CHAPTER II
A PICNIC IN THE RED SAND VALLEY
Summer, at the foot of the Canadian Rockies, sets in suddenly. Thereare no dreary days of damp and cold when the east wind bites through tothe bones and chills right down to the marrow. One moment all is black,dead; the lean branches and dead grass of last year make a waste ofdreary decay. Watch. See the magic of the change. The black of thetrees gives way to a warming brown; the grass, so sad in itsdepression, suddenly lightens with the palest hue of green. There is atonce a warmth of tone which spreads itself over the world, and gladdensthe heart and sets the pulses throbbing with renewed life and hope.Animal life stirs; the insect world rouses. At the sun's first smilethe whole earth wakens; it yawns and stretches itself; it blinks andrubs its eyes, and presently it smiles back. The smile broadens into alaugh, and lo! it is summer, with all the world clad in festal raiment,gorgeous in its myriads of changing color-harmonies.
It was on such a day in the smiling valley of the Red Sand River thatBetty Somers held her school picnic. There were no shadows to mar thefestivities she had arranged. The sky was brilliant, cloudless, andearly in the season as it was, the earth was already beginning to crackand parch under the fiery sun.
A dozen democrat wagons, bedecked with flags and filled to overflowingwith smiling, rosy-faced children, each wagon under the charge of oneof the village matrons, set out at eight o'clock in the morning for thecamping-ground. Besides these, an hour later, a large number of privatebuggies conveyed the parents and provender, while the young people ofthe village rode out on horseback as a sort of escort to thecommissariat. It was a gay throng, and there could be little doubt butthat the older folk were as delighted at the prospect of the outing asthe children themselves.
Dave was there with the rest. Betty's challenge had had its effect. Buthe came without any of the enthusiasm of the rest of the young people.It was perfectly true that the demands of his mill made the outinginconvenient to him, but that was not the real reason of hisreluctance. There was another, a far stronger one. All the years of hismanhood had taught him that there was small place for him where theyouth of both sexes foregathered. His body was too cumbersome, histongue was too slow, and his face was too plain. The dalliance of manand maid was not for him, he knew, and did he ever doubt or forget it,his looking-glass, like an evil spirit, was ever ready to remind andconvince him.
The picnic ground was some five miles down the valley, in the depths ofa wide, forest-grown glen, through which a tiny tributary of the RedSand River tumbled its way over a series of miniature waterfalls. Theplace was large and magnificently rock-bound, and looked as though ithad originally been chiseled by Nature to accommodate a rushingmountain torrent. It gave one the impression of a long disused waterwaywhich, profiting by its original purpose, had become so wonderfullyfertilized that its vegetation had grown out of all proportion to itscapacity. It was a veritable jungle of undergrowth and forest, so denseand wide spreading as almost to shut out the dazzling sunlight. It wasan ideal pleasure camping-ground, where the children could romp andplay every game known to the Western child, and their elders couldrevel in the old, old game which never palls, and which the practice ofcenturies can never rob of its youth.
All the morning the children played, while the women were kept busywith the preparations for the midday feast. The men were divided upinto two sections, the elders, taking office under the command of TomChepstow, organizing the children's games, and the other half,acknowledging the leadership of Mrs. Tom, assisting those engaged inthe culinary arrangements.
As might be expected, the latter occupation found most favor with theyounger men. There was far more fun in wandering through the tangledundergrowth of the riverside to help a girl fill a kettle, than inracking one's brains for some startlingly unoriginal and long-forgottengame with which to dazzle the mind of Malkern's youth. Then there werethe joys of gathering fire-wood, a task which enlisted the services ofat least a dozen couples. This was a much favored occupation. There wasno time limit, and it involved a long, long ramble. Then, too, it wasremarkable that every girl performing the simplest duty, and one inwhich she never required the least assistance when at home, found itquite impossible to do so here without the strong physical and moralsupport of the man she most favored.
