Carmen's Messenger

  V

  FEATHERSTONE'S PEOPLE

  After walking for some time, Foster heard a rumble in the distancebehind him and climbed the rocky bank of the single-line track. Therewas not much room between the bank and rails, and he was glad of anexcuse for sitting down. Taking out the stranger's case, he lightedanother of the Turkish cigarettes. They were the only benefit he waslikely to derive from the adventure, and he felt some satisfaction inmaking use of them.

  In the meantime, the rumble grew into a roar that rolled across theforest with a rhythmic beat, and a ray of light pierced the gloom upthe track. It was very bright and he knew it was thrown by alocomotive headlamp. A west-bound freight train was coming and he mustwait until it passed. Freight trains were common objects, but as arule when Foster saw one approaching he stopped to watch. The greatsize and power of the locomotive appealed to his imagination, and heliked to think of the reckless courage of the men who drove the steelroad through eight hundred miles of rugged wilderness to Port Arthur,and then on again through rocks and muskegs to the Western prairie. Itwas a daring feat, when one remembered the obstacles and that there wasno traffic to be developed on the way.

  The beam of light became a cone of dazzling radiance; the rocksthrobbed, and the gnarled pines shook as the roar swelled into atremendous harmony of many different notes. Then there was suddendarkness as the locomotive leaped past, and huge box-cars rushed,lurching and rocking, out of the thick, black smoke. Flying ballastcrashed against the rocks, and though the ground was frozen hard a hailof small particles rattled among the trees. Then, as the tail-lightson the caboose sped by, a deep hoot of the whistle came back from abouta quarter of a mile off, and soon afterwards the fading glimmervanished round a curve. It seemed to be going slower, and the rumbledied away suddenly. Foster thought there was a side-track ahead, wherethe freight would wait until a train going in the other directioncrossed the switches. If he could reach the spot in time, he mightsave himself a long walk.

  His knee hurt as he stumbled over the gravel at the best pace he couldmake, but that did not matter much, A few minutes' sharp pain could beborne, and he set his lips as he ran, while the perspiration drippedfrom him and his breath got short. This was the consequence of leadinga soft and, in a sense, luxurious life, he thought, but when he triedto walk next day he understood the reason better. Still, he did notmean to be left behind in the frozen bush, and as he reached the curvewas relieved to see lights flicker about the track. When he stopped aman flashed a lantern into his face.

  "Looks as if you'd made good time, but the track's pretty rough forbreaking records on," he remarked.

  "That's so," Foster answered breathlessly. "I wanted to get herebefore you pulled out, because I'm going on with you."

  "No, sir; it's clean against the rules. You can't get a free ride nowon a C.P. freight"

  "The rules apply to hobos. I've got a first-class ticket to Montreal."

  "Then why in thunder are you running back to Fort William?"

  "I'd have been satisfied to make the next station. You see, I fell offthe train."

  Another man, who wore big gloves and grimy over-alls, had come up, andlaughed when he heard Foster's explanation.

  "You sure look pretty lively after falling off the Montreal express.Guess you must have done that kind of thing before? But our bosses aregetting blamed particular about these free rides."

  Foster opened his wallet and took out a strip of paper, folded insections, but it was not by accident he held two or three dollar billsagainst it.

  "There's my ticket. I bought it at the agent's office, but I expectyou know what would have happened if I'd got it on board. Anyway,you've heard of the drummer who beat his passage from Calgary toToronto at the cost of a box of cigars."

  The brakesmen grinned, because the hint was plain. It is said onWestern railroads that when a conductor collects a fare he throws themoney at the car-roof and accounts to the company for as much as sticksthere.

  "Well," said the first man, "I guess we'll take our chances and you canget into the caboose. You'll find blankets, and a bunk where you canlie down if you take off your boots. We'll dump you somewheres handyfor catching the next east-bound."

  Foster found the caboose comfortably warm. There was a stove in themiddle and two or three bunks were fixed to the walls. In a fewminutes the train they waited for went roaring past, and when thefreight started one of the men gave him some supper. Then he got intoa bunk and went to sleep.

