Carmen's Messenger

by Harold Bindloss

  VI

  HIS COMRADE'S STORY

  Foster spent the most part of the next day in the open air with hishost. Featherstone had a quiet, genial manner and seemed to have readmuch, though he held the narrow views that sometimes mark theuntraveled Englishman. He appeared to be scrupulously just and showedsound judgment about matters he understood, but he had strongprejudices and Foster did not think him clever. With his rathersensitive pride and fastidiousness he was certainly not the man to makehis mark in Canada, and Foster began to understand certain traits ofhis comrade's that had puzzled him. Lawrence, although he had keenerintelligence, was not quite so fine a type as his father, and inconsequence stood rough wear better. But he too, in spite of hisphysical courage, now and then showed a supine carelessness and triedto avoid, instead of boldly grappling with, things that jarred.

  They set out to go shooting, but Featherstone stopped to talk toeverybody they met, and showed keen interest in such matters as theturnip crop and the price of sheep. It was clear that he was liked andrespected. Sometimes he turned aside to examine tottering gates andblocked ditches, and commented to Foster upon the economics of farmingand the burden of taxes. The latter soon gathered that there was notmuch profit to be derived from a small moorland estate and his host wasfar from rich. It looked as if it had cost him, and perhaps hisfamily, some self-denial to send the money that had once or twiceenabled Lawrence, and Foster with him, to weather a crisis.

  At noon they were given a better lunch than Foster had often beensatisfied with at a lonely farm, where Featherstone spoke of him as hisson's partner, and seemed to take an ingenuous pride in making it knownthat Lawrence was prospering. This gave Foster a hint that he acted onlater. They, however, shot a brace of partridges in a turnip field, awidgeon that rose from a reedy tarn, and a woodcock that sprang out ofa holly thicket in a bog. It was a day of gleams of sunlight, passingshowers, and mist that rolled about the hills and swept away, leavingthe long slopes in transient brightness, checkered with the green ofmosses and the red of withered fern. The sky cleared as they turnedhomewards, and when they reached the Garth an angry crimson glow spreadacross the west.

  Tea was brought them in the hall and Foster, who had changed hisclothes, which was a rare luxury in Canada, sat with much content in acorner by the hearth. He had been out in the raw wind long enough toenjoy the rest and warmth, and the presence of two English ladies addedto the charm. Mrs. Featherstone was knitting, but Alice talked to herfather about the shooting and what he had noted on the farms. Fosterthought her cleverer than the others, but it was obvious that herinterest was not forced. She understood agriculture and her remarkswere singularly shrewd.

  In a sense, this was puzzling, for she had, in an extra degree, thefastidious refinement that marked the rest, and with it a touch ofquiet haughtiness. Although she often smiled, she was characterized bya restful calm, and her glance was steady and level. Alice was tall,with unusually regular features, brown eyes, and brown hair, but Fostercould not analyze her charm, which was somehow strengthened by a hintof reserve. He was in the glow of the fire, and imagined that she onceor twice gave him a glance of thoughtful scrutiny.

  The room was getting dim, but lights had not been brought, and the redglow outside filled the large oblong of the casement window. Dark firbranches cut against the lurid color and Foster, looking out, saw theradiance strike through the straight rows of trunks.

  "Something like Ontario, isn't it?" said Featherstone, indicating thetrees.

  "Yes, in a way, but there's a difference," Foster replied. "In easternManitoba and Ontario the bush is choked and tangled, and runs nearlyeight hundred miles. The small pines are half burned in places; inothers they're wrecked and rotten, and lean across each other as ifthey were drunk. Then you can travel all day without finding anopening, unless it's a lonely lake or a river tumbling among the rocks."

  "It sounds depressing," Mrs. Featherstone remarked. "We must hope youwill find your stay here a pleasant change."

  "The curious thing is that it doesn't feel strange. All I've seen sofar, including the Garth, seems familiar."

  "But perhaps that isn't remarkable. You are English and were, I daresay, brought up in the country and used to our mode of life."

  Foster saw Alice glance at him and felt he must be frank.

  "No," he said, "my life in England was different from yours. It wasspent in monotonous work, and when I went home at night to a shabbyroom in a street of small dingy houses it was too late, and I was oftentoo dejected, to think of amusements. Twice I spent a glorious tendays among the hills, but that was all I saw of England unspoiled bytramway lines and smoke, and the holidays cost a good deal ofself-denial. Railway fares were a serious obstacle."

  Alice smiled, but he thought the look she gave him hinted at approval.

  "Self-denial isn't so unusual as you seem to think. We know somethingabout it at the Garth."

  "But you sent my partner money when he needed it," Foster answered,wondering how far he could go. "The last time it was a large amountand helped us to turn an awkward corner. In fact, we should have goneunder for a time if it hadn't come, and I remember feeling that I owedmuch to friends I might never see, because I shared the benefit withyour brother. In its Western sense, partner means more than a businessassociate."

  "That is obvious," Alice rejoined quietly, but with meaning.

