early in august big shanty was ready for its owner; ready, too, when it had been promised. thayor was expected within a few days. he had written holcomb that he would come alone; mrs. thayor and margaret were to arrive a week later, accompanied by blakeman and annette; the rest of the servants being already in camp under charge of the housekeeper.
now that only a few days intervened before thayor's arrival, holcomb, for the first time in his active life, experienced a feeling of genuine nervous anxiety. would the man who had entrusted all to him be satisfied? he wondered. the thought made him strangely silent. the trapper was the first to mention it as he and the clown sat smoking with billy in the dusk outside the latter's cabin the evening before thayor's arrival. holcomb, squatting on the ground, had been whittling a twig to a fine point—now he leaned forward and drove it out of sight in the cool earth with his heel. then, closing his jack-knife, he gazed across the tidy clearing at the big camp, and the line of low-roofed cabins showing dimly in the twilight against the trees. but two lights were visible—one in the servant's quarters opposite and one through the window of the men's shanty at the lower end of the clearing.
"what ails ye, son?" asked the trapper, breaking the silence.
"ain't feelin' bad, be ye, billy?" inquired the clown with kindly apprehension.
holcomb shook his head. presently he said, still gazing straight before him:
"i've been wondering, boys, if mr. thayor is going to be satisfied."
"thar—i knowed it!" exclaimed the trapper. "ye needn't worry a mite,
billy."
"if he hain't satisfied i'll eat my shirt!" declared the clown, clenching his brawny fist with a gesture of conviction, as he jumped up simultaneously on his long legs. "thar ain't a man livin' that could hev done a better job 'n you done for him," he declared. "jest look 'round ye! look what it was when we fust come. reg'lar ruin, warn't it?"
"you've come pretty close to it, freme," confessed holcomb.
"if it warn't for the old brook roarin' down thar," remarked the trapper, "a feller wouldn't know whar he was. wall, sir, if it don't beat all i ever see in the way of a camp! the old dog was a-tellin' me only yisterday that he never see the beat nowhar, and he's travelled some, i kin tell ye."
"jest so—jest so," affirmed the clown, his blue eyes beaming with enthusiasm as he resumed: "wall, sir, you'd oughter seen ed munsey when he fust seen it. 'gol,' says ed; and his eyes stuck out like marbles. 'godfrey mighty!' says ed; 'wall, sir,' says he, 'if it ain't the slickest fixed up place i ever seen.' goll! ed was tickled. 'must 'er cost more 'n forty cents,' says he. 'no,' says i, 'thar warn't no expense 'bout it; we just throwed some odds and ends together,'" chuckled the clown, as he sat down hard.
holcomb was himself again. the clown's cheeriness was always contagious to him.
"i've done my best," he said, smiling. "but then, we've spent a lot of money, boys," he added thoughtfully.
night settled and it was not long before the three rose, filed into the cabin and kindled a fire, a delicate attention which the old dog was grateful for. he had been prowling around by himself in the clearing and now that he scented smoke came stalking into the cabin, his nails clicking across the floor, and with a mournful yawn stretched himself comfortably before the blaze.
* * * * *
by the next twilight sam thayor had seen with his own eyes every detail of his forest domain. only when this tour of inspection with holcomb was over did he lead billy back into the living hall of his new house. his manner, after the hearty greeting given him on his arrival, had lapsed into one of mute enthusiasm. his delight had more than convinced billy of his approval. now that they were alone in the living hall, he turned suddenly, faced his superintendent and held out both his hands to him.
"thank you," was all he could manage to say, wringing billy's hands heartily.
"come, my boy, draw up a chair. that fire feels good—think of it—even in august. oh, if you only knew how glad i am to get here!" he rubbed the palms of his hands together with satisfaction. "what a place it is, what a place, billy! and to find everything far better than i ever dreamed it would be."
"i'm glad you're satisfied," was holcomb's simple reply.
the housemaid appeared with a silver tray.
"ah, there's our toddy!" exclaimed thayor. "thank you, mary; you may put it between us. bring us that little low table in the corner." as the girl busied herself in arranging the table thayor paused to look about him.
the square room, with its low, heavily beamed ceiling and walls of birch, stained to a rich sienna, glistening in fresh spar varnish; the fire licking up the throat of the wide chimney-piece built of rough boulders from the bed of big shanty; the floor laid with rare rugs; the easy chairs and shaded lights—all gave to this living room a charm that none in the house of marble possessed. this artistic result was due to the personal supervision and good taste of the same architect who had designed the house of marble. fortunately alice thayor had taken no interest in it.
"excellent!" exclaimed thayor, as he poured the hot water into billy's temperate portion of scotch. "the bedrooms are a delight. i'm glad to see the gun-room paved in brick—muddy boots cannot do any harm there; it will wash as clean as a stable."
