The Homesteaders: A Novel of the Canadian West

  CHAPTER XIX

  PRISONERS OF FATE

  Beulah returned to the house to minister to her brother, but Mrs.Arthurs stopped her on the stairs.

  "Your mother knows," she said. "They are both in the room withAllan."

  Her first impulse was to rush in and complete the family circle, butsome fine sense restrained her. For distraction she plunged into thetask of preparing breakfast.

  At length they came down. Beulah saw them on the stairs, and knewthat the gulf was bridged.

  "Allan is better," her mother said, when she saw the girl. "He hasasked for you." And the next minute Beulah was on her knees by thewhite bed, caressing the locks that would fall over the paleforehead.

  "How did I get here, Beulah?" he whispered. "How did we all get here?What has happened?"

  "You have been hurt, Allan," she said. "You have been badly hurt, butyou are going to get well again. When you are stronger we will talkabout it, but at present you must be still and rest."

  "Lie still and rest," he repeated. "How good it is to lie still andrest!"

  Later in the day the pain in his wound began to give much discomfort,but he was able to swallow some porridge with pure cream, and hisbreath came easily. His father stayed about the house, coming everylittle while to look in upon son and daughter, and as Allan's greatconstitution gave evidence of winning the fight a deep happiness cameupon John Harris. He was able to sleep for a short time, and in theafternoon suggested a walk with his wife. Beulah saw that they werearm in arm as they disappeared in the trees by the river.

  "I haven't told you all yet," Harris said to her. "I have done evenworse than you suppose, but in some way it doesn't seem so badto-day. Last night I was in Gethsemane."

  It was strange to hear a word suggestive of religion from his lips.Harris had not renounced religion; he had merely been too busy forit. But this word showed that his mind had been travelling back overold tracks.

  "And to-day we are in Olivet," she answered, tenderly. "What mattersif--if everything's all right?"

  "If only Allan--," he faltered.

  "Allan will get well," she said. "When he could withstand the firstshock he will get well. Of course he must have attention, but he isin the right place for that."

  "The Arthurses are wonderful people," he ventured, after a pause."Mary, they have found something that we missed."

  "But we have found it now John. We are going to take time to live.That is where we made our mistake."

  There was another pause, broken only by the rustle of leaves and therushing of the river.

  "Beulah was right," he said, at last. "Beulah is a wonderful girl,and a beautiful."

  "She will not be wanting to go back home with us," said the mother.

  "So much the better. Mary, Mary, we have no home to go back to!"

  She looked at him with a sudden puzzled, half-frightened expression."No home, John? No home? You don't mean that?"

  He nodded and turned his face away. "I said I hadn't told you all,"he managed at length..."I sold the farm."

  She was sitting on a fallen log, very trim, and grey, and small, butshe seemed suddenly to become smaller and greyer still.

  "Sold the old farm," she repeated, mechanically.

  "Yes, I sold the old farm," he said again, as if finding some delightin goading himself with the repetition. "I thought I saw a chance tomake a lot of money if only I had some ready cash to turn in my hand,and I sold it. I thought I would be rich and then I would be happy.But they took the money last night. They found out about it some way,and took it, and nearly killed our boy. Mary, you worked hard allyour life, and to-day you have nothing. I brought you to this."

  She looked with unseeing eyes through the trees at the fast-runningwater. Her thoughts were with the old home, with the ideals they hadcherished when they founded it, with the hardships and the sorrow,and the sickness and the pain, and the joy that had hallowed it as noother spot in all the universe--the place where their first love hadnursed them in its tenderness, where they had sat hand in hand in thegathering dusk, drinking the ripple of the water and the whirr of thewild duck's wing; where she had gone down into the valley of theshadow and their little children had come into their arms. And it wasgone. He had sold it. Without so much as by-your-leave from thepartner of his labours and his life he had sold it and left themdestitute.

  She saw it all, and for the moment her heart shrank within her. Butshe saw, too, the futility of it all. She might have upbraided him;she might have returned in part the sorrows he had forced upon her,for he was wounded now and could not strike back. But she rose andstretched her arms toward him.

  "You said I had nothing, John. You are wrong. I have you. I haveeverything!"

  ..."And it was to you, beloved, to you, a woman of such great soul,that I could do this thing...I should be utterly wretched...But I'mnot." He spoke slowly and deliberately, as one having ample time, andwith the diction of earlier years. "I should be scouring the valleyswith a troop of men, hunting for our money. But I'm not. It seemssuch a puny thing, it's hardly worth the while--except for thehappiness it might bring to you, and Beulah."...