Thus the morning passed. While the girls and men flirted, and the olderwomen took to themselves a reflected enjoyment of it all, the childrenshrieked their delight at the simplest game, and baited their elderswith all the impudence of childhood. It was a morning of delight toall; a morning when the sluggish blood of the oldest quickened in thesunken veins; a morning when the joy of living was uppermost, and allcare was thrust into the background.
It was not until after dinner that Dave saw anything of Betty. As hehad anticipated, Jim Truscott never left her side, and his own morninghad been spent with Tom Chepstow and the children. Then, at dinner, ithad fallen to his lot to assist the matrons in waiting upon the sameriotous horde. In consequence, by the time he got his own meal, Bettyand the younger section of the helpers had finished theirs and werewandering off into the woods.
After dinner he sought out a secluded spot in which to smoke and--makethe best of things. He felt he had earned a rest. His way took himalong the bank of the little tumbling river. It was delightfullyrestful, cool and shadowed by the overhanging trees that nearly metacross it. It was not an easy path, but it was calmly beautiful andremote, and that was all he sought.
Just above one rapid, something larger than the others he had passed,he came to a little log footbridge. It was a delicious spot, and he satdown and filled his pipe. The murmur of the rapids below came up to himpleasantly. All the foliage about him was of that tender green inspiredby the humidity of the dank, river atmosphere. Here and there the sunbroke through in patches and lit up the scene, and added beauty to theremoter shadows of the woods. It was all so peaceful. Even the distantvoices of the children seemed to add to the calm of his retreat.
His pipe was nearly finished, and an insidious languor was stealingover him. He nodded once or twice, almost asleep. Then he started wideawake; a familiar laughing voice sounded just behind him, calling himby name.
"Oh, Dave! So this is where you are! I've been hunting for youtill--till my feet are sore."
Before he could move Betty had plumped herself down beside him on thebridge. He was wide enough awake now, and his delight at the girl'spresence was so apparent that she promptly and frankly remarked upon it.
"I do believe you're glad I came, and--woke you up," she laughed.
The man leant back luxuriously and propped himself against the post ofthe hand-rail.
"I am, surely," he said with conviction. "I've been thinking aboutpicnics. It seems to me they're a heap of fun----"
"So you stole away by yourself to enjoy this one."
Betty's brown eyes glanced slyly at him. There was a half smile inthem, and yet they were serious. Dave began to refill his pipe.
"Well, Betty, you see I just thought I'd like a smoke. I've been withthe kiddies all morning."
Suddenly the girl sat round facing him.
"Dave, I'm a little beast. I oughtn't to have made you come. I know youdon't care for this sort of thing, only--well, you are so kind, and youare so fond of making people happy. And you--you---- Oh, Dave, I--I wantto tell you something. That's--that's why I was hunting for you."
She had turned from him, and was gazing out down the stream now. Herface was flushed a deep scarlet. For an instant she had encountered hissteady gray eyes and her confusion had been complete. She felt asthough he had read right down into her very soul.
Dave put his pipe away. The serious expression of his rugged face wasunchanged, but the smile in his eyes had suddenly become morepronounced.
"So that's why you hunted me out?" he said gently. "Well, Betty, youcan tell me."
He had seen the blushing face. He had noted the embarrassment andhesitancy, and the final desperate plunge. He knew in his heart whatwas coming, an
d the pain of that knowledge was so acute that he couldalmost have cried out. Yet he sat there waiting, his eyes smiling, hisface calmly grave as it always was.
For nearly a minute neither spoke. Then the man's deep voice urged thegirl.
"Well?"
Betty rested her face in her hands and propped her elbows on her knees.All her embarrassment had gone now. She was thinking, thinking, andwhen at last her words came that tone of excitement which she had usedjust a moment before had quite gone out of her voice.
"It's Jim," she said quietly. "He's asked me to marry him. I'vepromised--and--and he's gone to speak to uncle."
Dave took out his pipe again and looked into the bowl of it.
"I guessed it was that," he said, after a while. Then he fumbled forhis tobacco. "And--are you happy--little Betty?" he asked a momentlater.
"Yes--I--I think so."
"You think so?"
