a week after jernyngham’s arrival at the homestead he sat among the sheaves in the harvest field late one afternoon studying a letter which the mail-carrier had just brought him. his daughter, sheltered from the strong sunlight by the tall stocked sheaves, was reading an elegantly bound book of philosophy. gertrude jernyngham had strict rules of life and spent an hour or two of every day in improving her mind, without, so far as her friends had discovered, any enlargement of her outlook. among her numerous virtues was an affectionate solicitude about her father’s health, which was variable. though still muscularly vigorous, jernyngham was getting an old man, and he had been out of sorts of late.
“i’m glad you are looking much better than you did this morning,” she said, glancing at him after a while.
“thank you,” jernyngham rejoined punctiliously. “i suppose it was the strain of the past few weeks that tried me, and perhaps i have been doing too much, traveling backward and forward between here and the muskeg.” then with an effort he banished his painful thoughts and smiled. “i wonder how many years it is since i spent an afternoon in a harvest field! i’ll confess that i find much to interest me.”
gertrude laid down her book and glanced about. she 80 was of a practical disposition and almost devoid of artistic susceptibilities, but the richness and color of the scene impressed her. far away in front ran the long ranks of sheaves, gleaming in the sunshine amid the golden stubble which was flecked by their deep-blue shadows. the air was cooling, but the light was brilliant and the standing wheat was picked out with tints of burnished copper. by comparison with it, the oat stocks shone pale and silvery. round the edge of the grain moved the binders, clashing and tinkling musically, while their whirling arms flashed in the sunlight.
prescott, lightly clad, drove the foremost machine. the fine modeling of his lean, muscular figure was effectively displayed; his uncovered arms and face were the color of the soil. seated behind the big horses, he looked wonderfully virile. the man seemed filled with primitive vigor; he was a type that was new to gertrude jernyngham.
“our host,” remarked her father, “strikes one as tireless; though i’m inclined to think that during harvest everybody here works at a higher tension than would be borne at home. their methods are rather wasteful—this tall stubble, for instance, continuous cereal crops, except for the short summer fallow—but they’re no doubt adapted to the needs of the country. having some experience in these matters, i should say this farm was excellently managed.”
in place of answering, gertrude watched the rancher. the physical perfection of the man had an effect on her, though she was essentially prudish.
“i ought to drive in to the settlement and send off a cablegram, though i expect it will be difficult to get a team,” jernyngham resumed, returning to his letter. 81 “cranford wants instructions about a matter of importance that has cropped up since we left.”
“it wouldn’t be wise for you to drive so far,” gertrude said firmly. “i might go instead; we’ll speak to mr. prescott about it this evening.”
shortly afterward there was a harsh clanking sound and prescott, pulling up his team, sprang down from the binder. he became busy with hammer and spanner, and in a few minutes the stubble was strewn with pinion wheels, little shafts, and driving-chains. then, while his guests watched him with growing interest, he put the machine together, started his team and stopped it, and again dismembered the complicated gear. this, as gertrude realized, was work that needed a certain amount of skill. finally, when the overtaking binders had stopped near-by, he took out a small shaft and held it up so that the harvesters could see it.
“journal’s bent; i’ll have to go get a new piece,” he said. “go ahead with your teams.”
after that he unhitched his horses and was leading them past the place where the jernynghams sat, when gertrude spoke to him.
“i’m sorry you had an accident, and i suppose you will have to send the broken part to sebastian. may i go with the team?”
“why, of course,” he said. “i’ll drive you in to-morrow. as it’s a pretty long way, i’ll try to borrow a comfortable rig.”
he went on with the horses and she saw no more of him that day, but early the next morning he brought up a light, four-wheeled vehicle, which would carry two people and had a hood that could be drawn up. gertrude thought it a great improvement on the prairie wagon, 82 and she admired the restive team which he had some trouble in holding. when she got in, he sprang to the seat beside her, the horses bounded forward, and they sped out through a gap in the fence, the vehicle lurching wildly among the ruts.
for a while gertrude was occupied, to the exclusion of everything else, in trying to keep her place, but when prescott turned the team on to a stretch of smooth short grass she began to look about. it was a clear, cool morning, the sky was a wonderful blue, and bluffs miles away showed up with sharp distinctness. in the foreground the gray grass was bathed in a soft light which was restful to the eyes. then gertrude examined the rig, as the man had called it, which struck her as remarkably light and fragile; and the same thing was noticeable about the harness. the horses moved as if they were drawing no load, swinging along at a fast and springy trot, while the vehicle ran lightly up and down the slight undulations, the wheels jarring now and then into a hollow or smashing through dwarf scrub. the pace was exhilarating, the fine air invigorated the girl, and her usual prim reserve melted away.