  "The main thing is that the money seems to have been well spent,"Featherstone interposed. "For all that, we don't know much about whatLawrence did with it or, indeed, about his life in Canada."

  "It's curious that one gets out of the way of writing home in the West,and it's often difficult to give one's friends a clear idea of how onelives. Things are different------"

  Mrs. Featherstone smiled, and Foster saw that his wish to make excusesfor his comrade's negligence was understood. Featherstone, however,was franker than he expected.

  "There were good reasons for Lawrence's not writing home and they madeit awkward for us to write to him for a time. You can now tell us whathe has done in Canada. We want to know."

  Foster began with some hesitation by relating how he had first met hiscomrade in the churned-up mud outside a logging camp after a disputewith the bullying manager. The men were beaten, but Lawrence and twoor three more from the river-gang would not give in, and started in therain, without blankets and with very little food, which a sympatheticcook stole for them, on a long march to the nearest settlement. Therethey took a contract for clearing land, and Foster described how theylived in a rude bark shack while they felled the trees and piled themup for burning. It was strenuous work, and having been unable tocollect their wages from the lumber firm, the clothes they could notreplace went to pieces and they slept, for the most part, in the wetrags they wore by day. But they held out until the work was done andpaid for. Foster tried to do his comrade justice and thought he hadnot exaggerated, for Lawrence's philosophic good humor had encouragedthe rest and smoothed over difficulties that threatened to break up thegang.

  Then he stopped and glanced at the others, wondering whether he hadsaid too much and had drawn a picture they shrank from contemplating.Alice's eyes were steadily fixed on him. Mrs. Featherstone lookedgrave, but there was a hint of proud satisfaction in her husband'sface. Somewhat to his surprise, Foster saw that he had not jarred orbored them.

  "You made good; I believe that's the proper phrase," said Featherstone."Go on, please."

  Foster did so. His adventures had not appeared remarkable when theyhappened, and he did not think himself much of a story-teller, but hemeant to do his best, for his partner's sake. It would be something ifhe could show Lawrence's people the courage and cheerfulness with whichhe had faced his troubles. Still, he thought it better to vary thetheme, and related how they engaged themselves as salesmen at adepartment store, where Lawrence rashly undertook to serve the drugsand prescribed for confiding customers until a mistake that might havehad disastrous consequences
led to his being fired. Foster went withhim, and they next undertook to cook, without any useful knowledge ofthe art, for a railroad construction gang. Their incompetence becameobvious when Lawrence attempted to save labor by putting a week'ssupply of desiccated apples to soak at once, with the consequence thatthe floor of the caboose was covered with swollen fruit that had forceditself out of the pot. One of the gang, who went in to steal somefried pork, declared that the blamed apples chased him down the steps.

  Featherstone's chuckle was encouraging, but Foster glanced at Alice andthought he read another emotion than amusement in her sparkling eyes.It was now nearly dark, but the glow of the fire touched the others'faces and nobody seemed to think of ringing for lights.

  He went on to describe their retreat in winter from a worthless mineralclaim, where they had remained until the snow surprised them when theirfood was nearly gone. Eight or nine miles a day was the most theycould drag their hand-sledge through the tangled bush, and Foster gothis foot frozen through sleeping in wet boots. The frozen part galledinto a wound, but with provisions running out they could not stop torest. The tent and half their blankets had to be thrown away andLawrence hauled him on the sledge over rocks and fallen logs, with thetemperature at forty degrees below, until they reached a frozen river,down which he struggled against a savage wind.

  Then came a profitable contract, which Lawrence obtained against keenopposition, for supplying telephone posts, and Foster was surprised tofind that the description of their efforts to get the logs out of arugged wilderness made a stirring tale. Although he paused once ortwice apologetically, the others made him resume, and he began to wishhe was not in the firelight when he saw that Alice was quietly studyinghim. It was his partner's story he meant to tell, but since they weretogether he could not leave himself out.

  He could, however, change the scene, and skipping much, came to theirstart as general contractors at Gardner's Crossing. The HultonCompany, which was not so large then, gave them work, but they werehampered by want of capital, and had to meet the competition of richerand sometimes unscrupulous antagonists. Still they made progress;staking all they had on the chance of carrying out risky work thatothers would not touch, sometimes testing the patience of creditors,and now and then outwitting a rival by an ingenious ruse. Lawrencelived in the single-room office, cooking for himself on an oil-stove,while Foster camped with their men where they were at work.

  Then they built the sawmill with the help of Lawrence's check fromhome, and soon afterwards met with their worst reverse. They hadengaged to supply the Hulton Company with lumber of a certain kind forsome special work, and then found that few of the trees they requiredgrew near the river. This meant that a skidway must be made over avery rough hill and a gasolene winding engine bought or hired to haulthe logs out of the next valley. There was, however, another fireasily accessible that might suit the purpose, but not quite as well,and Foster related how he and his partner sat up late one night,calculating costs and wondering whether they should pay Hulton a fineto break the bargain. He added naively that they were some timearguing if they should substitute the inferior wood.

