A Damaged Reputation Part 24

"Oh, yes," said Devine, indifferently. "There's grit in him. A curious kind of man. Wouldn't take a good offer to work for me, and yet he jumped right at those contracts. He's going to find it hard to make them pay his grocery bill. I guess he hasn't told you anything?"

"No," said Barbara, a trifle hastily, for once more she felt the keen eyes scan her face. "Of course not. Why should he?"

Devine smiled. "If you don't know any reason you needn't ask me. You can't make a Britisher talk, anyway, unless he wants to."

He made a little gesture as though to indicate that the subject was not worth discussing, and then, taking up a bundle of doc.u.ments, turned to her again.

"You see those papers, Bab? They're plans and Crown patents for the mine. I'm going away to-morrow, and can't take them along, so I'll put them under that pile of old books yonder. Now, if I was to tell Katty to make sure the doors were fast she'd get worrying, but you have better nerves, and I'll ask you to see that n.o.body gets in here until I come back again. n.o.body's likely to want to, but I'll put a screw in the window, and give you the key."

Barbara laughed. "I shall not be afraid. Are the papers valuable?"

"No," said Devine, with a trace of dryness. "Not exactly! In fact, I'm not quite sure they would be worth anything to anybody in a month or two. Still, the man who got hold of them in the meanwhile might fancy he could make trouble for me."

"How?" said Barbara. "You said they mightn't be much use to anybody."

Devine smiled a little, but it was evident that he had considerable confidence in the discretion of his wife's sister.

"I can't explain part of it," he said. "When I took hold of the Canopus, it didn't seem likely to pay me for my trouble, and I didn't worry about the patents or how far they covered what I was doing. Now, if you drive beyond the frontage you've made your claim on, it const.i.tutes another mine, which isn't covered by your record and belongs to the Crown. It's open to any jumper who comes along. Besides, unless you do a good many things exactly as the law lays down, your patent mayn't hold good, and any one who knows the regulations can re-record the claim."

"That means you or the previous owner neglected one or two formalities, and an unscrupulous person who found it out from those papers could take the Canopus, or part of it, away from you?"

Devine smiled grimly. "Yes," he said. "That is, he might try."

"I understand," said Barbara. "Still, there are no strangers here, and I don't think you have a man who would attempt anything of that kind about the mine."

"Or at the canon?"

Barbara was sensible of a curious little thrill of anger, for Brooke was at the canon, but she looked at him steadily.

"No," she said. "I am quite sure that is the last thing one would expect from anybody at the canon, but if we stay here Katty will be wondering what has become of me."

Devine rose and followed her out of the room, and in another half-hour the ranch was in darkness. He rode away early next morning, and the big, empty living-room seemed lonely to the two women who sat by the window when night drew in again. The evening was very still and clear, and the chill of the snow was in the motionless air. No sound but the distant roar of the river broke the silence, and when the white line of snow grew dimmer high up in the dusky blue, and the pines across the clearing faded to a blur of shadow, Mrs. Devine s.h.i.+vered a little.

"I suppose quietness is good for one, if only because it isn't very nice, but it gets a trifle depressing now and then," she said. "Why didn't you ask Mr. Brooke to come across?"

"You may have noticed that he never comes when my brother-in-law is not here, and then he brings drawings or estimates of some kind with him."

Mrs. Devine appeared reflective. "Grant has not been away for almost two weeks now, and it is quite that time since we have seen Mr. Brooke," she said. "Didn't we ask him to come when you had Minnie here?"

"You did," said Barbara, with a faint flush, which the shadows hid. "He asked me to excuse him."

"Because Grant was away?"

"No," said Barbara, drily. "That, at least, was not the reason he gave me. He said he was--too tired."

Mrs. Devine laughed, for she had noticed the hardness in her sister's voice.

"It really must have been exasperating. He should have thought of a better excuse," she said. "You have only to hold up a finger at Vancouver, and they all flock round, eager to do a good deal more than you wish them to, while this flume-builder doesn't seem to understand what is implied by a royal invitation. No doubt you will find a way of making him realize his contumacy."

"I am almost afraid I shall not have the opportunity."

