on the morning after he met helen foster, kermode sought a foreman with whom he was on good terms.
“i want to quit work for a week,” he said abruptly.
“sorry; i can’t give you leave, and the boss went down the line yesterday. if you let up before you see him, it’s quite likely he won’t take you back.”
“if he doesn’t i won’t be very grieved. throwing forty-foot rails about all day palls on one. but what about my wages up to date?”
“that’s a matter for the pay-clerk when he comes along. if you quit without notice, he’ll make trouble.”
kermode considered this; but he had about ten dollars in his pocket and he was not of provident nature. he decided that something must be left to chance, though the thought that he might have handled heavy rails for the contractor’s exclusive benefit was strongly distasteful. walking across the town, he paid a visit to miss foster.
“can you ride?” he asked her.
“i haven’t ridden for years.”
“perhaps you could manage a steady horse which wouldn’t go faster than a walk?” he suggested.
“yes.” then she hesitated. “but horses are expensive, and i have very little money left. somehow, it seems to disappear rapidly in canada.”
“that’s an annoying trick it has,” kermode laughed. 154 “however, you had better start for drummond this morning, and i’ll go with you.”
the girl looked dubious. she knew nothing about him, but his manner and appearance were in his favor, and her position was far from pleasant. mrs. jasper, who had already presented what appeared to be an extortionate bill, seemed by no means anxious to keep her, and it might be a long time before she could communicate with her brother. how she was to hold out until he came to her assistance she could not tell.
“thank you,” she said, gathering her courage; and after promising that he would be back in an hour, kermode went away.
he was a man who acted on impulse and, as a rule, the more unusual a course was the better it pleased him. in spite of her lameness miss foster was attractive, which, perhaps, had its effect, though he was mainly actuated by compassion and the monotony of his track-laying task. he did not think the settlement, in which there were very few women, was the kind of place in which she could comfortably remain, particularly if her means were exhausted. presently he met the livery-stable keeper driving in his buggy and motioned to him to pull up.
“how much will you charge for the hire of the roan, to go to drummond?” he asked, and the man named his charge.
“i’ll give you eight dollars now and the balance when i come back.”
“no sir!” replied the other firmly. “you might fix up to stay there.”
“will an order on the railroad pay-clerk satisfy you?”
“it won’t. if you want the horse, you must put the money down.” 155
“then i can’t make the deal.”
the man drove on, but kermode was not to be daunted by such a difficulty; besides, he had noticed jim, the hired man, dawdling about the outside of the stable. when the buggy was out of sight, he accosted him.
“i want the roan in half an hour,” he said. “i see you have mrs. leaver’s saddle here, and as she’s away, you had better put it on. i’m going to take the lady you saw with me to drummond.”
“s’pose you have seen the boss about it?”
“you must have noticed me talking to him,” kermode replied curtly. “bring the horse along to mrs. jasper’s as soon as you’re ready.”
then he returned to the hotel and wrote a note which he gave the bar-tender, instructing him to let the proprietor of the livery-stable have it when he came in for dinner. after this he succeeded in borrowing a small tent, and when he had supplied himself with provisions he hurried toward the widow’s shack. the horse was already there, and when he had strapped on the folded tent and miss foster’s bag he helped her to mount, and set off, carrying his blankets and stores in a pack on his back. he showed no sign of haste and chatted gaily, though he was anxious to get out of the town as soon as possible, because he did not know when the stable-keeper would return.
it was a clear morning; the girl looked brighter after her night’s rest, and the fresh air brought a fine color into her face. kermode kept her laughing with his light chatter, but he was nevertheless glad when they reached the shadow of the pines, where they could travel faster without attracting attention. after half an hour’s rapid walking, he left the trail, which ran on toward 156 drummond for a day’s journey before it stopped at a ranch, and turned down into the valley. he thought it might be wiser to keep to the south of the line he would be expected to take, though this would entail the crossing of rougher country. reaching the edge of a stream, he stopped and regarded it with some concern. it ran fast between great boulders and looked deep, but as there was no sign of a better crossing he warned the girl to hold on, and led the horse in.
after a few paces he sank above his knees, and found it hard to keep his footing and the horse’s head upstream. the roan was slipping badly among the stones and the hem of his companion’s skirt was getting wet. he was pleased to notice that she did not look unduly alarmed.
“we’ll be across in another minute or two,” he said as cheerfully as he could.
she smiled at him rather dubiously and at the next step he sank deeper and dragged the horse round as he clung to the bridle. the roan plunged savagely and the water rippled about kermode’s waist as he struggled for a foothold on the slippery stones. with a desperate effort he managed to find firmer bottom and soon came out on a strip of shingle. stopping there for a few moments, he gathered breath while the girl looked about. they were in the bottom of a deep gorge filled with the sound of running water and sweet resinous scents. here the torrent flashed in bright sunshine; there it flowed, streaked with foam, through dim shadow, while somber pines towered above it. there was no sound or sign of human life; they had entered the gates of the wilderness.
