Part 3

Full justice having been done to the ample provisions spread out before her tired guest, the two men lighted their pipes, and, seating themselves in the rear of the house, on a wooden bench running along the full length of the wall, and commanding an extensive view of the magnificent open country beyond, after a few general observations, the old settler, whose curiosity had been aroused by a few casual remarks which had fallen from his guest, inquired--

"Well, my friend, I do not want to pry into your secrets, but may I ask where you are bound for, and what are your intentions in wandering so far away out of the beaten track of ordinary civilised life?"

"Well, the fact is, I am a wanderer, with little more to call my own than Jacob had when, with a stone for his pillow, he slept peacefully in the open, dreaming of the future and a land beyond. Who I am is of little consequence, since I have disgraced my lineage, sullied a good name, and am now seeking to hide my head somewhere--anywhere--so that I may escape recognition, and if possible live out a life which, opening with promise, is destined to close, as that of all wastrels do, in sorrow and disgust!"

"Come, come, young man,--for you are yet young,--it is neither good nor right that you should talk in such a hopeless or despairing tone; whatever may have been your past--and I do not seek to know it beyond what you may be disposed willingly to reveal--there is time yet before you in which wrong-doing may perhaps be atoned for, and some effort made to redeem the past."

"Ah, if you knew all, I am afraid you would be less disposed to say so."

"Well, let's see now," said Ranger. "What are your plans?--if you have formed any."

"Plans I can scarcely be said to have made, unless to wander aimlessly on until chance puts me on the track of doing something for somebody, which will bring me bread-and-cheese, can be called such. Since landing at Montreal, where I bought my horse and the few things you see I possess, and started off into the interior, I have subsisted occasionally by a few purchases, but mainly on the hospitality which has been freely dispensed at the various farmhouses or settlements I have passed through. I shall continue to pursue this course until chance throws me into the way of some employment which I shall be able to enter into."

"Not a very startling or encouraging prospect," was Ranger's comment; "but since time is not an important object with you under such circumstances, you may as well make a short stay here and have a look round."

"With all my heart," replied the traveller, "if you do not think I shall be in the way."

"No fear of that. There is plenty of room out here. We are not overburdened with inhabitants, and can very well spare the trifle you will cost for living; so we will consider that point settled, and we can return to the subject after you have had a good night's rest."

As the evening closed in, the weary traveller was glad to be shown to a comfortable bed, which the kind-hearted hostess had been busily preparing for him, and in less than ten minutes the sounds which issued from his sleeping apartment proclaimed most unmistakably that he was soundly sleeping.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*MONTREAL.*

"I hold the world but as the world...; A stage, where every man must play a part." _Merchant of Venice_, Act I. sc. i.

The Bartons in due course reached Montreal. The passage across was uneventful, and has been so often described that it needs no record here. On landing, they proceeded at once to the ship's agent to whom they had been recommended, and sought from him instructions and information as to their future course. This was readily given. And as they felt they could spare two or three days to gaze upon the sights of this wonderful city, after securing a lodging they took advantage of the opportunity for doing so.

A traveller who visited the city fifty years ago described it as being "one of the oldest settlements on the North American Continent." It stands upon the site of an ancient Indian settlement, all traces of which were soon obliterated by the progressive action of the pale-faces. At first named Mount Royal, in honour of the King of France, after sixty or seventy years' usage it appears to have been corrupted, or changed, to Montreal, but by whom and under what circumstances is not apparent. The town extends along the border of the St. Lawrence for some miles, nearly midway between Quebec and Ottawa, and the principal streets run almost parallel with the river. The older parts of the town forcibly remind one of some of the oldest cities in France, and are as ill-conceived and badly arranged as many of the worst streets of old London. The more modern parts are designed and built in the best of style, justifying its being described as "a noble city of stone edifices, rising from a crowded harbour to its mountain park." This mountain park is an adjunct such as no other city on the Continent can boast of, "whilst its shipping and business quarters give evidence of wealth and commercial activity, which invest it with more than a passing interest."

The two Bartons spent a good deal of time inspecting the chief attractions of the city, until, tired with their wanderings, as they passed through Notre Dame Street they came to a narrow turning, down which they were induced to venture on seeing a small crowd about the centre. On making their way through, they found it to be one of those brawls common enough in their own land, and which they soon learned was not regarded as a strange thing in these parts. It was a fight between two men, with an excited crowd of partisans egging them on. Presently the police arrived on the scene, when an end was quickly put to the combative feelings of the crowd, which was dispersed in very much the fashion that similar crowds are dispersed in the Old Country.

Retracing their steps, their attention was arrested by an ordinary but respectable-looking refreshment bar, which they entered.

