The Spoilers of the Valley Part 48

She dropped the horseshoe at her feet, and, pressing her hands to her eyes as if to shut out a sight that was unwelcome, she ran the remaining distance to the door, pulled herself into her saddle and rode quickly away.

She did not come back, as some might have done, to view the havoc she had wrought. She did not know even that she had wrought havoc; but three hours later, faithful, dumb, little Smiler found the man he so much adored lying on a pile of horseshoes, breathing scarcely at all, and strangely huddled.

That was the day that big, happy Sol Hanson came back to bear his share of the load--and, for the week that followed, he had to bear all of it, for Phil's overtaxed brain refused to awaken for seventy-two hours and his overworked body declined to limber up for seventy-two hours more.

On the morning of Phil's return to the smithy, at a moment when Sol's back was turned, the little perfumed note--which had brought the message from Fairyland--was dropped on the glowing furnace fire and thrust with an iron deep into the red coals.

With it, Phil fancied he was thrusting the little fairy dream, and he felt ever so glad of it. But he did not know, foolish man, that the fires have never been kindled that can burn dreams from Fairyland; that nothing can keep them from whispering back, at unexpected moments, and beckoning to the dreamer through the flames; ay, even through the cold, grey, dead ashes, when these are all that remain of the dancing pa.s.sion-fires that have revelled and rioted themselves to exhaustion and oblivion.

On the evening of the reception at John Royce Pederstone's, Phil failed to land home from work at his usual time, and, as the hour drew near when they should be leaving, Jim Langford worried himself not a little, for he knew that Phil had received an invitation--the same as he had done--and he had noticed also how happy his friend had seemed over it. Of course, of the recognition at the smithy between Eileen and Phil he knew nothing, and even if he had known he would not have understood, for, so far, he had not even guessed at Phil's previous history nor at the connection there was between Phil and Graham Brenchfield.

Before going up to Pederstone's, Jim called at the smithy, but found the place closed up for the night. He hurried along to Sol Hanson's little home, but the lovebirds there could tell him no more than that Phil had quit work at the accustomed hour, that Smiler was also a truant; which made it possible that the two had gone off together on some boyish adventure. There was nothing left for Jim to do after that but to go to Royce Pederstone's alone, in the hope that Phil would be there or would show up later.

Everyone in Vernock of any importance was at the reception, in the company of his wife or sweetheart; but there was no sign of Phil. And the hours wore quickly on without his appearing.

Eileen--bright, blus.h.i.+ng, buoyant and busy--found time to corner Jim.

"What has happened to Mr. Ralston? I--I thought he would be sure to be here."

Jim thought her tone was just a little strained and that her colour went somewhat suddenly.

"I haven't the slightest idea! He didn't show up to-night at home; yet he has been aching for this little affair since he received your invitation."

"Oh, I--I hardly think so, Jim. He is not the man to ache much over this kind of thing. You don't suppose anything serious could have happened?" she asked with a show of anxiety.

"I don't. But I'm sure only something serious would keep him away.

However,--what's the good of worrying!--Phil can look out for himself pretty good."

"Yes,--I daresay!" she said absently, staring at the dancers as they glided round in the next room.

Jim put his hand on her arm and moved her round to him.

"Eileen,--what is it that is troubling you? You are not so terribly interested in Phil as all that,--are you?"

She roused herself.

"Me? Oh dear no! Not any more than I am in Sol Hanson, in Mr. Todd, in--in Jim Langford," she bantered. "Why should I? I know him only in the most casual of casual ways."

"Have you seen him since he was invited here?" Jim asked bluntly.

"Ye-yes!--just for a moment in the smithy the day he took sick. I thought,--oh Jim!--I thought possibly he might have misunderstood something--something that happened there at that time,--but--ah well!--anyway, it doesn't matter now.

"He does not say very much at any time, does he, Jim? He's a queer fellow."

"Ay!" said Jim drily, "and you're a queer little fellow yourself, Eileen,--eh!"

"Do you know anything of him before he came to Vernock?" she inquired suddenly, with a change of tone.