“i am fortunate in getting in to sebastian,” she said. “there’s a cablegram it’s necessary that my father should send.”
“glad to take you,” prescott rejoined. “is mr. jernyngham in business?”
“oh, no; not as you would understand it. we spend most of our time in the country, where he manages the estate. it’s small, but there are two quarries which need looking after. then he’s director of a company. he doesn’t believe that a man should be idle.”
prescott smiled. he had read a good deal about 83 england, and he could imagine jernyngham’s firm control of his property. his rule would, no doubt, be just, but it would be enforced on autocratic and highly conventional lines. his daughter, the rancher thought, resembled him in some respects. she was handsome and dignified in a colorless way; she might have been charming if she were only a trifle less correct in manner and there were more life in her.
“well,” he said, in answer to her last remark, “that’s a notion you’ll find lived up to here. the man who won’t work mighty hard very soon goes broke. it’s a truth you in the old country ought to impress on the men you’re sending out to us.”
she liked his easy phraseology; which she supposed was western, and there was nothing harsh in his intonation. it was that of a well-educated man, and the jernynghams were exacting in such matters.
“i think there must be something in the air which makes toil less arduous,” she said. “the people i’ve met have a cheerful, optimistic look.” she hesitated, and added in a confidential tone: “i like to imagine that my brother wore the same expression, though he was always carelessly gay. he seems to have made a capable rancher. it was a great relief to us when we were told of it.”
prescott grew hot and embarrassed, but he thought he could understand how cyril jernyngham had entered on a course of recklessness. it was a reaction against the overwhelming propriety of his father and sister.
“i don’t think you need grieve for your brother yet,” he said gravely. “although nobody here seems to agree with me, i find it impossible to believe that he is dead.”
gertrude gave him a grateful look. 84
“i’m glad to hear you say so—there is at least a doubt, and that is comforting; though i’m afraid my father can’t be made to realize it.”
“can’t you persuade him not to take too much for granted?”
“i wish i could.” gertrude’s tone was sad. “he has been brooding over the dreadful news ever since it reached us. it has possessed him absolutely; he can think of nothing else, and there will be no relief for him until he finds the guilty person, or it is proved beyond all doubt that the police are mistaken.” she paused before she went on. “if they’re right, i think i should feel as merciless as he does. cyril was my only brother; i was very fond of him.”
her voice trembled a little, though her eyes were hard, and prescott felt sorry for her. she was not of emotional nature; he could imagine her shrinking from any display of tenderness. nevertheless, it was obvious that she was a prey to fear and grief.
“so was i,” he said. “i wonder if i may point out that he struck me as being different from you and your father?”
“i think i know what you mean. cyril was like my mother—she died a long while ago, but i remember her as gentle, sympathetic, and perhaps more variable than i am. cyril was swayed by feeling rather than by judgment.”
prescott knew this was correct, but he found his companion an interesting study. she was wrapped up in cold propriety; she must have led an uneventful life, looked up to and obeyed by the small community that owned her father’s rule. romance could not have touched her; she was not imaginative; but he thought there were warmth and passion lying dormant somewhere 85 in her nature. she could not have wholly escaped the consequences of being cyril jernyngham’s sister.
nothing further was said for a while, and presently the team toiled through a belt of sandy ridges, furrowed by the wind, where the summits were crested here and there by small jack-pines. looking up as they crossed one elevation, gertrude noticed a wedge of small dark bodies outlined against the soft blue sky.
“what are those?” she asked.
“wild geese; the forerunners of the host that will soon come down from the marshes by the polar sea.”
