The Impostor

“The outlook is sufficient to cause us some anxiety,” he said. “We are holding large stocks, and I can see no prospect of anything but a steady fall in wheat. It is, however, presumably a little too soon to ask your opinion.”

“Well,” said Witham, “while I am prepared to act upon it, I would recommend it to others with some diffidence. No money can be made at present by farming, but I see no reason why we should not endeavour to cut our losses by selling forward down. If caught by a sudden rally, we could fall back on the grain we hold.”

There was a sudden silence, until Dane said softly, “That is exactly what one of the cleverest brokers in Winnipeg recommended.”

“I think,” said Colonel Barrington, “you heard my answer. I am inclined to fancy that such a measure would not be advisable or fitting, Mr. Courthorne. You, however, presumably know very little about the practical aspect of the wheat question?”

Witham smiled. “On the contrary, I know a great deal.”

“You do?” said Barrington sharply, and while a blunderer would have endeavoured to qualify his statement, Witham stood by it.

“You are evidently not aware, sir, that I have tried my hand at farming, though not very successfully.”

“That, at least,” said Barrington dryly, as he rose, “is quite credible.”

When they went into the smaller room, Witham crossed over to where Maud Barrington sat alone, and looked down upon her gravely. “One discovers that frankness is usually best,” he said. “Now, I would not like to feel that you had determined to be unfriendly with me.”

Maud Barrington fixed a pair of clear brown eyes upon his face, and the faintest trace of astonishment crept into them. She was a woman with high principles, but neither a fool nor a prude, and she saw no sign of dissolute living there. The man’s gaze was curiously steady, his skin clear and brown, and his sinewy form suggested a capacity for, and she almost fancied an acquaintance with, physical toil. Yet he had already denied the truth to her. Witham, on his part, saw a very fair face with wholesome pride in it, and felt that the eyes which were coldly contemptuous now could, if there was a warrant for it, grow very gentle.

“Would it be of any moment if I were?” she said.

“Yes,” said Witham quietly. “There are two people here it is desirable for me to stand well with, and the first of them, your aunt, has, I fancy, already decided to give me a fair trial. She told me it was for my mother’s sake. Now, I can deal with your uncle.”

The girl smiled a little. “Are you quite sure? Everybody does not find it easy to get on with Colonel Barrington. His code is somewhat draconic.”

Witham nodded. “He is a man, and I hope to convince him I have at least a right to toleration. That leaves only you. The rest don’t count. They will come round by and by, you see.”

The little forceful gesture with which he concluded pleased Maud Barrington. It was free from vanity, but conveyed an assurance that he knew his own value.

“No friendship that is lightly given is worth very much,” she said. “I could decide better in another six months. Now it is perhaps fortunate that Colonel Barrington is waiting for us to make up his four at whist.”

Witham allowed a faint gesture of dismay to escape him. “Must I play?”

“Yes,” said the girl, smiling. “Whist is my uncle’s hobby, and he is enthusiastic over a clever game.”

Witham groaned inwardly. “And I am a fool at whist.”

“Then it was poker you played?” and again a faint trace of anger crept into the girl’s eyes.

Witham shook his head. “No,” he said. “I had few opportunities of indulging in expensive luxuries.”

“I think we had better take our places,” said Maud Barrington, with unveiled contempt.

Witham’s forehead grew a trifle hot, and when he sat down Barrington glanced at him. “I should explain that we never allow stakes of any kind at Silverdale,” he said. “Some of the lads sent out to me have been a trifle extravagant in the old country.”

He dealt out the cards, but a trace of bewildered irritation crept into his eyes as the game proceeded, and once or twice he appeared to check an exclamation of astonishment, while at last he glanced reproachfully at Witham.

“My dear sir! Still, you have ridden a long way,” he said, laying his finger on a king.

Witham laughed to hide his dismay. “I am sorry, sir. It was scarcely fair to my partner. You would, however, have beaten us, anyway.”

Barrington gravely gathered up the cards. “We will,” he said, “have some music. I do not play poker.”

Then, for the first time, Witham lost his head in his anger. “Nor do I, sir.”

