Part 6 (2/2)
”I suppose so,” Lance admitted. ”But the Colonel won't see it; and I can't say that he's wrong.”
”It seems rather complicated,” Beatrice said dryly.
She was surprised to find herself ready to contend for Harding, and rather than inquire into the cause of this, she talked about Allenwood affairs until they reached home.
Harding, back at his plowing, was thinking of Beatrice. He knew that he had spoken rashly, but he did not regret it. She now knew what he thought of her, and could decide what course to take. He smiled as he imagined her determining that he must be dropped, for he believed the mood would soon pa.s.s. He did not mean to persecute the girl with unwelcome attentions, but it would not be easy to shake him off. He was tenacious and knew how to wait. Then, the difference between them was, after all, less wide than she probably imagined. Harding had kept strictly to his compact not to try to learn anything of his father's people in England; but, for all that, he believed himself to be the girl's equal by birth. That, however, was a point that could not be urged; and he had no wish to urge it. He was content to stand or fall by his own merits as a man; and if Beatrice was the girl he thought her, she would not let his being a working farmer stand in the way. This, of course, was taking it for granted that he could win her love. He was ready to fight against her relatives' opposition; but, even if he had the power, he would put no pressure on the girl. If he was the man she ought to marry, she would know.
A breeze got up, rounded clouds with silver edges gathered in the west, streaking the prairie with patches of indigo shadow, and the air grew cooler as the sun sank. The big oxen steadily plodded on, the dry gra.s.s crackled beneath the share as the clods rolled back, and by degrees Harding's mind grew tranquil--as generally happened when he was at work.
He was doing something worth while in breaking virgin ground, in clearing a way for the advancing host that would people the wilderness, in roughing out a career for himself. Whatever his father's people were, his mother sprang from a stern, colonizing stock, and he heard and thrilled to the call for pioneers.
As the sun sank low, a man pulled up his horse at the end of the trail and beckoned Harding. There was something imperious in his att.i.tude, as he sat with his hand on his hip, watching the farmer haughtily; and Harding easily guessed that it was Colonel Mowbray. He went on with his furrow, and only after he had driven the plow across the gra.s.s road did he stop.
”Are you Mr. Harding, the owner of this section?” demanded the head of Allenwood.
”Yes.”
”Then I must express my surprise that you have broken up our trail.”
”It was necessary. I dislike blocking a trail, but you can go round by the road.”
”You can see that it's soft and boggy in wet weather.”
”Five minutes' extra ride will take you over gravel soil inside the Allenwood range.”
”Do you expect us to waste five minutes whenever we come this way?”
”My time is valuable, and if I let your trail stand it would cost me a good deal of extra labor. I must have a straight unbroken run for my machines.”
”So, sooner than throw an implement out of gear while you cross the trail, you take this course! Do you consider it neighborly?”
Harding smiled. He remembered that in Manitoba any help the nearest farmer could supply had been willingly given. At Allenwood, he had been left alone. That did not trouble him; but he thought of Hester, enduring many discomforts in her rude, board shack while women surrounded by luxury lived so near.
”I can't see any reason why I should be neighborly,” he replied.
Mowbray glanced at him with a hint of embarra.s.sment.
”Have you any complaint against us?”
”None,” said Harding coolly. ”I only mentioned the matter because you did so.”
He imagined that Mowbray was surprised by his reserve.
”You may be able to understand,” the Colonel said, ”that it's rash for an intruding stranger to set himself against local customs, not to speak of the discourtesy of the thing. When a new trail is made at Allenwood, every holder is glad to give all the land that's needed.”
”Land doesn't seem to be worth as much to you as it is to me, judging from the way you work it. Every rod of mine must grow something. I don't play at farming.”
Mowbray grew red in the face, but kept himself in hand.
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