“but do they go so far?”
he laughed.
“they cross this continent twice a year; up from the steaming lagoons on the gulf to the frozen muskegs of the north, and back again. they’re filled with a grand unrest and wholly free; travelers of the high air, always going somewhere.”
“ah!” responded gertrude. “to be always doing something is good. but the other—the ceaseless wandering——”
“going on and on, beating a passage through the icy winds, rejoicing in the sun, seeking for adventure. is there no charm in that?”
she looked at him uneasily, as if his words had awakened some half-understood response.
“i think cyril must have felt something of the kind. so far it has never stirred me. isn’t it wise to hold fast by what is safe and familiar?”
“oh, i don’t know,” prescott answered with a smile. “i follow the course you mention, because i have to. it’s my business to drive the plow, and the hazard of having a crop hailed out is adventure enough. but i 86 don’t think it should make one hard on the people who prefer the other thing. after all, they may be right; the life they take pleasure in may be the best for them, though it wouldn’t appeal to you or me.”
“i’m not sure that toleration should be encouraged. it often means indifference, perhaps a lack of principle.”
she grasped tightly the rail around the seat, for the horses plunged down a sandy slope at a wild gallop, passing at the bottom a horse and buggy in which sat a man dressed in a dark gray suit, to whom prescott waved his hand.
“is he a clergyman?” asked gertrude.
“well,” prescott smiled, “he’s a presbyterian minister. i suppose you think there’s a difference?”
his companion with unusual forbearance let this pass.
“then you have churches at sebastian?”
“four. i can’t say they’re crowded; but, while we’re liberal-minded on many points, the flocks won’t mix. strikes me as a pity.”
“it is a pity; there should be only one strong and united church in every place.”
“and that the right one?” prescott’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “you’re thinking of the one we call episcopalian?”
“yes,” said gertrude severely; “the church.”
“i’ll admit that i’m on pretty good terms with the lot, but father dillon’s my favorite. for one thing, he’s a practical farmer as well as a fine classical scholar. his crowd, for the most part, are hard-up foreigners; and he shows them how to build decent homes and put their crops in. all the same, i’ve quite a high opinion of the methodist and the presbyterian, who are at the opposite end of the scale.” 87
gertrude showed signs of disapproval.
“in these matters, broad-mindedness may be dangerous. one can’t compromise.”
“well,” he said, “even the roman curia tried it before the council of trent, and your people made an attempt to conciliate the english calvinists about elizabeth’s time; you were inclined to genevan protestantism once or twice afterward.”
his companion’s surprise was evident, and he laughed as he read her thoughts.
“oh,” he explained, “i used to take some interest in these matters once upon a time. you see, i was at mcgill.”
“mcgill? i seem to have heard the name, but what does it stand for?”
prescott looked amused.
“i don’t know that it quite means what oxford does to you, but it’s something of the kind; you might have seen the fine buildings at the foot of the mountain, if you had stayed in montreal. then we have toronto; with deference to the toronto men, i’ll compare that to cambridge. still, so far as i understand your english ideas, there’s a difference—our boys go to mcgill or toronto with the intention of learning something that will open up a career. they certainly play football and one or two other games pretty well, but that’s a very secondary object; so’s the acquiring of a polished style. in fact, it’s not altogether unusual on this side of the atlantic to find university men spending a vacation as waiters in the summer hotels.”
“but why do they do that?” gertrude asked with a shocked expression.
“for money,” prescott answered dryly. “one gathers 88 that the st. andrew boys did something of the same kind in scotland in your grandfather’s time; and no logical objection could be made to it, anyway. isn’t it a pretty good test of a man’s determination? it’s hard to see why he should make a worse doctor, engineer, or preacher, because he has the grit to earn his training by carrying plates, or chopping trees, which some of our boys take to.”
