The Trail of the Axe: A Story of Red Sand Valley

  CHAPTER III

  AFFAIRS IN MALKERN

  Four glowing summers have gone; a fifth is dawning, driving before itsradiant splendor the dark shadows and gray monotony of winter's icypall. Malkern is a busy little town, spreading out its feelers in theway of small houses dotted about amidst the park land of the valley.Every year sees a further and further extension of its boardedsidewalks and grass-edged roadways; every year sees its populationsteadily increasing; every year sees an advancement in the architectureof its residences, and some detail displaying additional prosperity inits residents.

  Behind this steady growth of prosperity sits Dave, large, quiet, butirresistible. His is the guiding hand. The tiller of the Malkern shipis in his grasp, and it travels the laid course without deviationwhatsoever. The harbor lies ahead, and, come storm or calm, he drivessteadily on for its haven.

  Thus far has the man been content. Thus far have his ambitions beensatisfied. He has striven, and gained his way inch by inch; but withthat striving has grown up in him a desire such as inevitably comes tothe strong and capable worker. A steady success creates a desire toachieve a master-stroke, whereby the fruit which hitherto he has beencontent to pluck singly falls in a mass into his lap. And therein liesthe human nature which so often upsets the carefully trained anddrilled method of the finest tempered brain.

  Dave saw his goal looming. He saw clearly that all that he had workedfor, hoped for, could be gained at one stroke. That one stroke meantcapturing the great government contract for the lumber required forbuilding the new naval docks. It was a contract involving millions ofdollars, and, with all the courage with which his spirit was laden, hemeant to attempt the capture. His plans had been silently laid. Nodetail had been forgotten, no pains spared. Night and day histhoughtful brain had worked upon his scheme, and now had come that timewhen he must sit back and wait for the great moment. Nor did this greatmoment depend on him, and therein lay the uncertainty, the gamble sodear to the human heart.

  His scheme had been confided to only three people, and these were withhim now, sitting on the veranda of the Rev. Tom Chepstow's house. Thehouse stood on a slightly rising ground facing out to the east, whencea perfect view of the wide-spreading valley was obtained. It was amodest enough place, but trim and carefully kept. Parson Tom's stipendwas so limited and uncertain that luxury was quite impossible; a rigidfrugality was the ruling in his small household.

  It was Saturday. The day's work was over, and the family were watchingthe sunset and awaiting the hour for supper. The parson was luxuriatingin a pipe in a well-worn deck-chair at one extremity of the deep,wild-cucumber-covered veranda. Dave sat near him; Mary Chepstow, theparson's wife, was crocheting a baby's woolen jacket, stoutlycomfortable in a leather armchair; while Betty, a little more mature infigure, a little quieter in manner, but even prettier and more charmingto look at than she was on the day of her picnic nearly five years ago,occupied a seat near the open French window, ready to attend at amoment's notice to the preparing of supper.

  Betty had been silent for quite a while. She was staring withintrospective gaze out in the direction of the railroad depot. The twomen had been discussing the best means of raising the funds for thebuilding of a new church, aided by a few impracticable suggestions fromMrs. Chepstow, who had a way of counting her stitches aloud in themidst of her remarks. Suddenly Betty turned to her uncle, whose lean,angular frame was grotesquely hunched up in his deck-chair.

  "Will old Mudley bring the mail over if the train does come in thisevening?" she inquired abruptly.

  The parson shook his head. His lean, clean-shaven face lit with aquizzical smile as he glanced over at his niece.

  "Why should he?" he replied. "He never does bring mail round. Are youexpecting a letter--from him?"

  There was no self-consciousness in the girl's manner as she replied.There was not even warmth.

  "Oh, no; I was wondering if I should get one from Maud Hardwig. Shepromised to write me how Lily's wedding went off in Regina. It is anuisance about the strike. But it's only the plate-layers, isn't it;and it only affects the section where they are constructing east ofWinnipeg?"