  They sat long in the sunshine of the warm autumn afternoon, livingagain through sweet, long-forgotten days, and already planning fortheir future. Harris would again exercise homestead right, and withAllan to take up land alongside they should have comfort andhappiness. They would go back to the beginning; they would start overagain; and this time they would not stray from the path.

  When they returned to the house it was almost evening, and they foundthe doctor from town busy over Allan. "Would have killed nine men outof ten," he told Harris, quite frankly; "but this boy is the tenth.He's badly hurt, but he'll pull through, if we can arrest anyinfection. His constitution and his clean blood will save him."

  Before the doctor left Arthurs inquired if the police had any furtherdetails of the crime. Harris appeared to have lost interest ineverything except the members of his family.

  "Quite a mystery," said the doctor. "I understand one of the robberswas shot, and I will go on up from here to make an examination, ascoroner. To-morrow the police will bring out a jury, and a formalverdict will be returned. A systematic search will also be undertakento recover the money, as I understand that you"--turning toHarris--"suffered a heavy financial loss in addition to the injury toyour son. Of course, it is impossible to say how many took part inthe affair, but it is not likely the outlaws numbered more than two,in which case they are both accounted for. The one captured had nomoney to speak of in his possession, but he may have cached itsomewhere, and when he sees the rope before him it will be likely tomake him talk. They seem to have a pretty straight case against him.Not only was he captured practically in the act, but they haveanother important clue. He owns up to his name frankly enough, and itseems the revolver found on the scene of the crime had his initials,'J. T.'--Jim Travers, cut in the grip. In fact, he admits therevolver is--. What's wrong, Miss Harris? Are you ill?"

  Beulah's breath had stopped at the mention of Travers' name, and shestaggered to a chair. Harris, too, was overcome.

  "We knew him down East," Beulah explained, when she had somewhatrecovered her composure. "I could not have thought it possible!"

  "I didn't think he would have carried it that far," said Harris, atlength, speaking very slowly and sadly. "Jim, Jim, you've made aworse mistake than mine."

  Mary learned of the disclosure in a few minutes, and followed Beulahupstairs.

  "You poor child!" she said, as she overtook her daughter.

  "It's not me," she shot back. "It's Jim. He must be saved, some way.It's impossible to think--I won't think it, no matter what they say!Let them find what they like!...But he's in a hole, and we've got toget him out."

  The mother shook her head with some recollection of the blindness oflove. And yet her own heart refused to accept any idea of guilt onthe part of Travers.

  "I want to be alone, mother," said Beulah. "I want to be alone, tothink. I'm going down
by the river."

  As she strode rapidly through the paths in the cotton-woods the girlgradually became conscious of one dominating impulse in her maze ofemotions. She must see Jim. She must see him at once. She must seehim alone. There were things to be said that needed--thatadmitted--no witness. She knew that. Arthurs or one of the men wouldwillingly ride to town for her, or with her, but this was a task forher alone. They must know nothing until it was over.

  Outwardly calm, but inwardly burning with, impatience, she returnedto the house and went through the form of eating supper. Then shedallied through the evening, giving her attention to Allan until allthe household, except her mother, had gone to bed.

  "I will watch with Allan to-night," her mother said. "You need restmore than I do. Lie down in my room and try to get some sleep."

  Her mother kissed her, and Beulah went to her room. But not to sleep.When silence filled all the house she slipped gently down the stairs,through the front yard, and into the corral. Fortunately her horsehad been stabled. She harnessed him with some difficulty in thedarkness, and threw herself into the saddle. For a hundred yards shewalked him; then she drew him off the hard road on to the grass andloosed him into a trot. Half a mile from the house she was swingingat a hard gallop down the dark valley. The soft night wind pressedits caresses on her flushed cheek, but her heart beat fast withexcitement and impatience, and she galloped the foaming horse to thelimit of his speed. More than once even the sure-footed ranger almostfell over the treacherous badger-holes, but she had learned to ridelike the saddle itself, and she merely tightened the rein and urgedhim faster.

  Two hours of such violence were a safety-valve to her emotions, andboth horse and rider were content to enter the little town at a walk.Here and there a coal-oil lamp shed its cube of yellow light throughan unblinded window, but the streets were deserted and in utterdarkness. She had now reached the point at which her general plan tosee Travers must be worked out into detail, and she allowed the horsehis time as she turned the matter over in her mind. She had no doubtthat if she found Sergeant Grey he would permit an interview, but sheshrank from making the request. She might do so as a last resort; butif possible she meant to seek out her lover--for so she thought ofhim--for herself. She knew that the jails in the smaller towns werecrude affairs, where the prisoner was locked up and usually leftwithout a guard. The first thing was to find the jail.

