Partners of the Out-Trail

By and by, Mordaunt came in. The latter was thin and dark; his face was rather inscrutable, but he had a superficial urbanity. Jim wondered what lay beneath this, and imagined it might be long before he found out. Until he got down from the train, they had not met since Mordaunt came to the telegraph shack, and Jim did not know if he liked the fellow or not. After a time, there was a step on the stairs that went up the wall, and Jim looked up, half expecting to see Evelyn. At first he was conscious of some disappointment, for Carrie was coming down.

"By George!" said Mordaunt, softly.

Jim understood the exclamation, for he had not until now realized that Carrie was beautiful. Her color was rather high and her face looked strangely clean-cut against the background of dull brown oak. Her eyes were a curious gray that changed to sparkling hazel-brown with the light; her hair was brown with a coppery gleam, and her dress a soft green. Jim had not seen the dress before and did not know if it was the latest fashion, but he felt that Carrie's choice was good. It was not that the harmonious color gave her beauty; the effect was deeper. The girl had a touch of dignity that was rather natural than cultivated.

She lifted her head and smiled as she went up to Jim, and asked, as if Mordaunt was not there: "How do you like me?"

"In a way, you're wonderful," Jim replied. "Of course, I knew that before – when you nursed me, and in the woods – but somehow I hadn't expected this! When did you get the dress?"

"When we were in London. I hadn't long, but I wanted to be just right," Carrie answered with a blush. Then she laughed. "You're very nice, Jim; but do I really fit in?"

"Marvelously," Mordaunt interposed. "If my opinion is worth much, you look as if you belonged to Langrigg. That is, you go back, beyond our times, to the folks who built the peel to keep out the Scots."

Jim nodded. Mordaunt had said what he himself had vaguely thought. The fellow was sensitive and had felt the girl's virility. Jim was a little surprised that Carrie, who knew nothing about the Border wars, seemed to understand, for she gave Mordaunt a quiet but rather piercing look.

"Well," she said. "I have been up against Nature, where she's raw and savage, in the woods."

"Perhaps that accounts for it," Mordaunt replied, smiling. "Nature is savage in the frozen North; perhaps Jim told you I have been there. But I imagine you made good."

"Jim made good. I like to think I helped."

"I expect your help was worth much!" said Mordaunt.

Carrie's glance rested on him calmly and he felt that she needed study. She did not speak, however, and Mrs. Halliday and the others came in. After a few minutes they went to the paneled dining-room and Jim forgot Carrie when he sat down by Evelyn. Her color was subdued, her skin, for the most part, ivory white, and she had black eyes and hair. Although rather tall, she looked fragile, but she was marked by a fastidious grace and calm that Jim thought patrician. This was not the word he wanted, but he did not know another.

"It's curious, but I seem to know you," she said, presently.

"I don't think it is very curious," Jim replied. "You see, I met you at the restaurant near the post-office in Montreal."

"Yes," said Evelyn, with a puzzled look, "I remember our going there, but we didn't talk to anybody."

"I brought your lunch," said Jim, fixing his eyes on her face.

"Then you were the waiter?" she remarked, tranquilly.

Jim smiled. He felt that she had passed a rather awkward test and he was satisfied.

"Since you must have waited on a large number of people, it is strange you remembered me," she resumed.

"No," he said. "I hadn't met an English woman of your kind before, and, for that matter, I haven't met one since." He paused and added: "I expect this accounts for it."

Evelyn's eyes twinkled. He was obviously sincere and she felt amused. He was a new and rather good type, she thought. His figure was athletic: his face was thin and brown, his glance was steady but searching, and she liked his quiet manner.

"But you had other occupations besides waiting, hadn't you?" she asked.

"I was a miner in the North for some time."

"That must have been interesting. Were you successful?"

"I found a copper vein and was lucky enough to sell it rather well."

"Then, is it difficult to sell a mine?"

"As a rule, it's much harder than finding one," Jim answered, with a smile. "In general, the miner struggles with half-thawn gravel that often fills up his shallow shaft, and sometimes nearly starves in the tundra bogs, while the man with money enough to work the vein gets the profit. It cost us something to hold on until we got a just price."

Evelyn did not know much about the Canadian North, but she could imagine his holding on. "I expect you will find Langrigg different from the British Columbian wilds," she said. "Do you feel strange here?"

