Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 27

"You encourage me to go a little farther," Ferguson continued. "Building a church is a costly proposition."

"So I should imagine; I can't speak from experience." Kermode was generally liberal, and he took out some money. "I think you ought to let me off with this, as I don't belong to your flock."

"It's a generous contribution; better than the excuse. There are, I may remind you, many kinds of sheep, and the outward difference is often marked. Since, you're from the old country, you can take the little Cheviot and the ponderous Shrops.h.i.+re as examples. You see the drift of this?"

"That they're all sheep. I've noticed, however, that they wear a good many different brands."

"Ah, the pity of it! After all, a shepherd has his human weaknesses; perhaps he's too fond of using his private mark or the stamp of his guild."

"That," Kermode smiled, "is a handsome admission. Anyway, you have no rival in shepherding the boys here; and taking us all round, we need it.

But can you raise building funds on the spot?"

"Oh, no! I went to Ontario this summer and spent a month begging from people who have very little to spare. The response was generous--I've a carload of s.h.i.+plap lumber coming out; but you may understand how that adds to one's responsibility."

"It's obvious. I suppose you know you're up against a strong opposition?"

"That's true, unfortunately." The clergyman looked thoughtful. "There's one group, the Mitcham crowd, who would like to run me out. The fellow's piling up money by smuggling in liquor; he and his friends are depraving the camp. They must be stopped."

"It's a big thing for one man to undertake. It may wreck your mission."

Ferguson's eyes sparkled.

"The risk mustn't count. One can't shut one's eyes to what those fellows are doing. But I want backers; will you give me your support?"

"That's more than I can consistently promise. However, I'll look on and see you get fair play. If the opposition hit below the belt, I may take a hand in."

"Thanks," responded Ferguson, and Kermode went on with his team.

He was favorably impressed by the young missionary and kept the promise he had made, though it now and then involved him in difficulties with his comrades. The carload of lumber duly arrived, and with the help of men who gave their labor after their hard day's work was done, the church was raised by the light of flaring blast-lamps which the contractor allowed.

By day, Ferguson worked at it alone, and the building steadily grew into shape; but as the weather got colder trouble broke out in camp. Men engaged on the higher portions of the line were laid off by snow and frost, and when the cost of their board ran on, their tempers got short.

There were dismissals, and as working hours diminished, the gangs were driven harder. Friends began to quarrel over games of chance, and the violence they displayed was often accounted for by indulgence in smuggled liquor.

Ferguson, however, was making progress: gaining staunch adherents here, tacit sympathizers there, though the opposition saw to it that several had reason to regret their joining him. Kermode took no open part in the struggle, but watched it interestedly.

At length, one nipping morning, he left his tent with a s.h.i.+ver before it was light and busied himself about his horses with a lantern in their rude branch and bark shelter. Winter was beginning in earnest, and a bitter wind had raged all night, covering gorge and hillside deep with snow, but this would make his hauling easier when he had broken out a trail. He plowed through the snow in the darkness, and the threatening dawn had broken when he came down the hillside with the ends of three or four big logs trailing behind his jumper-sled. The shacks and tents were white in the hollow, over which there floated a haze of thin, blue smoke; the rapid creek that flowed past them showed in leaden-colored streaks among the ice; and somber pines rose in harsh distinctness from the hillside.

Then the half-covered frame of the church caught Kermode's eye. Something was wrong with it. The skeleton tower looked out of the perpendicular; and on his second glance its inclination seemed to have increased. The snow, however, was clogging the front of his sled and he set to work to sc.r.a.pe it off. While he was thus engaged there was a sharp, ripping sound, and then a heavy crash, and swinging around he saw that the tower had collapsed. Where it had stood lay a pile of broken timber, and planks and beams were strewn about the snow.

Kermode urged his team downhill, and when a group of men came running up to meet him, he recognized Ferguson some distance in front of them. The man's face showed how heavy the blow had been.

"It looks bad; I'm very sorry," said Kermode when they reached the wrecked building.

"I'm afraid we can't get things straight until spring and I don't know how I'll raise the money then," declared Ferguson. "A good deal of the lumber seems destroyed, and I've levied pretty heavily on every friend I've got." Then he tried to a.s.sume a philosophic tone. "Well, I suppose this is the result of impatience; there were spikes I didn't put in because I couldn't wait for them and some tenons were badly cut. It blew hard last night and there must have been a big weight of snow on the new s.h.i.+ngling."

"I don't think you're right," Kermode said dryly, and turned to a bridge-carpenter who stood near-by. "What's your idea?"

"The thrust of what roof they'd got up wouldn't come on the beams that gave," rejoined the man. "There's something here I don't catch on to."

"Just so," said Kermode. "Suppose you take a look at the king-posts and stringers. We'll clear this fallen lumber out of the way, boys."

They set to work, and in an hour the sound and damaged timber had been sorted into piles. Then, when the foundations were exposed, Kermode and the carpenter examined a socket in which a broken piece of wood remained.

"This has been a blamed bad tenon," the mechanic remarked. "The shoulders weren't b.u.t.ted home."

"I'm afraid that's true; I made it," Ferguson admitted; but Kermode, laying his finger on the rent wood, looked up at his companion.

"For all that, should it have given way as it has done?"

"I'll tell you better when we find the beam it belonged to."

It took them some time; and then the carpenter turned to Ferguson.

"You marked this tenon off before you cut it. Did you run the saw past your line?"

"No," said Ferguson with a start; "that's certain. I dressed up to the mark afterward with a chisel."

The carpenter looked at Kermode meaningly.

"Guess you're right. See here"--he indicated the broken stump--"there's a saw-cut running well inside his mark. Now that tenon was a bit too small, anyway, and when they'd notched her, she hadn't wood enough left to hold up the weight."

There were exclamations from the others standing round in the snow, but Kermode glanced at Ferguson. His face grew darkly red, but with an effort he controlled his anger.

"Who can have done this thing?" he asked.

"There's no direct evidence to show, but I've my suspicions," Kermode said. "It's dangerous to interfere with people's business, particularly when it isn't quite legitimate. You must have known you ran a risk."

"Do you think I should have let that stop me?" Ferguson asked with sparkling eyes.

"That's a matter of opinion," Kermode rejoined. "Perhaps you had better wait and think the thing over when you cool off. I've some logs to haul in."

He moved off with his team and went on with his work all day, but when night came he attended, by special invitation, a meeting held in a tent that flapped and strained in the boisterous wind. Half a dozen men were present, steady and rather grim toilers with saw and shovel, and though two or three had been born in Ontario, all were of Scottish extraction.

Their hard faces wore a singularly resolute expression when Kermode entered.

"Boys," he said, "before we begin I'd better mention that taking a part in a church a.s.sembly is a new thing to me."

One or two of them frowned at this: his levity was not in keeping with the occasion.

"Ye're here, and we'll listen to your opinion, if ye hae one," said their leader. "Jock is for raiding Mitcham's shack and firing him and the other scoundrel out of camp."

"I see objections. Mitcham has a good many friends, and if he held you off, you'd have made a row for nothing, besides compromising Mr.

Ferguson."

"There's reason in that," another remarked.

"Then," continued Kermode, "you can't connect Mitcham with the wrecking of your church."

"I'm thinking the connection's plain enough for us. Weel, we ken----"