Barrington only looked at him, but the farmer felt as though somebody had struck him in the face, and as soon as he conveniently could, bade Miss Barrington good night.

“But we expected you would stay here a day or two. Your place is not ready,” she said.

Witham smiled at her. “I think I am wise. I must feel my way.”

Miss Barrington was won, and, making no further protest, signed to Dane. “You will take Mr. Courthorne home with you,” she said. “I would have kept him here, but he is evidently anxious to talk over affairs with some one more of his age than my brother is.”

Dane appeared quite willing, and an hour later, Witham sat, cigar in hand, in a room of his outlying farm. It was furnished simply, but there were signs of taste, and the farmer who occupied it had already formed a good opinion of the man whose knowledge of his own profession astonished him.

“So you are actually going to sell wheat in face of the Colonel’s views?” he said.

“Of course,” said Witham simply. “I don’t like unpleasantness, but I can allow no man to dictate my affairs to me.”

Dane grinned. “Well,” he said, “the Colonel can be nasty, and he has no great reason for being fond of you already.”

“No?” said Witham. “Now, of course, my accession will make a difference at Silverdale, but I would consider it a friendly act if you will let me know the views of the colony.”

Dane looked thoughtful. “The trouble is that your taking up the land leaves less for Maud Barrington than there would have been. Barrington, who is fond of the girl, was trustee for the property, and after your – estrangement – from your father everybody expected she would get it all.”

“So I have deprived Miss Barrington of part of her income?”

“Of course,” said Dane. “Didn’t you know?”

Witham found it difficult to answer. “I never quite realized it before. Are there more accounts against me?”

“That,” said Dane slowly, “is rather a facer. We are all more or less friends of the dominant family, you see.”

Witham laid down his cigar and stood up, “Now,” he said, “I generally talk straight, and you have held out a hand to me. Can you believe in the apparent improbability of such a man as I am in the opinion of the folks at Silverdale getting tired of a wasted life and trying to walk straight again? I want your answer, yes or no, before I head across the prairie for my own place.”

“Sit down,” said Dane with a little smile. “Do you think I would have brought you here if I hadn’t believed it? And, if I have my way, the first man who flings a stone will be sorry for it. Still, I don’t think any of them will – or could afford it. If we had all been saints, some of us would never have come out from the old country.”

He stopped and poured out two glasses of wine. “It’s a long while since I’ve talked so much,” he said. “Here’s to our better acquaintance, Courthorne.”

After that they talked wheat-growing and horses, and when his guest retired Dane still sat smoking thoughtfully beside the stove. “We want a man with nerve and brains,” he said. “I fancy the one who has been sent us will make a difference at Silverdale.”

It was about the same time when Colonel Barrington stood talking with his niece and sister in Silverdale Grange. “And the man threw that trick away when it was absolutely clear who had the ace – and wished me to believe that he forgot!” he said.

His face was flushed with indignation, but Miss Barrington smiled at her niece. “What is your opinion, Maud?”

The girl moved one white shoulder with a gesture of disdain. “Can you ask – after that! Besides, he twice wilfully perverted facts while he talked to me, though it was not in the least necessary.”

Miss Barrington looked thoughtful. “And yet, because I was watching him, I do not think he plays cards well.”

“But he was a professional gambler,” said the girl.

The elder lady shook her head. “So we – heard,” she said. “My dear, give him a little time. I have seen many men and women – and can’t help a fancy that there is good in him.”

“Can the leopard change his spots?” asked Colonel Barrington, with a grim smile.

The little white-haired lady glanced at him as she said quietly, “When the wicked man – ”

CHAPTER IX – AN ARMISTICE

The dismal afternoon was drawing in when Witham, driving home from the railroad, came into sight of a lonely farm. It lifted itself out of the prairie, a blur of huddled buildings on the crest of a long rise, but at first sight Witham scarcely noticed it. He was gazing abstractedly down the sinuous smear of trail which unrolled itself like an endless riband across the great white desolation, and his brain was busy. Four months had passed since he came to Silverdale, and they had left their mark on him.

