Part 9 (1/2)
So I scratched the outline of the shack in the sod with my shovel and began digging a cellar in the centre of the little plot. For a depth of nearly two feet I dug through a brownish-black loam that turned easily and threw clean from the shovel. Then I struck a sticky, yellow clay, and the going was much slower. But by the time we heard Jack's hoa.r.s.e voice and his tired oxen clicking their hoofs up the trail on the evening of the second day I had succeeded in making a hole which we agreed to call a cellar.
The wagon was well loaded with boards and other building material, including the inevitable tarpaper, and the next morning we were about to start construction work when Jack dropped an armful of two-by-fours with a sudden exclamation.
”I clean forgot,” he said. ”They told me in town yesterday that it was Sat.u.r.day. This must be Sunday.”
As you know, Jack and I had been brought up with good old Ontario ideas of the sanct.i.ty of the Sabbath. It was not surprising that he should drop his burden where he stood, and that his face, when he turned to me, had written on it something almost akin to dismay.
”Must be,” I said, laying down my shovel.
For some moments we stood trying to drink in the significance of the fact, and realizing for the first time what an artificial thing the calendar is. This morning was exactly like the other mornings of the week; a burst of golden dawn, a sea of diamond dew-drops, a rollicking breeze out of the West, a wisp of feathery cloudland far above. There was nothing about it to suggest that it was more holy than its neighbors.
”Fact is,” said I at last, ”I begin to think we must have missed one Sunday altogether.”
”I'm afraid we did,” Jack admitted, contritely. ”Let's tell the girls.”
Accordingly we bore to them the great information. All work was discontinued, and we lounged about, trying to feel good. It was one of the longest days I can remember.
Next day we set about our building in earnest. I wish I dared weary you with the detail of the operations; the tw.a.n.ging of the saw in the new boards, the thwack of the hammer on the bright nails, the smell of cedar sawdust and of tarpaper, the sheer joy of creation as we saw our home rise tier by tier from the bare bosom of the plain. There were no Union hours with us. We worked from early morning until after sunset, and laid down our tools at last with affectionate reluctance. We were stiff and sore in every joint and muscle; our hands were caloused and our finger nails were battered with misdirected energy, but our hearts were with the G.o.ds. I relate only absolute truth in saying that when our shack was finished we moved into it with a sense of accomplishment such as perhaps no king ever knew amid the luxury of his palaces.
As soon as our first building was finished we started a similar one for Jack and Jean. Then we built a little stable down in the gully for the oxen, the cow, the pig, and the hens; we improved the crossing of the stream; we dug a well; we plowed a small area on each farm and planted it to oats, and then we went on plowing for next season's crop; we bought a mowing-machine and rake--on credit--and cut an ample supply of wild prairie hay for our winter needs. We had decided that, as fall came on, Jack and I, with the yoke of oxen, should make a pilgrimage into the more settled districts with a view to getting work with some farmer, and so replenis.h.i.+ng our resources.
It was a hot day in the middle of July when, up the trail from the south, a speck grew out of the distance. Traffic did not often come our way, and Jack and I both stopped work in the field to study its approach and to conjecture as to who or what it might be. The light on the prairies on a hot day has a way of s.h.i.+mmering that sometimes renders the outline of an object, or even its color, vague, although its location may be discerned for many miles. Even as we watched a curious optical illusion occurred; the strange object left the ground and seemed to hang motionless, suspended slightly over the horizon.
We glanced over to the shacks and saw both Marjorie and Jean standing with shaded eyes studying the phenomenon. Then, as we watched, the figure took the form of a horse and rider of heroic size charging down upon us literally out of the heavens. As it approached the mirage lost its illusion and horse and rider came back to earth. By this time we were sure that the glint of color which had seemed to dance vaguely about the figure had a basis in fact; there was no longer a doubt that an atom of scarlet was approaching along the trail.
Leaving the oxen to their midday meditations we walked over to my shack, where Jean had already joined Marjorie. It could now be seen that the figure was approaching at a rapid gait, and its outline, no longer blurred by the s.h.i.+mmering of the mirage, stood out sharp and clean against the distance. It was a Mounted Policeman.
As he drew up beside us I had a sense of being in the presence of physical perfection. His horse, although wet over the flanks, showed little sign of fatigue; the dust of travel clung to the rider's sunburned face, but the smartness of his bearing and uniform was unimpaired. He saluted as he brought his horse to a standstill; then sprang lightly to the ground.
”I see I am right,” he said, addressing Marjorie and Jean. ”Won't you introduce me?”
Marjorie was the first to act, although I suspected, even then, that he had spoken more particularly to Jean. ”My brother, Frank,” she said, ”and Jean's brother, Jack. This is Mr. Brook.”
We shook hands cordially, and Jean asked our visitor if he had had dinner. ”I have not,” he confessed, ”but please don't go to any trouble.” But the girls were already in the house, making preparations.
”There's a stream around here, if my maps are right,” the policeman continued, speaking to us, ”and both d.i.c.k and I could do with water.”
We led him down to the stream, and to the well, and although I was disposed to be prejudiced against this strapping young fellow who seemed to take more than a casual interest in Jean, I lost much of that prejudice through a little incident that happened when we reached the water. Although Brook was undoubtedly suffering from thirst he removed his horse's bit, so that he could drink in comfort, before he accepted the proffered cup of water which Jack brought him from the well. Jack and I spoke of it afterward and agreed that a chap who did that sort of thing was a good bit of a man.
After a hearty drink Brook took off his hat and tunic, produced towel, soap, comb and brush, and cleaned up even more thoroughly than seemed necessary. As I watched him parting his hair by the reflection in the water I realized that Brook had not forgotten what so many of we pioneers often did forget--the value of personal appearance. While we walked up the bank together I admitted to myself that although I was as good a man as he was, I didn't look it.
The meal which the girls had prepared loosened all our tongues, and before it was over we were chatting merrily. Brook had the latest gossip from Regina, and interesting news about himself. At last he had escaped from barracks, temporarily, at any rate. He was detailed to two months' relief duty at a point farther west; he promised himself another meal at our board on his way back, a prospect which Jean and Marjorie and Jack received with much satisfaction, and I trust I showed no smallness about it.
The policeman rested with us in the shade of the house for an hour or two, chatting breezily, and smoking numerous cigarettes. Neither Jack nor I smoked at that time, but I think it must be recorded that Brook introduced us, somewhat hesitatingly, to the alleged charms of Lady Nicotine. In short, we smoked rather less than half a cigarette each. It is one of the complexities of woman's nature which I did not understand then, and do not understand yet, that Jean, who openly admired this cigarette-smoking policeman, scaled me down many feet in her estimation because I surrendered to a single inch of temptation.
At length Brook insisted that he must be on his way, but before going he laid a dollar bill on the table in payment for his meal. We objected most strenuously to accepting money for our hospitality, but as he pointed out that it was the Government that footed the bill, we allowed ourselves to be persuaded. Governments, like railways, are legitimate prey. Also, from somewhere, the policeman produced a small box of candy, which he presented impartially to Marjorie and Jean. But most important, in-so-far as this story is concerned, was a bundle of letters. They were tied together with a stout string, with only the backs of the envelopes exposed, and on them was written in a bold hand the single word ”Spoof”.
”They're for a young Englishman who is to be a neighbour of yours,”