  He caught the next express going east, and on reaching Ottawa, where hehad some time to wait, half expected the man he had helped would come,or send somebody, to meet him. Although he wore the fur coat and stoodin a conspicuous place, he was not accosted, and presently bought anewspaper. It threw no light upon the matter, and for a time he walkedup and down, considering if he would go to the police. This wasperhaps his duty, but it looked as if the owner of the coat had notbeen molested. After all, the fellow might be an absconding debtor,and if not it was obvious that he had some reason for keeping hissecret. Foster decided to let him do so, and went back to the train.

  When he arrived at Montreal he went to the _Windsor_ as he had beentold, but there was no letter or telegram waiting and none came duringthe day or two he stayed. On the evening before he sailed he wassitting in the large entrance hall, which is a feature of American andCanadian hotels, when he thought a man some distance off looked hard athim over his newspaper. Foster only caught a momentary glimpse of hisface, because he held up the paper as if to get a better light andpeople were moving about between them; but he thought the man was Daly,and after a few moments carelessly crossed the floor.

  A man sat at the spot he had marked and the chairs on both sides wereunoccupied, but when Foster sat down in the nearest he saw the fellowwas a stranger. This puzzled him, since he did not think he had beenmistaken. It was, however, possible that Daly had been there, but hadmoved off quietly when Foster's view was obstructed. If so, he musthave had an object for hiding, and Foster waited some minutes before hewent to the office and examined the guestbook. Daly's name did notappear, and he found that nobody from the West had signed the bookrecently.

  "I wanted to see if a man I know is staying here," he told the clerk.

  "That's all right," said the other. "Quite a number of people havebeen looking for friends to-day."

  Foster described Daly as well as he could, and asked if he had examinedthe book.

  "No," said the clerk. "Nobody just like that had the register whileI've been about; but now I think of it, a man who might meet the billstood by while another looked at the last page." Then he indicated afigure near the revolving door, "There! that's who he was with!"

  As the man pushed the door round Foster saw his face, and knew him forthe stranger who had occupied the chair in which he had expected tofind Daly. He thanked the clerk and went back thoughtfully to hisplace, because it looked as if Daly had been there and the other hadhelped him to steal away. If this surmise was correct, they might betrying to follow Featherstone; but he was, fortunately, out of theirreach, and Foster decided that he must not exaggerate the importance ofthe matter. After all, Daly might have come to Montreal on business,and the rotunda of a Canadian hotel is something of a public resort.Still, he felt disturbed and presently gave the clerk the fur coat,telling him to deliver it when asked for. He felt it a relief to getrid of the thing.

  Next day he sailed on an Empress liner, and on the evening after hereached England left the train at a lonely station in the North. Itwas not yet dark, and for a moment or two he stood on the platformlooking about. There had been rain, and the air had a damp freshnessthat was unusual in Canada. In the east and north the sky was coveredwith leaden cloud, against which rounded hilltops were faintly marked.Rugged moors rolled in long slopes towards the west, where the horizonwas flushed with vivid saffron and delicate green. Up the middle ofthe foreground ran a deep valley, with blue shadow in its bottom andtouches of or
ange light on its heathy sides. There were few trees,although a line of black firs ran boldly to the crest of a neighboringrise, and stone dykes were more common than the ragged hedges. Fostersaw no plowed land, and nothing except heather seemed to grow on thepeaty soil, which looked black as jet where the railway cutting piercedit. Indeed, he thought the landscape as savage and desolate as any hehad seen in Canada, but as he did not like tame country this had acertain charm.

  While he looked about a man came up. He was elderly and dressed withextreme neatness in old-fashioned dark clothes, but he had theunmistakable look of a gentleman's servant. Though there was a smallcar in the road, he was obviously not a professional chauffeur.

  "You'll be Mr. Foster, sir, for the Garth?" he said.

  Foster said he was and the man resumed: "Mr. Featherstone sent the carand his apologies. He had to attend the court, being a magistrate, andhoped you would excuse his not coming."

  Then he picked up Foster's portmanteau and called a porter, who wasmoving some clanging milk cans, to bring his bag.

  "Never mind; I'll take it," Foster told him.

  "As you like, sir, but it's perhaps not quite usual in this country,"the other answered in a deprecatory tone.

  "I suppose I ought to have remembered that," Foster agreed smiling.

  They crossed the platform, and while they waited for the bag the mansaid respectfully, "Might I ask if Mr. Lawrence was better when youleft, sir? It was a disappointment to us when we heard he could notcome home."