At first there had been the constant fear of detection, and when that had lessened and he was accepted as Lance Courthorne, the latter’s unfortunate record had met him at every turn. It accounted for the suspicions of Colonel Barrington, the reserve of his niece, and the aloofness of some of his neighbours, while there had been times when Witham found Silverdale almost unendurable. He was, however, an obstinate man, and there was on the opposite side the gracious kindliness of the little grey-haired lady, who had from the beginning been his champion, and the friendship of Dane and one or two of the older men. Witham had also proved his right to be listened to, and treated, outwardly at least, with due civility, while something in his resolute quietness rendered an impertinence impossible. He knew by this time that he could hold his own at Silverdale, and based his conduct on the fact, but that was only one aspect of the question, and he speculated as to the consummation.

It was, however, evident that in the meanwhile he must continue to pose as Courthorne, and he felt, rightly or wrongly, that the possession of his estate, was, after all, a small reparation for the injury the outlaw had done him, but the affair was complicated by the fact that, in taking Courthorne’s inheritance, he had deprived Maud Barrington of part of hers. The girl’s coldness stung him, but her unquestionable beauty and strength of character had not been without their effect, and the man winced as he remembered that she had no pity for anything false or mean. He had decided only upon two things, first that he would vindicate himself in her eyes, and, since nobody else could apparently do it, pull the property that should have been hers out of the ruin it had been drifting into under her uncle’s guardianship. When this had been done, and the killing of Trooper Shannon forgotten, it would be time for him to slip back into the obscurity he came from.

Then the fact that the homestead was growing nearer forced itself upon his perceptions, and he glanced doubtfully across the prairie as he approached the forking of the trail. A grey dimness was creeping across the wilderness and the smoky sky seemed to hang lower above the dully gleaming snow, while the moaning wind flung little clouds of icy dust about him. It was evident that the snow was not far away, and it was still two leagues to Silverdale, but Witham, who had been to Winnipeg, had business with the farmer, and had faced a prairie storm before. Accordingly he swung the team into the forking trail and shook the reins. There was, he knew, little time to lose, and in another five minutes he stood, still wearing his white-sprinkled furs, in a room of the birch-log building.

“Here are your accounts, Macdonald, and while we’ve pulled up our losses, I can’t help thinking we have just got out in time,” he said. “The market is but little stiffer yet, but there is less selling, and before a few months are over we’re going to see a sharp recovery.”

The farmer glanced at the documents, and smiled with contentment as he took the cheque. “I’m glad I listened to you,” he said. “It’s unfortunate for him and his niece that Barrington wouldn’t – at least, not until he had lost the opportunity.”

“I don’t understand,” said Witham.

“No,” said the farmer, “you’ve been away. Well, you know it takes a long while to get an idea into the Colonel’s head, but once it’s in it’s even harder to get it out again. Now Barrington looked down on wheat jobbing, but money’s tight at Silverdale, and when he saw what you were making, he commenced to think. Accordingly he’s going to sell, and, as he seems convinced that wheat will not go up again, let half the acreage lie fallow this season. The worst of it is, the others will follow him up, and he controls Maud Barrington’s property as well as his own.”

Witham’s face was grave. “I heard in Winnipeg that most of the smaller men who had lost courage were doing the same thing. That means a very small crop of western hard, and millers paying our own prices. Somebody must stop the Colonel.”

“Well,” said Macdonald dryly, “I wouldn’t like to be the man, and, after all, it’s only your opinion. As you have seen, the small men here and in Minnesota are afraid to plough.”

Witham laughed softly. “The man who makes the dollars is the one who sees farther than the crowd. Anyway, I found the views of one or two men who make big deals were much the same as mine, and I’ll speak to Miss Barrington.”

“Then if you will wait a little, you will have an opportunity. She is here, you see.”

Witham looked disconcerted. “She should not have been. Why didn’t you send her home? There’ll be snow before she reaches Silverdale.”

Macdonald laughed. “I hadn’t noticed the weather, and, though my wife wished her to stay, there is no use in attempting to persuade Miss Barrington to do anything when she does not want to. In some respects she is very like the Colonel.”

The farmer led the way into another room, and Witham flushed a little when the girl returned his greeting in a fashion which he fancied the presence of Mrs. Macdonald alone rendered distantly cordial. Still, a glance through the windows showed him that delay was inadvisable.

