Part 13

Margaret smiled, but her smile was gentle. "Perhaps I was not kind. You're stanch and my experiment was shabby."

"Your remark was justified. Anyhow, it's not important. If I can cheat the police and get back to Lancashire, will you marry me, Margaret?"

For a few moments Margaret was quiet. Then she said in a steady voice: "Your cheating the police would not persuade me; in fact, somehow I think they will find out you had nothing to do with the warden's getting shot. The obstacle's not there. You are young, Jimmy, and you admitted you were carried away."

"One cannot carry you away," Jimmy rejoined.

"I must think for you and for myself," said Margaret and Jimmy's heart beat, because he saw her calm was forced. "Suppose your trustees did not approve your marrying a girl from the bush?"

"Dick Leyland might not approve; his habit's to be nasty, but mine's not to bother about Dick. Sir Jim is head of the house and he's human. I can't picture his not being altogether satisfied with you."

"But you don't know!"

Jimmy pondered. Margaret's firmness baffled him, but, from her point of view, he saw she took the proper line. All the same, it cost her something; she was highly strung, her color came and went, and her tight mouth was significant. The trouble was, he dared not urge her very hard. In the meantime, he must hide from the police and might be sent to the chain-gang.

"I want you, my dear," he said. "I'm selfish. If you marry me, I run no risk, but you may run some. My drawbacks are rather numerous, particularly just now."

"Very well," said Margaret. "When you come back from the mountains, I may perhaps agree. But your relations must approve and I don't yet engage----"

Jimmy advanced, but she stepped back and stopped him. Then he turned and saw Mrs. Jardine wave to them from the stoop.

Dinner was a melancholy function, and Jimmy thought his hosts disturbed. They were Margaret's relations and for her sake were willing to help, but he pictured Mrs. Jardine's weighing the risk. Then he was bothered about Margaret, for Peter's confidence that his wife could bluff the police if they arrived before he returned did not banish his doubts.

At length Mrs. Jardine got up and Peter and Jimmy went to load the horse. By and by the rancher ran back for some tobacco and Jimmy moodily fastened the pack-rope. Stooping by the horse, he thought he heard a step, but did not look up, and a few moments afterwards he felt a hand on his shoulder. Then an arm went around his neck and Margaret turned his head and kissed him. He tried to seize her, but she slipped away and stopped a yard or two off. Jimmy thrilled and his eyes sparkled.

"Now I know when I come back you won't refuse me."

"You don't know; I don't know," Margaret replied in a trembling voice. "All the same, I love you, and you're going away----"

Peter and Mrs. Jardine came out. The rancher seized the bridle and called to the horse. Jimmy lifted his battered hat and they started across the clearing.

Three days afterwards, they stopped at a small stone hut, built against the bottom of a great rock. On one side dark pines rolled up to the walls, and a hundred yards off one could hardly see the pile of stones was a building. Yet the small room was rudely furnished and the earth floor was dry. They cut some wood, made a fire, and cooked food, and after the meal lighted their pipes.

"You have got an ax and a rifle, but if you run out of grub, Graham, the section-hand on the railroad will put me wise," said Peter. "Tom's a white man and his post's not far from the spot we crossed the line. The trapper who lived here is dead and I reckon nobody but Tom and me knows about the shack."

"I expect I've got all I want, but I'm bothered about Margaret."

"You don't want to bother. In the meantime, Margaret's my wife's sister from Calgary. That's good enough for the police, and anyhow the Royal North-West aren't city patrolmen. They reckon they're highbrow frontier cavalry and I guess the trooper won't allow a girl held him up. You'll stay put, until we see if we can ship you out with the construction boys to the Calgary side. If that plan won't go, we'll push across the range for the big park valley and try to run you south. I think that's all; but if you want to send a letter to your friends, Graham will mail it for you."

After a time Peter knocked out his pipe and Jimmy went with him to the door. When the rancher vanished in the woods and all was quiet Jimmy leaned against the post and gave himself to gloomy thought.

It began to get dark. The snow-veined rocks melted in the mist and the pines were vague and black. In the distance a timber wolf howled and the long mournful note emphasized the dreariness. In the rocks where Jimmy hid at the beginning he had Deering's society and at the ranch he had Margaret's and Jardine's. Now he was altogether alone in the savage wilds. Going back to the fire, he threw on fresh wood, and although he was not keen about smoking, lighted his pipe.

