The Mistress of Bonaventure

It was some time before Cotton came back, looking grave and yet elated, and turning towards us, said: "Mr. Dixon has brought me unexpected news, both good and bad. It is necessary that I should accompany him to Winnipeg. Sergeant, you have the power to grant me a week's leave of absence?"

Mackay pursed his lips up, and, with overdone gravity, shook his head. "I'm fearing we cannot spare ye with the new mounts to train."

Dixon chuckled softly. "I'm afraid Charles Singlehurst Cotton will break no more police horses for you. He has a good many of another kind of his own," he said. "He has also influential relatives who require his presence in England shortly, and have arranged things so that your chief authorities will probably release him before his term of service is completed. The signature to this note should remove any scruples you may have about granting him leave."

Mackay drew himself up, and returned the letter with the air of one acknowledging a commander's orders, then let his hand drop heavily on Cotton's shoulder. His tone was slightly sardonic, but there was a very kindly look in his eyes as he said: "Ye'll no' be above accepting the congratulations of the hard old sergeant who licked ye into shape. It was no' that easy, and maybe it galled ye some; but ye have learned a few useful things while ye rode with the Northwest troopers ye never would have done in England. We took ye, a raw liddie, some bit overproud of himself, and now I'm thinking we'll miss ye when we send ye back the makings of a man. Away ye go with Mr. Dixon so long as it's necessary."

It struck me as a graceful thought, for Cotton stood straight, as on parade, with the salute to a superior, as he said: "I'll report for duty in seven days, sir," then laid his brown hand in Mackay's wrinkled palm. "Every word's just as true as gospel, and I'll thank you in years to come."

He took my arm and drew me out upon the starlit prairie. "I can't sleep to-night, and my horse is lame. You will lend me one," he said. Then when I asked whether he was not going with Dixon to the station, he laughed, and flung back his head.

"I'm going to spend all night in the saddle. It will be best for me," he said. "I'll tell you the whole story later, and, meantime, may say that over the sea, yonder, somebody is dead. I know what usually sends such men as I out here, but while I should like you to remember that I neither broke any law of the old country nor injured any woman, I wouldn't see which side my bread was buttered – and there are various ways of playing the fool."

"We have Mackay's assurance that the Colonial cure has proved a success, and in all seriousness you have my best wishes for the future," I said.

The corporal answered gravely: "If it had not I should never venture to visit Bonaventure to-morrow, as I intend doing."

"Visit Bonaventure?" I said, a little thickly.

"Of course!" said Cotton, with both exultation and surprise in his tone. "Can't you see the best this news may have made possible to me?"

I was thankful that the kindly darkness hid my face, and turned towards the stables without a word; while, after the corporal had mounted, I found it very hard to answer him when he said simply, yet with a great air of friendship: "Although you were irritating sometimes, Ormesby, you were the first man I ever spoke frankly to in this country. Won't you wish me luck?"

"If she will have you, there is no good thing I would not wish for you both," I said; but in spite of my efforts my voice rang hollow, and I was thankful when Cotton, who did not seem to notice it, rode away.

I did not return to the house until long after the drumming of hoofs, growing fainter and fainter, had finally died away, and said little then. I even flung the journals Dixon brought, which were full of the new railroad, unread, away. My rival was young and handsome, generous, and likable, even in his weaknesses. He was also, as it now appeared, of good estate and birth, and granting all that I could on my own side, the odds seemed heavily in favor of Cotton, while a certain knowledge of the worst would almost have been preferable to the harrowing uncertainty as to how the Mistress of Bonaventure would make the comparison. It lasted for two whole weeks – weeks which I never forgot; for I could not visit Bonaventure until I learned whether Cotton's errand had resulted successfully, and he sent no word to lessen the anxiety.

At last I rode in to the settlement, whither I knew Haldane had gone to inspect the progress of the road, and met Boone and Mackay on the prairie. "Has Cotton returned?" I asked.

"He has," said Mackay dryly. "This is his last day's duty. He loitered at the settlement, and ye will meet him presently. I'm not understanding what is wrong with him, but he's uncertain in the temper, and I'm thinking that sudden good fortune does not agree with him."

