Part 12

"No fear that such a sneak as you have shown yourself to be would be asked."

"I think," broke in John, "it would be as well, Mr. Ranger, if you were now to give me some idea what it all means."

"Well, I'll tell you, John. About two months ago I had a private conversation with Fellows, as we were one evening seated outside the homestead. He and I were supposed to be the only two persons present; but there was another listening, concealed in the bushes, who not only overheard all that was said, but sent a report of our conversation at once to Mr. Quinion, at Broadstone in England."

"How have you learned this?" asked John.

"From Fellows' mother; who upon calling at Broadstone, by her son's request, to acquaint them with incidents known only to myself and him, was surprised to find they were already in possession of the information she had come to bring them."

"Did they say how they had obtained their information?"

"From a correspondent in Canada, who desired that his name might not be made known."

"Well, farmer, how do you fix my brother with the writing of that letter?"

"That's my matter," replied Ranger. "You ask that pale-faced hound over there, and let him deny doing so, if he can, without prevaricating."

It must be admitted that Ranger was playing "high." He was by no means certain of the ground he had taken up. But, feeling pretty confident in his own mind that the knowledge which had escaped had been obtained by Charles, in the manner indicated, he was determined to see if the fellow could be "bluffed" into an admission of his guilt.

Up to the present the attempt had not proved successful, although from the man's manner, and the assumption of indignation, which sat very ill upon him, and which the shrewd farmer thought he could see through, he felt more than ever confirmed in his opinion that the man was guilty.

After Ranger had left, the two men sat silent for some time, smoking, and occupied with their own thoughts.

John felt the position was an awkward one. His brother had been practically dismissed. Where was he to go? What could he do to avert it? He knew his brother's ways too well, and was conscious that it would be no easy task to manage him. But time was pressing, and it was of the utmost importance that whatever was decided upon should be promptly and vigorously carried out.

The silence, which was becoming painful, was at length broken by John, who, laying down his pipe, and turning to his brother, said, "This is a rather unpleasant wind-up to our expectations, Charley?"

Receiving no reply from Charles, who sat moodily gazing into the fire, he continued, "We've been together now ever since we were babies, and although there will come a time when we must be separated, it does seem a pity that out here it should have to take place in such a manner."

"Well, who's to blame?" asked Charles savagely.

"You heard what Ranger said?"

"And of course you believe him?"

"I don't say that I do. I want to hear your version of his story."

"You heard what I said also?"

"That amounted to nothing. You had better have told him you had not written the letter."

"Why should I? What right had he to ask such a question?"

"It would have been so easy, and would have no doubt put an end to the matter."

"Don't you believe it. That man had come with his mind made up, and any denials on my part would have been of no avail."

"It would have put him to the proof of his statement, at all events; and we should have known better the value to attach to it."

After a short pause, John added, "Well, Charley, I am sorry to be obliged to confess it, but from the way in which you avoid the question, I am beginning to be of the opinion there must be some truth in Ranger's charge. Tell me candidly, did you write that letter?"

"Don't you bother your head about what you have nothing to do with."

"It _is_ something I have to do with. You are my brother, and we are the only remaining members of a once united and happy family. Anything that affects your honour or happiness equally affects mine, and I hope you feel the same towards myself. If we are to be separated,--as seems very probable,--don't let it be in anger. If you will give me the assurance that Ranger is mistaken, and that you did not write the letter, I'll believe you."

"It's a question that neither you nor Ranger have any right to ask. I shall give no further answer. You may both think what you like, and do as you like. I shall answer no more questions."

Rising abruptly, as if to put an end to what was clearly an unpleasant topic of conversation, he retired to his room, leaving John to ruminate alone upon the difficulties which lay before him.

*CHAPTER XXIX.*

*TO FRESH FIELDS.*

"All about him shadows still."--TENNYSON.

The Bartons were early on the move the next morning, and Charles was soon busily engaged arranging and packing, ready for departure.

"Then you mean to go, Charley?" asked John, anxious to say something.

"Of course I mean to go! Didn't Ranger tell me to?"

"I know that; but I thought you might have made up your mind, after sleeping upon the subject, to go and explain matters and put things straight."

"Not likely, John! I wouldn't stay here now if he was to ask me."

"I'm very sorry to hear it, for you may travel a long way before meeting with another man who will be as kind and considerate of his men as Ranger is."

"I don't feel that I have much to thank him for."

"Ah, you are prejudiced at present."

"I don't think so,--I speak as I feel."

"Yes, yes! But, mark my words, you'll make a different statement before long."

"We shall see!" Then, after a pause, he asked, "I suppose, John, you will be able to drive me and my luggage over to M'Lean Station?"

"I don't suppose there will be much difficulty about that,--we are not busy now. But where do you think of going?"

