The Protector

“Go on,” said Evelyn. “What has his visit to the Claytons to do with it?”

“Well,” said Mabel, “you don’t know that I saw Gerald in the afternoon. After all, he’s the only brother I’ve got; and as Jim was going to the station with the trap I made him take me. The Claytons were in the garden; we were scattered about, and I heard Frank and Gerald, who had strolled off from the others, talking. Gerald was telling him about some things he’d bought; they must have been expensive, because Frank asked him where he got the money. Gerald laughed, and said he’d had an unexpected stroke of luck that had set him straight again. Now, of course, Gerald got no money from home, and if he’d won it he would have told Frank how he did so. Gerald always would tell a thing like that.”

Evelyn was filled with confusion and hot indignation. She had little doubt that Mabel’s surmise was correct.

“I wonder if he has told anybody, though it’s scarcely likely,” she said.

“Of course he hasn’t. We all know what Gerald is. Wallace ought to get his money back, now you have sent him away,” Mabel, who had waited a moment or two, went on. “But, of course, that’s most unlikely. It wouldn’t take Gerald long to waste it.”

Evelyn rose, and, making some excuse, left the room. A suspicion which had troubled her more than Gerald’s conduct had lately crept into her mind, and it now thrust itself upon her attention – several things pointed to the fact that her father had taken a similar course to that which her brother had taken. She felt that had she heard Mabel’s information before the interview with Vane, she might have yielded to him in an agony of humiliation. Mabel had summed up the situation with stinging candour and crudity – Vane, who had been defrauded, was entitled to recover the money he had parted with. For a few moments Evelyn was furiously angry with him, and then, growing calmer, she recognised that this was unreasonable. She could not imagine any idea of a compact originating with the man, and he had quietly acquiesced in her decision.

Soon after she left her sister, Vane walked into the room which Chisholm reserved for his own use. Chisholm was sitting at the table with some papers in front of him and a cigar in his hand, and Vane drew out a chair and lighted his pipe before he addressed him.

“I’ve made up my mind to sail on Saturday, instead of next week,” he said.

“You have decided rather suddenly, haven’t you?”

Vane knew that what his host wished to inquire about was the cause of his decision, and he meant to come to the point. He was troubled by no consideration for the man.

“The last news I had indicated that I was wanted,” he replied. “After all, there was only one reason why I have abused Mrs. Chisholm’s hospitality so long.”

“Well?” said Chisholm, with an abruptness which hinted at anxiety.

“You will remember what I asked you some time ago. I had better say that I abandon the idea.”

Chisholm started, and his florid face grew redder while Vane, in place of embarrassment, was conscious of a somewhat grim amusement. It seemed strange that a man of Chisholm’s stamp should have any pride, but he evidently possessed it.

“What am I to understand by that?” he asked with some asperity.

“I think what I said explained it. Bearing in mind your and Mrs. Chisholm’s influence, I’ve an idea that Evelyn might have yielded, if I’d strongly urged my suit; but that was not by any means what I wanted. I’d naturally prefer a wife who married me because she wished to do so. That’s why, after thinking the thing over, I’ve decided to – withdraw.”

Chisholm straightened himself in his chair, in fiery indignation, which he made no attempt to conceal.

“You mean that after asking my consent and seeing more of Evelyn, you have changed your mind. Can’t you understand that it’s an unpardonable confession; one which I never fancied a man born and brought up in your station could have brought himself to make.”

Vane looked at him with an impassive face. “It strikes me as largely a question of terms – I mayn’t have used the right one. Now you know how the matter stands, you can describe it in any way that sounds nicest. In regard to your other remark, I’ve been in a good many stations, and I must admit that until lately none of them were likely to promote much delicacy of sentiment.”

“So it seems,” Chisholm was almost too hot to sneer. “But can’t you realise how your action reflects upon my daughter?”

Vane held himself in hand. He had only one object: to divert Chisholm’s wrath from Evelyn to himself and he thought he was succeeding in this. For the rest, he cherished a strong resentment against the man.

“It can’t reflect upon her, unless you talk about it, and both you and Mrs. Chisholm have sense enough to refrain from doing so,” he answered dryly. “I can’t flatter myself that Evelyn will grieve over me.” Then his manner changed. “Now we’ll get down to business. I don’t purpose to call that loan in, which will, no doubt, be a relief to you.”

