A Damaged Reputation

  XXVIII.

  BROOKE DOES NOT COME BACK.

  Devine went home a little earlier than usual after Saxton left him, anddusk was not far away when he sat recounting the affair in his wife'sdrawing-room. She listened with keen appreciation, and then looked up athim.

  "But where is Brooke?" she said.

  Devine smiled. "I guess he's buying mining tools. You can't keep thatman out of a hardware store," he said. "I wanted to bring him back, buthe was feeling better, and made up his mind to go out on the Atlanticexpress. He asked me to make his excuses, as he had fixed to meet anAmerican machinery agent, and wasn't quite sure he could get round."

  "Perhaps it is just as well," said Mrs. Devine, who appeared reflective."Do you think you are wise in encouraging that man to come here, Grant?"

  "I wouldn't exactly call it that. I brought him. He didn't want tocome."

  "You are, of course, quite sure?" and Mrs. Devine's smile implied thatshe, at least, was a trifle incredulous. "Hasn't it struck you thatBarbara----"

  "So far as I've noticed lately, Barbara didn't seem in any way pleasedwith him."

  Mrs. Devine made a little impatient gesture. "That," she said, "isexactly what I don't like. It's a significant sign. Barbara wouldn'thave been angry with him--if it was not worth while."

  "You said nothing when he came to the ranch, while we were at the mine."

  "The man was pleasant company, and there was, it seemed to me, verylittle risk of a superior workman attracting Barbara's fancy."

  Devine laughed. "I guess I was of no great account when you married me."

  "Pshaw!" said Mrs. Devine. "Anyway, you hadn't plotted to steal a minefrom the people I belonged to."

  Devine's eyes twinkled. "It showed his grit, and 'most anything isconsidered square in a mining deal. Besides, there were the six thousanddollars Slocum took out of him."

  "I am quite aware that such transactions are evidently not subject tothe ordinary code, but, seriously, if you would be content with HarfordBrooke as my brother-in-law, it is considerably more than I would be. Wedon't even know why he left the Old Country."

  "Well," said Devine, drily, "I guess I have a notion. I've been findingout a good deal about him. But get on with your objections."

  "Barbara has a good many dollars."

  "So has Brooke. You needn't worry about that point."

  Mrs. Devine's astonishment was very apparent. "Then whatever is heworking at the mine for--and why didn't you tell me before?"

  "I guess it's because that kind of thing pleases him, and, anyway, it'sonly since last mail came in I knew."

  "You're quite sure, now?"

  "I'll tell you what I heard. There was a man who bought up our stock inEngland when nobody else seemed to have any use for it. The directorswanted to know a little about him, and they found it was a trustaccount. He was taking up the stock for another man, who had been leftquite a few dollars, and that man was called Harford Brooke. Theexecutor, it seems, told somebody that the man he was buying for washere. Now, it's not likely there are two of them in this part ofCanada."

  The door, as it happened, was not closed, and Mrs. Devine was too intentto hear it swing open a little further. "The dollars," she said, "are byno means the most important consideration, but still----"

  She stopped abruptly at a sound, and then turned round with a littlegasp, for Barbara stood just inside the room. Then there was adisconcerting silence for a moment or two, until the girl glanced atDevine.

  "Yes," she said, quietly. "I heard. When did Mr. Brooke buy that stock?"

  Devine understood the question, and once more the twinkle crept into hiseyes.

  "Well," he said, "it was quite a while before they found the silver. Idon't know what he did it for. Now, I guess I've been here longer than Imeant to stay. You'll excuse me, Katty."

  He seemed in haste to get away, and when the door closed behind him thetwo who were left looked at one another curiously. Mrs. Devine wasevidently embarrassed.

  "I suppose," she said, drily, "you don't know why Brooke bought thoseshares, either?"

  "I think I do," said Barbara, with unusual quietness, though the colorwas very visible in her cheeks. "He had a reason----"

  She stopped abruptly, and there was once more an awkward silence, untilshe made a little impulsive gesture.