"I shall go for Maple Creek first. There I shall make inquiries, and have a good look round. If I can't find anything there, I shall go on to Calgary, which is a busy city, where I think I am pretty sure to succeed."

"Yes, I should think it about as good an arrangement as you could make."

"I am only sorry, John, you are not going with me; I should have been glad for us to have continued together."

"So am I, Charley. You can't tell how I feel your going."

"Well, it is not too late now, if you have a mind to make one with me. I should be very glad if you would, John."

It was the first time he had appeared to evince any feeling at the prospect of parting, and it moved his brother deeply. But his reply was calmly and unhesitatingly given--

"It's no use, my boy; however much I might have liked to, it's too late now!"

"What do you mean by too late?"

"I was on the point of letting you into a secret last night, when Ranger came, and then the 'rumpus' with him upset all my little plan."

"What was it?" inquired Charles, with some astonishment.

"Why, nothing more nor less than that I am going to get married, as soon as I can properly fix up matters."

"Never! Who are you going to marry?"

"I am only waiting for Mary Truman's answer, which she has promised in about another week."

"Then it is not yet settled?"

"No, not quite," he replied rather solemnly.

"Well, you know 'there's many a slip'----"

"Yes, I am aware of all that, but I don't anticipate one here."

"But if she does--shall you stay on?"

"No, not I!"

"In that case you could then come on and join me, so I'll take care to let you have my address. But there, John, I hope you'll be more successful than I have been."

"You don't mean to say that you have already proposed and been refused by Mary?" asked John anxiously.

"No, no! not by her, but Jessie Russell."

"Oh, she's going to have Fellows! Didn't you know that?"

"I did not know it, but I thought so," he replied, as a fierce light gleamed in his eyes.

"You've kept your little affair very quiet," was John's sly rejoinder.

"It's not a pleasant experience to talk about," he added. "It makes, however, another reason why I am not sorry at having to leave the place."

"I'm sorry for you, Charley, my boy; but I think she'll get a good husband in Fellows."

"I'm not so sure about that. My advice to you is, be careful about him."

"Why! what do you mean?"

"He's a man I should trust only as far as I could see him."

"Know anything against him?"

"Don't ask me any more questions."

The subject was dropped, and Charles went on with his packing, whilst John went over to the Ranch to acquaint the farmer with his intention of driving Charles to town.

There was no difficulty in arranging this, and Ranger having paid him the wages due to Charles, together with a month's salary in lieu of notice, in order that he might have something to go on with, he returned and prepared for the journey before him.

After spending about a week at Maple Creek,--a small but flourishing township, contiguous to the Crane Lake, from whence a distant view of the Cypress Hills in the South may be obtained,--and finding nothing offering to suit him, Charles Barton determined to proceed on to Calgary, which lies about seventy miles east of the "Rockies."

Calgary is laid out at the juncture of two rivers,--the Bow and the Elbow,--and is a busy trade centre for nearly all the ranching districts of Southern Alberta; and as the Calgary and Edmonton branches unite here with the main line of the Canadian Pacific Railway, it is rapidly becoming a large and important emporium for the trade of the North-West Provinces. Its edifices and public buildings are sound and substantial; whilst its churches, hotels, stores, and factories, give ample evidence of the successful nature of its business prospects. It has a population exceeding four thousand people, but the stream of settlers is so continuous in its direction, and the reputation which this province enjoys is so good, that it will certainly not be very long before these figures are largely exceeded.

The second day after his arrival at Calgary, Barton fell in with a stockman belonging to a large and thriving rancher in the locality, by whom he was taken in hand, and offered a position at one and a quarter dollars a day, which was accepted, so that for a time his troubles were at an end.

Barton's departure from the Ranch--where incidents of importance were not matters of common occurrence--was scarcely to be classed as a nine-days' wonder. His morose and taciturn disposition, which had kept him aloof from his mates, had brought him few friends; they were acquaintances, and that was all. No one was found regretting him, and but few missed him. Here and there, the brother was asked, "What's become of Charles?" but it was more for the sake of John himself than for the one who had gone. To one who did venture the additional inquiry, "Where's he gone too?" the reply was, "to Maple Creek or Calgary, whichever appears most suitable and promising."

John, however, missed him; which after all was but natural.

They were brothers, and had never been separated for a quarter of a century.

Charles had been but poor company for John, but it is not always the most talkative that are regarded as the choicest company, and John felt lonely now he was gone.

When he learned that he was safely and comfortably settled at Calgary, he was pleased, and after a time became more reconciled to the change; especially in the contemplation of another change which he hoped soon to be making himself.

*CHAPTER XXX.*

*KINBRAE.*

"And thou hast also tempted here to rise, 'Mid sheltering pines, this cottage rude and grey." WORDSWORTH.