XXV

THE CALL

Jimmy fastened his skin coat, and going to the door of the section-man's hut, looked up the track. The railroad and an angry river occupied the bottom of the gorge, but the water was low and a rapid throbbed on a dull note. Jimmy knew its slack beat was ominous; the frost had stopped the streams that not long since leaped out from the glaciers.

He shivered, for the cold was keen and the coat he had got at Green Lake was old. Besides, he was tired; he had started before daybreak from his shack, but when he reached the railroad the moon was on the rocks. In the shadow, the snow that streaked the mountain-side was blue; across the gorge broken crags shone like polished steel and the small pines growing in the cracks sparkled with frost. Not far off, a dark hole in a slanted white bank indicated the mouth of a snow shed, but Jimmy knew the stones and snow had come down the hill.

When he looked up, his view on one side was cut by the top of a precipice; it was like looking up from a deep pit. Farther along the gorge, the rocks got indistinct and melted in the moon's pale reflections. No track but the railroad pierced the mountains, although the wide chain was broken by narrow valleys running north and south. Jimmy had come up the line from the valley he occupied, and by another some distance off one could reach Green Lake. The nearest station was twelve miles away, at the end of Graham's section.

Jimmy had arrived half an hour since, but had not found Graham, although his stove was burning. Peter Jardine had stated he could trust the man, who had begun to clear a ranch at Green Lake but had stopped when his money was gone. In the mountains, ranching is a slow and laborious job, and men whose means are small are forced at times to follow another occupation.

By and by a lantern twinkled at the mouth of the snow shed and a man came up the track.

"Hello!" he said. "I've got some news and wondered if you'd blow in, but I wanted to take a look at the rock-cut before the freight comes through. Did you make supper?"

Jimmy said he had cooked some flapjacks, although he felt he ought to wait until his host arrived.

"Shucks!" remarked Graham. "Jardine's my neighbor and he allows you're his friend. But the cold's fierce. Let's get in."

They sat down by the stove and for a minute or two Jimmy was content to warm himself and smoke. At the shack he had no light but the fire and the long evenings were dreary. All the same, he was disturbed and with something of an effort he said, "Well?"

"Two troopers got off the west-bound at the depot and my partner, Tellson, allowed they brought a lot of truck. Looks as if they meant to stop around and search the neighborhood."

"Ah!" said Jimmy. "I expect they know I'm about! Did they bring their horses?"

"Tellson saw no horses. If the boys were going to Green Lake, they could ride. Besides, the other outfit went there not long since."

Jimmy nodded. He knew the police had not bothered Margaret and he must think for himself. The troopers not bringing their horses was ominous, since it indicated that they were going to push into the mountains. The valley in which he hid did not open to the track; to reach it one must climb a mountain spur, but he imagined the police meant to climb. If they found the mouth of the valley, they might reach the shack before he knew, and if he got away, he must take the snowy rocks.

"I expect Jardine hasn't yet arranged to send me out on board a train?" he said.

"Peter was trying to fix it; he had to wait until he met a construction boss he knows; but he can't fix it now. The police will stop the gangs and tally up the boys."

"If they come down the line, to find out where I am won't take them long."

"Your chances don't look very good," Graham agreed. "If you could cross the range to the park valley, you might get away south, but I doubt if you could make it."

Jimmy said nothing. He imagined Deering stated the range had been climbed by some city members of the Canadian Alpine Club; but they, no doubt, took packers to carry supplies and went when the snow-line was high. For a lonely man to venture on the icy rocks was ridiculous. After a few minutes Graham pulled out his watch.

"The freight's making good time and when she's gone I must go up the track to the piece the boys underpinned," he said. "I reckon I'll be away an hour and you had better go to bed."

Jimmy heard a rumble and went with Graham to the door. To watch the great train come down the gorge would for a few minutes banish his gloomy thoughts. Up the track, a streak of silver light touched the rocks and trees. The speeding beam got brighter, and by and by dazzling radiance flooded the gorge. The ground began to shake, harsh, clanging echoes rolled across the rocks; one heard the big cars jolt and the roar of wheels. Then black smoke swirled about the hut and the beam was gone. In the dark, the banging cars rushed by, a blaze touched the snow shed and went out, and the turmoil died away.

