CHAPTER IV
MORE ABOUT CLARE
Determined to make the most of their rare feminine visitation at FortEnterprise, on the following day the fellows got up a chicken hunt onthe river bottom east of the post, to be followed by an _al fresco_supper at which broiled chicken was to be the _piece de resistance_. Theladies didn't shoot any prairie chicken, but they stimulated the hunterswith their presence, and afterwards condescended to partake of thedelicate flesh.
Stonor, though he was largely instrumental in getting the thing up, andthough he worked like a Trojan to make the affair go, still kept himselfpersonally in the background. He consorted with Captain Stinson andMathews, middle-aged individuals who were considered out of the running.It was not so much shyness now, as an instinct of self-preservation."She'll be gone in a week," he told himself. "You mustn't let this thingget too strong a hold on you, or life here after she has gone will behellish. You've got to put her out of your mind, my son--or just keepher as a lovely dream not to be taken in earnest. Hardly likely, afterseeing the world, that she'd look twice at a sergeant of police!"
In his innocence Stonor adopted the best possible way of attracting herattention to himself. More than once, when he was not looking, her eyessought him out curiously. In answer to her questions of the other men itappeared that it was Stonor who had sent the natives out in advance todrive the game past them: it was Stonor who surprised them with a clothalready spread under a poplar tree: it was Stonor who cooked the birdsso deliciously. She was neither vain nor silly, but at the same time ina company where every man lay down at her feet, so to speak, and beggedher to tread on him, it could not but seem peculiar to her that thebest-looking man of them all should so studiously avoid her.
Next day they all crossed the river and rode up to Simon Grampierre'splace, where the half-breeds repeated the Victoria Day games for theamusement of the visitors. (These days are still talked of at FortEnterprise.) Stonor was finally induced to give an exhibition ofhigh-school riding as taught to the police recruits, and thereby threwall the other events in the shade. But their plaudits overwhelmed him.He disappeared and was seen no more that day.
Sunday followed. Mr. Pringle and his sister had got the little church inorder, and services were held there for the first time in many months.The mission was half a mile east of the Company buildings, and afterchurch they walked home beside the fields of sprouting grain, in acomfortable Sabbath peace that was much the same at Enterprise aselsewhere in the world.
The procession travelled in the following order: First, four surveyorsmarching with their heads over their shoulders, at imminent risk of anundignified stumble in the trail; next, Clare Starling, flanked on oneside by Gaviller, on the other by Doc Giddings, with two more surveyorson the outlying wings, peering forward to get a glimpse of her; thenCaptain Stinson, Mathews, and Sergeant Stonor in a line, talking aboutthe state of the crops, and making believe to pay no attention to whatwas going on ahead; lastly, Mr. Pringle and his sister hurrying to catchup.
Half-way home Miss Starling, _a propos_ of nothing, suddenly stopped andturned her head. "Sergeant Stonor," she said. He stepped to her side.Since she clearly showed in her manner that she intended holdingconverse with the policeman, there was nothing for Gaviller _et al._ todo but proceed, which they did with none too good a grace. This leftStonor and the girl walking together in the middle of the procession.Stinson and Mathews, who were supposed to be out of it anyway, winked ateach other portentously.
"I wanted to ask you about that horse you rode yesterday, a beautifulanimal. What do you call him?"
"Miles Aroon," said Stonor, like a wooden man. He dreaded that she meantto go on and enlarge on his riding tricks. In his modesty he nowregarded that he had made an awful ass of himself the day before. Butshe stuck to horse-flesh.
"He's a beauty! Would he let me ride him?"
"Oh, yes! He has no bad tricks. I broke him myself. But of course heknows nothing of side-saddles."
"I ride astride."
"I believe we're all going for a twilight ride to-night. I'll bring himfor you."