I met Cotton, riding very slowly and looking straight ahead. He pulled up when I greeted him, and seeing the question in my eyes, ruefully shook his head. "I've had my answer, Ormesby – given with a gentleness that made it worse," he said.

He must have misunderstood my expression, and perhaps my face was a study just then, for he added grimly: "It is perfectly true, and really not surprising. Hopeless from the first – and, I think, there is someone else, though heaven knows where in the whole Dominion she would find any man fit to brush the dust from her little shoes, including myself. Well, there is no use repining, and I'll have years in which to get over it; but it's lucky I'm leaving this country, and – for one can't shirk a painful duty – I'll say good-by to you with the others at Bonaventure to-morrow."

I was glad that he immediately rode on, for while I pitied him, my heart leaped within me. Had it happened otherwise I should have tried to wish him well, and now my satisfaction, which was, nevertheless, stronger than all such considerations, appeared ungenerous.

When I reached it the usually sleepy settlement presented a stirring scene. Long strings of flat cars cumbered the trebled sidetrack, rows of huts had risen as by magic, and two big locomotives moved ceaselessly to and fro. Dozens of oxen and horse teams hauled the great iron scoops which tore the sod up to form the roadbed, while the air vibrated with the thud of shovels, the ringing of hammers, and the clang of falling rails. The track lengthened yard by yard as I stood and watched. In another week or two the swarming toilers would have moved their mushroom town further on towards Crane Valley, and I was almost oppressed by a sense of what all this tremendous activity promised me. It meant at least prosperity instead of penury, the realizing of ambitions, perhaps a road to actual affluence; also it might be far more than this. I scarcely saw Haldane until he grasped my hand.

"It is a great day, Ormesby," he said. "No man can tell exactly how far this narrow steel road may carry all of you. Still, one might almost say that you have deserved it – and it has come at last."

"It will either be the brightest day in all my life – or the worst," I said. "Will you listen to me for two minutes, sir?"

Haldane did so, and then leaned against a flat car, with the wrinkles deepening on his forehead, for what appeared to be an inordinately long time. "I may tell you frankly that I had not anticipated this – and am not sure I should not have tried to prevent it if I had," he said. "I know nothing that does not testify in your favor as an individual, Ormesby; but, as even you admit, there are objections from one point of view. Still, this road and our new schemes may do much for you and – Well, I never refused my daughter anything, and if she approves of you, and you will not separate us altogether, I won't say no."

I had expected nothing better, and dreaded a great deal worse; and my pulses throbbed furiously when, after some further speech, Haldane strolled away with a half-wistful, half-regretful glance at his daughter who approached us as we spoke. She was in high spirits, and greeted me cordially.

"You ought to be happy, and you look serious. This is surely the best you could have hoped for," she said.

It seemed best to end the uncertainty at once, and yet, remembering Cotton's fate, I was afraid. Nevertheless, mustering courage, I looked straight at the speaker, and slowly shook my head. Lucille was always shrewd, and I think she understood, for her lips quivered a little, and the smile died out of her eyes.

"You are difficult to satisfy. Is it not enough?" she said.

Her voice had in it no trace of either encouragement or disdain, and a boldness I had scarcely hoped for came upon me as I answered: "In itself it is worth nothing to me. What you said is true, for I have set my hopes very high. There is only one prize in the Dominion that would satisfy me, and that is – you."

Lucille moved a little away from me, and I could not see her face, for she looked back towards the train of cars which came clanking down the track; but for once words were given me, and when I ceased, she looked up again. Though the rich damask had deepened in her cheek, there was a significant question in her eyes.

"Are you sure you are not mistaken, Rancher Ormesby? Men do not always know their own minds," she said.

The underlying question demanded an answer, and I do not know how I furnished it, for I had already found it bewildering when asked by myself; but with deep humility I framed disjoined words, and gathered hope once more when I read what might have been a faint trace of mischief, and something more, in my companion's eyes.