“where do we go next?” the girl asked.
“up this slope,” said kermode. “then among the 157 pines, across the hills, and high plains, into a lonely land. i don’t suppose we’ll see a house until we get to drummond.”
“do you know the way?”
“i don’t,” kermode said cheerfully. “i’ve never been here before, but i’m accustomed to traveling about the prairie, where trails are scarce. you don’t look daunted.”
there was a hint of pleasurable excitement in his companion’s laugh.
“oh,” she replied, “adventures appeal to me, and i’ve never met with any. for three years since my brother left, i’ve led a life of drudgery; and before that, half the pleasures i might have had were denied me by an accident.”
recognizing a kindred nature, kermode looked sympathetic. she was evidently alluding to her lameness, which must prove a heavy handicap to a girl of the active, sanguine temperament he thought she possessed.
“in a way, it was a great adventure for you to come out here alone over the new road,” he said.
“i thought so last night,” she confessed with a smile. “when i reached the settlement and found i could get no farther, i was really scared. now, however, all my fears have gone. i suppose it’s the sunshine and this glorious air.”
“well, we had better get on. i’m afraid you’ll have to walk a while.”
she let him lift her down, with no sign of prudishness or coquetry, and he led the horse uphill while she followed. her attitude pleased him, because he had no desire for philandering, although he was content to act as protector and guide. still, while he adapted his pace 158 to the girl’s he thought about her. her rather shabby attire and scanty baggage hinted that she had not been used to affluence; but she showed signs of possessing a vigorous, well-trained mind, and he decided that she must have been a teacher.
when they reached the top of the ascent, she mounted and they went on among scattered clumps of pines and across a tableland as fast as he could travel, because it seemed prudent to place as long a distance as possible between them and the settlement. he had left the place with a valuable horse and saddle which he had not paid for, and he was very dubious whether the livery-stable keeper would be satisfied with the promises he had left. accordingly he only stopped for half an hour at noon; and evening was near when he helped the girl down and picketed the horse beside a small birch bluff, and set up the tent.
“there are provisions in my pack and you might lay out supper, but i don’t think we’ll make a fire to-night,” he said. “i’ll be back in about half an hour; i want to see what lies beyond the top of yonder ridge.”
she let him go, and he climbed between slender birches to the summit of a long rise, where he lay down and lighted his pipe. from his lofty position he commanded a wide sweep of country—hills whose higher slopes were still bathed in warm light, valleys filled with cool blue shadow, straggling ranks of somber pines. the air was sharp and wonderfully bracing; the wilderness, across which he could wander where he would, lured him on. irresponsible and impatient of restraint, as he was, he delighted in the openness and solitude. for all that, he concentrated his gaze on one particular strip of bare hillside. at its foot ran the gorge they had crossed, 159 but it had now grown narrow and precipitous, a deep chasm wrapped in shadow. he did not think a horse could be led down into it, which was consoling, because if any pursuit had been attempted, it would follow the opposite side, near which a trail ran.
after a while his vigilance was rewarded, and he smiled when three very small figures of mounted men appeared on the hillslope. they were going back disappointed, and he did not think he had much to fear from them. wages were high about the settlement, where everybody was busy, and the liveryman would, no doubt, find the search too costly to persist in. when the horsemen had vanished, he returned to the camp, and miss foster glanced at him keenly.
“supper’s quite ready; you have been some time,” she said. “what did you see from the top?”
“mountains, woods and valleys. they were well worth looking at in the sunset light.”
“and what else? as you live in this country, you didn’t go up for the view.”
kermode saw that she was suspicious, and thought her too intelligent to be put off with an excuse.
“i’ll admit that i wasn’t greatly surprised to see three men a long way off. they were riding back to the settlement and i dare say they were angry as well as tired.”
“ah!” she said. “you wouldn’t light a fire, though you have a package of tea here and there’s a spring near-by. you thought it wouldn’t be prudent?”
“i did think something of the kind; but won’t you begin your supper? what shall i hand you?”
“wait a little. you haven’t told me very much yet.” then her eyes sparkled with amusement. “mr. 160 kermode, i’d better say that my brother will be responsible for the expenses of this journey. i suppose you haven’t paid for the horse?”
“it’s unfortunately true. the trouble was that your brother lives a long way off, and you led me to believe that your money was running out.”
“i have,” she said calmly, “fifty cents left.”
kermode began on a sandwich she handed him.
“and i’ve three or four dollars. you see our difficulty needed a drastic remedy.”