Jim looked about. The long room was paneled, the ceiling was low, and the wide casement commanded a view of the level marsh and shining sands. It was different from the dark pine forests and snowy peaks of British Columbia. The fine old china and silver, tall candlesticks, and the flowers on the table were in marked contrast with the rude furniture of camp and shack.

"No," he said, thoughtfully. "When one has wandered about a new country, meeting all kinds of people and doing all kinds of jobs, I imagine one would not feel very strange anywhere. Besides, I've a curious notion that I have come home."

"After all, you are a Dearham; perhaps this accounts for something," Evelyn remarked and glanced at Carrie. "Did you meet your friends when you were at Montreal?"

"Jim met us in Vancouver. Jake brought him to the store when he was ill," Mrs. Winter replied.

"The store?" said Evelyn.

"Mrs. Winter means a shop," Mordaunt explained.

"Oh," said Evelyn, "that is interesting! What did you sell?"

"Most everything people wanted. Dry goods, groceries, sweet biscuits – you'd call it cake – and we had quite a trade in Sundaes."

"What is a Sunday?"

Mordaunt laughed. "A little delicacy you consume on the spot. I imagine it's sometimes an ice and sometimes a sweetmeat, or a cleverly mixed drink. Perhaps it's oftenest enjoyed on Sundays and holidays, but they don't spell it with a y."

"I must try to remember. But who made these nice things?"

"Carrie," said Mrs. Winter, with a look of pride. "She baked the biscuit, too."

"I don't think I should like baking. One must get so hot," Evelyn remarked, and turned to Carrie. "Was it hard work?"

Carrie was talking to Dick Halliday, but she looked up and laughed, although there was a touch of color in her face.

"Oh, no," she said. "Anyhow, it was not as hard as cooking for the boys in the woods. I did all the cooking, and they liked the hash I put up."

Jim thought Carrie's western accent was rather marked and wondered why she had said hash. Evelyn's questions had been asked with languid good humor, as if she meant to draw Carrie into the talk, but somehow Jim got a hint of antagonism between the girls. This puzzled him and he was glad when Mrs. Halliday began to talk about something else. Evelyn did not support her much, but Mrs. Halliday was firm.

"You must tell us about your adventures," Evelyn said, as they got up, but when they went on the terrace Jim followed Carrie. Although he wanted to talk to Evelyn, Carrie must not feel neglected. She gave him a rather curious smile when he stopped by the stone bench she occupied.

"I allow your English relations have first claim on you to-night," she remarked. "You can talk to me when you like."

"A new claim doesn't wipe out older ones," Jim replied.

"I suppose that is so," Carrie agreed. "You're rather obvious, Jim, but you mean well."

Then she got up and joined Dick Halliday, and Jim felt puzzled.

CHAPTER II

JIM'S GUESTS

After breakfast next morning Jim and his friends went out on the terrace. The tide was full and the woods across the bay looked like islands. A line of white surf marked the edge of the marsh, which ran back, broken by winding creeks, to the foot of the rising ground. Sometimes a gleam of sunshine touched the lonely flats and they flashed into luminous green, silver, and yellow. Then the color faded and the light moving on forced up for a few moments the rugged blue hills against their misty background. The landscape had not the sharp distinctness common in Canada; it was dim and marked by an elusive charm.

Jim began to think about Evelyn. She was somehow like the country. Her charm was strong but not obtrusive. One could not, so to speak, realize Evelyn at a glance; she was marked by subtle refinements and delicacies that one rather felt than saw. Her English reserve was fascinating, because it hinted at the reward one might get if one could break it down. Carrie, too, was thinking about Evelyn, Mrs. Winter was sewing, and Jake occupied himself by cleaning an old pipe.

"It's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," Carrie remarked. "Do you find having nothing to do comes easy, Jim?"

"I don't expect to be idle long. It's prudent to consider before you begin to move."

Carrie felt that Jim was getting English. He had, of course, been to McGill, but since they reached the Old Country he was dropping his Western colloquialisms. She thought it significant that he did so unconsciously.

"Perhaps I'd better tell you how things are, so far as I understand them," he went on. "To begin with, running a house like Langrigg is expensive, and I doubt if I am rich enough to loaf in proper style."

"If you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for the job," Jake observed.