He rose leisurely and, strolling out of the room, met Carroll shortly afterwards in the hall. The latter glanced at him sharply.

“What have you been doing?” he inquired. “There’s a look I seem to remember in your eye.”

“I suppose I’ve been outraging the rules of decency, but I don’t feel ashamed. I’ve been acting the uncivilised Westerner, though it’s possible that I rather strained the part. To come to the point, however, we pull out for the Dominion first thing to-morrow.”

Carroll asked no further questions. He did not think it would serve any purpose, and he contented himself with making arrangements for their departure, which they took early on the morrow. Vane had a brief interview with Mabel, who shed some tears over him, and then by her contrivance secured a word or two with Evelyn alone.

“Now,” he said, “it’s possible that you may hear some hard things of me, and I count upon your not contradicting them. After all, I think you owe me that favour. There’s just another matter – as I won’t be here to trouble you, try to think of me leniently.”

He held her hand for a moment and then turned away, and a few minutes later he and Carroll left the Dene.

CHAPTER XII – VANE GROWS RESTLESS

Vane had been back in Vancouver a fortnight when he sat one evening on the verandah of Nairn’s house in company with his host and Carroll, lazily looking down upon the inlet.

Nairn referred to one of the papers in his hand.

“Horsfield has been bringing up that smelter project again, and there’s something to be said in favour of his views,” he remarked. “We’re paying a good deal for reduction.”

“We couldn’t keep a smelter going at present,” Vane objected.

“There are two or three low-grade mineral properties in the neighbourhood of the Clermont that have only had a little development work done on them,” Nairn pointed out. “They can’t pay freight on their raw product; but I’m thinking we’d encourage their owners to open up the mines, and get their business, if we had a smelter handy.”

“It wouldn’t amount to much,” Vane replied. “Besides, there’s another objection – we haven’t the dollars to put up a thoroughly efficient plant.”

“Horsfield’s ready to find part of them and do the work.”

“I know he is,” said Vane. “He’s suspiciously eager. The arrangement would give him a pretty strong hold upon the company; there are ways in which he could squeeze us.”

“It’s possible. But, looking at it as a personal matter, there are inducements he could offer ye. Horsfield’s a man who has the handling of other folks’ dollars, as weel as a good many of his own. It might be wise to stand in with him.”

“So he hinted,” Vane answered shortly.

“Your argument was about the worst you could have used, Mr. Nairn,” Carroll broke in, laughing.

“Weel,” said Nairn, good-humouredly, “I’m no urging it. I would not see your partner make enemies for the want of a warning.”

“He’d probably do so, in any case; it’s a gift of his,” said Carroll. “On the other hand, it’s fortunate he has a way of making friends: the two things sometimes go together.”

Vane turned to Nairn with signs of impatience. “It might save trouble if I state that while I’m a director of the Clermont I expect to be content with a fair profit on my stock in the company.”

“He’s modest,” Carroll commented. “What he means is that he doesn’t propose to augment that profit by taking advantage of his position.”

“It’s a creditable idea, though I’m no sure it’s as common as might be desired. While I have to thank ye for it, I would not consider the explanation altogether necessary,” said Nairn, whose eyes twinkled. Then he addressed Vane: “Now we come to another point – the company’s a small one, the mine is doing satisfactorily, and the moment’s favourable for the floating of mineral properties. If we got an option on the half-developed claims near the Clermont and went into the market, it’s likely that an issue of new stock would meet with investors’ favour.”

“I suppose so,” said Vane. “I’ll support such a scheme, when I can see how an increased capital could be used to advantage and I am convinced about the need for a smelter. At present, that’s not the case.”

“I mentioned it as a duty – ye’ll hear more of it; for the rest, I’m inclined to agree with ye,” Nairn replied.

A few minutes later he went into the house with Carroll, and as they entered it he glanced at his companion. “In the present instance, Mr. Vane’s views are sound,” he said. “But I see difficulties before him.”

“So do I. When he grapples with him it will be by a frontal attack.”

“A bit of compromise is judicious now and then.”

“In a general way it’s not likely to appeal to my partner. When he can’t get through by direct means, there’ll be something wrecked. You had better understand what kind of man he is.”

