CHAPTER XXX

THE LAST TOAST

Lane troubled us no further, and there came a time when those who had suffered under him, and at last assisted in his overthrow, would laugh boisterously at my narrative of his hasty exit from the prairie with the troopers hard upon his heels. They appeared to consider the description of how, with characteristic audacity, he bade us an ironical farewell one cold morning from the doorway of a lonely ranch an appropriate finale, and bantered the sergeant upon his tardiness. The latter would answer them dryly that the Dominion was well quit of Lane.

Some time, however, passed before this came about, and meanwhile winter closed in on the prairie. It was, save for one uncertainty which greatly troubled me, a tranquil winter--for I had, in addition to promising schemes for the future, a balance in the bank--but not wholly uneventful. Before the first snow had fallen, men with theodolites and compasses invaded Crane Valley, and left inscribed posts behind them when they passed. This was evidently a preliminary survey; but it showed the railroad was coming at last, although, as the men could tell us nothing, there remained the somewhat important question whether it would follow that or an alternative route.

Also, a month or two later, Thorn and Steel sought speech with me, the former looking almost uncomfortable when his companion said: "I've been talking with Haldane about taking up my old place, and don't see how to raise the money, or feel very keen over it. We never did much good there since my father went under. The fact is, we two pull well together, and you have the longest head. Won't you run both places and make me a kind of foreman with a partner's interest?"

The suggestion suited me in many ways, but bearing in mind what might be possible, I saw a difficulty. "I dare say we might make a workable arrangement, and I couldn't find a better partner; but haven't you Sally's interests to consider?" I said.

Steel smiled in an oracular fashion. "That's Tom's business," he said, with a gesture, which, though I think it was involuntary, suggested that he felt relieved of a load. "Sally is a daisy, and I've done my best for her; but though there's nobody got more good points, I don't mind allowing she was a blame big handful now and then. Of course, we are all friends here!"

"We won't be if you start in apologizing for Sally," broke in the stalwart Thorn; and as I glanced at his reddened face, a light dawned on me.

"That's all right!" said the smiling brother. "There's no use in wasting words on him. He has had fair warning, and I'm not to blame."

It struck me that the best thing I could do was to shake hands with the wrathful foreman, and I did it very heartily.

"He will think differently some day, and you will have a good wife, Tom," I said. "We'll miss you both badly at Crane Valley, but must try to give you a good start off when you take up your preëmpted land."

It must be recorded that henceforward Sally was a model of virtue, so much so that I marveled, while at times her brother appeared to find it hard to conceal his astonishment. She was more subdued in manner and gentle in speech, while I could now understand the soft light which filled her eyes when they rested upon my foreman. The former spirit, however, still lurked within her, for returning to the house one evening when spring had come around again, I saw Cotton, who had once been a favorite of hers, leap out of the door with a brush whirling through the air close behind him.

"What is the meaning of this, Cotton?" I asked sharply, and the corporal, who looked slightly sheepish, glanced over his shoulder as though expecting another missile.

"The truth is that I don't quite know," he said. "Perhaps Miss Steel is suffering from a bad toothache or something of the kind to-day."

"That does not satisfy me," I said, as severely as I could, hoping he would not discover it was mischief which prompted me. "I presume my housekeeper did not eject you without some reason?"

"Why don't you ask her, then?" said Cotton awkwardly. "Still, I suppose an explanation is due to you if you insist on it. I went in to talk to Sally while I waited for you, and said something--perfectly innocent, I assure you, about---- Well--confound it--if I did say I'd been heartbroken ever since I saw her last, was that any reason why she should hurl a brush at me? She used to appreciate that kind of foolery."

"Circumstances alter cases," I said dryly. "Don't you know that Sally will leave here as Mrs. Thorn in a few weeks or so?"

"On my word of honor, I didn't," and Cotton laughed boyishly. "Go in and make my peace with her, if you can. I am positively frightened to. Say I'm deeply contrite and--confoundedly hungry."

Supper was just ready, but there were only four plates on the table, and when I ventured to mention that Cotton waited repentant and famishing without, Sally regarded me stonily. "He can just stay there and starve," she said.

