CHAPTER XXX

The Dawn of a New Day

Colonel Hallibut did not return to St. Thomas that night as had been his intention. Indeed, in his great and newly found happiness he forgot that he had cautioned Dick, his man, to come looking for him in case he did not return within a certain time.

And then the great-hearted Bushwhackers absolutely would not let him go so soon, now they knew him as he was.

“God bless us,” laughed the Colonel, “it’s so human of us to miss the worth-while things that might be secured by simply reaching out for them. Here you good people have been for years, and over there I have been for years—lonely, God knows, and hungry for such companionship as I am now enjoying. And to think—to think that I have not understood until now!”

So the Colonel stayed at Big McTavish’s and all the Bushwhackers came over in the evening to make merry, and make merry they did, for had they not reason to be glad?

And after the neighbors had gone Big McTavish sat with Hallibut before the fire and they talked of Gloss’s mother until the purple glow of another spring morning bored its way through the fragrant wood-mists. The Colonel sat with bowed head while McTavish told the story of the brave little woman he had known in Arizona; how she had endeared the rough cattlemen to her; how unwavering and unselfish she had been; and finally how she had intended to come to live with his family in the new Canadian Wild, and how they had looked for her coming in vain!

At the conclusion of his narrative the Colonel sat caressing a little gold locket. The tears were running down his seamed cheeks.

“I used to think that God made fewer noble men and women than He did dogs,” he said huskily, “but I don’t think that now. He made you and your wife, McTavish. I can’t thank you for what you have done. I know my thanks don’t count anyway. But, look here, I have always been a rich man, and, Mac, if I were asked to choose between this new happiness I’ve lately found and all my lands and money, d’ye know which I would choose?”

McTavish smiled.

“Us bush-folks believe that best and most lastin’ joys are always close to us and easy found,” he said.

Hallibut arose and paced to and fro across the room.

“McTavish,” he said abruptly, “I know the man who sent little Gloss to you.”

Big McTavish looked up quickly.

“You do? Then, who is he?”

“Paisley told me to-night that Watson had reminded him of somebody, and only lately did he recollect who. Paisley says that Watson’s real name is Watts, and Watts has five thousand dollars of my sister’s money. He stole it, McTavish; stole it from a dead mother and a helpless baby. I’ll tell you the story.”

Hallibut seated himself and related the story which had been told him by the Sandwich fisherman.

“What are you goin’ to do to him, Colonel?” asked McTavish after Hallibut had finished.

The Colonel drew in his breath quickly. His eyes were on the tall, dark-faced girl who had just entered like a breath of spring. The set look faded from his face and the flashing eyes grew tender as he held out his arms. She came to him and patted his face caressingly.

“I heard you speaking,” she said. “I heard what you said about Watson. Uncle, dear, let’s forget all about Watson. Let’s just be happy now, all of us.”

“But, child——” commenced the Colonel.

“How much am I worth to you?” she smiled, throwing her arms about his neck.

“All the world, Gloss,” he answered.

“If he had not sent me away with Noah you would never have found me,” she whispered.

“It’s true, it’s true,” cried Hallibut. “Strange I didn’t see it that way before.”

“Then you won’t punish him—nor anybody, will you?” she pleaded, “—not even Amos Broadcrook.”

“But Broadcrook burned my boat,” cried the Colonel. “It is best to put him in jail, dear, where he can do no more harm.”

“Amos couldn’t live in jail,” said the girl, “for he’s of the woods. He’ll die if you cage him up.”

Hallibut gathered her close to him.

“Ah, child, but you’re like your little mother,” he laughed. “She was always pleading for the trapped and downed things, and, egad! she always got her way with me, as you will be bound to get yours.”

“Then you’ll not punish him,” she cried gladly. “Oh, that is so good of you!”

She darted away and Hallibut looked at Big McTavish and shook his head.

“I don’t know but that was a mistake on my part,” he said. “Those fellows deserve punishment if ever men did. They as much as bribed Broadcrook to burn my boat, and I guess he was after me, too. He tried to steal dear little Gloss, and intended trying to make you good people believe I did it, and by pretending to be in sympathy with you get possession of the deeds of your properties.”

The door was thrown open and in sprang Boy. He was panting as from a race.

“Hello,” exclaimed his father, “where’ve you been?”

“I stayed with Bill Paisley last night,” explained Boy. “You know we had Amos Broadcrook locked up at his place. We fell asleep for a few minutes and Amos got away. Somebody outside helped him—his brother Hank likely. Anyway, he’s got clean away.”