  "Oh!" she said, sharply now, "I feel horribly mean. He stayed therethrough the winter when they had scarcely anything to eat, and boughtthat stock when nobody else would have it or believed in the Dayspring.Then he risked his life to save the Canopus, and when he came down, wornout and ill, I had only hard words for him."

  "Well," said Mrs. Devine, drily, "the sensation is probably good foryou. You don't seem to remember that he also tried to jump the mine."

  Barbara turned towards her with a little sparkle in her eyes. "Haveyou--never--done anything that was wrong?"

  Mrs. Devine naturally saw the point of this, but while she consideredher answer, Barbara, who had a good deal to think of, and scarcely feltequal to any further conversation just then, abruptly turned away.Glancing at her watch, she went straight to a room, from the window ofwhich she could see the road to the depot, for she knew the Atlanticexpress would shortly start, and she had not been told that Brooke wasnot coming back. Exactly what she meant to say to him she did not know,but she felt she could not let him go without, at least, a slightexpression of her appreciation of what he had done. She knew that hewould value it, and that it would go far to blot out the memory of pastunkindness. He had certainly meant to jump the Canopus, and deceived hershamefully, which was far harder to forgive, for the realization of thefact that she had bestowed rather more than friendliness upon a man whowas unworthy of it had its sting, but she scarcely remembered that now.He had, it appeared, since then, sacrificed his fortune and broken downhis strength, and that, considering the purpose which she fancied hadimpelled him, went a long way to condone his offences.

  He, however, did not appear on the road, as she had expected; and shegrew a trifle anxious when the tolling of a bell came up from the depotby the wharf as the big locomotive backed the long cars in. It was alsosignificant that she did not notice that the room, which had no stove init, was very cold. Then looking down she saw men with valises passacross an opening between the roofs and express wagons lurching alongthe uneven road. The train would start very soon, and there was at leastone admission she must make, but the minutes were slipping by and stillBrooke did not come. The man, it almost appeared, was content to go awaywithout seeing her, though she felt compelled to admit that in view ofwhat had passed at their last meeting this was not altogetherastonishing. Still, the fact that he could do so hurt her, and shewaited in a state of painful tension. A very few minutes would sufficefor him to climb the hill, and even if there was no opportunity for anexplanation, which now appeared very probable, a smile or even a glancemight go a long way to set matters right.

  The few minutes, however, slipped by as the rest had done, until at lastthe locomotive bell slowly clanged again, and the hoot of a whistle cameup the hillside and was flung back by the pines. Then a puff of whitesmoke rolled up from the wharf, and Barbara turned away from the windowwith the crimson in her face as the cars swept through an openingbetween the clustering roofs. The train had gone, and the man would notknow how far she had relented towards him. She could settle to nothingduring the rest of the evening, and scarcely slept that night, thoughshe naturally did not mention the fact when she and Mrs. Devine met atbreakfast next morning. Instead, she took out a letter she had receiveda week earlier.

  "It's from Hetty Hume, and the English mail goes out to-day," she said."She suggests that I should come over and spend a few months with her. Ireally think we did what we could for her when she was here with theMajor."

  Mrs. Devine took the letter. "I fancy she wants you to go," she said."She mentions that she has asked you several times already."

  Barbara appeared reflective. "So she has," she said. "In fact, I thinkI'll
go. The change will do me good."

  "Well," said Mrs. Devine, "I suppose you can afford it, but if youindulge in many changes of that kind you're not going to have very muchof a dowry."

  "Do you think I need one?"

  Mrs. Devine laughed as she glanced at her, but her face grew thoughtfulagain. "Perhaps in your case it wouldn't be necessary, and though it isa very long way, I fancy that you might do worse than go to England andstay there while Hetty is willing to keep you."

  A little flush crept into Barbara's cheek, but she said quietly, "Ithink I'll start on Saturday."

  She did so, and it came about one night while the big train shetravelled by swept across the rolling levels of the Assiniboian prairiethat Brooke sat in his shanty at the Dayspring with Jimmy, who had justcome down from the range, standing in front of him. The freighter hadstill now and then a difficulty in bringing them provisions in, andwhenever Jimmy found the persistent plying of drill and hammer pall uponhim he would go out and look out for a deer, though it was not alwaysthat he came back with one. On this occasion he brought a somewhatalarming tale instead.