As a result of this Stonor's praiseworthy resolutions to keep out ofharm's way were much weakened. Indeed, late that night in his littleroom in quarters he gave himself up to the most outrageous dreams of apossible future happiness. Stonor was quite unversed in the ways ofmodern ladies; all his information on the subject had been gleaned fromromances, which, as everybody knows, are always behind the times in suchmatters, and it is possible that he banked too much on the simple factof her singling him out on the walk home.
There was a great obstacle in his way; the force sets its face againstmatrimony during the term of service. Stonor in his single-mindednessnever thought that there were other careers. "I shall have to get acommission," he thought. "An inspectorship is little enough to offerher. But what an ornament she'd be to a post! And she'd love the life;she loves horses. But Lord! it's difficult nowadays, with nothing goingon. If an Indian war would only break out!"--He was quite ready tosacrifice the unfortunate red race.
On Monday night he was again bidden to dine at Enterprise House. AsGaviller since the day before had been no more than decently polite,Stonor ventured to hope that the invitation might have been instigatedby her. At any rate he was placed by her side this time, where he sat alittle dizzy with happiness, and totally oblivious to food. At the sametime it should be understood that the young lady had no veiled glancesor hidden meanings for him alone; she treated him, as she did all theothers, to perfect candour.
After dinner they had music in the drawing-room. The piano wasgrotesquely out of tune, but what cared they for that? She touched itand their souls were drawn out of their bodies. Probably the performersuffered, but she played on with a smile. They listened entranced untildarkness fell, and when it is dark at Enterprise in June it is high timeto go to bed.
They all accompanied Stonor to the door. The long-drawn summer dusk ofthe North is an ever fresh wonder to newcomers. At sight of theexquisite half-light and the stars an exclamation of pleasure broke fromClare.
"Much too fine a night to go to bed!" she cried. "Sergeant Stonor, takeme out to the bench beside the flagstaff for a few minutes."
As they sat down she said: "Don't you want to smoke?"
"Don't feel the need of it," he said. His voice was husky with feeling.Would a man want to smoke in Paradise?
By glancing down and sideways he could take her in as far up as her neckwithout appearing to stare rudely. She was sitting with her feet crossedand her hands in her lap like a well-bred little girl. When he daredglance at her eyes he saw that there was no consciousness of him there.They were regarding something very far away. In the dusk the wistfulnesswhich hid behind a smile in daylight looked forth fully and broodingly.
Yet when she spoke the matter was ordinary enough. "All the men heretell me about the mysterious stranger who lives on the Swan River. Theycan't keep away from the subject. And the funny part of it is, they allseem to be angry at him. Yet they know nothing of him. Why is that?"
"It means nothing," said Stonor, smiling. "You see, all the men pridethemselves on knowing every little thing that happens in the country.It's all they have to talk about. In a way the whole country is like avillage. Well, it's only because this man has succeeded in defying theircuriosity that they're sore. It's a joke!"
"They tell me that you stand up for him," she said, with a peculiarwarmth in her voice.
"Oh, just to make the argument interesting," said Stonor lightly.
"Is that all?" she said, chilled.
"No, to tell the truth, I was attracted to the man from the first," hesaid more honestly. "By what the Indians said about his healing the sickand so on. And they said he was young. I have no friend of my own age uphere--I mean no real friend. So I thought--well, I would like to knowhim."
"I like that," she said simply.
There was a silence.
"Why don't you--sometime--go to him?" she said, with what seemed almostl
ike a breathless air.
"I am going," said Stonor simply. "I received permission in the lastmail. The government wants me to look over the Kakisa Indians to see ifthey are ready for a treaty. The policy is to leave the Indians alone aslong as they are able to maintain themselves under natural conditions.But as soon as they need help the government takes charge; limits themto a reservation; pays an annuity, furnishes medical attention, and soon. This is called taking treaty. The Kakisas are one of the last wildtribes left."
She seemed scarcely to hear him. "When are you going?" she asked withthe same air of breathlessness.
"As soon as the steamboat goes back."
"How far is it to Swan River?"
"Something under a hundred and fifty miles. Three days' hard riding orfour days' easy."
"And how far down to the great falls?"