“but you were at work on the railroad. i understand wages are high.”
“that’s so; but it’s some time since the pay car came along.”
“but you will get what is due you, when you go back?”
“have another sandwich,” said kermode. “you have made them very well.” then seeing that she meant to have an answer, he added: “i’m not going back.”
a little color crept into her face as she looked at him. kermode had for a time led a dissipated life, but there had been a change during the last few months. he had practised abstinence, and in new surroundings found it easier than he had expected; severe labor had healed and hardened him. his brown skin was clear, his pale-blue eyes were bright and steady, his figure was spare and finely lined.
“so,” she said, “you sacrificed your wages to assist a stranger?”
he made her a whimsical bow.
“i’d like to think we’ll be better acquainted before we part.”
“but what will you do now?”
“oh,” he responded lightly, “that’s hardly worth 161 talking about. i’ll strike something. so long as you’re pretty active there’s generally work to be had, and when it grows monotonous you pull out and go on again.”
miss foster mused.
“after all,” she said, “life must have a good deal to offer a strong man with the ability to make the most of things. he can set off, when he likes, in search of new and interesting experiences.”
“it has its drawbacks now and then,” declared kermode, smiling. “anyway, you needn’t imagine you’re shut off from everything of the kind. you took a big risk and faced a startling change when you came out here.”
“so i felt. though i had misgivings, the thought of it drew me.”
“i understand. you have courage, the greatest gift, and you felt circumscribed at home. no doubt, the love of adventure isn’t confined to one sex. it’s a longing many of us can’t overcome; but it doesn’t seem to meet with general sympathy, and it’s apt to get one into difficulties.”
“yes,” miss foster assented with some bitterness; “particularly a woman.”
after that, she went on with her meal while dusk crept up about the lonely camp. the sky was pale green in the west and the hills stood out against it, black and calm; not a breath of wind was stirring and it was very still, except that out of the distance came the murmur of falling water. when the air grew damper, kermode brought her a blanket which she wrapped about her shoulders and they talked on for an hour in a casual manner. then he got up.
“you will be quite safe in the tent,” he said. “i’ve found a comfortable berth in the wood. we’ll get off as soon as it’s light to-morrow.” 162
he disappeared into the shadows and she noticed that he had left her the two blankets he had brought from the settlement. she hesitated about taking them both, but decided not to call him back. a little later she entered the tent, while kermode scraped out a hollow in a bank of fallen leaves and went to sleep.
the grass was white with frost when miss foster left the tent in the morning, but a fire of branches crackled cheerfully near-by and kermode was busy with a frying-pan. a light cloud of smoke rose into the still, cold air, and day was breaking on the eastern horizon.
“this looks pretty good,” he said, taking out a greasy cake and several strips of pork. “if you will make the tea, i’ll water the horse.”
he was back in a few minutes. his companion enjoyed the simple meal, and when it was finished they resumed the march. during most of the day their pathway led over high, treeless ridges which lay in bright sunshine, though a delicate haze dimmed the encircling hills. then they dipped to a valley where they had trouble among the timber and the girl was forced to dismount. the winter gales had swept the forest and great pines lay piled in belts of tangled ruin, through which kermode found it difficult to lead the horse, while as they floundered over branches and through crackling brush his companion’s limp grew more pronounced. afterward there were several rapid creeks to be forded, and kermode was wet and miss foster very tired when they camped at sunset, in a grove of spruce. little was said during the evening meal and soon after it was over the girl sought her tent, while kermode found a resting-place among the withered sprays at the foot of a tree.
they spent the next morning toiling up a long ascent, 163 and from its summit a prospect of majestic beauty burst upon them. the great peaks had grown nearer, the air was clear, and the girl sat, rapt, in the saddle, gazing at the vast snow-fields that glittered with ethereal brilliance, very high up against a cloudless sky. then the wonderful blue coloring of the shadows streaking the white slopes caught her glance, and she found it unutterably lovely. kermode, however, had an eye for other things and carefully searched the wide valley that stretched away beneath them.
“what are you looking for?” the girl asked at length.
“smoke; i thought i saw a faint streak, but it has gone. i suppose you didn’t notice it?”
“oh no!” she told him with a smile. “i’m afraid i shouldn’t have noticed such a commonplace thing, even if it had been very plain.”
he made a sign of comprehension.
“then what have you seen?” he asked.
“unapproachable, stainless whiteness, touched with an unearthly glory that daunts the mind!” then her expression changed. “but the sight is too overpowering to talk about. i would have been more useful had i looked for smoke, as that would mean a house.”
kermode nodded.