Dave was astonished out of himself.
"You only think so?" he went on, his breath coming quickly.
Betty sat quite still and the man watched her, with his pipe andtobacco gripped tightly in his great hand. He was struggling with a maddesire to crush this girl to his heart and defy any one to take herfrom him. It was a terrible moment. But the wild impulse died down. Hetook a deep breath and--slowly filled his pipe.
"Tell me," he said, and his tone was very tender.
The girl turned to him. She rested an arm on his bent knee and lookedup into his face. There was no longer any hesitation or doubt. She waspale under the warm tanning of her cheeks, but she was very pretty,and, to Dave, wildly seductive as she thus appealed to him.
"Oh, Dave, I must tell you all. You are my only real friend. You, Iknow, will understand, and can help me. If I went to uncle, good andkind as he is, I feel he would not understand. And auntie, she is somatter-of-fact and practical. But you--you are different from anybodyelse."
The man nodded.
"I have loved Jim for so long," she went on hurriedly. "Long--longbefore he ever even noticed me. To me he has always been everything aman should and could be. You see, he is so kind and thoughtful, sobrave, so masterful, so--so handsome, with just that dash ofrecklessness which makes him so fascinating to a girl. I have watchedhim pay attention to other girls, and night after night I have criedmyself to sleep about it. Dave, you have never known what it is to loveanybody, so all this may seem silly to you, but I only want to show youhow much I have always cared for Jim. Well, after a long time he beganto take notice of me. I remember it so well," she went on, with afar-away look in her eyes. "It was a year ago, at our Church Social. Hespent a lot of time with me there, and gave me a box of candy, and thenasked permission to see me home. Dave, from that moment I was in aseventh heaven of happiness. Every day I have felt and hoped that hewould ask me to be his wife. I have longed for it, prayed for it,dreaded it, and lived in a dream of happiness. And now he has asked me."
She turned away to the bustling stream. Her eyes had becomepathetically sad.
"And----" Dave prompted her.
"Oh, I don't know." She shook her head a little helplessly. "It allseems different now."
"Different?"
"Yes, that wildly happy feeling has gone."
"You are--unhappy?"
The man's voice shook as he put his question.
"It isn't that. I'm happy enough, I suppose. Only--only--I think I'mfrightened now, or something. All my dreams seem to have tumbled aboutmy ears. I have no longer that wonderful looking forward. Is it becausehe is mine now, and no one can take him from me? Or is it," her voicedropped to an awed whisper, "that--I--don't----"
She broke off as though afraid to say all she feared. Dave lit his pipeand smoked slowly and thoughtfully. He had gone through his ordeallistening to her, and now felt that he could face anything withoutgiving his own secret away. He must reassure her. He must remove thedoubt in her mind, for, in his quiet, reasoning way, he told himselfthat all her future happiness was at stake.
"No, it's not that, Betty," he said earnestly. "It's not that you lovehim less. It's just that for all that year you've thought and thoughtand hoped about it--till there's nothing more to it," he added lamely."You see, it's the same with all things. Realization is nothing. It'sall in the anticipation. You wait, little girl. When things are fixed,and Parson Tom has said 'right,' you'll--why, you'll just be thehappiest little bit of a girl in Malkern. That's sure."
Betty lifted her eyes to his ugly face and looked straight into thekindly eyes. Just for one impulsive moment she reached out and tookhold of his knotty hand and squeezed it.
"Dave, you are the dearest man in the world. You are the kindest andbest," she cried with unusual emotion. "I wonder----" and she turnedaway to hide the tears that had suddenly welled up into her troubledeyes.
But Dave had seen them, and he dared not trust himself to speak. He satdesperately still and sucked at his pipe, emitting great clouds ofsmoke till the pungent fumes bit his tongue.
Then relief came from an unexpected quarter. There was a sharpcrackling of bush just above where they sat and the scrunch of crushingpine cones trodden under foot, and Jim Truscott stepped on to thebridge.
"Ah, here you are at last. My word, but I had a job to find you."