"Accounts differ. From the known features of the map I should say abouttwo hundred miles. They say the river's as crooked as a ram's horn."
There was another silence. She was busy with her own thoughts, andStonor was content not to talk if he might look at her.
With her next speech she seemed to strike off at a tangent. She spokewith a lightness that appeared to conceal a hint of pain. "They say themounted police are the guides, philosophers and friends of the people upNorth. They say you have to do everything, from feeding babies toreading the burial service."
"I'm afraid there's a good bit of romancing about the police," saidStonor modestly.
"But they do make good friends, don't they?" she insisted.
"I hope so."
She gave him the full of her deep, starry eyes. It was not anintoxicating glance, but one that moved him to the depths. "Will you bemy friend?" she asked simply.
Poor Stonor! With too great a need for speech, speech itself wasfoundered. No words ever coined seemed strong enough to carry the weightof his desire to assure her. He could only look at her, imploring her tobelieve in him. In the end only two little words came; to himwretchedly inadequate; but it is doubtful if they could have beenbettered.
"Try me!"
His look satisfied her. She lowered her eyes. The height of emotion wastoo great to be maintained. She cast round in her mind for something tolet them down. "How far to the north the sunset glow is now."
Stonor understood. He answered in the same tone: "At this season itdoesn't fade out all night. The sun is such a little way below the rimthere, that the light just travels around the northern horizon, andbecomes the dawn in a little while."
For a while they talked of indifferent matters.
By and by she said casually: "When you go out to Swan River, take mewith you."
He thought she was joking. "I say, that would be a lark!"
She laughed a little nervously.
He tried to keep it up, though his heart set up a furious beating at thebare idea of such a trip. "Can you bake bannock?"
"I can make good biscuits."
"What would we do for a chaperon?"
"Nobody has chaperons nowadays."
"You don't know what a moral community this is!"
"I meant it," she said suddenly, in a tone there was no mistaking.
All his jokes deserted him, and left him trembling a little. Indeed hewas scandalized, too, being less advanced, probably, in his ideas thanshe. "It's--it's impossible!" he stammered at last.
"Why?" she asked calmly.
He could not give the real reason, of course. "To take the trail, you!To ride all day and sleep on the hard ground! And the river trip, anunknown river with Heaven knows what rapids and other difficulties! Afragile little thing like you!"
Opposition stimulated her. "What you call my fragility is more apparentthan real," she said with spirit. "As a matter of fact I have moreendurance than most big women. I have less to carry. I am accustomed toliving and travelling in the open. I can ride all day--or walk if needbe."
"It's impossible!" he repeated. It was the policeman who spoke. Theman's blood was leaping, and his imagination painting the most alluringpictures. How often on his lonely journeys had he not dreamed of thewild delights of such companionship!
"What is your real reason?" she asked.
"Well, how could you go--with me, you know?" he said, blushing into thedusk.
"I'm not afraid," she answered instantly. "Anyway, that's my look-out,isn't it?"
"No," he said, "I have to think of it. The responsibility would bemine." Here the man broke through--"Oh, I talk like a prig!" he cried."But don't you see, I'm not up here on my own. I can't do what I wouldlike. A policeman has got to be proper, hasn't he?"
She smiled at his _naivete_. "But if I have business out there?"
This sounded heartless to Stonor. It was the first and last time that heventured to criticize her. "Oh," he objected, "I don't know what reasonsthe poor fellow has for burying himself--they must be good reasons, forit's no joke to live alone! It doesn't seem quite fair, does it, to dighim out and write him up in the papers?"
"Oh, what must you think of me!" she murmured in a quick, hurt tone.
He saw that he had made a mistake. "I--I beg your pardon," he stammeredcontritely. "I thought that was what you meant by business."
"I'm not a reporter," she said.
"But they told me----"
"Yes, I know, I lied. I'm not apologizing for that. It was necessary tolie to protect myself from vulgar curiosity."
He looked his question.