“It’s no the first time I’ve been enlightened upon the point.”

Shortly after they had disappeared, Miss Horsfield came out of another door, and Vane rose when she approached him.

“Mrs. Nairn told me I would find you and the others in the verandah,” she informed him. “She said she would join you presently, and it was too fine to stay in.”

“I think she was right,” Vane replied. “As you see, I’m alone. Nairn and Carroll have just deserted me, but I can’t complain. What pleases me most about this house is that you can do what you like in it, and – within limits – the same thing applies to this city.”

Jessie laughed, and sank gracefully into the chair he drew forward.

“Yes,” she said. “I think that would please you. But how long have you been back?”

“A fortnight, since yesterday.”

There was a hint of reproach in the glance Jessie favoured him with. “Then I think Mrs. Nairn might have brought you over to see us.”

Vane wondered if she meant she was surprised he had not come of his own accord, and he was mildly flattered.

“I was away at the mine a good deal of the time,” he replied deprecatingly.

“I wonder if you are sorry to get back?”

Turning a little, Vane indicated the climbing city, rising tier on tier above its water front; and then the broad expanse of blue inlet and the faint white line of towering snow.

“Wouldn’t anything I could say in praise of Vancouver be trifle superfluous?” he asked.

Jessie recognised that he had parried her question neatly, but this did not deter her. She was anxious to learn if he had felt any regret in leaving England, or, to be more concise, if there was anybody in that country whom he had reluctantly parted from. She admitted that the man attracted her. There was a breezy freshness about him, and though she was acquainted with a number of young men whose conversation was characterised by snap and sparkle, they needed toning down. This miner was set apart from them by something which he had doubtless acquired in youth in the older land.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” she said. “We don’t always want to be flattered, and I’m in search of information. You told me you had been nine years in this country, and life must be rather different yonder. How did it strike you after the absence?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” Vane replied with an air of amused reflection which hinted that he meant to get away from the point. “On the whole, I think I’m more interested in the question how I struck them. It’s curious that whereas some folks insist upon considering me English here, I’ve a suspicion that they looked upon me as a typical colonial there.”

“One wouldn’t like to think you resented it.”

“How could I? This land sheltered me when I was an outcast, and set me on my feet.”

“Ah!” said Jessie, “you are the kind we don’t mind taking in. The rest go back and abuse us. But you haven’t given me very much information yet.”

“Then,” said Vane, “the best comparison is supplied by my first remark – that in this city you can do what you like. You’re rather fenced in yonder, which, if you’re of a placid disposition, is, no doubt, comforting, because it shuts out unpleasant things. On the other hand, if you happen to be restless and active, the fences are inconvenient, because you can’t always climb over, and it is not considered proper to break them down. Still, having admitted that, I’m proud of the old land. It’s only the fences that irritate me.”

“Fences would naturally be obnoxious to you. But we have some here.”

“They’re generally built loose, of split-rails, and not nailed. An energetic man can pull off a bar or two and stride over. If it’s necessary, he can afterwards put them up again, and there’s no harm done.”

“Would you do the latter?”

Vane’s expression changed. “No,” he said. “I think if there were anything good on the other side, I’d widen the gap so that the less agile and the needy could crawl through.” He smiled at her. “You see, I owe some of them a good deal. They were the only friends I had when I first tramped, jaded and footsore, about the province.”

Jessie was pleased with his answer. She had heard of the bush choppers’ free hospitality, and she thought it was a graceful thing that he should acknowledge his debt to them.

“Now at last you’ll be content to rest a while,” she suggested. “I dare say you deserve it.”

“It’s strange you should say that, because just before you came out of the house I was thinking that I’d sat still long enough,” Vane answered with a laugh. “It’s a thing that gets monotonous. One must keep going on.”

“Then,” said Jessie, “take care you don’t walk over a precipice some day when you have left all the fences behind. But I’ve kept you from your meditations, and I had better see if Mrs. Nairn is coming.”

She left him, and he was lighting a cigar when he noticed a girl whose appearance seemed familiar in the road below. Moving along the verandah, he recognised her as Kitty, and hastily crossed the lawn towards her. She was accompanied by a young man whom Vane had once seen in the city, but she greeted him with evident pleasure.