"It is not very convincing – but what could you say? And you are, after all, not very wise," she said. "I wonder if I might tell you that I knew part of this long ago; but the rest I did not know until the evening the team bolted in the hollow. Still," and Lucille grew grave again, "would it hurt you very much if I said I could not listen because I feared you were only dreaming this time, too?"

"It would drive me out of Canada a broken-hearted man," I said. "It was you for whom I strove, always you – even when I did not know it – since the first day I saw you. I would fling away all I own to-morrow, and – "

The words broke off suddenly, for Lucille looked up at me, shyly this time, and from under half-lowered lashes. "I think," she said very slowly, and with a pause, during which I did not breathe, "that would be a pity, Harry Ormesby."

It was sufficient. All that the world could give seemed comprised within the brief sentence; and it was difficult to remember that we stood clear in the eyes of the swarming toilers upon the level prairie. Neither do I remember what either of us next said, for there was a glamour upon me; but as we turned back towards Haldane, side by side, I hazarded a query, and Lucille smiled. "You ask too many questions – are you not yet content? Still, since you ask, I think I did not understand aright either until a little while ago."

Haldane appeared satisfied, though, perhaps, that is not the most appropriate word, for he himself supplied a better one; and when we were next alone, and I ventured thanks and protestations, laughed, in the whimsical fashion he sometimes adopted, I think, to hide his inward sentiments.

"You need not look so contrite, for I suppose you could not help it; and I am resigned," he said. "There. We will take all the rest for granted, and you must wait another year." Then, although Haldane smiled again, he laid his hand on my shoulder in a very kindly fashion as he added; "Lucille might, like her sister, have shone in London and Paris; but it seems she prefers the prairie – and, after all, I do not know that she has not chosen well."

The story of my failures, mistakes, and struggles ended then and there, for henceforward, even when passing troubles rested upon us, I could turn for counsel and comfort to a helpmate whose wisdom and sympathy were equalled only by her courage. Nevertheless, two incidents linger in my memory, and were connected with the last meeting of what had now ceased to be a prairie tribunal at Bonaventure. It was an occasion of festivity, but regret was mingled with it, for Boone and Cotton would leave us that night, and there was not one of the bronzed men gathered in the great hall at Bonaventure who would not miss them. Boone, it may be mentioned, had, after entering into recognizances to appear if wanted, been finally released from them by the police. At length Haldane stood up at the head of the long table.

"This has been a day to remember, and, I think, what we have decided to-night will set its mark upon the future of the prairie," he said. "Where all did well there were two who chiefly helped us to win what we have done, and it is to our sorrow that one goes back to his own country now that his work is well accomplished. We will not lightly forget him. The other will, I hope, be spared to stay with you and share your triumphs as he has done your adversity. I have to announce my daughter's approaching marriage to your comrade, Henry Ormesby."

It pleased me greatly that Cotton was the first upon his feet, and Mackay the next, although it was but for a second, because, almost simultaneously, a double row of weather-darkened men heaved themselves upright. Cotton's face was flushed, and his eyes shone strangely under the candlelight; but he looked straight at me as he solemnly raised the glass in his hand.

"The Mistress of Bonaventure: God bless her, and send every happiness to both of them!" he said.

The very rafters rang to the shout that followed, and it was the last time that toast was honored, for when next my neighbors gathered round me with goodwill and festivity, Lucille Haldane became mistress of the new homestead which had replaced the sod-house at Crane Valley, instead of Bonaventure.

It was an hour later when she stood beside me, under the moonlight, speeding the last of the guests. Boone halted before us, bareheaded, a moment, with a curiously wistful look which was yet not envious, and his hand on the bridle. "It was a good fight, but I shall never again have such an ally as Miss Haldane," he said.

He had barely mounted, when Cotton came up, and I felt my companion's fingers tremble as, I think, from a very kindly impulse, she slipped them from my arm. Cotton, however, was master of himself, and gravely shook hands with both of us. "It was not an empty speech, Ormesby. I meant every word of it. Heaven send you both all happiness," he said.

He, too, vanished into the dimness with a dying beat of hoofs, and so out of our life; and we two were left alone, hand in hand, with only the future before us, on the moonlit prairie.

THE END