She was not quite ready to answer it yet. "Suppose I had the best ofreasons for going," she said, hurriedly, "a reason that Mrs. Grundywould approve of; it would be your duty as a policeman, wouldn't it, tohelp me?"
"Yes--but----?"
She turned imploring eyes on him, and unconsciously clasped her hands."I'm sure you're generous and steadfast," she said quickly. "I can trustyou, can't I, not to give me away? The gossip, the curious stares--itwould be more than I could bear! Promise me, whatever you may think ofit all, to respect my secret."
"I promise," he said a little stiffly. It hurt him that he was requiredto protest his good faith. "The first thing we learn in the force is tokeep our mouths shut."
"Ah, now you're offended with me because I made you promise!"
"It doesn't matter. It's over now. What is your reason for wanting to goout to Swan River?"
She answered low: "I am Ernest Imbrie's wife."
"Oh!" said Stonor in a flat tone. A sick disappointment filled him--yetin the back of his mind he had expected something of the kind. An innervoice whispered to him: "Not for you! It was too much to hope for!"
Presently she went on: "I injured him cruelly. That's why he buriedhimself so far away."
Stonor turned horror-stricken eyes on her.
"Oh, not that," she said proudly and indifferently. "The injury I didhim was to his spirit; that is worse." Stonor turned hot for hismomentary suspicion.
"I can repair it by going to him," she went on. "I _must_ go to him. Ican never know peace until I have tried to make up to him a little ofwhat I have made him suffer."
She paused to give Stonor a chance to speak--but he was dumb.
Naturally she misunderstood. "Isn't that enough?" she cried painfully."I have told you the essential truth. Must I go into particulars? Ican't bear to speak of these things!"
"No! No!" he said, horrified. "It's not that. I don't want to hear anymore."
"Then you'll help me?"
"I will take you to him."
She began to cry in a pitiful shaken way.
"Ah, don't!" murmured Stonor. "I can't stand seeing you."
"It's--just from relief," she whispered.... "I've been under astrain.... I think I should have gone out of my mind--if I had beenprevented from expiating the wrong I did.... I wish I could tellyou--he's the bravest man in the world, I think--and the mostunhappy!... And I heaped unhappiness on his head!"
This was hard for Stonor to listen to, but it was so obviously a reliefto her to speak, that he made no attempt to stop her.
She soon quieted down. "I shan't try to thank you," she said. "I'll showyou."
Stonor foresaw that the proposed journey would be attended withdifficulties.
"Would it be possible," she asked meekly, "for you to plan to leave aday in advance of the steamboat, and say nothing about taking me?"
"You mean for us to leave the post secretly?" he said, a little aghast.
"When the truth came out it would be all right," she urged. "And itwould save me from becoming the object of general talk and commiserationhere. Why, if Mr. Gaviller knew in advance, he'd probably insist onsending a regular expedition."
"Perhaps he would."
"And they'd all try to dissuade me. I'd have to talk them over one byone--I haven't the strength of mind left for that. They'd say I ought towait here and send for him----"
"Well, wouldn't that be better?"
"No! No! Not the same thing at all. I doubt if he'd come. And what wouldI be doing here--waiting--without news. I couldn't endure it. I must goto him."
Stonor thought hard. Youth was pulling him one way, and his sense ofresponsibility the other. Moreover, this kind of case was not providedfor in regulations. Finally he said:
"Couldn't you announce your intention of remaining over for one trip ofthe steamboat? Miss Pringle would be glad to have you, I'm sure."
"I could do that. But you're not going to delay the start?"
"We can leave the day after the boat goes, as planned. But if we weremissed before the boat left she'd carry out some great scandalous talethat we might never be able to correct. For if scandal gets a big enoughstart you can never overtake it."
"You are right, of course. I never thought of that."
"Then I see no objection to leaving the post secretly, provided you arewilling to tell one reliable person in advance--say Pringle or hissister, of our intention. You see we must leave someone behind us tostill the storm of gossip that will be let loose."
"You think of everything!"
The Woman from Outside Page 4
