Part 2 (1/2)

”Can't say. They've been at her ten hours. She don't generally let anyone over her under a good twenty--or twenty-four.”

”Yerkes!--what will Mr. Gaddesden say? And it's so damp and horrid.”

Elizabeth looked at the outside prospect in dismay. The rain was drizzling down. The pa.s.sengers walking up and down the line were in heavy overcoats with their collars turned up. To the left of the line there was a misty glimpse of water over a foreground of charred stumps.

On the other side rose a bank of scrubby wood, broken by a patch of clearing, which held a rude log-cabin. What was she to do with Philip all day?

Suddenly a cow appeared on the patch of gra.s.s round the log hut. With a sound of jubilation, Yerkes threw down his dusting brush and rushed out of the car. Elizabeth watched him pursue the cow, and disappear round a corner. What on earth was he about?

Philip had apparently not yet been called. He was asleep, and Yerkes had let well alone. But he must soon awake to the situation, and the problem of his entertainment would begin. Elizabeth took up the guide-book and with difficulty made out that they were about a hundred miles from Winnipeg. Somewhere near Rainy Lake apparently. What a foolishly appropriate name!

”Hi!--hi!--”

The shout startled her. Looking out she saw a group of pa.s.sengers grinning, and Yerkes running hard for the car, holding something in his hand, and pursued by a man in a slouch hat, who seemed to be swearing.

Yerkes dashed into the car, deposited his booty in the kitchen, and standing in the doorway faced the enemy. A terrific babel arose.

Elizabeth appeared in the pa.s.sage and demanded to know what had happened.

”All right, my lady,” said Yerkes, mopping his forehead. ”I've only been and milked his cow. No saying where I'd have got any milk this side of Winnipeg if I hadn't.”

”But, Yerkes, he doesn't seem to like it.”

”Oh, that's all right, my lady.”

But the settler was now on the steps of the car gesticulating and scolding, in what Elizabeth guessed to be a Scandinavian tongue. He was indeed a gigantic Swede, furiously angry, and Elizabeth had thoughts of bearding him herself and restoring the milk, when some mysterious transaction involving coin pa.s.sed suddenly between the two men. The Swede stopped short in the midst of a sentence, pocketed something, and made off sulkily for the log hut. Yerkes, with a smile, and a wink to the bystanders, retired triumphant on his prey.

Elizabeth, standing at the door of the kitchen, inquired if supplies were likely to run short.

”Not in this car,” said Yerkes, with emphasis. ”What _they'll_ do”--a jerk of his thumb towards the rest of the train in front--”can't say.”

”Of course we shall have to give them food!” cried Lady Merton, delighted at the thought of getting rid of some of their superfluities.

Yerkes showed a stolid face.

”The C.P.R.'ll have to feed 'em--must. That's the regulation.

Accident--free meals. That hasn't nothing to do with me. They don't come poaching on my ground. I say, look out! Do yer call that bacon, or buffaler steaks?”

And Yerkes rushed upon his subordinate, Bettany, who was cutting the breakfast bacon with undue thickness, and took the thing in hand himself. The crushed Bettany, who was never allowed to finish anything, disappeared hastily in order to answer the electric bell which was ringing madly from Philip Gaddesden's berth.

”Conductor!” cried a voice from the inner platform outside the dining-room and next the train.

”And what might you be wanting, sir?” said Bettany jauntily, opening the door to the visitor. Bettany was a small man, with thin harra.s.sed features and a fragment of beard, glib of speech towards everybody but Yerkes.

”Your conductor got some milk, I think, from that cabin.”

”He did--but only enough for ourselves. Sorry we can't oblige you.”

”All the same, I am going to beg some of it. May I speak to the gentleman?”

”Mr. Gaddesden, sir, is dressing. The steward will attend to you.”