“we have stores enough for another meal or two and had better get on. i believe i’ve kept pretty near the line i was told to take, but i’d be glad to see the first ranch in the drummond district by supper time.”
they went down into the valley, struggling through belts of timber and clumps of brush, until they reached a broad expanse of grass broken by small bluffs. after camping for a meal, they pushed on steadily while the girl grappled with a growing fatigue, until the white 164 peaks faded into dusky blue and the waste grew shadowy. kermode had seen no sign of life and he was getting anxious when, as they approached a bluff, he pulled up the horse.
“listen!” he exclaimed. “i think i heard something!”
there was silence for a moment or two, and then he caught a soft drumming and a rattle that might have been made by wheels.
“yes,” he said. “it’s a team and wagon.”
the sound grew plainer, and when kermode shouted, an answer came out of the gathering darkness. then a moving shape appeared from behind the bluff, and a minute or two later the newcomer pulled up his team.
“well,” he said, “what do you want?”
“tom!” cried the girl excitedly.
the man sprang down, and kermode needed no explanation. after his companion had dismounted and run forward, he stood quietly holding the horse, until she beckoned him.
“this is mr. kermode, who brought me here,” she said. “my brother, tom foster.”
“indebted to you,” responded the man. “i was driving home when you shouted; my place is about six miles off. if you’ll follow, i’ll take my sister in the wagon.”
kermode thought it better that she should explain the reason for their journey, and he got into the saddle and contented himself with keeping the vehicle in sight until it stopped at a wooden house that stood near a sod stable and rude log barn. when he entered the dwelling after putting up the horse, the lamp was lighted and the stove burning. he saw that foster was a young man with a good-humored brown face. 165
“i understand that i owe you more than i thought at first,” he said. “helen seems to have been pretty awkwardly situated when you appeared on the scene. sit down and smoke while i get supper.”
they talked gaily during the meal.
“is there any means of sending back the horse i brought?” kermode asked after a while.
“i’ve been thinking about that,” foster replied.
“i have a neighbor who is going east on business. he’ll strike the new line where you left it, and he’ll be glad to have the horse.”
then they talked about other matters, but when the men sat smoking some time later, foster said cordially:
“you’ll stay here a while?”
kermode said that he would remain a few days.
“where will you make for then?” his host asked. “there’s nothing doing round here except a little cattle-raising.”
“for the mountains, i think. i hear the railroad people are busy in the passes; but i’ll try to strike something softer than handling rails.”
“i can fix that,” foster declared. “they’ve been advertising for haulage tenders—there are a lot of piles and building logs they want brought in. now i’ve two good horses i’ve not much use for and i’d be glad to let you have them. you could bring them back when the frost stops work.”
“thanks,” said kermode. “what’s your idea of shares?”
the rancher declared that he did not expect a share, but when kermode insisted, they arrived at a satisfactory understanding, and soon after helen appeared the party broke up. 166
kermode spent three or four pleasant days with his new friends, and when he left the ranch one morning, leading two strong horses, helen foster walked with him some distance up the valley. she had not known him long enough to recognize his failings, which were plentiful, but his virtues were obvious, and she knew that she would miss him.
“so you are going out on the trail again,” she said. “where will it lead you?”
“that,” he answered with a gay laugh, “is more than i can tell. no doubt, to fresh adventures and strange experiences.”
“but you know your first stopping-place, the railroad camp. when you have finished your work there, you could come here again and rest a while.”
“no,” he said, more gravely; “i’ll send your brother his horses, but i don’t think i’ll come back. it’s nice to feel that we have been pretty good friends, but it might spoil any pleasant impression i’m leaving if you saw too much of me. besides, i’m a wanderer; the long trail beckons.”
“it runs through swamps and many rough places into the lonely wilds. aren’t you afraid of weariness?”
kermode smiled, falling into her mood.
“you may remember that there are compensations,” he said; “glimpses of glory on the untrodden heights. it’s true that one never gets there, but they lead one on.”
“but you can see them from the valley.”
“no; the farmer’s eyes are fixed on the furrow; he must follow the plow. his crop and his stock are nearer him; he cannot see past them. the wanderer’s mind is free.” 167
“when you had that glimpse of glory, you turned away and looked for household smoke.”
“there you have me,” he laughed. “inconsistent, wasn’t it? but we’re only human: one needs rest and food.”
helen changed the subject.
“well,” she declared, “i’m grateful; and if it’s any comfort, you won’t be forgotten.”
he stopped the restive horses.
“that’s good to hear,” he told her. “but the ground is rough ahead and you have come some way.”
“good-by,” she said, and gave him her hand.
he held it for a moment, and then, getting into the saddle, turned and swung off his hat. after that he rode on into the waste, leading one horse; and helen foster watched him for a while before she went back, slowly and thoughtfully, to the ranch.