this was difficult to answer, and gertrude did not attempt it; her prejudices were stronger than her powers of reasoning. looking southward, she saw the turreted tops of the sebastian elevators rising from the sea of grass like cathedral towers. their smallness emphasized the vastness of the plain, which was beginning to have a stimulating effect on her mind. she thought it might explain the broadness of her companion’s views, which, while erroneous, were becoming comprehensible. he lived in the open, beyond the bounds of walls and fences, breathing this wonderful invigorating air. nevertheless, he was obviously a man of varied and extensive information, which struck her as somewhat curious in face of his severely practical abilities. he could mend harness, plow a straight furrow, break horses, and strip a complicated machine. as a new type, he deserved attention.
after a while they struck into a well-beaten track which had been graded where it crossed a muskeg. the rude work, however, had suffered from frost and rain: the ruts in the hard black soil were deep and there were dangerous holes. to make matters worse, a big gasoline tractor, intended to assist in some harvesting operations, had got into difficulties near the middle of the graded track. it was making an alarming noise and diffusing a pungent odor, while two men thrust bits of board beneath the wheels for it to climb out of the hole on. 89 prescott’s team slackened their pace, jerking their heads and pricking their ears. they were young range horses that had roamed over wide spaces, and were badly broken.
getting a tight grip on the reins he turned to his companion.
“we can’t get around—the muskeg’s too soft. i’d put you down, only that i may not be able to hold the team after we get past that machine.” he raised his voice. “can’t you stop her, boys?”
“no, sir!” cried a grimy man. “soon as we cut out the engine she’d run back into the hole! we’ve been here two hours already!”
“hold tight!” prescott cautioned gertrude, and urged the horses forward.
as they approached the tractor the noise suddenly increased, and its wheels spun faster, grinding on the skids. one of the horses reared, swinging up the pole, which nearly threw its fellow; then there was a frantic thud of hoofs against the frame of the vehicle, and the team, swinging half around, threatened to overturn it into the swamp. prescott plied the whip; the beasts plunged. one pair of wheels left the road, and the rig slanted alarmingly. a violent crash and jolt followed; gertrude came near to being flung out of her seat; and they passed the tractor and sped across the graded stretch at a furious pace. prescott was braced backward, his feet pressed hard against a bar, his lips tightly set, while gertrude, shrinking from the disaster that seemed imminent, wondered how he swung the panic-stricken beasts clear of the worst holes. she gasped with relief when they had passed the muskeg, but the trail was still in a dangerous state, and prescott turned the team upon the grass, where they galloped on while the wheels smashed through 90 short scrub, until at last the speed began to slacken. the horses’ coats were foul and flecked with spume when gertrude looked backward and saw the tractor far away in the distance.
“they’ve had enough,” prescott remarked. “we made the last mile at a pretty good clip; i kept them at it. guess they won’t start another circus if we meet a freight locomotive on the switches.”
the settlement was reached without further mis-adventure, and prescott, as a special favor, secured a separate table at the hotel, where gertrude was served with an excellent meal. afterward he showed her how to despatch her father’s message, and as she turned away the telegraph operator grinned at prescott.
“where are all these high-toned english girls coming from, jack?” he said. “you have brought another one this time.”
leaving the man without an answer, prescott rejoined his companion.
“are there any english people staying near the settlement?” she asked.
“the fellow was alluding to miss hurst.”
“muriel hurst?” gertrude exclaimed sharply. “was she here with you?”
“yes.” prescott regretted that she had asked for an explanation of the operator’s remarks. “i once drove her in; cyril’s team was doing something else. but you said you wanted to visit the drygoods store, didn’t you?”
gertrude accompanied him there and when he left her in the hands of a lady clerk she fancied that she was favored with somewhat unusual attention on his account. the man seemed to be a favorite in the settlement. she spent a tedious afternoon in the hotel parlor while he 91 went about the business that had brought him in and the team rested. it was a relief when he reappeared in time for supper; and after that they set out again. the sun set before they reached the homestead, the air grew bracingly cool, and the prairie rolled away before them, dim and mysterious, streaked with shadowy blurs of bluffs until a full moon rose and flooded it with silvery light. there was strange, deep silence except for the thud of hoofs which rose and fell in sharp staccato rhythm.
gertrude was tired when prescott helped her down at the homestead, but all her senses were unusually alert. she had enjoyed what she felt had been an invigorating day, and she admitted that, although she by no means agreed with all the rancher said, his breezy talk had added to its zest.