“Tom,” she said, when they had exchanged a few words, “this is Mr. Vane,” Then turning to Vane she added: “Mr. Drayton.”

Vane, who liked the man’s face and manner, shook hands with him, and then looked back at Kitty.

“What are you doing now, and how are little Elsie and her mother?” he inquired.

Kitty’s face clouded. “Mrs. Marvin’s dead. Elsie’s with some friends at Spokane, and I think she’s well looked after. I’ve given up the stage. Tom” – she explained shyly – “didn’t like it. Now I’m with some people at a ranch near the Fraser on the Westminster road. There are two or three children and I’m fond of them.”

Drayton smiled. “She won’t be there long. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time, Mr. Vane. They told me at the office that you were away.”

“Ah!” said Vane, “I suppose my congratulations won’t be out of place. Won’t you ask me to the wedding?”

Kitty blushed. “Will you come?”

“Try,” said Vane, and Drayton broke in:

“There’s nobody we would sooner see. I’m heavily in your debt, Mr. Vane.”

“Oh, pshaw!” rejoined Vane. “Come and see me any time: to-morrow, if you can manage it.”

Drayton said he would do so, and shortly afterwards he and Kitty moved away, but Vane, who turned back across the lawn, was not aware that Jessie had watched the meeting from the verandah and had recognised Kitty, whom she had once seen at the station. She had already ascertained that the girl had arrived at Vancouver in his company, which, in view of the opinion she had formed about him, somewhat puzzled her; but she said one must endeavour to be charitable. Besides, having closely watched the little group, she was inclined to believe from the way Vane shook hands with the man that there was no danger to be apprehended from Kitty.

CHAPTER XIII – A NEW PROJECT

Vane was sitting alone in the room set apart for the Clermont Company in Nairn’s office, when Drayton was shown in. He took the chair Vane pointed to and lighted a cigar the latter gave him.

“Now,” he began with some diffidence, “you cut me off short when I met you the other day, and one of my reasons for coming over was to get through with what I was saying then. It’s just this – I owe you a good deal for taking care of Kitty; she’s very grateful, and thinks no end of you, I want to say I’ll always feel you have a claim on me.”

Vane smiled at him. It was evident that Kitty had taken her lover into her confidence with regard to her trip on board the sloop, and, that she had done so said a good deal for her.

“It didn’t cost me any trouble,” Vane replied. “We were coming down to Vancouver, anyway.”

Drayton’s embarrassment became more obvious. “It cost you some dollars; there were the tickets. Now I feel I have to – ”

Vane stopped him. “When you are married to Miss Blake you can pay me back, if it will be a relief to you. When’s the wedding to be?”

“In a couple of months,” said Drayton, who saw it would be useless to protest. “I’m a clerk in the Winstanley mills, and, as one of the staff is going, I’ll get a move up then. We are to be married as soon as I do.”

He said a little more on the same subject, and then, after a few moments’ silence added: “I wonder if the Clermont business keeps your hands full, Mr. Vane.”

“It doesn’t. It’s a fact I’m beginning to regret.”

Drayton appeared to consider. “Well,” he said, “folks seem to regard you as a rising man with snap in him, and there’s a matter I might, perhaps, bring before you. Let me explain. I’ve taken an interest, outside my routine work in the lumber trade of this province and its subsidiary branches. I figured any knowledge I could pick up might stand me in some dollars some day. So far” – he smiled ruefully – “it hasn’t done so.”

“Go on,” said Vane, whose curiosity was aroused.

“Well, I think that pulping spruce – paper spruce – is likely to be scarce soon. The supply’s not unlimited and the world’s consumption is going up by jumps.”

“There’s a good deal of timber you could make pulp of in British Columbia alone,” Vane interposed.

“Sure. But there’s not a very great deal of spruce that could be milled into high-grade paper pulp; and it’s rapidly getting worked out in most other countries. Then, as a rule, it’s mixed up with the firs, cedars and cypresses; and that means the cutting of logging roads to each cluster of milling trees. There’s another point – a good deal of the spruce lies back from water or a railroad, and it would be costly to bring in milling plant or pack the pulp out.”