Graham picked up his lantern and Jimmy went back to the stove. Lighting his pipe, he pulled out Stannard's map and began to ponder. It was obvious he must not stay long at the trapper's shack. Since the police watched the neighborhood, he could not get food, and when they found the way to the valley he would be driven back into the mountains. In fact, he felt he ought to try for freedom now before his line of retreat was cut, but he was tired and did not see where he could go.

There was no use in stealing off along the track, because the station agents were, no doubt, warned to look out for him. If he started before daybreak, he might perhaps reach the trail to Green Lake, but Peter had already run some risk for him and Margaret was at her cousin's. To go to Green Lake would put the police on her track.

Jimmy studied Stannard's map. Across the mountains behind the shack, the park valley ran southeast and from its other end one could perhaps reach the plains and the United States. Graham had stated Jimmy could not cross the range, but Graham was not a mountaineer. Stannard was a mountaineer and could get supplies and packers. Then Stannard was his friend and perhaps owed him something.

The adventure was daunting, but Jimmy resolved to try it. He must for a few days risk stopping at the shack, and pulling out a blank-book, he wrote a note. Graham would send the note and Stannard would, no doubt, start soon after it arrived. Then Jimmy thought he ought to let Margaret know his plans and he wrote another note. Putting the envelopes on a shelf, he got into Graham's bunk.

When Jimmy's note arrived at the hotel Stannard was at dinner. For the most part, the guests had gone, but Mrs. Dillon had returned with Frank and Laura, and a young man had joined the party. Stevens belonged to the Canadian Alpine Club, and knowing about Stannard's exploits, had cultivated his society.

Stannard took the soiled envelope from the page and noted it had not a stamp.

"Who brought the letter?" he asked.

"A freight brakesman gave it to our porter at the station."

Stannard put down the envelope and resumed his dinner, but Laura said, "The hand is Jimmy's. Aren't you curious?"

"I am curious, anyhow," Dillon declared, and Mrs. Dillon looked up, for she knew something about Jimmy's adventures.

"If you want to read your letter, do so," she said to Stannard.

Stannard opened the envelope and Laura remarked his thoughtful look. She took the note from him and after a moment or two gave it Dillon.

"Is it possible for Jimmy to get across?" Dillon asked.

"I frankly don't know," said Stannard and turned to Stevens. "A young friend of ours wants to try a rather bold exploit; he thinks he can cross the Cedar Range and I could help. In summer, I wouldn't hesitate. To venture on the snow-fields now is another thing."

Stevens's eyes sparkled. He was young and enthusiastic, and to climb with a mountaineer like Stannard was something to talk about.

"Although I haven't long joined the club, sir, I went with Gordon when he explored the Cascades from Rawden. If you go, I'd like to join you."

"I don't yet know if I'll go or not," said Stannard and resumed his dinner.

Mrs. Dillon touched Laura. She was a large and rather quiet lady and not marked by much refinement, but she was kind and sometimes firm.

"I want to see that note," she said.

Laura looked at Stannard and gave her the note.

"The poor young man. He's surely up against it!" she exclaimed. "I like Jimmy. If I was a mountain clubman, I'd feel I'd got a call."

Stannard said nothing and Laura was quiet. She was disturbed about Jimmy, but she knew her father. Besides, she thought Stevens curious. By and by she looked at Dillon, who began to talk about something else.

When dinner was over Mrs. Dillon joined another lady and Stannard went off. Laura and Dillon remained at the table and Stevens saw they did not want his society. He went away and Laura asked: "Do you think Jimmy can escape?"

"If he stops at his hut, I expect the police will get him," Dillon replied.

Laura frowned and looked about. The table was decorated by flowers from the coast, and the electric light was reflected by good china and glass. In the background were polished hardwood panels and carved pillars. The spacious room was warm; all struck a note of luxurious refinement, but Laura thought about Jimmy, cut off from his supplies, in the snow.