A seafaring man was seated at one of the tables, drinking whisky, and loudly declaiming against some injustice--real or imaginary--he wanted his hearers to believe he had suffered at the hands of the Customs' authorities. A group of interested listeners was gathered about him, which our friends joined; but after a while, not feeling interested in the subject he was dilating upon, they separated themselves from the group, and, selecting a table which was unoccupied, ordered a modest meal, such as they believed their means would admit of.

When the time to settle up arrived, what was their dismay and horror to find that their pockets had been emptied of all the money they possessed.

Calling the proprietor, they made known to him their dilemma; but he refused to admit that they had been robbed in his house, and as they could not declare with any certainty that this was the case, they were required to pay; but how to do this was not so easy to determine.

A grinning crowd soon surrounded them, expressing considerable doubts about the _bona fides_ of their representations. They, however, succeeded in convincing the landlord that they were what they represented themselves to be by producing the railway tickets, which they had fortunately taken for their forward journey; and he, relying upon their promise to forward the sum due out of the first money they made, allowed them to depart after some little haggling.

Their difficulties, however, were not yet over. It had been their intention to stay a few days longer in Montreal, and they had accordingly engaged their lodgings with that object in view. This was now rendered impossible. They had left a deposit with the lodging-house keeper, so that the only plan they could think of was to interview her, make a clean breast of their position, and, in the event of finding her incredulous, forfeit the money in hand and start at once to the West.

The day being well advanced, they returned to the lodging-house where they had intended staying, which was situate in one of the streets contiguous to the harbour.

The landlady, a sharp-looking little woman, incredulous at first as to the truth of their story, explained that she had so frequently been done by similar representations that they must not feel surprised at her hesitating to accept their statement as true. Convinced at length, she agreed to allow them to remain the night in return for the deposit, so that they might be able to depart by the morning train, outward bound at nine-five a.m. This difficulty overcome, it was not so clear to our two friends how they were to subsist during the long journey which lay before them.

From the police they obtained very little that could be considered satisfactory. The street they described had an indifferent reputation, and the restaurant at which they had stopped was frequently being brought under their notice. But the fact of their having mingled in the row in the street rendered it so extremely probable that the robbery took place there, that they held out no hopes of their loss being recovered. Acting upon police advice, they resolved to call upon the British Consul and acquaint him with the destitute position in which this event had placed them, in the hope that he might be willing to render them a little assistance.

They had not far to go to reach that useful official, into whose presence they were readily admitted.

He was a tall, handsome-looking man, with a fine military bearing, who had well passed the meridian of life. His face was a study which Lavater would have revelled over; it had all the expression of good-humour and a kindly disposition, so delightful to meet with, yet accompanied with a pair of expressive blue eyes which seemed to pierce the person they were looking at. He was certainly not the man to be imposed upon, yet he was quite prepared to listen and weigh a fairly good tale of trouble.

The story of the Bartons was very simple. After taking their tickets at Liverpool, they had the balance out of one hundred pounds left. They had not spent much since reaching Montreal beyond the price of their railway tickets, which had been taken to San Francisco. They had therefore more than half the money they had begun with intact, when so unfortunately deprived of the balance.

Their papers and railway tickets tended to confirm these statements, whilst their manners and appearance were sufficient to convince His Majesty's representative their story was a true one.

"I believe all you tell me," said his Excellency, "and am afraid the treatment you have received from our countrymen will not lead you to form a too favourable impression of them."

"On the contrary," spoke up the elder of the two men, "we feel that there was a great want of thought on our part in the matter, and the kindness we have already met with convinces us that in this country, as in England, the bad are always to be found mixed up with the good."

"I am glad you take that sensible view of the affair; and at the same time, whilst regretting that I cannot make up your loss, which it would perhaps not be wise for me to do, yet to convince you that, as a people, we are not indisposed to extend a helping hand to those who stand in need of it, I shall be quite willing to make you a present of ten pounds, trusting you will guard it with more care than that which has gone."

"Your Excellency's offer is far more than we had any right to anticipate, and overwhelms us with gratitude. It is a noble and generous act, for which we cannot find words adequately to express our feelings."

"Good day," added the Consul, as they were leaving; "in the land you are going to I hope you will find what you are in search of."

"And be assured, sir, you will have no reason to regret your confidence in us, for the very first moneys we succeed in making will be devoted to the return of what we prefer to regard as a loan."

And it was with a feeling of proud satisfaction that, in less than six months, the elder Barton found himself in a position to remit the amount to his Excellency, in a letter which expressed the gratitude felt for the timely help so kindly and generously afforded.