“That’s obvious,” said Vane: “for you might have to haul every pound of freight over a breakneck divide.”

Drayton leaned forward confidentially. “Then if one struck high-grade paper spruce – a valley full of it – with water power and easy access to the sea, there ought to be dollars in the thing?”

“Yes,” said Vane, with growing interest. “That is very probable.”

“I could put you on the track of such a valley,” Drayton replied.

“We had better understand each other. Do you want to sell me the information, and have you offered it to anyone else?”

His companion answered with the candour he had expected. “The one or two folks I’ve spoken to don’t seem anxious to consider it. It’s mighty hard for a small man to launch a project.”

“As a rule, it is.”

“Then,” Drayton continued, “the idea’s not my own. It was a mineral prospector – a relative of mine – who struck the valley on his last trip. He’s an old man, and he came down played out and sick. Now I guess he’s slowly dying.” He paused a moment. “Would you like to see him?”

“I’ll go with you now, if it’s convenient,” Vane replied.

They crossed the city to where a row of squalid frame shacks stood on its outskirts. In one which they entered, a gaunt man, with grizzled hair lay upon a rickety bed. A glance showed Vane that the man was very frail. Drayton, who explained the cause of his visit, motioned Vane to sit down, and the prospector fixed his eyes upon the latter.

“I’ve heard of you. You’re the man who located the Clermont – and put the project through,” he said. “You had the luck. I’ve been among the ranges half my life, and you can see how much I’ve made of it. When I struck a claim worth anything, somebody else got the money.”

Vane had reasons for believing that this was not an uncommon experience; but the man went on again: “Well, you look straight, and I’ve got to take some chances; it’s my last stake. We’ll get down to business; I’ll tell you about that spruce.”

He spoke for a few minutes, and then asked abruptly: “What are you going to offer?”

Vane had not been certain that he would make any offer at all; but, as had befallen him before, the swift decision flashed instinctively into his mind.

“If I find that the timber and its location come up to your account of it, I’ll pay you so many dollars down – whatever we can agree upon – when I get my lease from the land office,” he said. “Then I’ll make another equal payment the day we start the mill. But I don’t bind myself to record the timber or put up a mill, unless I’m convinced it’s worth while.”

“I’d sooner take less dollars and a small share in the concern; and Drayton must stand in.”

“It’s a question of terms,” Vane replied. “I’ll consider your views.”

They discussed it for a while, and when they had at length arrived at a provisional understanding, the prospector made a sign of acquiescence. “We’ll let it go at that; but the thing will take time, and I’ll never get the money. If you exercise your option, you’ll sure pay it down to Seely?”

“Celia’s his daughter,” Drayton explained. “He has no one else. She’s a waitress at the – House in the city.” He named an hotel of no great standing. “Comes home at nights and looks after him.”

Vane glanced round the room. It was evident that Celia’s earnings were small; but he noticed several things which suggested that she had lavished loving care upon the sick man, probably at the cost of severe self-denial.

“Yes,” he answered; “I’ll promise that. But, as I pointed out, while we have agreed upon the two payments, I reserve the right of deciding what share your daughter and Drayton are to take afterwards within the limits sketched out. I can’t fix it definitely until I’ve seen the timber – you’ll have to trust me.”

The prospector once more looked at him steadily, and then implied by a gesture that he was satisfied.

The man fumbled under his pillow, and produced a piece cut out from a map of the province, with rough pencil notes on the back of it.

“It was on my last prospecting trip I found the spruce,” he said. “I’d been looking round for the Company I was with, and I figured I’d strike the coast over the range. The creeks were full of snow-water, and as I was held up here and there before I could get across, provisions began to run short. By and by I fell sick; but I had to get out of the mountains, and I was pushing on for the Strait when I struck the place where the spruce is. After that, I got kind of muddled in the head, but I went down a long valley on an easy grade and struck some Siwash curing the last of the salmon. The trouble is, I was too sick to figure exactly where the small inlet they were camped by lies. They took me back with them to their rancherie – you could find that – and sailed me across to Comox by and by. I came down on a steamboat, and the doctor told me I’d made my last journey.”

Vane expressed his sympathy. The narrative has been crudely matter-of-fact, but he had been out on the prospecting trail often enough to fill in the details the sick man omitted.