Even Thorn, who, I think, knew Sally's weak points and how they were counterbalanced by the warm-heartedness which would have covered much worse sins, laughed; but the lady remained implacable, and, as a result of it, Cotton hungry without, until--when the meal was almost finished--Dixon, who was accompanied by Sergeant Mackay, astonished us by alighting at the door. He brought startling news.

The first carloads of rails and ties for the new road were ready for dispatching, and it would pass close by my possessions; while, after we had recovered from our excitement, he said: "I have been searching for a Corporal Cotton, and heard he might be here. Do you know where he is?"

I looked at Sally, who answered for me frigidly: "You might find him trying to keep warm in the stable."

Dixon appeared astonished, and Mackay's eyes twinkled, while after some consideration the autocrat at the head of the table said: "If it's important business, Charlie may tell him that he may come in."

Cotton seemed glad to obey the summons, and knowing that he had ridden a long way since his last meal, I signaled Dixon to wait, when Sally, relenting, set a double portion before him. It was, therefore, some time later when the lawyer, glancing in his direction, said: "You are Charles Singlehurst Cotton, born at Halton Edge in the county of Warwick, England?"

The effect was electrical. Cotton thrust back his plate and straightened himself, staring fixedly at the speaker with wrath in his gaze. "I am Corporal C. Cotton of the Northwest Police, and whether I was born in England or Canada concerns only myself."

Dixon smiled indulgently, and Mackay, looking towards me, nodded his head with a complacent air of one who has witnessed the fulfilment of his prophecy.

"If I had any doubts before, after inspecting a photograph of you, I have none at present," the former said. "Mr. Ormesby forgot to mention that I am a lawyer by profession, and Messrs. James, Tillotson & James, of London, whose name you doubtless know, requested me through a correspondent to search for you. Having business with Mr. Haldane, I came in person. Have you any objection to according me a private interview?"

Cotton looked at me interrogatively, and I nodded. "You can safely trust even family secrets to Mr. Dixon. He is, or will be, one of the foremost lawyers in the Dominion."

Dixon made me a little semi-ironical bow, and when he and Cotton passed out together into my own particular sanctum, a lean-to shed, Mackay beamed upon me. "Man, did I not tell ye?" he said.

It was some time before Cotton came back, looking grave and yet elated, and turning towards us, said: "Mr. Dixon has brought me unexpected news, both good and bad. It is necessary that I should accompany him to Winnipeg. Sergeant, you have the power to grant me a week's leave of absence?"

Mackay pursed his lips up, and, with overdone gravity, shook his head. "I'm fearing we cannot spare ye with the new mounts to train."

Dixon chuckled softly. "I'm afraid Charles Singlehurst Cotton will break no more police horses for you. He has a good many of another kind of his own," he said. "He has also influential relatives who require his presence in England shortly, and have arranged things so that your chief authorities will probably release him before his term of service is completed. The signature to this note should remove any scruples you may have about granting him leave."

Mackay drew himself up, and returned the letter with the air of one acknowledging a commander's orders, then let his hand drop heavily on Cotton's shoulder. His tone was slightly sardonic, but there was a very kindly look in his eyes as he said: "Ye'll no' be above accepting the congratulations of the hard old sergeant who licked ye into shape. It was no' that easy, and maybe it galled ye some; but ye have learned a few useful things while ye rode with the Northwest troopers ye never would have done in England. We took ye, a raw liddie, some bit overproud of himself, and now I'm thinking we'll miss ye when we send ye back the makings of a man. Away ye go with Mr. Dixon so long as it's necessary."

It struck me as a graceful thought, for Cotton stood straight, as on parade, with the salute to a superior, as he said: "I'll report for duty in seven days, sir," then laid his brown hand in Mackay's wrinkled palm. "Every word's just as true as gospel, and I'll thank you in years to come."

He took my arm and drew me out upon the starlit prairie. "I can't sleep to-night, and my horse is lame. You will lend me one," he said. Then when I asked whether he was not going with Dixon to the station, he laughed, and flung back his head.

"I'm going to spend all night in the saddle. It will be best for me," he said. "I'll tell you the whole story later, and, meantime, may say that over the sea, yonder, somebody is dead. I know what usually sends such men as I out here, but while I should like you to remember that I neither broke any law of the old country nor injured any woman, I wouldn't see which side my bread was buttered--and there are various ways of playing the fool."