  "A big snow-slide must have come along since I was up on that slopebefore, and gouged out quite a canyon for itself," he said. "Anyway, ifit wasn't a snow-slide it was a cloudburst or a waterspout. They happenaround when folks don't want them now and then."

  "Come to the point," said Brooke. "I'm sufficiently acquainted with themeteorological perversities of the country."

  "Slinging names at them isn't much use. I've tried it, and any oneraised here could give you points at the thing. Now before I came toQuatomac I was staying up at the Tillicum ranch, and I'd just taken anew twelve-dollar pair of gum-boots off one night when there was awaterspout up the valley that washed me and Jardine out of the house. Wesailed along until we struck a convenient pine, and sat in it most ofthe night while the flood went down. Then I hadn't any gum-boots, andJardine couldn't find his house."

  "I believe you told me you went down the river on a door on the lastoccasion," Brooke said, wearily. "Still, it doesn't greatly matter. Whathas all this to do with the hollow the snow-slide made in the range?"

  "Well," said Jimmy, "I guess you know the way the big rock outcrop runsacross the foot of the valley. Now, before the snow-slide or thewaterspout came along the melting snow went down into the next hollow,and the one where the outcrop is got just enough to keep the outlet ofthe creek that comes through it open."

  "I do. Will it be an hour or more before you make it clear how thatconcerns anybody?"

  "No, sir. I'm getting right there. The snow's melting tolerably fast,and the drainage from the big peak isn't going the way it used to now.The foot of the valley's quite a nice-sized lake, and the stream haswashed most of the broke-up pines the snow brought down into the outletgully. I guess you have seen a bad lumber jam?"

  Brooke had, and he started as he recognized the significance of what washappening, for once a drifting log strikes fast in a narrow passage thestream is very apt to pile up and wedge fast those that come behind intoa tolerably efficient substitute for a dam, while when log still followslog the result is usually an inextricable confusion of interlockedtimber.

  "When the jam up broke we'd have the water and the wreckage down on themine," he said.

  "All there is of it," said Jimmy. "It would cost quite a pile of dollarsto dry the workings out."

  Brooke strode to the door and flung it open, but there was blackdarkness outside and a persistent patter of thick warm rain. Then heswung round with an objurgation and Jimmy grinned.

  "I guess it's no use. You couldn't see a pine ten foot off, and thereisn't a man in the country who would go down that gully with a lanternin his hand," he said. "Go off to sleep. You'll see quite as much as youwant to, anyway, to-morrow."

  Brooke stood still and listened a moment or two while the hoarse roar ofa river which he knew was swirling in fierce flood among the bouldersfar down in the hollow came up in deep reverberations across the pines.It was a significant hint of what was likely to happen when the pent-upwater poured down upon the mine. Still, there was nothing he could do inthat thick darkness.

  "Sleep!" he said. "When almost every dollar I have--and a good dealmore than that--is sunk in the mine."

  "Well," said Jimmy, reflectively, "in your place, if I could make sureof the dollars, I'd take my chances on the rest. Now and then I'm quitethankful I haven't any. It saves a mighty lot of worry."

  He swung out of the shanty, and Brooke, who flung himself down on hiscouch of spruce twigs, endeavored to sleep, though he had no greatexpectation of succeeding. As it happened, he lay tossing or holdinghimself still by an effort the long night through, for he had set hiswhole mind on the prosperity of the Dayspring. A good deal of his smallfortune was also sunk in it, though that was not of the greatest momentto him. He had a vague hope that when the mine was, through his efforts,pouring out high-grade ore, he might reinstate himself in Barbara'sestimation. In that case, at least, she might believe in his contrition,for he felt that where protests were evidently useless deeds mightavail. Then the dollars in question would be valuable to him.

  It was two hours before the dawn, and still apparently raining hard,when he rose and lighted the stove. He felt a trifle dizzy and veryshivery as he did it, but the frugal breakfast put a little warmth intohim, and he went out into the thick haze of falling water and up thehillside, walking somewhat wearily and with considerably more effortthan he had found it necessary to make a few months ago.