. Darting out from behind the rig, he was just in time to catchthe end of the stout handle which Hurley wielded as it swung back overhis shoulder. Then, with a howl of rage, the brute turned on him.

  "You again!" he shouted. "Then that for you! That, and that, andthat!"

  He rained blows on our hero, one catching him across the shoulder andalmost felling him. The remaining two he was lucky enough to escape byleaping aside. But he realize
d that such an attack could not last forever, nor was he likely to escape another time. It was with a quickmovement, therefore, that he closed with Hurley. His fists went crashinto the man's face, and then they were once more locked together. Buthere the bully had all the advantage, and his strength was increased bythe rage he felt. It mattered little to him that Tom, with a pluckthat did him credit, seized Joe's whip and struck his tormentor overthe head time and again. Hurley did not seem to feel the blows; allhis frantic rage was concentrated on Joe.

  "I'm a-going to kill you right out," he grunted. "I'll larn you tocome interfering with me and mine."

  He swung Joe upward clear of the ground and then hurled him downward,once again driving the breath out of Joe's body. But he was notdefeated. The lad had more pluck than strength, to give him his due,as, gasping for breath, he rose swiftly and once more tackled hisopponent. Reaching forward, he planted a heavy blow in Hurley's face,and contrived to spring away before the man could seize him.

  "Go in again! Punch him for all you can!" shouted Tom, taking anactive interest now in the proceedings, and dodging round thecombatants, as if he were seeking another opportunity to strike histormentor. "Watch him, though; he's got that stick again. If I'd agun I'd shoot him."

  "You would, would you?" growled Hurley, his head down, his neck sunkinto his shoulders, and a demoniacal expression on his face. "You'dshoot me, young feller? But I'll deal with you in a while. Maybe I'llkill you. This fool here I will, sure as eggs."

  He spat into his hands and gripped his stake again. As for Joe, had hebeen armed with a revolver, there is little doubt but that he wouldhave made good use of the weapon; for if ever a man looked murderous itwas Hurley. More than that, had Joe but known what the interior of theshack disclosed, and been armed, he would have fired at this ruffianwithout a second's hesitation; for Hurley's attack on Tom was not hisonly act of brutality on this eventful morning. He had begun to bullythe boy an hour ago, in spite of his unhappy wife's appeal, and whenshe had at length endeavoured to intervene, he had struck herinsensible. That was the class of ruffian our hero had to deal with.A glance at his face, at his gaping lips, his firm-clenched teeth, andhis bristling beard showed that his mental condition approachedmadness. And now, having regained his breath in some measure, he fixedhis eye on Joe and rushed at him as a bull would at one who had rousedhis anger.

  "Watch him!" shouted Tom again, as if the warning were actually needed."Here, let's run for it."

  But it was too late to think of that. Besides, Joe had his master'sproperty to consider. He stood his ground, therefore, and held up awarning hand.

  "I warn you to desist," he shouted. "I have done you no wrong, buthave prevented you from ill-treating this boy. You are much older thanI am, and should know what the end of this will be. Then, stand off."

  "Stand off, and know that you've interfered? Not me!" came thegrowling answer. "Besides, I know how the thing's going to end. I'mgoing to kill you sure for being fool enough to interfere with otherpeople."

  Hurley waited for no more. He had paused as Joe held up a hand andspoke; but now he hurled himself forward, and struck out blindly withhis stake. As for Joe, he stepped aside and dealt the man a swingingblow behind the ear as he passed him; but it was his last effort. Thefight was too unequal, for here was a man armed with a long stake andable to reach him with it. Up went the formidable weapon again, andwhen it fell Joe's head was beneath it. He fell with a crash and layquite motionless. As for Tom, he dropped his bundle and went off at arun towards the nearest quarter section, shouting for help at the topof his voice.

  "That's what I call justice," growled Hurley, looking at the result ofhis violence. "I promised I'd knock him out, and I've done it. Nowfor the next business. This row'll put the North-west Police on me,and the neighbours'll be only too ready to join in. I'll hook it."

  He went to Joe and bent deliberately over his unconscious figure, andthen, with the hand of one who had obviously had experience, he ranthrough his pockets. When he rose again he was tucking away within hiscoat the roll of bills which represented all our hero's savings, addedto the small fund he had kept out of the bank, and in addition theprecious envelope which Joe's father had left to him.

  "Sixty-five dollars free," growled Hurley. "That's a windfall, seeingthat there's scarce a cent in the shack. It'll do for the time being.Here's an envelope--valuables, perhaps. I'll look into it later. Now,I'll cut this farming and be off."

  Hurley was a cool ruffian, even if at times he was violent. He enteredthe shack, and emerged after some five minutes carrying a bundle ofclothes and a rifle. Then he mounted the rig, having previously pickedup the whip which Joe had used, cracked it, and set off down the trackin the direction of the railway. He left the figure of Joe Bradleylying motionless and forlorn on the very ground, where he had made sucha brave fight to protect a lad little younger than himself against theattack of a hulking bully.