  "Whose opinion was it that you should supply the exact material you hadpromised?" Featherstone asked.

  "Well," said Foster, "Lawrence said so first, but I think we both meantto let them have the best."

  Featherstone's glance at his wife indicated relief, but something inAlice's face showed that she had known what Foster's reply would be.She had listened with keen interest, and he stopped, half amused andhalf embarrassed. Perhaps he had talked too much, and while he meantto do Lawrence justice, he did not want to play the part of theindomitable pioneer for the girl's benefit. Moreover, he knew shewould detect, and despise him for, any attempt to do so, and as hevalued her good opinion, it was not modesty alone that led him to makeLawrence the hero of the piece.

  "So you stuck to your bargain!" Featherstone remarked. "Tell us howyou carried it out."

  Foster forgot himself and the others as he continued, for he had avivid memory of the struggle. He took charge of the work in the woods,while Lawrence tactfully pressed for payment of outstanding accounts,put off creditors, and somehow provided money for wages. As extragangs had to be hired, Foster owned that he did not know how the thingwas done. He cut a grade for the skidway up the hill, slashing tangledbush and blasting rocks, worked in the snow by moonlight long after hismen stopped, and afterwards learned that Lawrence often went without ameal when pay-day got near. But they hauled out the logs and thelumber was delivered. When he stopped, Featherstone looked up withsome color in his face.

  "Thank you," he said. "It is a moving tale. The money we sent you waswell spent. I could have expected nothing better of my son. But Isuppose you found it paid to keep your promise."

  "In this case, it did," Foster answered with a smile. "Hulton's gaveus the first chance of any work they did not care to do themselves; yousee, we had put in a few wood-working machines. In fact, after a time,Hulton told Lawrence to walk through the factory now and then and sendin anything the heads of departments required. But I've talked longenough and fear you're bored."

  "No," said Featherstone simply, "you have given us great pleasure andmade us realize the bracing life my son is leading. You could havedone us no favor that would equal this."

  Then he took Foster off to the gun-room, where they smoked and talkedabout the day's shooting, until Featherstone said rather abruptly,"Perhaps I had better tell you that I didn't send Lawrence the checkthat enabled you to build the mill. It was not in my power to do sothen."

  "But he said the money came from home."

  "It did. Alice was left a small legacy and insisted on selling theshares it consisted of in order to help her brother. I must confessthat I thought she was rash, but the money was hers. Now it is obviousthat the sacrifice she made was justified."

  Featherstone began to talk about something else, but Foster feltembarrassed. It looked as if he owed his success in business to thegirl's generosity, and although he could not see why this shoulddisturb him, it did.

  He went down to dinner rather early and found Alice in the hall. Therewas nobody else about, and by the way she looked up as he advanced hethought she had been waiting for him. Alice had beauty, but it was herproud reserve he felt most. She did not give her friendship lightly,but he believed it was worth winning.

  "I wanted to thank you for explaining things so well," she said. "It'sthe first time we have really learned much about my brother's life inCanada."

  Foster hesitated, "I felt that you wanted to know. But, in a way, itmust have sounded rather egotistical. In fact, the thing wasn't aseasy as you perhaps think."

  Alice smiled. "You couldn't leave yourself out, although it wasobvious that you meant to give my brother the leading part."

  "I honestly don't think I exaggerated."

  "No," she agreed, "it sounded real, and there were touches, littlepersonal characteristics, you couldn't have imagined. You see, I amyounger than Lawrence and thought him something of a romantic herobefore he left home." Then she paused for a moment. "I got a very badshock when he was forced to go. You know why he went?"

  "I don't; I've sometimes thought he wanted to tell me."

  "Then you never asked?"

  "I did not; I think I didn't want to know."

  She gave him a steady searching glance and he felt that if he had beeninsincere she would have found out.

  "But you knew there was something wrong. If he had injured somebody inEngland, he might have injured you. What made you so trustful?"

  "Your brother himself. Then he was, so to speak, my benefactor. If hehadn't taken me up, I might have been chopping trees in the snow,instead of enjoying a holiday in England and, to emphasize thecontrast, staying at a house like this."

  "It doesn't follow; you might have found another opportunity. Thepoint is that you did trust Lawrence."

  Foster disliked sentiment and knew that if he
struck a false note itwould jar.

  "Well," he said, "I don't claim that I'm a judge of character, but onecan't make progress in Canada and be a fool. We had gone hungry in thebush together, and hauled the hand-sledge across the snow, when it wasvery doubtful if we'd make the settlements. Perhaps there isn't abetter way of testing a partner than that. Then a man starts fair inthe new countries, and one feels that this is right. He may have givenway once to some strong temptation and go the straighter for itafterwards."

  Alice looked at him with a curious gleam in her eyes that made hisheart beat.

  "It was a very strong temptation," she said quietly and stopped as Mrs.Featherstone came in.