  Her uncle removed his pipe.

  "Yes. But it affects indirectly the whole system. You see, they won'tput on local mails from Regina. They wait for the eastern mail to comethrough. By the way, how long is it since you heard from Jim?"

  Betty had turned away and was watching the vanishing point of therailway track, where it entered the valley a couple of miles away.Dave's steady eyes turned upon her. But she didn't answer at once, andher uncle had to call her attention.

  "Betty!"

  "Oh, I'm sorry, uncle," she replied at once. "I was dreaming. When didI hear? Oh, nearly nine months ago."

  Mary Chepstow looked up with a start.

  "Nine months? Gracious, child--there, I've done it wrong."

  Bending over her work she withdrew her hook and started to unravel thechain she was making.

  "Yes," Betty went on coldly. "Nine months since I had a letter. ButI've heard indirectly."

  Her uncle sat up.

  "You never told me," he said uneasily.

  The girl's indifference was not without its effect on him. She nevertalked of Jim Truscott now. And somehow the subject was rarely broachedby any of them. Truscott had nominally gone away for two or threeyears, but they were already in the fifth year since his departure, andthere was as yet no word of his returning. Secretly her uncle wasrather pleased at her silence on the subject. He augured well from it.He did not think there was to be any heart-breaking over the matter. Hehad never sanctioned any engagement between them, but he had beenprepared to do so if the boy turned up under satisfactory conditions.Now he felt that it was time to take action in the matter. Betty wasnearly twenty-seven, and--well, he did not want her to spend her lifewaiting for a man who showed no sign of returning.

  "I didn't see the necessity," she said quietly. "I heard of him throughDave."

  The parson swung round on the master of the mills. His keen face wasalert with the deepest interest.

  "You, Dave?" he exclaimed.

  The lumberman stirred uneasily, and Mary Chepstow let her work lie idlein her lap.

  "Dawson--my foreman, you know--got a letter from Mansell. You rememberMansell? He acted as Jim's foreman at his mill. A fine sawyer,Mansell----"

  "Yes, yes." Parson Tom's interest made him impatient.

  "Well, you remember that Mansell went with Jim when he set out for theYukon. They intended to try their luck together. Partners, of course.Well, Mansell wrote Dawson he was sick to death of worrying things outup there. He said he'd left Jim, but did not state why. He asked him ifmy mill was going strong, and would there be a job for him if he cameback. He said that Jim was making money now. He had joined a man namedBroncho Bill, a pretty hard citizen, and in consequence he was doingbetter. How he was making money he didn't say. But he finished up hisremarks about the boy by saying he'd leave him to tell his own story,as he had no desire to put any one away."

  Mrs. Chepstow offered no comment, but silently picked up her work andwent on with it. Her husband sat back in his chair, stretching his longmuscular legs, and folding his hands behind his head. Betty displayednot the least interest in Dave's haltingly told story.

  The silence on the veranda was ominous. Chepstow began to refill hispipe, furtively watching his niece's pretty profile as she sat lookingdown the valley. It was his wife who broke the oppressive silence.

  "I can't believe badly--three treble in the adjacent hole"--shemuttered, referring to her pattern book, "of him. I always likedhim--five chain."

  "So do I," put in Dave with emphasis.

  Betty glanced quickly into his rugged face.

  "You don't believe the insinuations of that letter?" she asked himsharply.

  "I don't."

  Dave's reply was emphatic. Betty smiled over at him. Then she jumped upfrom her seat and pointed down the track.

  "There's the mail," she cried. Then she c
ame to her aunt's side andlaid a hand coaxingly on her shoulder. "Will you see to supper, dear,if I go down for the mail?"

  Mrs. Chepstow would not trust herself to speak, she was in the midst ofa complicated manipulation of the pattern she was working, so shecontented herself with a nod, and Betty was off like the wind. The twomen watched her as she sped down the hard red sand trail, and neitherspoke until a bend in the road hid her from view.