"We have Mackay's assurance that the Colonial cure has proved a success, and in all seriousness you have my best wishes for the future," I said.

The corporal answered gravely: "If it had not I should never venture to visit Bonaventure to-morrow, as I intend doing."

"Visit Bonaventure?" I said, a little thickly.

"Of course!" said Cotton, with both exultation and surprise in his tone. "Can't you see the best this news may have made possible to me?"

I was thankful that the kindly darkness hid my face, and turned towards the stables without a word; while, after the corporal had mounted, I found it very hard to answer him when he said simply, yet with a great air of friendship: "Although you were irritating sometimes, Ormesby, you were the first man I ever spoke frankly to in this country. Won't you wish me luck?"

"If she will have you, there is no good thing I would not wish for you both," I said; but in spite of my efforts my voice rang hollow, and I was thankful when Cotton, who did not seem to notice it, rode away.

I did not return to the house until long after the drumming of hoofs, growing fainter and fainter, had finally died away, and said little then. I even flung the journals Dixon brought, which were full of the new railroad, unread, away. My rival was young and handsome, generous, and likable, even in his weaknesses. He was also, as it now appeared, of good estate and birth, and granting all that I could on my own side, the odds seemed heavily in favor of Cotton, while a certain knowledge of the worst would almost have been preferable to the harrowing uncertainty as to how the Mistress of Bonaventure would make the comparison. It lasted for two whole weeks--weeks which I never forgot; for I could not visit Bonaventure until I learned whether Cotton's errand had resulted successfully, and he sent no word to lessen the anxiety.

At last I rode in to the settlement, whither I knew Haldane had gone to inspect the progress of the road, and met Boone and Mackay on the prairie. "Has Cotton returned?" I asked.

"He has," said Mackay dryly. "This is his last day's duty. He loitered at the settlement, and ye will meet him presently. I'm not understanding what is wrong with him, but he's uncertain in the temper, and I'm thinking that sudden good fortune does not agree with him."

I met Cotton, riding very slowly and looking straight ahead. He pulled up when I greeted him, and seeing the question in my eyes, ruefully shook his head. "I've had my answer, Ormesby--given with a gentleness that made it worse," he said.

He must have misunderstood my expression, and perhaps my face was a study just then, for he added grimly: "It is perfectly true, and really not surprising. Hopeless from the first--and, I think, there is someone else, though heaven knows where in the whole Dominion she would find any man fit to brush the dust from her little shoes, including myself. Well, there is no use repining, and I'll have years in which to get over it; but it's lucky I'm leaving this country, and--for one can't shirk a painful duty--I'll say good-by to you with the others at Bonaventure to-morrow."

I was glad that he immediately rode on, for while I pitied him, my heart leaped within me. Had it happened otherwise I should have tried to wish him well, and now my satisfaction, which was, nevertheless, stronger than all such considerations, appeared ungenerous.

When I reached it the usually sleepy settlement presented a stirring scene. Long strings of flat cars cumbered the trebled sidetrack, rows of huts had risen as by magic, and two big locomotives moved ceaselessly to and fro. Dozens of oxen and horse teams hauled the great iron scoops which tore the sod up to form the roadbed, while the air vibrated with the thud of shovels, the ringing of hammers, and the clang of falling rails. The track lengthened yard by yard as I stood and watched. In another week or two the swarming toilers would have moved their mushroom town further on towards Crane Valley, and I was almost oppressed by a sense of what all this tremendous activity promised me. It meant at least prosperity instead of penury, the realizing of ambitions, perhaps a road to actual affluence; also it might be far more than this. I scarcely saw Haldane until he grasped my hand.

"It is a great day, Ormesby," he said. "No man can tell exactly how far this narrow steel road may carry all of you. Still, one might almost say that you have deserved it--and it has come at last."

"It will either be the brightest day in all my life--or the worst," I said. "Will you listen to me for two minutes, sir?"

Haldane did so, and then leaned against a flat car, with the wrinkles deepening on his forehead, for what appeared to be an inordinately long time. "I may tell you frankly that I had not anticipated this--and am not sure I should not have tried to prevent it if I had," he said. "I know nothing that does not testify in your favor as an individual, Ormesby; but, as even you admit, there are objections from one point of view. Still, this road and our new schemes may do much for you and---- Well, I never refused my daughter anything, and if she approves of you, and you will not separate us altogether, I won't say no."