"That's true, to some extent," Jim agreed. "I was brought up to work and have got the habit. Well, my farm rents amount to something, but when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave very much. It seems there are people in England willing to pay for owning land; but that plan's not sound."

"Then, you have another?"

"It's not worked out. The leases of two good farms soon fall in and I may manage them myself. Then I own the marsh, which feeds some sheep and cattle in summer. The soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the Manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the water. Well, we have seen small homesteaders draining Canadian muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good market for all farming truck in two hours' ride. The proposition, however, needs some thought. It might cost me all I've got."

Jake's eyes twinkled. "I reckon that wouldn't stop you if you resolved to dyke the marsh. You didn't get much money when you got the estate?"

"I did not. I understand Joseph Dearham was not rich, and when he found his health was breaking down he gave some money to his relations. People here try to get out of the inheritance duties like that; besides, he had not meant to give my father much. However, I have a rich relation, from whom I want nothing, but whom the others think I ought to satisfy."

"Bernard Dearham? Dick Halliday talked about him."

Jim nodded. "Bernard is my grandfather Joseph's brother. Joseph was satisfied to live quietly at Langrigg like a small country gentleman; Bernard got rich by opening some iron mines not far off. Joseph married twice, and Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt's mother were his second wife's daughters. She was a widow with two children when she married Joseph. So you see, Mrs. Halliday is not my aunt."

"Then, Evelyn Halliday is not your cousin," Carrie remarked.

"I suppose she's not," said Jim. "Anyhow, since I'm a Dearham, a descendant in the male line, it seems I've a stronger claim on Bernard than the others. I don't mean to urge the claim. He didn't give me Langrigg, he left my father alone, and if I keep the place, I'm going to run it as I like."

"Do you mean to keep Langrigg?" Carrie asked.

Jim looked thoughtful. "I imagine so; I don't know yet. There are drawbacks, but something pulls. I'll wait a bit before I decide." He got up and beckoned Jake. "Let's go and see the farms."

They went off and Carrie turned to Mrs. Winter. "He'll stay; we'll lose him soon. I think I knew we would lose him when you found the advertisement – "

She paused and Mrs. Winter remembered that when she had shown the girl the old newspaper Carrie had hesitated for a moment or two. She, however, said nothing and Carrie resumed:

"Well, I wanted to see the Old Country and you needed a rest. The life they live here is fuller than ours; it's something to enjoy it for a time, but we won't stay long, although Jim is kind."

Mrs. Winter gave her a keen glance, but Carrie's face was calm. Then she picked up her sewing and Carrie studied the old house. Langrigg meant much to Jim and she thought would presently mean more. She vaguely understood his feelings and tried to sympathize, although the effort cost her something.

In the meantime, Jim went to see his tenants. He dined with one at noon in an old farm kitchen and afterwards occupied himself by examining horses, buildings, and agricultural machines. On the whole, he puzzled the small farmers, to whom a landlord of his type was new, although they liked his frankness and answered his direct questions, since it was obvious that this was a man who knew how things were done. Some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about Jim afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country gentleman; he was like Bernard Dearham, who opened the famous iron mines.

When they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble fields, Jim said to Jake, "I've seen enough of the plow land. Let's go across the marsh."

Jake agreed, and by and by Jim, leaning against a gate, indicated the long rows of hedges that ran down the slope and melted into an indistinct mass on the level plain.

"There's nothing much to be done here in the meantime. These folks are wasting labor and money plowing their little fields, but I reckon they're slow and stubborn. It wouldn't pay to hustle them yet."

"No," said Jake, with a twinkle. "I expect it hurts to feel you must keep your hands off, but you seem to know when you've got to allow for the idiosyncrasies of human nature. It's harder to use men properly than horses and machines."

"Some day, perhaps, I'll grub out these hedges and make room for the tractors to rip a furrow right across the farms. I've no use for wasting land on weeds and thorns."

"You think so now," Jake rejoined. "You haven't been here very long and there's something insidious about the country; its old-time customs get hold of one. Then I don't know if the tractor's picturesque, and cutting down trees and hedges might spoil the landscape. It wouldn't be quite so English after you had done."

Jim looked at him rather hard. "Sometimes you're pretty smart. Anyhow, I can't spoil the marsh by covering it with good grass and corn, and if the thing could be done economically, it ought to pay."