  "She's too good a girl, Dave," Chepstow said with almost militantwarmth. "She's not going to be made a fool of by--by----"

  "She won't be made a fool of by any one," Dave broke in with equalwarmth. "There's no fear of it, if I'm any judge," he added. "I don'tthink you realize that girl's spirit, Tom. Here, I'll tell yousomething I've never told anybody. When Jim went away Betty came to meand asked me to let her study my mills. She wanted to learn all thebusiness of 'em. All the inside of the management of 'em. If I'd havelet her she'd have learnt how to run the saws. And do you know why shedid it? I'll tell you. Because she thought Jim might come back broke,and he and she together could start up his old mill again, so as to winthrough. That's Betty. Can you beat it? That girl has made up her mindto a certain line of action, and she'll see it through, no matter whather feelings may be. No word of yours, or mine, will turn her from herpurpose. She'll wait for Jim."

  "Yes, and waste the best of her life," exclaimed Mrs. Chepstow. "One,two, three--turn."

  Dave smiled over at the rotund figure crocheting so assiduously.Although Mary Chepstow was over forty her face still retained itsyouthful prettiness. The parson laughed. He generally laughed at hiswife's views upon anything outside of her small household and the careof the sick villagers. But it was never an unkind laugh. Just a large,tolerant good-nature, a pronounced feature in his character. ParsonTom, like many kindly men, was hasty of temper, even fiery, and being aman of considerable athletic powers, this characteristic had, on morethan one occasion, forcibly brought some recalcitrant member of hisuncertain-tempered flock to book, and incidentally acquired for him thesobriquet of "the fighting parson."

  "I don't know about wasting the best of her life," he said. "Betty hasnever wasted her life. Look at the school she's got now. And, mark you,she's done it all herself. She has three teachers under her. She hasnegotiated all the finance of the school herself. She got thegovernment by the coat-tails and dragged national support out of it.Why, she's a wonder. No, no, not waste, Mary. Let her wait if shechooses. We won't interfere. I only hope that when Jim does come backhe'll be a decent citizen. If he isn't, I'd bet my last cent Betty willknow how to deal with him."

  "She'll sure give him up, if he isn't," said Dave with conviction.

  Mary looked up, her round blue eyes twinkling.

  "Dave knows Betty better than we do, Tom. I'd almost think---- I'm notsure I like this shade of pink," she digressed, examining her woolclosely. "Er--what was I saying? Oh, yes--I'd almost think he'd made aspecial study of her."

  A deep flush spread slowly over Dave's ugly face, and he tried to hideit by bending over his pipe and examining the inside of the bowl.

  Parson Tom promptly changed the subject. He shook his head and turnedaway to watch the ruddy extravagance of the sunset in the valley.

  "Dave has got far too much to think of in his coming governmentcontract to bother with a girl like Betty. By the way, when do youexpect to hear the result of your tender, Dave?"

  "Any time."

  The lumberman's embarrassment had vanished at the mention of hiscontract. His eyes lit, and the whole of his plain features weresuddenly illumined. This was his life's purpose. This contract meanteverything to him. All that had gone before, all his labor, his earlystruggles, they were nothing to the store he set by this one greatscheme.

  "Good. And your chances?" There was the keenest interest in theparson's question.

  "Well, I'd say they're good. You see, that find of ours up in the hillsopens a possibility we never had before. The new docks require anenormous supply of ninety-foot timber. It's got to be ninety-footstuff. Well, we've got the timber in that new find. There's a valley ofsome thousands of acres of forest which will supply it. Tom," he wenton eagerly, "we could cut 'em hundred-and-twenty-foot logs from thatforest till the cows come home. It's the greatest proposition inlumbering. It's one of the greatest of those great primordial pineforests which are to be found in the Rockies, if one is lucky enough.At present we are the only people in Canada who can give them the stuffthey need, and enough of it. Yes, I think I'll get it. I've set thewires pulling all I know. I've cut the price. I've done everything Ican, and I think I'll get it. If I do I'll be a millionaire half adozen times over, and Malkern, and all its people, will rise to animmense prosperity. I must get it! And having got it, I must push itthrough successfully."