With the arrival of the English mail came the expected letter from Mrs. Sinclair, conveying the welcome news to Fellows, which her telegram had prepared him for, that the Broadstone firm had decided to take no action upon the information supplied them about himself.

It also expressed the mother's great desire to see him; but he was urged to act as his circumstances might suggest. If he decided to come home, she would see that he did not want; but as her income was limited, she would not be able to supply him with pocket-money; and unless he saw his way to obtaining employment in England, it would not be wise to disturb present arrangements, if they were favourable. In his next letter, he was to be sure and inform her fully with regard to his position and prospects.

The decision at which he had practically arrived was only confirmed and strengthened by the receipt of this letter.

By the same mail the letter which the Broadstone solicitors had been instructed to send, came addressed to Charles at the Ranch.

Seeing, by the printed address on the envelope, that it was from a firm of solicitors at Broadstone, what had been but suspicions before were now regarded as facts,--that it was Charles who had overheard the conversation between Ranger and Fellows, and had at once communicated with Broadstone. There was nothing else that the brother knew of, which could bring him into correspondence with such a place as Broadstone.

"Look at that," said the farmer, as he handed the letter to John to be forwarded; "if anything was wanted to confirm the charge I made against your brother, is not that good proof?"

"It certainly looks like it," replied John, in a disgusted tone.

"Yes; and to play with words, as he did, up to the very last," added Ranger, "rather than try to undo the mischief he had been aiming at."

"I feel it very sorely, Ranger, he being my own brother; more especially when I remember that nearly his last words to me were a caution to beware of Fellows. I am quite at a loss to understand what he could have been dreaming about."

The letter, when it reached Charles, in no way tended to increase his happiness. He saw, only when it was too late, what a fool he had been. He had gained nothing, and had lost a good situation, besides being separated from a brother for whom he felt a very strong affection, although he may have had a queer way of showing it.

He would gladly have recalled the act, could he have done so, since it had involved him in its consequences; but no thought of reparation to the wronged ever entered his narrow mind.

Fellows--who now felt himself partially, at all events, re-habilitated--was anxious that the procuring of a home, to which he might be able to take the woman he was looking forward to making his wife, should not be delayed.

He had still another object in view. He had resolved, that if his efforts were attended with success, to invest his savings, in order to repay the firm the moneys belonging to them, which he had misappropriated. He had written a very full and penitential letter, informing them of his intention, and therefore he was desirous that no time might be lost. Ranger, who was a man of the highest integrity, commended him for his desire, and promised to aid him in every possible way.

Two days later, in pursuance of his promise, Ranger took Fellows with him into town, that together they might learn some particulars of Kinbrae, which was known to be in the market, and to see what other holdings were to be had.

Kinbrae was a small settlement some ten or twelve miles south-east of Crescent Lake, near to the head-waters of a tributary stream flowing into the Qu'Appelle River, after pursuing a fairly straight course for about fifty miles.

The holding was one of one hundred and sixty acres, on which a well-built homestead had been erected, together with most of the buildings needed for carrying on the work of a farm. The owner, Dennis Crowley, on the death of his wife, three years previously, had, with his two sons, young men of eighteen and nineteen respectively, left their home in County Kerry, Ireland, to try their fortunes in the Far West.

With little experience to guide them, they had just managed to exist during the three years they had been in possession; and, having frittered away the small capital they possessed, were now only anxious to clear out and return, with whatever they might succeed in realising on the sale of their stock.

In a state of society such as that which prevails amidst the boundless prairies of the North-West, however favourable the circumstances may be,--and that they are _most_ favourable there is abundant testimony to prove,--there are sure to be some who will go to the wall. Like the men in other stratas of society, who, although they may be placed in positions of affluence to-day in a little while will be found grovelling amid scenes of penury and want, they seem to lack the secretive and acquisitive qualities which the more successful possess, and they fail. But the fault is never with themselves, it is their misfortune--at least, so they tell us!

This was Crowley's case, and the reason given for wishing to dispose of his holding. At the suggestion of Ranger, it was determined to ride over and view the place, but there was not time to do this at present.

The following week, however, when work was not quite so pressing, and their services could more readily be dispensed with, a day was selected, and, making an early start, they reached Kinbrae soon after midday.

The buildings were substantial, commodious, and in fairly good condition, but the so-called stock was poor in the extreme. The farming utensils were ill-conditioned and of little value; and the household furniture, which scarcely included the barest necessities, was rudely constructed, of the roughest material, and possessed no features of attractiveness. Three horses, five steers, two dogs, and one cat, constituted the live stock. About thirty acres had been under cultivation, but nothing had been done since the late harvest to prepare the land for the next.

Crowley--who originally had been asking three hundred pounds for the holding as it stood--was willing now to take almost any offer that would enable him to get away.

