Part 11 (2/2)

Jimmy pushed two or three letters into his pocket and sat down on a cedar log. If Margaret meant to cook his breakfast, he imagined she would do so and he was satisfied to watch her. For one thing, she knew her job, and Jimmy liked to see all done properly. She did not bother him for things; she seemed to know where they were. After a time, she put the trout and some thin light cakes on a slab of bark, and Jimmy remarked that the fish were an appetizing golden brown.

”I expect you have not got breakfast, and I'll bring you a plate,” he said.

”At a bush ranch the woman gets the plates.”

”There's not much use in pretending the bush rules are yours,” Jimmy rejoined. ”Anyhow, I'll bring you all you want.”

”Wash the plate, please,” said Margaret. ”I'd sooner you did not rub it with the towel.”

Jimmy laughed. ”You take things for granted. I'm not a complete bushman yet.”

He cleaned the plates and knives, and Margaret studied him. Something of his carelessness and the hint of indulgence she had noted were gone. His face had got thin and his frank glance was steady. Although he laughed, his laugh was quiet. The bush was hardening him, and when she looked about she saw the progress he had made was good. Well, she knew Jimmy was not a loafer; after the cayuse kicked his leg he carried her heavy pack to the ranch.

”Now we can get to work,” he said.

Margaret allowed him to put a trout and some hot flapjacks on her plate.

”After all, I like it when people bring me things,” she remarked. ”At Kelshope, when one wants a thing one goes for it. I reckon your friends ring a bell.”

”Perhaps both plans have some drawbacks. Still I don't see why you bother to indicate that you do not ring bells.”

”It looks as if you're pretty keen,” said Margaret.

”Keener than you thought? Well, not long since I'd have admitted I was something of a fool. Anyhow, I rather think you know the Canadian cities.”

”At Toronto I stopped at a cheap boarding-house. They rang bells for you. If you were not in right on time for meals, you went without. You didn't ask for the _menu_; you took what the waitress brought. Now you ought to be satisfied. I'm not curious about your job in the Old Country.”

”I'm not at all reserved,” Jimmy rejoined. ”I occupied a desk at a cotton mill office, and wrote up lists of goods in a big book, until I couldn't stand for it. Then I quit.”

Margaret weighed his statement and imagined he had used some reserve.

For a clerk at a cotton mill to tour about Canada with rich people was strange.

”You talk about the Old Country, although you stated you were altogether Canadian,” Jimmy resumed.

”My father's a Scot. He came from the Border.”

”Your name indicates it. The Jardines and two or three other clans ruled the Western Border, but were themselves a stubborn, unruly lot.

Your ancestors were famous. I know their haunts in Annandale.”

”I reckon my father was a poacher,” Margaret observed.

Jimmy laughed. ”It's possible the others were something like that.

Anyhow, their main occupation was to drive off English cattle, but we won't bother--”

He stopped and mused. Sometimes, when he was at the cotton mill, he had gone for a holiday to the bleak Scottish moors. The country was romantic, but rather bleak than beautiful, and he had thought a touch of the old Mosstroopers' spirit marked their descendants. The men were big and their Scottish soberness hid a vein of reckless humor. They were keen sportsmen and bold poachers. When one studied them, one noted their stubbornness and something Jimmy thought was quiet pride. Margaret had got the puzzling quality; one marked her calm level glance and her rather haughty carriage. Although she was a bush rancher's daughter, Jimmy did not think he exaggerated much.

<script>