"Practically nothing! He has kept that a sealed book, and it is none of my affairs; but I do know that since he came here he has been the real stuff, and that is good enough for Jim Langford."

She smiled.

"Oh you men! You stand by your pals to the very last ditch; while a woman will desert her woman friend at the first one.

"Never mind! Let us forget Mr. Ralston meantime.

"Did you hear the news, Jim?--the great news! Daddy,--my own daddy has been offered the portfolio of Minister of Agriculture on the new Cabinet. He will be the Honourable John Royce Pederstone. And this his first session in Parliament too! Isn't it great?"

"Je--hosephat!" Jim jumped up. "And I never heard a thing."

"I don't wonder at that, Jim. Dad only got the wire an hour ago making the definite offer."

"By jingo!--I must go and give him my congratulations. Here's the Mayor looking for you, Eileen. I'll leave you to him. I must find your dad."

And while the reception at John Royce Pederstone's was at its height, Phil Ralston was trudging the hills alone, coming over the ranges from Lumby, a village which lay several miles distant, where he had gone by stage direct from the smithy. He walked in the melancholy enjoyment of his own thoughts. It did him good--and he knew it--to get off in this way when things were not going to his liking. It gave him an opportunity to review himself in the cold blood of retrospect, without interference; and it gave him time quietly to review the conduct of others about him; a chance to decide whether he was right or wrong in the position he had a.s.sumed; a chance to plan his future course from what had already taken place.

It was a crisp, frosty night, with a deep blue velvet dome of cloudless sky overhead, with star-diamonds that flashed and twinkled with ever varying colours, until a crescent moon, shaped like the whip of an orange, rose up over the hills to the east, cold, luminous and silvery, and paled the lesser twinkling lights into insignificance and ultimate obscurity.

As Phil topped the last hill overlooking Vernock, his head was high and so were his spirits, for he had made up his mind that come what might he would pursue his way calmly and earnestly to the end as he thought fit, and, if Eileen Pederstone cared to betray his secret, he would meet that difficulty as he had met others.

He looked down into the town before him, but its usual fairy-like aspect was absent, for the town fathers were beginning to get frugal and did not use their electricity on the main streets when the moon was up or when the snow was lying. Only the smaller lights of the dwelling houses gave out any signs of life.

He dropped gradually down, then across an orchard and on to the main highway leading to Vernock.

As he was pa.s.sing the town jail, his attention was attracted by an unusual commotion there. Voices were gabbling noisily and quite a crowd was gathered at the main entrance. He hurried over. The first man he ran against was Langford, who accosted Phil in a rush of Doric, which at once informed him that something serious must be wrong.

"Where ha'e ye been, man? I've been pryin' for ye everywhere."

"Walking!" answered Phil shortly. "What's the matter?"

"Matter! De'il tak' it,--I thocht the whole toon kent by this time. I thocht maybe ye were efter them."

"Well, I'll be hanged!" exclaimed Phil as the truth dawned on him.

"Ay,--ye may weel say it! What did I tell ye? Didna I say they'd never face trial? The eight o' them broke awa' three or four hours ago. It was real nicely planned.

"Ye see the airshaft there! It runs richt into the top o' the wall and ventilates the prison where the men sleep. There was ootside collusion, of coorse. Standin' on a horse, I guess they threw a rope into the airshaft from the ootside and it slid richt doon to the pa.s.sageway, inside. They say one of the prisoners was a good hand at pickin' locks and that he did them a' wi' a hairpin. Maybe he did. But they got oot o' their cells anyway, climbed the rope one at a time, crawled up the airshaft and out. Just look at that airshaft--it would hold a half a dozen men at a time nearly. They might as well have left an open door for them as have that contraption,--no wire protection over the ends, nothing but hinged lids that anyone can raise at any time."

"And they're gone?" asked Phil helplessly.

"Gone,--ay! good and gone! Like as no' they're 'ower the border' by this time, like 'a' the blue bonnets' in the song.

"They had horses waitin' for them."

"But, land sakes, Jim!--where the deuce were the jailers, the police, all this time?" asked Phil.

Jim laughed.