"it has been the expense i have worried over," ventured holcomb, as the two settled back in their chair. "the vouchers i was obliged to send you last month, i mean—wasn't the plumber's bill putting the screws on a little tight?"
"nonsense!" returned thayor, smiling, "you don't seem to realize, billy, that had it not been for your honesty and good will and the faithful help of our friends. skinner and holt, big shanty would have cost me twice as much; and if it had"—he paused and gazed into the fire, while the corners of his mouth twitched from side to side as if forming his words, a habit of his when giving a decision—"yes, if it had cost three times the amount, i should be more than satisfied."
the colour crept up under billy's bronzed cheek.
"it makes me feel good—to hear you say this to me," he said. "it's been a long job, but i drove things along the best i could. when things got stuck in the mud there was nothing to do but jump in and pull them out and get them started and moving, and i want you to know that freme—since his sweetheart made him sober—and old man hite did all they could. i could never have done it without them."
"i believe you, billy," declared thayor briskly. "you have done what
i knew you would. ah, yes—you're right about those two good fellows,
holt and skinner. their greeting to me this afternoon touched me
deeply. why, even the old dog remembered me."
"remembered you? of course he did. hite says the old dog has never got over your killing that buck."
"and the old dog, i suppose, still talks to him?" laughed thayor.
"i've never known hite to lie," replied holcomb with a grin.
"and now tell me about poor dinsmore. i have watched the papers but i have seen nothing of his arrest and so i suppose he is safe in canada, or is he still about here?"
"i think he is still in hiding, sir," replied holcomb in an evasive tone. the least said about dinsmore the better—the better for dinsmore. his safety was in being entirely forgotten.
"and you haven't seen him?"
"no, not since we began work."
for some seconds thayor drummed with his fingers on the arm of his chair; then he said in a strangely serious tone—as if to himself:
"dinsmore had to kill him, perhaps. that's the only way out sometimes, and that's what would happen every time if i had my way."
holcomb made no reply. no good could come to the hide-out by stirring up his case. all his friends said he was dead; that is, to strangers—some of whom might be sheriffs.
the talk now entered another channel—one more to holcomb's liking. "by the way, before i forget it"—here thayor drew from his pocket a package of letters—"how about this mr. steinberg, the dealer who sold us the horses?" he inquired.
"who, bergstein?"
"yes, this mr. bergstein, as you call him. i gather from your last letter—i thought i had it with me," he said, searching hurriedly among the packet of correspondence, "but i have evidently left it—i gather," he resumed, "from your last letter that he did not make a very favourable impression. i can't understand it," he went on seriously, "for he was recommended by one of the vice-presidents of one of our canadian companies, a man whom i have had dealings with by letter for years. i should hesitate to believe he would recommend anyone to us whom he did not thoroughly know about—who, shall we say, was sharp in his dealings."
holcomb for a moment did not reply. then suddenly he looked straight into the eyes of his employer.
"i know a man may sometimes be wrong in sizing up another," he began, "but bergstein seems to me to have considerable of the peddler in him."
"and yet you say, billy, the horses he sent were sound, and the price fair."
"the price he asked was not," replied holcomb. "i gave him what i knew they were worth—he wasn't long in taking it. that's where the peddler part of it struck me."
thayor made no attempt to reply; he was listening as calmly as a lawyer to a defence.
"there are a lot of the boys here who think bergstein is all right," holcomb continued, "but neither freme, hite, nor myself liked his looks from the first. he's too mysterious in his movements—whanging off at night to catch a train and turning up again—sometimes before daylight."
"yet you say he is a good worker," interrupted thayor, settling in his chair.
"there isn't a lazy bone in him," confessed holcomb. "he's all hustle, and smarter than a steel trap—that's why i put him in charge of the gang in the lower shanty—besides, i saw the boys wanted him."
"i must see mr. bergstein in the morning," was thayor's reply.
"he left day before yesterday," said holcomb. "he told me an uncle of his had died in montreal; he'll be back, he said, in three or four days."
"ah, indeed," said thayor with a nod. "i trust we are all mistaken in the fellow. you know, my boy," he said turning suddenly about, "we must all learn to be tolerant of others—of their ignorance. i've found in life a true philosophy in this. it's my creed, billy—'be tolerant of others, even of those who at times seem intolerable to you.'"
holcomb was not the man to censure another without the strength of his conviction. he had been frank in giving his opinion of bergstein, since thayor had put the question point blank to him. their talk before the fire had been a genial one, save for this somewhat unpleasant subject, yet despite thayor's kindly optimism in regard to bergstein, owing purely to his excellent recommendation, holcomb felt a distrust of the mysterious stranger who had wormed his way into big shanty. he could not help being personally convinced that the vice-president of the canadian company was either a rascal or a man of poor judgment. it was also possible that the said vice-president had never seen bergstein at all.