“I think you had better stay here all night, Miss Barrington,” he said. “There is snow coming.”

“I am sorry our views do not coincide,” said the girl. “I have several things to attend to at the Grange.”

“Then Macdonald will keep your team, and I will drive you home,” said Witham. “Mine are the best horses at Silverdale, and I fancy we will need all their strength.”

Miss Barrington looked up sharply. There had been a little ring in Witham’s voice, but there was also a solicitude in his face which almost astonished her, and when Macdonald urged her to comply she rose leisurely.

“I will be ready in ten minutes,” she said.

Witham waited at least twenty, very impatiently, but when at last the girl appeared, handed her with quiet deference into the sleigh, and then took his place, as far as the dimensions of the vehicle permitted, apart from her. Once he fancied she noticed it with faint amusement, but the horses knew what was coming, and it was only when he pulled them up to a trot again on the slope of a rise that he found speech convenient.

“I am glad we are alone, though I feel a little diffidence in asking a favour of you, because unfortunately when I venture to recommend anything you usually set yourself against it,” he said. “This is, in the language of this country, tolerably straight.”

Maud Barrington laughed. “I could find no fault with it on the score of ambiguity.”

“Well,” said Witham, “I believe your uncle is going to sell wheat for you, and let a good deal of your land go out of cultivation. Now, as you perhaps do not know, the laws which govern the markets are very simple and almost immutable, but the trouble is that a good many people do not understand their application.”

“You apparently consider yourself an exception,” said the girl.

Witham nodded. “I do just now. Still, I do not wish to talk about myself. You see, the people back there in Europe must be fed, and the latest news from wheat-growing countries does not promise more than an average crop, while half the faint-hearted farmers here are not going to sow much this year. Therefore when the demand comes for Western wheat there will be little to sell.”

“But how is it that you alone see this? Isn’t it a trifle egotistical?”

Witham laughed. “Can’t we leave my virtues, or the reverse, out of the question? I feel that I am right, and want you to dissuade your uncle. It would be even better if, when I return to Winnipeg, you would empower me to buy wheat for you.”

Maud Barrington looked at him curiously. “I am a little perplexed as to why you should wish me to.”

“No doubt,” said Witham. “Still, is there any reason why I should be debarred the usual privilege of taking an interest in my neighbour’s affairs?”

“No,” said the girl slowly. “But can you not see that it is out of the question that I should entrust you with this commission?”

Witham’s hands closed on the reins, and his face grew a trifle grim as he said, “From the point of view you evidently take, I presume it is.”

A flush of crimson suffused the girl’s cheeks. “I never meant that, and I can scarcely forgive you for fancying I did. Of course I could trust you with – you have made me use the word – the dollars, but you must realize that I could not do anything in public opposition to my uncle’s opinion.”

Witham was sensible of a great relief, but it did not appear advisable to show it. “There are so many things you apparently find it difficult to forgive me – and we will let this one pass,” he said. “Still, I cannot help thinking that Colonel Barrington will have a good deal to answer for.”

Maud Barrington made no answer, but she was sensible of a respect which appeared quite unwarranted for the dryly-spoken man who, though she guessed her words stung him now and then, bore them without wincing. While she sat silent, shivering under her furs, darkness crept down. The smoky cloud dropped lower, the horizon closed in as the grey obscurity rolled up to meet them across a rapidly-narrowing strip of snow. Then she could scarcely see the horses, and the muffled drumming of their hoofs was lost in a doleful wail of wind. It also seemed to her that the cold, which was already almost insupportable, suddenly increased, as it not infrequently does in that country before the snow. Then a white powder was whirled into her face, filling her eyes and searing the skin, while, when she could see anything again, the horses were plunging at a gallop through a filmy haze, and Witham, whitened all over, leaned forward with lowered head hurling hoarse encouragement at them. His voice reached her fitfully through the roar of wind, until sight and hearing were lost alike as the white haze closed about them, and it was not until the wild gust had passed she heard him again.

He was apparently shouting, “Come nearer.”