  Foster liked the fellow. He was very formal, but seemed to includehimself in his master's family.

  "Yes," he said. "In fact, I expect he'll be quite well in a month ortwo. I suppose you were at the Garth before my partner left?"

  "I've served Mr. Featherstone for thirty years, sir, and led Mr.Lawrence's first pony and cleaned his first gun. It wasn't my regularduty, sir, but he was the only son and I looked after him. If I maysay so, we were much upset when we heard that he was ill."

  Then the bag was brought, and as the car ran across the moor Fosternoted the smooth, hard surface of the wet road. The country was wildand desolate, but they had no roads like this in Canada, except perhapsin one or two of the larger cities. Indeed, in Western towns he knew,it was something of an adventure to cross the street during the springthaw. The light got red and angry as they dipped into the valley; thefirs on the hillcrest stood out black and sharp, and then melted intothe gray background. A river pool shone with a ruby gleam thatsuddenly went out, and the dim water vanished into the shadow, brawlingamong the stones.

  There was smooth pasture in the valley, broken by dark squares ofturnip fields and pale stubble; but here and there the heath appearedagain and wild cotton showed faintly white above the black peat-soil.By and by a cross, standing by itself on the lonely hillside, caughtFoster's eye, and he asked his companion about it.

  "The Count's Cross, sir; a courtesy title they held in the next dale.He was killed in a raid on a tower down the water, before theFeatherstones came."

  "But did they bury him up there?"

  "No, sir; they were all buried at night by the water of Langrigg, butwhen they were carrying him home in the mist by the hill road the Scotsfrom the tower overtook them. The Count's men were wounded and theirhorses foundered, but the Scots let them go when they found that he wasdead. About 1300, sir. Somebody put up the cross to commemorate it."

  "They seem to have been a chivalrous lot," Foster remarked. "I wonderif that kind of thing would happen nowadays!"

  "I'm afraid one couldn't expect it, sir," the old fellow answered andFoster smiled.

  The cross faded into the hillside; it got dark and the valley narrowed.Trees grew in sheltered spots; the faint, delicate tracery of birchbranches breaking the solid, black ranks of the firs. The road woundalong the river, which roared, half seen, in the gloom. Now and thenthey ran through water, and presently the glare of the headlamps boredthrough breast-high mist. There was a smell of wet soil and rottingleaves. It was very different from the tangled pine bush of Ontarioand the stark bareness of the plains, but it was somehow familiar andFoster felt that he was at home.

  By and by the moon came out, and the mist got thinner as they ran intoan opening where the side of the glen fell back. Lights twinkled atthe foot of a hill, and as they sped on the irregular outline of ahouse showed against a background of trees. It glimmered, long andlow, in the moonlight, and then Foster lost it as they ran through agate into the darkness of a belt of firs. A minute or two later, thecar slowed and stopped after passing round a bend.

  A wide door stood hospitably open, and a figure upon the steps cutagainst the light. There were two more figures inside the hall, and ashe got down Foster heard voices that sounded strangely pleasant andrefined. Then a man whom he could not see well shook hands with himand took him in, and he stopped, half dazzled by the brightness.

  The hall was large and a fire burned on a deep hearth. There were oillamps on tall pillars, and in the background a broad staircase ran upto a gallery in the gloom. Foster, however, had not much time to lookabout, for as soon as he had given up his hat and coat his host led himtowards the fire and two ladies came up. He knew one was his partner'smother and the other his sister, but although they were like Lawrencehe remarked a difference that was puzzling until he understood itsorigin. Mrs. Featherstone had an unmistakable stamp of dignity, buther face was gentle and her look very friendly; her daughter was talland Foster thought remarkably graceful, with an air of pride andreserve, although this vanished when she gave him a frank welcomingsmile. Featherstone, who was older than his wife, had short, grayhair, and a lined, brown face, but looked strong and carried himselfwell.

  Foster, who liked them at once, wondered rather anxiously whether hehad pleased or disappointed them. But he imagined that they wouldreserve their opinion. They were, of course, not the people to showwhat they thought, and if he had felt any embarrassment, they wouldhave known how to put him at his ease. Still his type was, no doubt,new to them and his views might jar. He did not remember what theysaid, but they somehow made him feel he was not a stranger but a friendwho had a claim, and when he went to his room he knew he would enjoyhis stay with Featherstone's people.