Part 22 (2/2)

”If my father is exotic, I expect I am exotic.”

”Sure! You are like a bird of paradise or a flower from the tropics. We are a rude lot of hustlers and your grace and beauty carry us away.”

”You're romantic, but sometimes you're rather nice,” Laura remarked with a smile. ”All the same, if my father resolves to remain in Canada, it is not a mechanical resolve but because he feels he ought.”

”I expect that is so,” Dillon agreed, and lighted a cigarette.

He thought Stannard ought to stay, and since he meant to do so, to doubt him was not logical; yet Dillon did doubt. For one thing, the fellow was Jimmy's friend, but when Jimmy started for the rocks Deering, not the other, went after him. Then Stannard's narrative was puzzling. Jimmy had run away and his going indicated that he was accountable for the warden's getting shot. If Jimmy imagined he had shot at a deer, he ought to have stayed. Moreover, Bob had run away, and if he had hit the warden, it was obvious that Jimmy had not. Stannard's tale was not plausible, and since Stannard was clever Dillon imagined he had not told all he knew.

But Dillon began to see his vague antagonism had another foundation. He was frankly Western and Stannard's type was new, although some people in down-East cities cultivated his qualities. On the Pacific slope, men were highly-strung, optimistic, and rather boyishly keen. They plunged into big risky undertakings, sweated, and fought. In fact, where Nature was not yet conquered, their part was protagonist. Dillon owned that he himself was loafing, but he had not loafed long and would soon return to his proper occupation.

Stannard had not an occupation and Dillon thought the grounds for his distrust were there. Moreover, he had not a bank-roll, although he lived extravagantly and indulged his fastidiousness. His habit was to strike exactly the proper note, but sometimes its monotonous accuracy jarred.

Fastidious cultivation was for women. Yet Stannard was not at all womanly; Dillon began to sense in him a hard, calculating vein. For all that, he must not exaggerate, and Laura was not like her father.

”You could of course join my folk, although Mr. Stannard would sooner wait,” he said.

”I think not. My father planned the excursion to the mountains and led the party. Until people are satisfied about the shooting accident, I must not go to your house.”

”Now you are ridiculous!” Dillon declared.

”All the same, I will not go,” said Laura firmly.

”Then, I'm going to stay with you. I'd like to stay, but if Jimmy wants me, I'm his man.”

”I don't expect Jimmy will need you. Father imagines he's a long way off and will soon reach the plains,” said Laura and began to talk about something else.

Jimmy was not steering for the plains; he had, in fact, known for some time that he could not get there. The morning after Deering joined him was calm and cold. The sun touched the high rocks and in places a pine branch sparkled with dew, but a thousand feet below the camp the mist was like a level floor. One could not see the valley, and the turmoil of a river came up with a faint hoa.r.s.e throb as if from a long way off.

Jimmy's fatigue and gloom were gone; he felt fresh and to see Deering fry pork was comforting. He got a rather frugal breakfast and lighted his pipe.

”What are our plans for to-day?” he asked.

”We must try to get a deer. Fresh venison's most as tough as rawhide, but, if you put the roasted meat in a bag with salt, after a week or two you can eat the stuff. How many cartridges have you got?”

”Six,” said Jimmy and Deering smiled.

”You started for the plains with six sh.e.l.ls! Well, I've got a box of twenty-five, but somebody has taken out ten or twelve. Looks as if we want to shoot straight. The pork won't hold up long.”

”Where do we go when we have got a deer?”

”I reckon we'll go north,” said Deering thoughtfully. ”They talk about new railroads, but so far the only line of communication between the Rockies and the sea is the C. P. R. track. The settlements follow the line, and when you pull out of the narrow belt you're in the wilderness.

The police will, no doubt, reckon on your trying to make Vancouver.

We'll stop in the wilds and let them watch the railroad until they get tired.”

”But if they find I haven't gone to Vancouver, won't they try the bush?”

”Look at Stannard's map,” said Deering, with a smile. ”Note the row of ranges and valleys running north and south. But the big ridges and furrows are not even; they're broken by high bench country and cut up by cross-spurs. Pretty awkward ground to search for two fellows' tracks!

Our trouble's not to hide, but to get supplies. All the food they use in British Columbia comes in by the C. P. R.”

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