"And you can't very well attempt to make one, especially as I remember now that Grant told me he was very hard at work at the canon. It would be even worse to be told he was too busy, since that implies that one has something better to do."

Barbara had a spice of temper, as her sister naturally knew, but she smiled at this, for she was unwilling to admit, even to herself, and much less to anybody else, that she felt the slightest irritation at the fact that Brooke had shown no eagerness to avail himself of the invitation she had given him. Still, she was, on this score, very far from feeling pleased with him.

"I dare say he has," she said.

"Then he is, at least, not doing it very successfully. The rope--I forgot how much Grant said it cost--fell into the canon."

"I am not very sure there are many men who would have attempted to put a rope across at all," said Barbara, and did not realize for a moment that she had, to some extent, betrayed herself. She might, though she did not admit it, feel displeased with the flume-builder herself, but that was no reason why she should permit another person to disparage his capabilities, all of which her sister was probably acquainted with.

"Well," she said, indifferently, "we hope he will be successful. The man pleases me, but I would very much like to know what Grant thinks about him."

"Then why don't you ask him?"

Mrs. Devine shook her head. "Grant never tells anybody his opinions until he's tolerably sure he's right, and I fancy he is a little undecided about Mr. Brooke as yet," she said. "Still, it's getting s.h.i.+very, and this silence is a trifle eerie. I'm going to bed."

She lighted a lamp, but when she went out Barbara made her way to her room without one. There was n.o.body else beyond Wilkins' wife in the ranch, and she had retired some time ago. The rambling wooden building was not dark, but dusky, with black depths of shadow in the corners of the rooms, for the dim crepuscular light would, at that season, linger almost until the dawn. To some natures it would also have been more suggestive of hidden dangers than impenetrable obscurity, but Barbara pa.s.sed up the rickety stairway and down an echoing pa.s.sage fearlessly, and then sat down by the open window of her room, looking out into the night. A half-moon was now slowly lifting itself above the faintly-gleaming snow, and she could see the pines roll away in sombre battalions into the drifting mists below. Their sleep-giving fragrance reached her through the dew-cooled air, but she scarcely noticed it as she lay with her low basket-chair drawn close up to the window-sill.

It was the flume-builder her thoughts hovered round, and she endeavored fruitlessly to define the attraction he had for her, or, as she preferred to consider it, the reason for the interest she felt in him.

She admitted that this existed, and wondered vaguely how much of it was due to vanity resulting from a recognition of the fact that it was she who had roused him from a state of too acquiescent lethargy. What she had seen at the Quatomac ranch had had its significance for her, and she had realized the hopelessness of the life he was leading there. Even if she had not done so, he had told her, more or less plainly, that it was she who had given him new aspirations, and re-awakened his sense of responsibility. That, perhaps, accounted for a good deal, since she was endued with the compa.s.sionate maternal instinct which, when it finds no natural outlet, prompts many women to encourage, and on opportunity, shelter the beaten down and fallen.

It was, however, evident that the flume-builder did not exactly come under that category. Indeed, of late, his daring and pertinacity had won her admiration as well as sympathy, and that led her to the question what his aspirations pointed to. She would not consider it, for the fas.h.i.+on in which she had once or twice felt his eyes dwell upon her face was, in that connection, almost unpleasantly suggestive. Then she wondered why the fact that he had not long ago excused himself from spending an evening in her company at the ranch should have hurt her, as she now almost admitted that it did. It was, she decided, not exactly due to pique or wounded vanity, for, though very human in many respects, she, at least, considered herself too strong for either. That, however, brought her no nearer any answer which commended itself to her.

The man was less brilliant than several she had met. She could not even be sure that there were not grave defects in his character, and he was, in the meanwhile, a mere flume-builder. Yet he was different from those other men, though, since the difference was by no means altogether in his favor, it was almost irritating that her thoughts should dwell upon him, to the exclusion of the rest. There was presumably a reason for this, but she made a little impatient movement, and resolutely put aside the subject as one suggested itself. It was, she decided, altogether untenable, and, in fact, preposterous.