Ranger was well satisfied with the position of the location, and the prospects it held out, and had no hesitation in advising Fellows to offer two hundred pounds down, which, after a very little demur, was accepted, with option of possession within a month.

The farmer was pleased with the future which appeared to be opening for Fellows, notwithstanding it would be at some considerable sacrifice to himself.

The services of Barton he could well dispense with, but those of Fellows, and Russell in addition, would be a serious depletion of his working staff, which it might be a work of time efficiently to replace.

He, however, felt he had done no more than was his duty. It was the correct thing to do. And he had no fears that he would come out all right in the end.

*CHAPTER XXXI.*

*JOHN AND MARY.*

"I will hereupon confess, I am in love." _Love's Labours Lost_, Act I. sc. ii.

Barton's duties at the Ranch were of such a nature, that he was seldom to be seen in the neighbourhood of the house during the daytime; for the most part he was out on the prairie, attending to the cattle, of which Ranger had now a pretty considerable stock.

Mary Truman's attention was chiefly devoted to the dairy, which of late had quite outgrown the powers of Mrs. Ranger, and she was only too glad to avail herself of the assistance which Mary was very willing and quite competent to render.

The two had but few opportunities of seeing each other; and during the week which was to elapse, according to arrangement, before the reply he had asked her for was to be given, they had seen nor heard nothing of one another.

Mary had learned from Mrs. Ranger of the departure of Charles, and the circumstances which had brought that event about.

Whatever may have been her feelings for John, she had no sympathy with Charles, and felt, in common with others, no pang of regret when told he had gone.

With the exception of his brother, the man seemed to have left not a friend behind him.

Mary kept herself as much in the house as possible, as though carefully bent upon putting obstacles in the way of any accidental meeting between herself and John.

The week, however, was barely out, when the anxious swain, eager to know his fate, and unwilling to brook delay, made his appearance at the dairy door, at the close of the day, to inquire if Mary was too busy to see him.

She herself was nowhere to be seen, but Mrs. Ranger chanced to be standing at the door, and to her he addressed his inquiry.

"Mary has just gone upstairs," replied Mrs. Ranger. "Shall I tell her you want her?"

Barton hesitated for a moment, scarcely knowing what reply to make, till at last, with a confused smile, he stammered out, "Yes, do please."

Going to the foot of the stairs which led to the rooms above, Mrs. Ranger called, "Mary! here's John wants to see you. Shall I tell him to wait?"

"Oh, tell him I can't come at present," was the reply, which was plainly heard by those in the room below.

"Is he to wait?"

"No; please tell him I can't be bothered to-night."

On her return, John remarked, "I heard what the young lady said, and I suppose I must be content with that for my answer."

"Is it anything you want, John, that I can do for you?" asked Mrs. Ranger, with a good-humoured smile.

"No, I think not--at least, I know you can't," he added, quickly correcting himself.

"Do you care to wait then?" she inquired.

"No; I daresay I shall see her before long,--I should be sorry to bother her."

Following him to the door, as he was leaving, she whispered, "I think I can see what's brewing. Now, don't be offended if I offer you a bit of advice. I have had some experience, and seen a little of life, and have some knowledge of the ways of my own sex. Don't be too ready to take a woman at her word. Just remember, she doesn't always mean all she says. You see what I mean, I think? No offence. Good-night."

It was with very mixed feelings that John returned to his solitary dwelling. He had considerable confidence in Mrs. Ranger, as a shrewd, common-sense woman, yet he hesitated to place full reliance upon her judgment. She no doubt meant well, and spoke as she did with a desire to reassure him. But he felt sorely puzzled to account for Mary's unwillingness to see him. Experience he had none; he had learned nothing in that school. He had but just entered as a pupil, and the first lesson was now being studied.

Books had been his only tutors, and the few he had read had imparted theories which opportunity had not enabled him to test.

Men with a wider knowledge, and a deeper insight into the mysteries of the female mind, could have told him that Mary's unwillingness to see him, and her brusque--it might even be rude--message, were favourable rather than unfavourable auguries of what was likely to be the nature of her reply.

But he had no one he could draw inspiration from. Imagination was therefore allowed to run riot, and the most unfavourable result anticipated, rather than the sensible advice of Mrs. Ranger being allowed to have its way.

Before retiring for the night, he had so far overcome his scruples--or shall we rather call them doubts?--as to resolve that he would make another effort on the morrow to see her, and learn the fate that was in store for him.

When Mary joined the couple in the sitting-room below, some ten to fifteen minutes later, there was a mischievous gleam in her sparkling eyes, and slightly nervous but mirthful twitching about the corners of her pretty lips, which betrayed the humour she had been indulging at the expense of her love-sick swain.

A broad smile was upon Ranger's face, but his wife, looking up from the work she had in hand, merely remarked, "Mary, I could not help noticing how disappointed John seemed with your message."