"It's possible. Are you keen about the profit? Or do you want a new big job?"

"I'm not going to philosophize; that's your proper line," Jim answered with a laugh. "Let's see if the creeks could be dyked."

They went down the hill and plunged into a belt of tall dry grass, crossed a broad tract of smooth green turf, dotted by thrift and silver weed, and pushed on to the lower flats where the sea-lavender and samphire grew. Then they skirted miry creeks that gradually filled with weeds as they neared dry ground, and went home to Langrigg by the causeway road. Jim was muddy, but happy; although he told himself he had not decided yet, half-formed plans floated through his brain.

A day or two afterwards, Dick Halliday and Mordaunt came over to Langrigg and were shown into the hall. Jim was not there, but his pipe and some books lay about and the others sat down. Presently Dick picked up a book and saw it was the old French romance from which Mordaunt had read a passage at the telegraph shack. He opened it carelessly and then started when he saw, Franklin Dearham, written in faded ink, on the first blank page. He looked across at Mordaunt and hesitated, with a vague suspicion in his mind. It was possible the latter had seen the writing when he opened the book at the shack, and if he had —

"You look as if you have found something interesting," Mordaunt remarked.

"It is interesting," said Dick, and felt relieved when he heard a step in the passage. He did not think Mordaunt, sitting some distance off, knew the book.

Next moment Jim came in and stated that he was alone. Mordaunt lighted a cigarette Jim gave him and asked if his friends were staying long.

"I don't know," said Jim. "We have made no plans yet, but I imagine I shall keep Langrigg."

"Do you mean you had thought about selling the estate?" Mordaunt asked, rather sharply.

"I did think about it, but don't know if I went much farther. The matter's complicated."

"Langrigg is rather an expensive house to manage and the farm rents are low," Mordaunt answered in a thoughtful voice. "Have you any money? Perhaps I'm blunt, but I'm a relative."

"I have some. Not enough to help me do all I want."

"You mean to do something, then?"

"If I stay, I'm going to put up the farm rents, though I mean to help my tenants pay. I'm going to enlarge the small fields, alter boundaries, and fix things so the land can be worked on the economical Canadian plan. The drawback is it may cost me much and I must wait for the return."

Dick laughed. "There are other drawbacks and it may cost you more than you know. In this country you can't do what you like, and we resent experiments. If you meddle with old-fashioned customs, you'll raise the neighborhood against you. In a sense, the trees and hedgerows you'd cut down are your neighbors."

"I believe they're mine," Jim rejoined dryly. "However, I don't suppose I'd bother anybody if I dyked and drained the marsh."

"Drain the marsh!" Mordaunt exclaimed. "That's frankly ridiculous! It's a favorite haunt of the Lag geese and, in a dry autumn, I don't know a better spot for snipe."

"There you are, you see!" Dick interposed, with a twinkle. "Perhaps you don't understand that it's a serious matter to disturb a few sportsmen."

"Looks as if I might disturb a number of people before I'm through," Jim replied. "Anyhow, I haven't made my calculations yet and don't know if my money will go round."

"I wonder whether you understand that you are Bernard Dearham's nearest relation and his approval is important?" Mordaunt remarked.

Jim pondered. He liked Dick and thought he trusted him, but he was not certain if he trusted Mordaunt. On the whole, he thought the fellow meant to give him good advice, but he was a type Jim did not know much about. Although he was highly cultivated, Jim thought he had conservative prejudices and an exaggerated pride. The pride was, of course, not obtrusive, but it was there.

"The lawyers hinted something like that and Mrs. Halliday made it plainer," he answered cautiously.

Mordaunt saw he would say nothing more and they were silent for a few moments until Dick got up and said he would ask the gardener for some plants the man had promised his mother. He wanted the plants, but he wanted to think, for he was curious about the French romance. If Lance had seen Franklin Dearham's name, he must have known Jim was his son, and had meant to let him stay in Canada. Lance's manner when they talked about Jim at the shack to some extent justified the supposition. Moreover, while Lance had gone to Langrigg with the object of giving Jim good advice there was something curious about his tone. He was urbane, but one noted a hint of superiority, or perhaps patronage, that the other might resent. All the same, it was not Dick's business and he went to look for the gardener.