Had Jimmy gone back to Lancashire, she admitted she might have married him. He had refused and for a time his obstinacy had hurt, but she was not revengeful and, since she had rather weighed his advantages than loved him, she could let it go. She liked Jimmy and was moved by a gentle sentimental tenderness.

"Are you willing to help Jimmy, Frank?" she asked.

"Why, of course! I thought you knew I mean to help," Dillon declared. "Perhaps I was jealous about Jimmy, but now I'm sorry for him. All the same, your father puzzles me. He's not keen."

"I expect he knows the risk," said Laura thoughtfully, for Stannard's hesitation was obvious. "Since he must lead the party, he feels he ought not to be rash. Then if Jimmy got away across the mountains, I expect the police would make you all accountable."

"Oh, well, the job is awkward, although I expect we could put it over. Suppose we look for Mr. Stannard?"

Stannard was in the rotunda, and when Laura and Dillon advanced he smiled.

"You are young and romantic, but I am not. When one gets old one uses caution."

"I doubt if I am romantic, but I think Mrs. Dillon did not exaggerate," Laura rejoined. "Jimmy is our friend and trusts us. His note is a call."

"Sometimes deafness is not a drawback. I own I'd sooner not hear the call."

"But you mean to go?"

"It looks as if I might be forced. Frank's resolve is rather obvious," said Stannard with a resigned shrug.

Dillon gave him a keen glance. Somehow he felt Stannard did mean to go, but wanted to be forced. Frank thought it strange.

"I feel we ought to help, and now Deering is not about, nobody but you can lead us."

For a few moments Stannard was quiet. Then he said, "Very well, but if we are going, we must start soon. We want packers to carry food and a tent as far as possible, and I'd like a good mountaineer to help on the rocks. The hotel guides are gone, but I expect the clerk knows where to find them."

"Grant lives at Calgary."

"I think the fellow I want's at Revelstoke and he could get the train that arrives in the morning," said Stannard, and pulled out his watch. "We can send a night-letter and needn't use economy. I'll telephone the station agent and give him the message."

Frank knew Grant of Calgary was a good mountaineer, but he said nothing and Stannard gave Laura a smile.

"I expect you are satisfied."

"You're as noble as I thought," said Laura. "I knew why you hesitated and it wasn't for yourself. But I knew you would go."

XXVI

DEERING TAKES THE TRAIL

Stannard was marked by a superficial languidness. Strangers thought him careless and his humorous tranquillity had charm. For all that, when speed was important he moved fast and after he telephoned to the station he got to work. He packed rucksacks for his companions, got ropes and ice-axes, and arranged with the hotel cook to put up a supply of food. Then he sent a messenger for two or three half-breeds who carried loads for fishing parties. Stevens helped and admitted that Stannard knew his job. All he did was carefully thought about.

After some time Dillon joined them and Stannard said, "It's awkward, but Willmer at Revelstoke is engaged. However, he states he can send us a useful man and we are to meet him at the station. He'll come by the train in the morning and we'll get on board. We ought to reach the railroad hut Jimmy talks about by dark and if the night is clear we'll push on."

"If the police are about the station where we get off, they may stop us."

"It's possible," Stannard agreed. "Still they don't know our object and we must persuade them we are mountaineering tourists. Boast about your climbing and the Canadian Alpine Club; Stevens knows their exploits. All the same, I imagine the police are in the mountains. Well, your sack is packed, and when you have got your snow-spectacles and the grease for your skin, we'll stop for a smoke."

In the morning the half-breed packers arrived and soon afterwards all were ready to start. The hotel servants and three or four guests came to see them go, but when the others strapped on their loads Stannard joined Laura on the steps.

"Well, we are going to Jimmy's help," he said with a smile. "Frank is very keen, but as far as possible I'll try to see he does nothing rash. To know your marriage is fixed is some comfort."

Laura looked up quickly. Although Stannard's smile was kind, she was vaguely disturbed.

"When Frank wanted the wedding soon I thought you agreed rather easily. I was satisfied to stay with you for some time."