Maud Barrington was not sure whether she obeyed him or he seized and drew her towards him. She, however, felt the furs piled high about her neck and that there was an arm round her shoulder, and for a moment was sensible of an almost overwhelming revulsion from the contact. She was proud and very dainty, and fancied she knew what this man had been, while now she was drawn in to his side, and felt her chilled blood respond to the warmth of his body. Indeed, she grew suddenly hot to the neck, and felt that henceforward she could never forgive him or herself, but the mood passed almost as swiftly, for again the awful blast shrieked about them and she only remembered her companion’s humanity as the differences of sex and character vanished under that destroying cold. They were no longer man and woman, but only beings of flesh and blood, clinging desperately to the life that was in them, for the first rush of the Western snowstorm has more than a physical effect, and man exposed to its fury loses all but his animal instincts in the primitive struggle with the elements.

Then, while the snow folded them closely in its white embrace during a lull, the girl recovered herself, and her strained voice was faintly audible.

“This is my fault; why don’t you tell me so?” she said.

A hoarse laugh seemed to issue from the whitened object beside her, and she was drawn closer to it again. “We needn’t go into that just now. You have one thing to do, and that is to keep warm.”

One of the horses stumbled, the grasp that was around her became relaxed and she heard the swish of the whip followed by hoarse expletives, and did not resent it. The man, it seemed, was fighting for her life as well as his own, and even brutal virility was necessary. After that there was a space of oblivion, while the storm raged about them, until, when the wind fell a trifle, it became evident that the horses had left the trail.

“You are off the track, and will never make the Grange unless you find it!” she said.

Witham seemed to nod. “We are not going there,” he said, and if he added anything, it was lost in the scream of a returning gust.

Again Maud Barrington’s reason reasserted itself, and remembering the man’s history she became sensible of a curious dismay, but it also passed, and left her with the vague realization that he and she were actuated alike only by the desire to escape extinction. Presently she became sensible that the sleigh had stopped beside a formless mound of white and the man was shaking her.

“Hold those furs about you while I lift you down,” he said.

She did his bidding, and did not shrink when she felt his arms about her, while next moment she was standing knee-deep in the snow and the man shouting something she did not catch. Team and sleigh seemed to vanish, and she saw her companion dimly for a moment before he was lost in the sliding whiteness too. Then a horrible fear came upon her.

It seemed a very long while before he reappeared, and thrust her in through what seemed to be a door. Then there was another waiting before the light of a lamp blinked out, and she saw that she was standing in a little log-walled room with bare floor and a few trusses of straw in a corner. There was also a rusty stove, and a very small pile of billets beside it. Witham, who had closed the door, stood looking at them with a curious expression.

“Where is the team?” she gasped.

“Heading for a birch bluff or Silverdale, though I scarcely think they will get there,” said the man. “I have never stopped here, and it wasn’t astonishing they fancied the place a pile of snow. While I was getting the furs out they slipped away from me.”

Miss Barrington now knew where they were. The shanty was used by the remoter settlers as a half-way house where they slept occasionally on their long journey to the railroad, and as there was a birch bluff not far away, it was the rule that whoever occupied it should replace the fuel he had consumed. The last man had, however, not been liberal.

“But what are we to do?” she asked, with a little gasp of dismay.

“Stay here until the morning,” said Witham quietly. “Unfortunately I can’t even spare you my company. The stable has fallen in, and it would be death to stand outside, you see. In the meanwhile, pull out some of the straw and put it in the stove.”

“Can you not do that?” asked Miss Barrington, feeling that she must commence at once, if she was to keep this man at a befitting distance.

Witham laughed. “Oh, yes, but you will freeze if you stand still, and these billets require splitting. Still, if you have special objections to doing what I ask you, you can walk up and down rapidly.”

The girl glanced at him a moment, and then lowered her eyes. “Of course I was wrong! Do you wish to hear that I am sorry?”

Witham, answering nothing, swung an axe round his head, and the girl, kneeling beside the stove, noticed the sinewy suppleness of his frame and the precision with which the heavy blade cleft the billets. The axe, she knew, is by no means an easy tool to handle. At last the red flame crackled, and though she had not intended the question to be malicious, there was a faint trace of irony in her voice as she asked, “Is there any other thing you wish me to do?”