I had expected nothing better, and dreaded a great deal worse; and my pulses throbbed furiously when, after some further speech, Haldane strolled away with a half-wistful, half-regretful glance at his daughter who approached us as we spoke. She was in high spirits, and greeted me cordially.

"You ought to be happy, and you look serious. This is surely the best you could have hoped for," she said.

It seemed best to end the uncertainty at once, and yet, remembering Cotton's fate, I was afraid. Nevertheless, mustering courage, I looked straight at the speaker, and slowly shook my head. Lucille was always shrewd, and I think she understood, for her lips quivered a little, and the smile died out of her eyes.

"You are difficult to satisfy. Is it not enough?" she said.

Her voice had in it no trace of either encouragement or disdain, and a boldness I had scarcely hoped for came upon me as I answered: "In itself it is worth nothing to me. What you said is true, for I have set my hopes very high. There is only one prize in the Dominion that would satisfy me, and that is--you."

Lucille moved a little away from me, and I could not see her face, for she looked back towards the train of cars which came clanking down the track; but for once words were given me, and when I ceased, she looked up again. Though the rich damask had deepened in her cheek, there was a significant question in her eyes.

"Are you sure you are not mistaken, Rancher Ormesby? Men do not always know their own minds," she said.

The underlying question demanded an answer, and I do not know how I furnished it, for I had already found it bewildering when asked by myself; but with deep humility I framed disjoined words, and gathered hope once more when I read what might have been a faint trace of mischief, and something more, in my companion's eyes.

"It is not very convincing--but what could you say? And you are, after all, not very wise," she said. "I wonder if I might tell you that I knew part of this long ago; but the rest I did not know until the evening the team bolted in the hollow. Still," and Lucille grew grave again, "would it hurt you very much if I said I could not listen because I feared you were only dreaming this time, too?"

"It would drive me out of Canada a broken-hearted man," I said. "It was you for whom I strove, always you--even when I did not know it--since the first day I saw you. I would fling away all I own to-morrow, and----"

The words broke off suddenly, for Lucille looked up at me, shyly this time, and from under half-lowered lashes. "I think," she said very slowly, and with a pause, during which I did not breathe, "that would be a pity, Harry Ormesby."

It was sufficient. All that the world could give seemed comprised within the brief sentence; and it was difficult to remember that we stood clear in the eyes of the swarming toilers upon the level prairie. Neither do I remember what either of us next said, for there was a glamour upon me; but as we turned back towards Haldane, side by side, I hazarded a query, and Lucille smiled. "You ask too many questions--are you not yet content? Still, since you ask, I think I did not understand aright either until a little while ago."

Haldane appeared satisfied, though, perhaps, that is not the most appropriate word, for he himself supplied a better one; and when we were next alone, and I ventured thanks and protestations, laughed, in the whimsical fashion he sometimes adopted, I think, to hide his inward sentiments.

"You need not look so contrite, for I suppose you could not help it; and I am resigned," he said. "There. We will take all the rest for granted, and you must wait another year." Then, although Haldane smiled again, he laid his hand on my shoulder in a very kindly fashion as he added; "Lucille might, like her sister, have shone in London and Paris; but it seems she prefers the prairie--and, after all, I do not know that she has not chosen well."

The story of my failures, mistakes, and struggles ended then and there, for henceforward, even when passing troubles rested upon us, I could turn for counsel and comfort to a helpmate whose wisdom and sympathy were equalled only by her courage. Nevertheless, two incidents linger in my memory, and were connected with the last meeting of what had now ceased to be a prairie tribunal at Bonaventure. It was an occasion of festivity, but regret was mingled with it, for Boone and Cotton would leave us that night, and there was not one of the bronzed men gathered in the great hall at Bonaventure who would not miss them. Boone, it may be mentioned, had, after entering into recognizances to appear if wanted, been finally released from them by the police. At length Haldane stood up at the head of the long table.