His tone was light and easy, but his usually smiling face was clouded.Betty sprang to her feet.
"What is it, Jim?" she demanded, searching his face. "Something iswrong. I know it is."
Jim seated himself directly in front of Dave, who now watched him withadded interest. He now noticed several things in the boy he did notremember having observed before. The face in repose, or rather withoutthe smile it usually wore, bore signs of weakness about the mouth. Thewhole of the lower part of it lacked the imprint of keen decision.There was something almost effeminate about the mould of his full lips,something soft and yielding--even vicious. The rest of his face wasgood, and even intellectual. He was particularly handsome, with crispcurling hair of a light brown that closely matched his large expressiveeyes. His tall athletic figure was strangely at variance with theintellectual cast of his face and head. But what Dave most noticed werethe distinct lines of dissipation about his eyes. And he wondered howit was he had never seen them before. Perhaps it was that he so rarelysaw Jim without his cheery smile. Perhaps, now that Betty had told himwhat had taken place, his observation was closer, keener.
"What is it, Jim?" He added his voice to Betty's inquiry. Jim's facebecame gloomier. He turned to the girl, who had resumed her seat atDave's side.
"Have you told him?" he asked, and for a moment his eyes brightenedwith a shadow of their old smile.
The girl nodded, and Dave answered for her.
"She's told me enough to know you're the luckiest fellow in the RedSand Valley," he said kindly.
Jim glanced up into the girl's face with all the passion of hisyouthful heart shining in his handsome eyes.
"Yes, I am, Dave--in that way," he said. Then his smile faded out andwas replaced by a brooding frown. "But all the luck hasn't come my way.I've talked to Parson Tom."
"Ah!" Dave's ejaculation was ominous.
Suddenly Jim exploded, half angrily, half pettishly, like adisappointed schoolboy.
"Betty, I've got to go away. Your uncle says so. He asked me all aboutmy mill, what my profits were, and all that. I told him honestly. Iknow I'm not doing too well. He said I wasn't making enough to keep anigger servant on. He told me that until I could show him an income of$2,500 a year there was to be no talk of engagement. What is more, hesaid he couldn't have me philandering about after you until there was areasonable prospect of that income. We talked and argued, but he wasfirm. And in the end he advised me, if I were really in earnest andserious, to go right away, take what capital I had, and select a newand rising country to start in. He pointed out that there was not roomenough here for two in the lumbering business; that Dave, here,complained of the state of trade, so what chance could I possibly havewithout a tithe of his resources. Finally, he told me to
go and thinkout a plan, talk it over with you, and then tell him what I had decidedupon. So here I am, and----"
"So am I," added Betty.
"And as I am here as well," put in Dave, "let's talk it over now. Whereare you thinking of going?"
"Seems to me the Yukon is the place. There's a big rush going on.There's great talk of fabulous fortunes there."
"Yes, fabulous," said Dave dryly. "It's a long way. A big fare. You'llfind yourself amongst all the scum and blacklegs of this continent.You'll be up against every proposition known to the crook. You'll gettainted. Why not do some ranching? Somewhere around here, towardEdmonton."
Jim shook his head gloomily.
"I haven't nearly enough capital."
"Maybe I could manage it for you," said Dave thoughtfully. "I mean itas a business proposition," he added hastily.
Jim's face cleared, and his ready smile broke out like sunshine after asummer storm.
"Would you?" he cried. "Yes, a business proposition. Business interest.I know the very place," he went on ardently. "Betty, wouldn't that bebully? How would you like to be a rancher's wife?"
But his spirits quickly received a damper. Betty shook her head.
"No, Jim. Not at Dave's expense." Then she turned to the man who hadmade the offer. "No, no, Dave, old friend. Jim and I know you. This isnot business from your point of view. You added that to disguise yourkindly intention."
"But----" Dave began to protest.
But Betty would have none of it.
