Part 9 (1/2)
”Anyhow, if father couldn't locate the vein he claimed to have struck, I reckon there's not much chance of your doing so.”
”I mean to try,” said Agatha, with ominous quietness.
George saw that she was resolute, and although he was obstinate knew he was beaten. Agatha could not be moved when she looked like that.
”I can't allow that you know best, but guess I may as well quit arguing,” he remarked with a resigned shrug. ”You'll come along and stop with Florence before you go back to Toronto?”
”I will come for a week,” Agatha agreed, and George went away to look for Farnam.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BURGLAR
George went away next morning and a few days afterwards Farnam walked home with his wife and Agatha from a visit to a neighbor's homestead.
When they reached the edge of Farnam's orchard they stopped and looked about. An extensive clearing had been cut out of the forest, the evening was clear and cold, and the pines threw long blue shadows on the snow.
The young fruit trees ran back in orderly rows, and a frozen creek that crossed the orchard was picked out in delicate shades of gray. Farnam told Agatha that he found the creek useful for irrigation, because he had known the apples to shrivel on the trees in a dry summer.
At the edge of the bush a group of men were at work. The thud of their axes jarred on the quietness, and the rattle of a chain rang musically through the shadows as a teamster threw the links across a log. His horses stood close by, with a thin cloud of steam rising from their bodies.
”Lumber worth sawing is getting scarce, and we'll float the best logs down to the mill when the thaw comes,” Farnam said to Agatha. ”In the meantime, we want them off the ground before we clean up the pieces the boys have slashed. One gets at this kind of work in winter when nothing much can be done, and I must be ready to break new soil for planting in the spring.”
”You are spending a good deal of money,” Mrs. Farnam interrupted. ”You haven't been paid for the last s.h.i.+pments to England yet.”
”Mabel's cautious,” Farnam remarked to Agatha. ”She's a pretty good business woman, but doesn't understand that the more you spend on your job the more you get. Anyhow, you ought to get more, but I admit you're sometimes badly stung.” Then he turned to his wife. ”I must go up and see the s.h.i.+ppers in Montreal; in fact, now you have Agatha with you, I think I'll start to-morrow.”
”Very well,” said Mrs. Farnam. ”I hate to be left alone, particularly when the nights are long.” She indicated the teamster. ”I see you have hired another man; that's a fresh extravagance. How long have you had him?”
”A week or two; thought I told you when he came. He's a pretty good worker.”
”You didn't tell me; I imagine you didn't want me to know! He's certainly not what the boys call a looker and his face doesn't inspire me with much confidence. Besides, he's lame.”
Agatha glanced at the man, who came towards them, walking with a slight limp beside his horses as they hauled the log across the snow. He had a sullen air and did not look up as he pa.s.sed.
”He is not handsome,” she agreed, and asked: ”Where do the men live?”
”We have fixed up this lot in the packing shed; my regular hands leave me in winter,” Farnam replied, indicating a wooden building at some distance from the house. ”However, we'll go home. There are some accounts I must examine before I start for Montreal.”
They went on, and when after supper Mrs. Farnam grumbled at being left without a man in the house, Farnam took out an automatic pistol and explained how it was used.
”I don't know why I bought the thing, unless it was to satisfy Mabel,”
he said to Agatha. ”It's curious, but while she could handle mutinous pupils and bluff the managers, she quakes if a door rattles on a windy night. One's rather safer in our homestead than a Montreal hotel; but Mabel has lived in the cities and the Wild West tradition dies hard. As a matter of fact, there never was a Wild West in Canada.” He opened the pistol. ”You put the cartridge sh.e.l.ls in like this--”
”You can show Agatha how it works; I won't touch the thing,” Mrs. Farnam declared. ”She's something of a sport, but I'm a womanly woman, except when I teach school.”
Farnam laughed. ”On the whole, it might be better to leave the cartridges out. If somebody did break in, all you need do would be to pretend you were asleep. Everybody in the neighborhood knows where my office is and an intelligent burglar begins at the safe. There's no money in mine now.”
After a little good-humored banter, Agatha took the pistol and Farnam went to his office at the other end of the house. Next day he started for Montreal, and at night Mrs. Farnam made Agatha come with her while she examined the fastenings of the doors and windows. The house was low and the roof of the veranda in front reached nearly to the second floor. Nothing disturbing happened, and on the next night Agatha sat up after Mrs. Farnam had gone to bed, reading the letters Strange had written her from the North.