"This has been a day to remember, and, I think, what we have decided to-night will set its mark upon the future of the prairie," he said. "Where all did well there were two who chiefly helped us to win what we have done, and it is to our sorrow that one goes back to his own country now that his work is well accomplished. We will not lightly forget him. The other will, I hope, be spared to stay with you and share your triumphs as he has done your adversity. I have to announce my daughter's approaching marriage to your comrade, Henry Ormesby."

It pleased me greatly that Cotton was the first upon his feet, and Mackay the next, although it was but for a second, because, almost simultaneously, a double row of weather-darkened men heaved themselves upright. Cotton's face was flushed, and his eyes shone strangely under the candlelight; but he looked straight at me as he solemnly raised the glass in his hand.

"The Mistress of Bonaventure: God bless her, and send every happiness to both of them!" he said.

The very rafters rang to the shout that followed, and it was the last time that toast was honored, for when next my neighbors gathered round me with goodwill and festivity, Lucille Haldane became mistress of the new homestead which had replaced the sod-house at Crane Valley, instead of Bonaventure.

It was an hour later when she stood beside me, under the moonlight, speeding the last of the guests. Boone halted before us, bareheaded, a moment, with a curiously wistful look which was yet not envious, and his hand on the bridle. "It was a good fight, but I shall never again have such an ally as Miss Haldane," he said.

He had barely mounted, when Cotton came up, and I felt my companion's fingers tremble as, I think, from a very kindly impulse, she slipped them from my arm. Cotton, however, was master of himself, and gravely shook hands with both of us. "It was not an empty speech, Ormesby. I meant every word of it. Heaven send you both all happiness," he said.

He, too, vanished into the dimness with a dying beat of hoofs, and so out of our life; and we two were left alone, hand in hand, with only the future before us, on the moonlit prairie.

THE END

Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the original text have been corrected.

In Chapter II, "the brand of serviture" was changed to "the brand of servitude".

In Chapter III, "a composure which astonished be" was changed to "a composure which astonished me", and "he was bent in discharging his duty" was changed to "he was bent on discharging his duty".

In Chapter VII, "Becaues he'd gone" was changed to "Because he'd gone", and a mismatched quotation mark was corrected after "Still, you might have been a little more civil, Sally."

In Chapter VIII, "it occured to me that Lucille Haldane" was changed to "it occurred to me that Lucille Haldane".

In Chapter IX, "every available dollar for the approaching stuggle" was changed to "every available dollar for the approaching struggle".

In Chapter X, a mismatched quotation mark was corrected before "'Twoinette's so--so blamed systematic".

In Chapter XI, "while I draged at the halliards" was changed to "while I dragged at the halliards", "life your hands at once" was changed to "lift your hands at once", "several dark figures on the varanda" was changed to "several dark figures on the veranda", and "the shock of her kneel upon the bottom" was changed to "the shock of her keel upon the bottom".

In Chapter XII, "you have won lands down" was changed to "you have won hands down".

In Chapter XV, "a little worse than he rest" was changed to "a little worse than the rest".

In Chapter XVI, "the time for open resistance had come a last" was changed to "the time for open resistance had come at last", a missing period was added after "who watched our efforts with much approval", and "the memory of former wongs" was changed to "the memory of former wrongs".

In Chapter XVII, "snatching here hand away" was changed to "snatching her hand away".

In Chapter XXII, "panting of mammonth engines" was changed to "panting of mammoth engines".

In Chapter XXIII, "feed and cloth me" was changed to "feed and clothe me", a missing period was added after "her eyes were filled with light", and "igoring Dixon's advice" was changed to "ignoring Dixon's advice".

In Chapter XXIV, "I picketed the documents" was changed to "I pocketed the documents", and "too a big morsel" was changed to "too big a morsel".

In Chapter XXVII, "was I was uneasily conscious" was changed to "was, I was uneasily conscious".

In Chapter XXVIII, "a promising crop of them an hand" was changed to "a promising crop of them on hand", and "unobstrusively endeavored to sell" was changed to "unobtrusively endeavored to sell".

In Chapter XXIX, a period was changed to a question mark after "it is a little disconcerting to be watched when at work", "the sped of a comet" was changed to "the speed of a comet", and "shone mockingly in his ayes" was changed to "shone mockingly in his eyes".

Several words (such as bull-frog and candle-light) were hyphenated inconsistently in the original text.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Mistress of Bonaventure, by Harold Bindloss