"Oh, well," said Stannard. "I'm afraid I haven't carried out my duties. I'm a careless fellow and feel my daughter does not owe me much. Although you have grown up beautiful and attractive, Nature and your aunts are accountable. Then, you see, I'm getting old, and mountaineering is my hobby. Sometimes one slips on an icy rock--"

"You mustn't talk like that; it hurts," said Laura with a touch of emotion. "You gave me all I asked for; you have always indulged me. Then I urged you to go, and now I feel I ought not to urge. To be generous in my way costs one nothing. I shall not venture on the rocks; I send you."

Stannard laughed, but Laura, studying him, was moved. Her father was handsome and wore the stamp of high cultivation. Although he was not young, he carried himself like an athlete. She knew his strength and pluck and his gentleness to her. Now she thought him fine and chivalrous.

"You follow your heart," he said and kissed her. Then he pulled out his watch. "But I must not be selfish and Frank is waiting."

Dillon advanced and Stannard resumed: "Youth is romantic and sometimes exaggerates. Laura imagines her generosity and yours accounts for my starting on our adventure. Well, perhaps I'm slow and cautious, but now and then one recaptures a touch of one's boyish rashness. However, I mustn't philosophize. We must get off in a few minutes."

"I'll join you on the trail," said Dillon, who remarked that Stannard implied that he hesitated to go. Stannard had said something like that before, as if he wanted others to note that the plan was not his. All the same, it was not important, and Dillon took Laura's hand.

Five minutes afterwards the party started. The packers carried the heavy loads, the others the ice-axes, and Stevens and Stannard wore round their shoulders coils of Alpine rope. Where the trail turned they stopped for a moment and waved their hats, and then vanished in the trees.

Some time afterwards Laura saw a plume of black smoke roll across the pines and stole off to her room. She did not want Mrs. Dillon's comfort. Her father and her lover had started for the rocks, and if they paid for their rashness, she was accountable.

In the morning she got a jar, for a sergeant of the Royal North-West Police arrived at the hotel. He was polite but firm, and Laura saw she must brace up. Mrs. Dillon had gone with her to the rotunda and to know she had her help was some comfort.

"Mr. Stannard started for the mountains yesterday," the sergeant remarked. "He took a quantity of camp truck and two of your friends. Where did he go?"

"I don't altogether know his line," Laura replied. "When you climb high mountains you cannot make fixed plans. Much depends on the snow."

"Well, I expect Mr. Stannard stated where he meant to start?"

"Why, of course," said Mrs. Dillon. "He'd get off at the Green River depot."

The sergeant remarked her frankness, but thought she saw some frankness was indicated, because for him to find out where the party had got off was not hard.

"Do you know Mr. Stannard's object? Our clubmen go for the rocks in summer. His starting now was strange."

Laura lifted her head and her look was proud. She thought she could play up and the fellow must not imagine Stannard had gone to Jimmy's help.

"My father is not a Canadian clubman. He's a famous Alpine mountaineer and can go where others cannot."

"Our boys are pretty smart," said the sergeant, smiling. "But are all Mr. Stannard's party expert mountaineers? Mr. Stevens, for example? And Mr. Frank Dillon?"

"My son," said Mrs. Dillon, who saw the other had talked to the hotel clerk. "Frank knows something about the rocks and belongs to a club that explores the Olympian range. We're Americans."

The sergeant bowed politely, but she resumed: "Mr. Stannard's English, all the lot are tourists and I sure can't see what the Canadian police have to do with their going off to climb your rocks. You're not going to draw strangers to the country if you bother them like that."

"Sometimes the police's duty is awkward," said the sergeant in an apologetic voice.

"The police have not much grounds to inquire about my father's excursion," Laura remarked haughtily. "When he killed the big-horn he did not know he poached on a game reserve, but he paid the fine and it is done with."

The sergeant saw her eyes sparkled and she was not playing a part. She did not know all he knew, and he must not enlighten her.

"Not long since Mr. Stannard went shooting with the pit-light, which is not allowed, and the game-warden was shot."

"My father did not shoot the warden; he stayed and helped the police."

"Three of his party pulled out," the sergeant rejoined. "Maybe Mr. Leyland could put us wise about the shooting and we reckoned Mr. Stannard knows where he is."

"Then you must wait for his return. If you found his track, I don't suppose you could follow him on the rocks."

"In the meantime, you're resolved not to help us hit his track?"

"I don't know his track," Laura replied.