"This is a debate," she said, with a brightness she did not feel, "andI am speaking. Jim," she turned gently to her lover, "we'll start fairand square with the world. You must do as uncle says. And you can doit. Do it yourself--yourself unaided. God will help you--surely. Youare clever; you have youth, health and strength. I will wait for youall my life, if necessary. You have my promise, and it is yours untilyou come back to claim me. It may be only a year or two. We must bevery, very brave. Whatever plan you decide on, if it is the Yukon, orSiberia, or anywhere else, I am content, and I will wait for you."
The girl's words were so gently spoken, yet they rang with anirrevocable decision that astonished her hearers. Dave looked into thepretty, set face. He had known her so long. He had seen her in almostevery mood, yet here was a fresh side to her character he had nevereven suspected, and the thought flashed through his mind, to whatheights of ambition might a man not soar with such a woman at his side.
Jim looked at her too. But his was a stare of amazement, and evenresentment.
"But why, Betty?" he argued sharply. "Why throw away a business offersuch as this, when it means almost certain success? Dave offered ithimself, and surely you will allow that he is a business man before allthings."
"Is he?" Betty smiled. Then she turned to the man who had made theoffer. "Dave, will you do something for me?"
"Why, yes, Betty--if it's not to go and wash up cups down there," hereplied at once, with a grin.
"No, it isn't to wash cups. It's"--she glanced quickly at Jim, who waswatching her with anything but a lover-like stare--"it's--to withdrawthat offer."
Dave removed his pipe and turned to Jim.
"That ranch business is off," he said.
Then he suddenly sat up and leant toward the younger man.
"Jim, boy, you know I wish you well," he said. "I wish you so well thatI understand and appreciate Betty's decision now, though I allow Ididn't see it at first. She's right. Parson Tom is right. I was wrong.Get right out into the world and make her a home. Get right out andshow her, and the rest of us, the stuff you're made of. You won't failif you put your back into it. And when you come back it'll be a greatday for you both. And see here, boy, so long as you run straight youcan ask me anything in the name of friendship, and I'll not fail you.Here's my hand on it."
Something of Dave's earnestness rather than the girl's quiet strengthseemed to suddenly catch hold of and lift the dejected man out of hismoodiness. His face cleared and his sunny smile broke out again. Hegripped the great hand, and enthusiasm rang in his voice.
"By God, you're right, Dave," he cried. "You're a good chap. Yes, I'llgo. Betty," he turned to the girl, "I'll go to the Yukon, where there'sgold for the seeking. I'll realize all the money I can. I won't partwith my mill. That will be my fall-back if I fail. But I won't fail.I'll make money by--no, I'll make money. And----" Suddenly, at theheight of his enthusiasm, his face fell, and the buoyant spirit droppedfrom him.
"Yes, yes," broke in Betty, anxious to see his mood last.
Jim thought for a moment while the clouds gathered on his face. Then helooked steadily at Dave.
"Dave," he said, and paused. Then he began again. "Dave--infriendship's name--I'll ask you something now. Betty here," heswallowed, as though what he had to say was very difficult. "You see, Imay be away a long time, you can never tell. Will you--will you takecare of her for me? Will you be her--her guardian, as you have alwaysbeen mine? I know I'm asking a lot, but somehow I can't leave her here,and--I know there's her uncle and aunt. But, I don't know, somehow I'dlike to think you had given me your word that she would be all right,that you were looking after her for me. Will you?"
His face and tone were both eager, and full of real feeling. Dave neverflinched as he listened to the request, yet every word cut into hisheart, lashed him till he wondered how it was Jim could not see andunderstand. He moistened his lips. He groped in his pocket for hismatches and lit one. He let it burn out, watching it until the flamenearly reached his fingers. Then he knocked his pipe out on his boot,and broke it with the force he used. Finally he looked up with a smile,and his eyes encountered Betty's.
She smiled back, and he turned to her lover, who was waiting for hisanswer.
"Sure I'll look after her--for you," he said slowly.
Jim sprang to his feet.
"I can never thank----"
But Dave cut him short.
"Don't thank me, boy," he said, preparing to return to the camp."Just--get out and do." And he left the lovers to return at theirleisure.