*CHAPTER IX*

*RANGER'S RANCH.*

"Thou, like a kind fellow, gave thyself away; and I thank thee." _Henry IV._, Part II. Act IV. sc. iii.

Guide-books tell us that "the Dominion of Canada is the largest of the British possessions," and it is difficult to form a true conception of the vast area comprised within the limits of our North American Provinces.

No country has such grand possibilities before it, and its progress of recent years has been remarkable. All Canadians are proud of their country, and believe in it.

But we are not at present concerned so much about Canada in general, or as a whole, as we are with that section which lies some few hundred miles west of Winnipeg, in the district of Assiniboia.

It was here, in the lovely valley of the Qu'Appelle River, that we left our weary traveller at Ranger's Ranch, with a prospect of provisional entertainment, until something suitable could be decided upon for his future.

Having, as he explained, no definite plan of action before him, he very readily fell in with a proposal Ranger made, in the course of a few days, to stay and assist on the farm, so as to ascertain to what extent he was adapted for agricultural pursuits, and whether it was a life he would be willing to settle down to.

"What sort of climate have you here?" was one of the earliest questions asked by Fellows, the name he had expressed a wish to be known by.

"Much the same as prevails in the neighbouring province of Manitoba," was Ranger's reply. "The summer months usually bright, clear, and very warm, but nights cool."

"How is it later on?"

"The autumn months are the finest of the year."

"No rain?"

"Frequently the atmosphere is dry and free from moisture for several weeks."

"Is your winter exceptionally hard?"

"For the matter of that," replied Ranger, "much depends upon constitution. Without doubt it is cold, but there is usually very little wind, and almost constant sunshine; there is no snowfall to any great depth, and traffic is but slightly impeded. In fact, the general dryness of the air causes it to be exceedingly bracing and healthy."

"I suppose you consider it superior to that of the Old Country?"

"Decidedly I do! Experience would tell me that, but the testimony of our Officer of Health goes to confirm it. Listen to what he says," added Ranger, as he took down a little book from the slender stock on the shelf by his side: "'We are absolutely protected by our climatic conditions from several of the most dangerous and fatal diseases, whilst others, which are common to all peoples on the face of the earth, are comparatively rare.'"

"Your favourable description, added to my own brief experience, so charms me, that I feel very much like staying where I am," said Fellows.

"Well, friend, if you are really so minded I daresay we can manage to fix you," was Ranger's rejoinder.

"I am extremely grateful for your kind reception, and courteous treatment, of a perfect stranger, as well as for your further promise and all that it implies; but unless I can be made of some use by you I shall certainly object to becoming a burden here."

"We shall not let you be that," said Ranger. "To-morrow morning I am going to drive into the railway station, which is some fifteen miles out, on the branch line of the C.P.R. running through the valley. You can go with me, as it will give you a good opportunity of seeing a little more of the surroundings, and perhaps enable you to judge of what there is to be done."

Left to himself, with the afternoon before him, Fellows strolled away to the top of a hill which commanded an extensive view over the prairie-land surrounding him on all sides, and there, seating himself beneath a sheltering tree, his thoughts wandered away to a distant home, where in imagination he saw the features of those he loved, and who were seldom absent from his mind. A stranger might not have been able to tell the current of thought engaging his attention, but it would have been apparent to the most casual observer, by the contracted brow and the gloom on his countenance, that his reflections were none of the pleasantest.

After a considerable lapse of time, his attention was diverted by hearing distant sounds of voices borne upon the still air, apparently proceeding from a rough-looking timber construction, the abode of some one of the many farm-hands engaged upon the Ranch.

Built upon a spur of the hill, in a somewhat deep indentation, it was a little distant from where he was seated, but he soon became an attentive observer of all that was passing.

A labouring-looking man came from the house with a pail, and ran with all haste to a pond at a short distance and commenced filling it, but before he could return loud screams proceeded from the interior, which caused Fellows to hasten down the hill in order to ascertain the cause of the commotion.

Reaching the dwelling at the same time as did the other with his pail of water, he found the living-room in a blaze of fire, whilst screams were proceeding from a room beyond, all communication with which appeared to be cut off by the trend of the flames. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he hastily dipped it in the pail the man was carrying, wrung it out, tied it round his mouth, and then rushed swiftly through the flames into the room where the sounds of distress were to be heard.

On reaching the room, a task which was only successfully accomplished with much difficulty, and considerable painful cost, he beheld a female form sink fainting to the ground, overcome, apparently, by the heat and smoke, of which latter the apartment was full.

