Part 48 (1/2)

Grace Coulthurst had not long cleared the evening meal away, but she was already waiting Esmond's departure with an impatience which was somewhat difficult to hold in check. He had come across from the outpost while she was occupied with the task, and that in itself would have been sufficient to displease her, but there were also other causes for the strain upon her temper. Miss Coulthurst had not expected to fare luxuriously in the Green River country and had hitherto borne the necessary discomforts exceptionally well; but of late she had been actually hungry, which, in her case, was as unpleasant as it was unusual.

There was still a store of flour and salt-pork in the Gold Commissioner's house, but there was practically nothing else, and the pork was rancid, while Grace had a very rudimentary acquaintance with the art of cookery. As one result of this, she had risen unsatisfied from each untempting meal, and, brought up as she had been, the deprivation had its effect on her physical nature, though she felt the isolation which had succeeded the blockade even more. Of late the company of Ingleby or Sewell had become almost a necessity, while she had naturally not seen either of them since the miners made their protest. Coulthurst had also been a trifle difficult to get on with. He was not addicted to indulgence, but neither was he particularly abstemious, and tea brewed from leaves which had been infused once or twice already was not a beverage he appreciated or one that tended to make him more companionable.

He lay somewhat wearily in a big deck-chair beside the stove with an unlighted cigar in his hand, while Esmond sat opposite him with an unpleasant look in his face.

”There is nothing to be gained by hiding the fact that I'm a little anxious about the state of affairs, sir,” he said. ”The scoundrelly miners are still apparently as far from giving in as ever, and, unpleasant as it is to admit, they have the upper hand.”

”It looks like it,” said the major drily. ”I suppose you haven't thought of making a compromise? n.o.body's hurt as yet, and I fancy they would be satisfied if you met them with regard to Tomlinson. You're not bound to send a man up for trial unless it's reasonably evident that he's guilty, and I don't believe Tomlinson did the thing, myself. Couldn't you hold a kind of informal inquiry, and give the boys an opportunity for proving him innocent?”

A vindictive sparkle crept into Esmond's eyes. ”And permit a rabble of that kind to teach me my duty? I'm afraid not. Even if I wasn't sure the man was guilty, which I am, the thing would be out of the question.”

”You feel warranted in calling all of them--rabble?” asked Grace.

”I do. Every one of them. Their leaders, in particular, belong to that most intolerable cla.s.s to be found anywhere--the half-taught proletariat, with just enough education to increase their natural unpleasantness and inspire them with a hatred of their superiors. That, however, is not quite the point.”

The blood rose to the girl's face, but remembering that the major occasionally displayed some little penetration she contrived to keep silent, though this was by no means easy. Coulthurst, however, nodded.

”I scarcely think it is,” he said, with a trace of dryness. ”As I pointed out once before, you do not seem to remember that I occasionally had Mr. Sewell and Ingleby here.”

”I'm afraid I didn't--I'm sorry, sir,” said Esmond. ”Of course, I should have done so. One could almost have fancied that they were here frequently.”

Again Grace said nothing, though it cost her a stronger effort, and the major did not appear to notice the younger man's sardonic smile.

”Since you don't seem to care for my suggestion, have you any notions of your own?”

”I haven't, which is partly why I came to you. If I could only find a way of getting word to Victoria and a few more troopers in, it would be easy to bring them to reason. As it is, I have sense enough to realize that n.o.body would thank me for forcing a contest that could only end in disaster and the subsequent sending up of a battalion of Canadian militia. The miners are twenty to one, you see.”

Again Coulthurst nodded. ”You are right in one respect,” he said.

”Personally, I shouldn't care to undertake the thing with less than three or four strong companies, and I'm not sure I could get in then.

Well, since a compromise appears out of the question, you can only wait events.”

”That is the difficulty. I can't wait too long. We're on full rations still, but stores are getting low and certainly won't last until the thaw sets in. Of course, if affairs had been different, I could have hired enough of the fellows to break out a trail.”

Perhaps the major did not intend it, but he looked at Grace, and saw comprehension of his thoughts in her eyes. They were not on full rations, or anything approaching it, at the Gold Commissioner's house, and a few of the comforts Esmond could have spared would have been worth a good deal to them. He was in some respects not an ungenerous man, but though he must, Grace fancied, have seen how meagrely they fared, such a course had evidently never suggested itself to him, and in that fact lay the sting. He rose to go, in another minute or two, but just then there was a knocking at the door, which swung open a moment later, and Grace gasped as she saw Ingleby standing on the threshold with a heavy case in his hands.

His garments were ragged, and his gauntness showed through them. His face was worn, and darkened by exposure to the frost, but his eyes were steady, and he glanced at the girl with a smile. There was a curious silence for a moment or two until he turned to the major.

”May I come in, sir?” he asked.

Coulthurst regarded him sternly. ”You could scarcely expect me to welcome a man in arms against his country.”

”No,” said Ingleby. ”Not as a friend. That would be unreasonable. Still, I have a little explanation to make, and it is a bitter night to keep the door open. With your permission!”

He swung round and closed it, after which he laid down the case, and Grace felt a thrill of appreciation as she watched him. His self-possession appealed to her.

”You have come--alone?” asked the major.

”Of course!” said Ingleby.

Esmond smiled, though there was no good-humour in his eyes, and, as if inadvertently, dropped his hand on his hip. His uniform was raised a trifle there, in a fas.h.i.+on which suggested that a pistol lay beneath it.