In the meantime, Mordaunt said to Jim: "You suggested that your Canadian friends might make a long visit."

"I did; I'd like them to stay for good."

"Do you think it's prudent?" Mordaunt asked quietly.

Jim looked hard at him, with a touch of haughty surprise, and Mordaunt resumed in a conciliatory voice: "Perhaps I'm getting on dangerous ground, but I mean well and if you don't see – . To begin with, have you thought about marrying Miss Winter?"

"I have not. I'm certain she has not thought about marrying me!"

"No doubt, you know," Mordaunt agreed with some dryness. "For all that, my inquiry was perhaps justified. The girl is unformed, but she's beautiful and I think she's clever."

"You can leave Miss Winter out. Now I suppose you have cleared the ground and there's something else?"

Mordaunt made a deprecatory gesture. "I'll be frank, because I don't want you to make mistakes. If you are going to stay at Langrigg, you owe something to the family and yourself. A country gentleman has social duties and much depends on what your neighbors think about you at first. Very well. Your Canadian friends wear the stamp of the rank to which they belong; it was hardly necessary for Mrs. Winter to state that she had kept a small store. These are not the kind of people your neighbors would like to receive. Then Bernard Dearham's family pride is known: I imagine he largely persuaded your grandfather to alter his will."

Jim got up and his face was quietly stern.

"Langrigg is mine; my grandfather gave it to me without my asking for the gift," he said. "I owe my relations nothing and don't acknowledge Bernard Dearham's rule. None of you bothered about my father; you were glad to leave him and me alone. I had no claim on my Canadian friends and they had nothing to gain; but they nursed me when I was ill and my partner stood by me in the blizzards and cold of the North. Now you ask me to turn them down, because they're not the people neighbors I don't know would like to meet! Do you think I will agree?"

Mordaunt shrugged and forced a smile. "Oh, well, in a sense I suppose your attitude is correct. There is obviously nothing more to be said."

Dick came in soon afterwards and Mordaunt went off with him, but he had given Jim a jar and the latter walked about the terrace until Mrs. Winter and the others returned from a drive. Carrie gave Jim a quick glance as she advanced. She knew his moods and saw he was disturbed. The drive had brought the color to her skin; she looked very fresh and her step was light. Jim felt savage as he remembered Mordaunt's patronizing remark. Carrie was beautiful.

"Has something been bothering you, Jim?" she asked.

"It is not important," he replied. "If you own land in this country, it seems you must submit to a number of ridiculous rules and folks won't leave you alone. However, did you like the town?"

"We were charmed. It's a quaint old place and the country round is so green and quiet. Everything's smooth and well-kept; the trees look as if somebody had taught them how they ought to grow. You feel as if all the rough work had been done long since and folks have only to take care of things. I like it all."

"Then, you will be satisfied to stay at Langrigg?"

"For a time. If you want us."

"I'd be happy if you'd stay for good!"

Carrie said nothing for a moment and then smiled.

"That's impossible, though you're very nice. We'll make the most of our holiday; but it's only a holiday."

She turned, rather quickly, and joined Mrs. Winter, who was going into the house.

CHAPTER III

MORDAUNT PONDERS

It was raining and Mordaunt stood by an open window in Mrs. Halliday's drawing-room at Whitelees. A smell of stocks came in, and across the lawn, rows of dahlias, phlox, and autumn lilies made a belt of glowing color against a dark yew hedge. The hedge was neatly clipped and the turf was very smooth. By and by Mordaunt turned and glanced about the room, which he knew well. Whitelees was modern, and although Mrs. Halliday sometimes grumbled about her poverty, its furniture and decoration indicated extravagance. Mordaunt, however, thought there was too much ornament and doubted if some of the pottery was genuine. The room was pretty, but he was a connoisseur and was not satisfied with prettiness. He liked Langrigg better than Whitelees. Langrigg was austere and dignified.

Mordaunt was not at all austere, although he was not effeminate or luxurious. He was a good sportsman, something of an artist, and a traveler. He had talent, and might perhaps have made his mark, if he had not had just enough money to meet his needs and exaggerated dislike for competitive struggle. It had been a bitter disappointment that he had inherited very little of Joseph Dearham's property, although none of his relations suspected this, for Mordaunt knew how to hide his feelings. He was stubbornly conservative and held tenaciously the traditions of his class.