  At a crossing her horse almost collided with a boy returning homefrom some late errand. "Oh, Mr. Boy," she said. "Come here, please, Iwant you to help me."

  The boy approached hesitatingly, as though suspicious that some kindof trick were being played on him.

  "Can you tell me," she said, in a low voice, "where the jail is? I'llgive you a dollar if you do."

  "There ain't no jail here, miss," he replied frankly, evidentlysatisfied that the question was bona fide. "There's a coop, but youwouldn't give a dime to see it. It's just a kind of a shed."

  "That's just what I want to find," she continued, "and I'll give youa dollar to show me where it is."

  "Easy pickin'," said the boy. "Steer your horse along this way."

  He led her through the main part of the town, to where a one-storeybuilding, somewhat apart, stood aloof in the darkness.

  "Some coop, ain't it?" said her guide, with boyish irony. "My dadsays that's what we git fer votin' against the Gover'ment. The firetruck's in the front end, an' there's a cell with bars behind. Do youwant to see that, too?"

  "Yes, that's what I want to see, but I can find it myself now, thankyou."

  "Say, miss, you better be kerful. They've got a murd'rer in therenow--Oh, say"--with a sudden change in his voice--"maybe he'ssomethin' to you? They ain't proved nothin' against him yet."

  "Yes, he's a good deal to me," she said.

  "Brother?" he demanded, with disconcerting persistence.

  "No."

  If her eyes could have pierced the darkness she would have seen abroad smile of understanding spreading over his young face. But itwas a sympathetic smile withal. "Then I guess this dollar stands for'beat it'?" he remarked.

  "You win," she said, falling into his slang. "Also, forget it."

  "I gotchuh, miss," he said, trotting off. Then he called back throughthe darkness, "An' I hope he gits off."

  "God bless him for that," she said to herself, as she dismounted andmade her way to the back of the building. She saw the outline of adoor, which was undoubtedly locked, and further down the same wallwas a little square window, with bars on it. There appeared to beonly one cell, so there was no problem of locating the right one.

  She stole up along the wall, but the window was too high for her.Searching about the littered yard she found a square tin, such as theranchers use to carry coal-oil. Mounting this she was able to bringher face to the bars. The window was open for ventilation, and shestrained her ear, but at first could hear nothing for the tumultousbeating of her own heart. But at length she seemed to catch the soundof regular breathing from within.

  "Jim," she said, in a low voice, listening intently. But there was noresponse.

  "Jim," she repeated, a little louder. She fancied she heard a stir,and the sound of breathing seemed to cease.

  "Jim Travers!"

  "Yes!" came a quick reply. "Yes! Who is it?"

  "Come to the window, Jim."

  In a moment she saw the outline of his face through the darkness.

  "Beulah Harris," he demanded, in his quiet voice, "what are you doinghere?"

  A great happiness surged about her at the sound of his voice and thewarmth of his breath against her face. "I might ask the same, Jim,but such questions are embarrassing. Anyway, I am on the right sideof the wall."

  She saw his teeth gleam in the darkness. What a wonderful soul hewas!

  "But you shouldn't have come like this," he protested, and his voicewas serious enough. "You are compromising yourself."

  "Not I," she answered. "These bars are more inflexible than thestiffest chaperone. And I just had to see you, Jim, at once. We'vegot to get you out of here."

  "How's Allan?"

  "Getting better."

  "And your father? Pretty angry at me, I guess."

  "No, Father isn't angry any more. He's just sorry."

  "Times are changing, Beulah. But if he wound that sack around my neckin sorrow, I don't want him at it when he's cross."

  She laughed a little, mirthful ripple. Then, with sudden seriousness,"But, Jim, we shouldn't be jesting. We've got to get you out ofhere."

  "I'm not worrying, Beulah," he answered. "They seem to have the dropon me, but I know a few things they don't. Shall I tell you what Iknow?"

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "Because it would seem like arguing--like trying to prove you areinnocent. And you don't need to prove anything to me. You understand?You don't need to prove anything to me."

  She felt his eyes hot on her face through the darkness. "You don'tneed to prove anything to me," she repeated.