  Mary and her husband were hanging on the lumberman's words, carriedaway by his enthusiasm. There was that light of battle in his eyes, thefirm setting of his heavy under-jaw, which they knew and understood sowell. To them he was the personification of resolution. To them hispersonality was irresistible.

  "Of course you'll push it through successfully," Tom nodded.

  "Yes, yes. I shall. I must," Dave said, stirring his great body in hischair with a restlessness which spoke of his nervous tension. "But it'sthis time limit. You see, it's a government contract. They want thesenaval docks built quickly. The whole scheme is to be rushed through.Since the Imperial Conference has decided that each colony is to buildits own share of the navy for imperial defense, in view of the Europeansituation, that building is to be begun at once. They are laying downfive ships this year, and, by the end of the year, they are to havedocks ready for the laying down of six more. My contract is for thelumber for those docks. You see? My contract must be completed beforewinter closes down, without fail. I have guaranteed that. Well, as I amthe only lumberman in Canada that can supply this heavy lumber, if theydo not give it to me they will have to go to the States for it. Yes,"he added, with something like a sigh, "I think I shall get it.But--this time limit! If I fail it will break me, and, in the crash,Malkern will go too."

  Mary Chepstow sighed with emotion. Her crochet was forgotten.

  "You won't fail," she murmured, her eyes glistening. "You can't!"

  "Malkern isn't going to tumble about our ears, old friend," Parson Tomsaid with quiet assurance.

  Dave had fallen back into his lounging attitude and puffed at his pipe.

  "No," he said. Then he pointed down the trail in the direction of thedepot. "There's Betty coming along in a hurry with Jenkins Mudley."

  All eyes turned to look. Betty was almost running beside the tall thinfigure of the operator and postmaster of Malkern. They came up with afinal rush, the man flourishing a telegram at Dave. Betty was carryinga number of letters.

  "I just thought I'd bring this along myself," Mudley grinned."Everything's been delayed through the strike down east. This, too.Felt I'd hate to let any one else hand it to you, Dave."

  Dave snatched at the tinted envelope and tore it open, while Betty,nodding at her uncle and aunt, her eyes dancing with delight, madefrantic signs to them. But they took no notice of her, keeping theireyes fixed on the towering form of the master of the mills. Dave wasthe calmest man present. He read the message over twice, and thendeliberately thrust it into his pocket. Then, as he returned to hisseat, he said--"I've got my contract, folks."

  "Hurrah!" cried Betty, no longer able to control herself. The operatorhad previously imparted the fact to her. Then, with a jump, she was onthe veranda and flung some letters into her uncle's lap, retaining onefor herself that had already been read. The next moment she had seizedboth of Dave's great hands, and was wringing them with all her heartand soul shining in her eyes.

  "I'm so--so glad, I don't know what I'm doing or saying," she cried,and then collapsed on her uncle's knee.

  Dave laughed quietly, but her aunt, her face belying her words,reproved her gently.

  "Betty," she said warningly as the girl scrambled to her feet
, "don'tget excited. I think you'd better go and see to supper. I see you gotyour letter. How did the wedding go off?"

  Betty was leaning against one of the veranda posts.

  "Oh, yes," she said indifferently. "I'd forgotten my letter. It's fromJim. He's coming home."

  Her aunt suddenly picked up her work. The parson began to open hisletters. Dave's eyes, until that moment smiling, suddenly becameserious. The girl's news had a strangely damping effect. Dave clearedhis throat as though about to speak. But he remained silent.

  Then Betty moved across to the door.

  "I'll go and get supper," she said quietly, and vanished into the house.