To raise her from the floor was the work of an instant; his next proceeding was to place her upon a bed in the room, roll a blanket round her, and rush through the smoke and flame to the outer room with as much speed as the weight of the burden he bore would permit.

The fiery marks on face and hands, which were subsequently to be seen, bore eloquent testimony to the severity of the ordeal he had passed through in accomplishing the dangerous and difficult task so bravely and fearlessly undertaken.

When the outbreak was observed from the other stations on the Ranch, a number of willing hands began to congregate with all haste, and with the assistance of such appliances as were most readily available a united effort was made to stem the progress of the flames. These, however, had by this time obtained so firm a hold, that it was evident the building, with its contents, was doomed. In a short while nothing remained of the humble dwelling but a blackened and smouldering ruin.

The inanimate form of his daughter occupied all the attention of Russell, the late occupier of the hut, who, as soon as she could be restored to consciousness, was found not to have suffered much harm, thanks to the brave and timely efforts of Fellows on her behalf.

He, however, had not escaped so freely, having suffered considerably about the hands and face, which had been exposed to the full force of the flames as he twice made his way through them.

A cart was procured, in which he was at once placed and driven back to Ranger's dwelling, to be doctored with such native measures as Mrs. Ranger was able hastily to command.

The cause of the fire, as the girl explained when she was sufficiently recovered to do so, was one of common occurrence. Some light articles of clothing had been hung in front of the fire to air, and whilst Russell sat enjoying his after-dinner nap, she had gone into the other room to attend to certain domestic duties, and during this temporary absence a spark must have set the things on fire, which was only discovered when the outer room was in a blaze.

As the few things which Russell possessed were all destroyed, arrangements had to be temporarily made for the accommodation of himself and his daughter in two of the other huts on the Ranch, until his own could again be rebuilt.

Leaving instructions for all hands to turn to in the morning, and help put up another dwelling for the two who had been thus suddenly left houseless, Ranger, who, as soon as informed of what was happening, had lost no time in proceeding to the scene of the fire, returned home to see how it fared with Fellows, and to make preparations for his journey in the morning, which would now have to be undertaken without his companionship.

Fellows was in a high state of fever; whilst many of the burns he had sustained were seen to be of such a serious character that it was felt more skilled assistance would have to be procured. A messenger was at once despatched into the town--distant some fifteen miles--for the only medical man in the neighbourhood.

It was shortly after four o'clock in the afternoon, that, mounted on a good horse, the messenger set out for M'Lean Station, in hopes of finding the doctor and returning with him. His way for the most part was over rolling prairie, relieved by clumps of trees, which are to be found on the borders of such lakes and streams as are constantly to be met with; or down amid the hollows, where grow the heavy luxuriant grasses from which the farmer obtains his supply of winter hay.

As the slanting rays of the westering sun were sending up their brilliant points into the clear blue vault above, Ranger's messenger drew rein before the door of the doctor's dwelling, a very unpretentious, one-storeyed detached villa--one of some half-dozen--standing upon a hillside leading up to the station.

Dr. Fisherton was not at home; he had left in the early morning for the Pleasant Hills, in response to an imperative request from a Nat Langham, who kept a store, and farmed a small holding at the foot of the hills, and was not expected back till late. There was no help for it but to wait. So, stabling his horse, he accompanied his negro attendant into the servants' quarters, determined to make himself as comfortable as possible for the time being.

After doing full justice to the meal which was presently spread out before him, and which his long ride had well prepared him for, he lighted his pipe and seated himself at the window to wait for the doctor's return.

Slowly the hours seemed to pass, until eleven o'clock struck, without any signs of the doctor's appearance. At length the sound of a horse's feet were heard approaching, and soon all doubt was put at rest with the entry of the man so long expected.

The appearance of the doctor was that of a man in the prime of life; tall, and with a good physique, and a countenance calculated to impart confidence almost at a glance.

On learning that a messenger was in waiting for him, he, without standing on ceremony, immediately made his way to where he was sitting and inquired the nature of his business.

"There's been a fire, sir, this afternoon, at Farmer Ranger's, and one of his men is very seriously injured; in fact, when I left home he was in a high state of fever, so that it was thought advisable to send me, in order, if possible, to take you back at once to him."

"Well, you see I was out and in the saddle early this morning, and have only just returned after a hard day's work. What do you say to staying the night, so that we may start together soon after daylight in the morning?"

"It may sound a little inconsiderate, sir," responded the man, "but if you could manage to come now, we shall be able to reach the Ranch about two o'clock; and my own opinion is, that it is a case where every hour may be a matter of importance."

After reflecting for a few moments, during which time he seemed to be turning the matter well over in his mind, he announced his decision in a manner which admitted of no appeal.