  For a moment he held himself in restraint. The words were simpleenough, but he knew what they meant. And this country girl, whom hehad learned to like on her father's farm, had grown larger and largerin his scheme of things with the passing weeks. At first he had triedto dissuade himself, to think of it only as a passing fancy, and toremember that he was engaged in the serious business of earningenough money to build a shack on a homestead, and buy a team and aplough, and a cow and some bits of furniture. It would be a plain,simple life, but Beulah was accustomed--What had Beulah to do withit? He scolded himself for permitting her intrusion, and turned hismind to the mellow fields where he would follow the plough until thesun dipped into the Rockies, And then he would turn the horses loosefor food and rest, and in the shack the jack-pine knots would befrying in the kitchen stove, and the little table would be set, andBeulah--

  And now this girl had come to him, while he was under the shadow, andbecause the shadow would not let him speak, and because her soulwould not be bound by custom, and beca
use her love could not beconcealed, she had let him know.

  "Have you thought it over, Beulah?" he said. "I have no right, asmatters stand, to give or take a promise. I have no right--"

  "You have no right to say 'as matters stand' as though matters hadanything to do with it. They haven't Jim. No, I have not thought itover. This isn't something you think. It is something that comes toyou when you don't think, or in spite of your thinking. But it'sreal--more real than anything you can touch or handle--more real thanthese bars, which are not so close as you seem to fancy--"

  And then, between the iron rods across the open window, his lips methers.

  ..."And you were seeking life, Beulah," he said at last. "Life thatyou should live in your own way, for the joy of living it. And--"

  "And I have found it," she answered, in a voice low and thrillingwith tenderness. "I have found it in you. We shall work out ourdestiny together, but we must keep our thought on the destiny, ratherthan the work. Oh, Jim, I'm just dying to see your homestead--ourhomestead. And are there two windows? We must have two windows,Jim--one in the east for the sun, and one in the west for themountains."

  "Our house is all window, as yet," he answered gaily. "And thereisn't as much as a fence post to break the view."

  "What are you doing here?" said a sharp voice, and Beulah felt asthough her tin box were suddenly sinking into a great abyss. Sheturned with a little gasp. Sergeant Grey stood within arm's length ofher.

  "Oh, it's Sergeant Grey," she said, with a tone of relief. "I amBeulah Harris. And I've just been getting myself engaged to yourprisoner here. Oh, it's not so awful as you think. You see, we kneweach other in Manitoba, and we've really been engaged for quite awhile, but he didn't know it until to-night."

  For a moment the policeman retained his reserve. He remembered thegirl, who had already cost him a deflected glance, and he reproachedhimself that he could doubt her even as he doubted, but how could heknow that she had not been passing in firearms or planning a release?

  "What she says is right, sergeant," said Travers. "She has justbroken the news to me, and I'm the happiest man in Canada, jail or nojail."

  There was no mistaking the genuine ring in Travers' voice, and thepoliceman was convinced. "Most extraordinary," he remarked, atlength, "but entirely natural on your part, I must say. Icongratulate you, sir." The officer had not forgotten the girl whoclung to his arm the morning before. "Hang me, sir," he continued,"there's luck everywhere but in the Mounted Police."

  He unlocked the door of the cell. "I ought to search you," he said toBeulah, "but if you'll give me your word that you have no firearms,weapons, knives, or matches, I'll admit you to this--er--drawing-roomfor a few minutes."

  "Nothing worse than a hat-pin," she assured him. "But you must come,too," she added, placing her hand on his arm. "You must understandthat."

  He accompanied her into the cell, but remained in the doorway, wherehe suddenly developed an interest in astronomy. At length he turnedquickly and faced in to the darkness.

  "Speaking, not as an officer, but as a fellow-man, I wish you weredamned well--that is, very well--out of this, old chap," he said toTravers.

  "Oh, that's all right," Jim assured him. "You couldn't help taking meup, of course, and for all your kindness you would quite cheerfullyhang me if it fell to your lot. But it isn't going to."

  "I stand ready to be of any service to you that is permissible."

  "The inquest is to be to-morrow, isn't it?" asked Beulah. "I thinkyou should be at the inquest, Jim."

  "That's right," said the sergeant. "You may throw some new light onthe case."

  "I've just one request," said Travers. "You know Gardiner?"

  "I've heard of him."

  "Have him at the inquest."

  "As a juror or witness?"

  "It doesn't matter, but have him there."

  "All right. I'll see to it. And now, Miss Harris, if you will permitme, I will bring your horse for you."

  Grey took a conveniently long time to find the horse, but at last heappeared in the door. Beulah released her fingers from Jim's andswung herself into the saddle.

  "Sergeant Grey," she said, "I think you're the second best man in theworld. Good night."

  The sergeant's military shoulders came up squarer still, and he stoodat attention as she rode into the darkness.