“And where do you suppose he has gone?” asked Hallibut.

“Across the border likely,” returned Boy. “We’re goin’ after him, sir, and we’ve got to start right now, ’cause the creek’s risin’ and gettin’ dangerous. In half an hour we can’t get across.”

Hallibut looked at Big McTavish, then he turned to Boy.

“Do you think he’ll go across the line?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then, let the poor beggar go. I’ve promised Gloss that I won’t prosecute him.”

Boy whistled.

“Well——” he commenced, then turned abruptly away.

He was glad, glad, glad. He did not know why, nor care why. He could not bear to think of anything of the bush-world being shut up without a chance of escape. He passed outside and Hallibut followed him.

“Boy,” said the big man, “I guess you think me an old fool, don’t you?”

He went over and laid his hand affectionately on the young man’s arm.

“I guess I’m getting old and rather childish, Boy. I’ve just received one of God’s great gifts, and there is nothing much in my old heart this spring morning but joy—joy I’ve had to do without for many weary years. Well, Boy, you know how the old trees of the bush lean when they’ve lived their full years. You know how they topple and sag. You have seen them do it, haven’t you? But sometimes a strong young sapling props them up and they go on living and throwing out their leaves—but they’re not standing alone.”

His arm slipped about Boy’s shoulders.

“Boy,” he said huskily, “I need a prop. I want to hang on because I’ve just found real happiness. But I’m sagging, lad; I’m just an old tree.”

Boy turned and grasped the Colonel’s hand. He felt a tear splash down and his throat tightened and burned.

“I guess I understand,” he said softly. “I’ve growed deep into—all this, and there’s always a saplin’ you can lean on if you care to.”

He sprang away down the path toward the log-barn and the Colonel watched him, a deep glow in his heart.

From the kitchen came the savory smell of frying bacon and Gloss’s happy voice singing an old-fashioned song.

When they all sat down to breakfast, Big McTavish bowed his head and asked God’s blessing on his bounty in these words:

“We thank thee for feedin’ us, O God. We thank thee for thy many mercies, and we thank thee greatly for the sunshine after the darkness.”

And Granny from her end of the table added a fervent “Amen.”

After breakfast the Colonel drew Big McTavish aside and held a whispered controversy with him. Then he turned to the “little ma,” and, holding her hand in both of his, said:

“There is no reward that earth can give you great enough for what you and yours have done for me and mine, but the great reward awaits you all. I have received a great and wonderous blessing,” stroking the brown curls of the tall girl beside him, “ah, so great a blessing! I am going now, but I will come back soon, very soon, again.”

He turned, his eyes blinking, and glanced about the room at the others.

“God bless you all,” he said heartily, and strode outside, followed by Big McTavish and Boy.

Coming up the path was a tired, dripping horse, bestrode by a weary, dripping rider.

“Dick,” murmured the Colonel. “Of course, I might have known that he would come searching for me.

“Why, lad,” he called, “you’re a bigger ninny than I thought you. You’re half drowned.”

Boy ran forward and helped support the man as he dismounted.

“What’s wrong, Dick, lad?” asked Hallibut, catching sight of the new arrival’s face.

Dick fumbled in one of his pockets.

“’Ere’s a letter, sir. I found it tacked to a tree houtside the lawn, sir.”

Hallibut took the letter. It was a dirty, crumpled thing, and scrawled across it were the words “Kenul Halbut.”

“Listen,” said the Colonel, “it’s from Amos Broadcrook. This is what he says:

“‘i intnted to git even with Smyth an Watson but they had skiped fer the stats but i have burnt the stor an hope you will be plesed i am goin away an haint ever comin back dont you put your dorgs onter me i be goin to live strate

‘amos broadcrook.’”

The men exchanged glances.

“Did he do it, Dick?” asked the Colonel.

“Yes, sir, the place was in hashes as I passed.”

“So endeth the——” began Hallibut, but he was abruptly checked by a wet, bedraggled something that hurled itself against him with a low whine of joy.

“Old Zip,” cried the Colonel, “you poor, crippled old devil, Zip. Where—how——”

He staggered back, wiping the wet kiss from his cheek, and tears of laughter stood in his eyes.

“’E jist wouldn’t stay ’ome, sir,” stammered Dick. “’E chewed three good tie-reins clean through, sir, t’ git t’ you; ’e did, sir.”

Then the Colonel said a most extraordinary thing.

“He’d crawl through hell for me, boys, that old dog. And he’s come to-day because we’ve always shared our joys and sorrows together. Come and meet little Gloss, Zip.”