Part 7 (1/2)
”Do you wish to criticize our methods?” he demanded.
”I've nothing to do with your methods. It's my business to farm this section as well as it can be done. I've no wish to annoy your people; but you do not use the trail for hauling on, and I can't change my plans because they may interfere with your amus.e.m.e.nts.”
”Very well,” Mowbray answered coldly. ”There is nothing more to be said.”
He rode away and Harding started his oxen. It might have been more prudent to make a few concessions and conciliate the Colonel, but Harding could not bring himself to do so. It seemed a shabby course. It was better that the Allenwood settlers should know at the beginning how matters stood and of what type their new neighbor was.
From all that Harding had learned of Colonel Mowbray, he felt that this stretch of gra.s.sland would not be turned into a glowing sea of wheat without more than one conflict between himself and the head of Allenwood.
CHAPTER V
THE SPENDTHRIFT
Kenwyne felt pleasantly languid as he lounged in a basket-chair after his evening meal. He had been back-setting land since daybreak. Holding the plow was an occupation almost unknown to the Allenwood settlers, who left all the rougher work to their hired men. Kenwyne, however, was of a practical turn of mind; and, having invested all his money in his farm, he meant to get some return. He occasionally enjoyed a run with the coyote hounds, or a day's shooting when the migrating geese and ducks rested among the sloos; but for the most part he stuck steadily to his work and, as he bought the latest implements, he was considered richer than he really was. Though thirty, he was unmarried; an elderly Scottish housekeeper looked after him.
One of the obstacles to Allenwood's progress was that the bachelors outnumbered the married men; and the difficulty seemed insuperable. The settlers belonged to an exclusive caste, and few young Englishwomen of education and refinement had shown themselves willing to face the hards.h.i.+ps of the prairie life; though these were softened at Allenwood by many of the amenities of civilization. Moreover, it was known to the rasher youths, who occasionally felt tempted by the good looks of the daughters of the soil, that Colonel Mowbray sternly discountenanced anything of the nature of a _mesalliance_, and that the married women would deal even more strictly with the offenders. Broadwood, for example, had broken the settlement's traditions, and he and his Canadian wife had suffered.
While Kenwyne was reading an old newspaper, Gerald Mowbray sauntered in.
He had a careless, genial manner that made him a favorite, but there was a hint of weakness in his face, and Kenwyne had never trusted him. It was known that he had been wild and extravagant; but at Allenwood that was not generally regarded as a grave drawback. They were charitable there; several of the younger men, who now made good settlers, had left England at their relatives' urgent request, after gaining undesirable notoriety.
Gerald selected a comfortable chair and pa.s.sed his cigar-case to Kenwyne.
”They're good,” he said. ”I had them sent from Montreal.”
”No, thanks,” replied Kenwyne. ”I've given up such extravagances, and stick to the labeled plug. I don't want to be officious, but it might be better if you did the same.”
Gerald smiled.
”You're rather a sordid beggar, Ralph; but as that's often a sign of prosperity, it makes me hopeful. I want you to lend me two hundred pounds.”
”Impossible!” said Kenwyne firmly.
”One hundred and fifty, then?”
”Equally out of the question. All I have is sunk in stock, and earmarked for next year's operations.” Kenwyne paused and considered. He knew the chances were slight that the money would ever be returned; yet he respected Colonel Mowbray, and his loyalty extended to the family of the head of Allenwood. ”Why do you want the money?” he asked.
”I suppose I'll have to tell you. It goes back to India--what you might call a 'debt of honor.' I borrowed the money in London to square it; and thought when I came to Canada I'd be too far away for the London fellow to put undue pressure on me. Oh, I meant to pay sometime, when I was ready; but the fellow transferred the debt to a man at Winnipeg, who has sent me a curt demand with an extortionate bill of expenses. Now I have to pay.”
”I suppose you have been round the settlement?”
”Yes; but I haven't collected much. In fact, I'm afraid I'll have to pledge my farm.”
”You can't do that. Our foundation covenant forbids a settler to alienate his land without the consent of a majority in the council, subject to the president's veto. Your father would certainly use his veto.”
”Very true,” Gerald agreed. ”However, I don't propose to alienate my land--only to p.a.w.n it for a time.”
”It's against the spirit of the deed.”