Still, she felt far from sleepy, and sat still, s.h.i.+vering a little now and then, while the moon rose higher above the snow, until its faint light drove back the shadows from the swamp. The cl.u.s.tering pines shook off their duskiness, and grew into definite tracery; an owl that hooted eerily flitted by on soundless wing, and she felt the silence become suddenly almost overwhelming. There was no wind that she could feel, but she could hear the little willow leaves stirring, it seemed, beneath the cooling dew, for the sound had scarcely strength enough to make a tangible impression upon her senses. It, however, appeared to grow a trifle louder, and she found herself listening with strained attention when it ceased awhile, until it rose again, a trifle more clearly. She glanced at the cedars above the clearing, but they stood sombre and motionless in silent ranks, and she leaned forward in her chair with heart beating more rapidly than usual as she wondered what made those leaves move. They were certainly rustling now, while the ranch was very silent, and the rest of the clearing altogether still.

Then a shadow detached itself from the rest, and its contour did not suggest that of a slender tree. It increased in length, and, remembering Devine's papers, she rose with a little gasp. Her sister, as he had pointed out, had delicate nerves, Mrs. Wilkins was dull of hearing, and, as the men's shanty stood almost a mile away, it was evident that she must depend upon her own resources. She stood still, quivering a little, for almost a minute, and then with difficulty repressed a cry when the dim figure of a man appeared in the clearing. Two minutes later she slipped softly into the room where Katty Devine lay asleep, and opened a cupboard set apart for her husband's use, while, when she flitted across the stream of radiance that shone in through the window, she held an object, that gleamed with a metallic l.u.s.tre, clenched in one hand.

XVII.

BROOKE ATTEMPTS BURGLARY.

The half-moon Barbara watched from her window floated slowly above the serrated tops of the dusky pines when Brooke groped his way through their shadow across a strip of the Englishman's swamp. The ranch which he was making for rose darkly before him with the willows cl.u.s.tering close up to that side of it, and he stopped and stood listening when he reached them. The night was very still, so still, indeed, that the deep silence vaguely troubled him. High above the climbing forests great ramparts of never-melting snow gleamed against the blue, and standing there, hot, breathless, and a trifle muddy, he felt their impressive white serenity, until he started at a faint rattle in the house. It ceased suddenly, but it had set his heart throbbing unpleasantly fast, though he was sensible of a little annoyance with himself because this was the case.

There was nothing he need fear, and he was, indeed, not quite sure that the prospect of facing a physical peril would have been altogether unpleasant then. Devine was away, the women were doubtless asleep, and it was the fact that he was about to creep like a thief into a house where he had been hospitably welcomed which occasioned his uneasiness.

It was true that he only meant to acquire information which would enable him to recover the dollars he had been defrauded of, but the reflection brought him no more consolation than it had done on other occasions when he had been sensible of the same disgust and humiliation.

He was, however, at the same time sensible of a faint relief, for the position had been growing almost intolerable of late, and, though he shrank from the revelation, it seemed preferable that Barbara Heathcote should see him in the true light at last. This, it was evident, must happen ultimately, and now it would, at least, dispense with the hateful necessity of continuing the deception. He had also, though that appeared of much less importance then, met with further difficulties at the canon, and he realized almost with content that Devine would in all probability pay him nothing for the uncompleted work. He did not wish to feel that he owed Devine anything.

In the meanwhile a little bent branch from which the bruised leaves drooped limply caught his eye, for he had trained his powers of observation following the deer at the ranch, and moving a trifle he noticed one that was broken. It was evident that somebody had recently forced his way through the thicket towards the house, and he wondered vacantly why anyone should have done so when a good trail led round the copse. The question would probably not have occupied his attention at any other time, but just then he was glad to seize upon anything that might serve to distract his thoughts from the purpose he had on hand.

He could not, however, stay there considering it, and following the bend of the willows he came to the door of the ranch kitchen, behind which the office stood, and once more he stopped to listen. There was nothing audible but the distant roar of the canon, and, though n.o.body could see him, he felt his face grow hot as he laid one hand upon the door and inserted the point of a little steel bar in the crevice. Devine's office was isolated from the rest of the ranch, but Brooke felt that if anybody heard the sound he expected to make he would not be especially sorry. He would not abandon his project, but he could have borne anything that made it impracticable with equanimity.