CHAPTER XVIII
THE VIGIL-KEEPER
It was a clear starlit night when I rode across a tract of theAssiniboian prairie, some two hundred miles east of Crane Valley. Ahalf-moon hung in the cloudless ether, and the endless levels, lyingvery silent under its pale radiance, seemed to roll away into infinity.They had no boundary, for the blueness above them melted imperceptiblythrough neutral gradations into the earth below, which, gatheringstrength of tone, stretched back again to the center of the lower circlea vast sweep of silvery gray.
There was absolute stillness, not even a grass blade moved; but the airwas filled with the presage of summer, and the softness of the carpet,which returned no sound beneath the horse's feet, had its significance.That sod had been bleached by wind-packed snow and bound into ironhardness by months of arctic frost. Bird and beast had left it, and thewaste had lain empty under the coldness of death; but life had once moreconquered, and the earth was green again. Even among the almostunlettered born upon it there are few men impervious to the influence ofthe prairie on such a night; and in days not long gone by the half-breed_voyageurs_ told strange stories of visions seen on it during the lonelyjourneys they made for the great fur-trading company. Its vastness andits emptiness impresses the human atom who becomes conscious of anindefinite awe or is uplifted by an exaltation which vanishes with thedawn, for there are times when, through the silence of measurelessspaces, man's spirit rises into partial touch with the greater thingsunseen.
My errand was prosaic enough--merely to buy cattle for Haldane andothers on a sliding-scale arrangement. I could see a possibility ofsome small financial benefit, and that being so had reluctantly leftCrane Valley, where I was badly needed, because the need of money waseven greater. Also, as time was precious, I had decided to travel allnight instead of spending it as a guest of the last farmer with whom Ibargained. I was at that time neither very imaginative noroversentimental; but the spell of the prairie was stronger than my will,and, yielding to it, I rode dreamily, so it seemed, beyond the reach ofpetty troubles and the clamor of our sordid strife into a shadowy landof peace which, defying the centuries, had retained unchanged its solemnstillness. The stars alone sufficed to call up the fancy, for therebeing neither visible heavens nor palpable atmosphere, only a bluetransparency, the eye could follow the twinkling points of flame farbackwards from one to another through the unknown spaces beyond ourlittle globe. Nothing seemed impossible on such a night, and only thetouch of the bridle and the faint jingle of metal material.
It was in this mood that I became conscious of a shadow object near thefoot of a rise. It did not seem a natural portion of the prairie, andwhen I had covered some distance it resolved itself into a horse and adismounted man. His broad hat hung low in his hand, his head was bent,and he stood so intent that I had almost ridden up to him before heturned and noticed me. Then, as I checked my horse, I saw that it wasBoone.
"What has brought you here?" I asked.
"That I cannot exactly tell you when we know so little of the influencesabout us on such a night as this. It is at least one stage of apilgrimage I must make," he said.
Had this answer been given me in the sunlight I should have doubted thespeaker's mental balance, but one sets up a new standard of sanity onthe starlit prairie on a night of spring, and I saw only that the spellwas also upon him. He held a great bunch of lilies (which do not grow onthe bare Western levels) in one hand, and his face was changed. Even inBoone's reckless humor there had been a sardonic vein which sometimesadded a sting to the jest, and I knew what the shadow was that accountedfor his fits of silent grimness. Now he seemed strangely calm, butrather reverent than sad.
"I cannot understand you," I said.
"No?" he answered quietly. "How soon you have forgotten; but you helpedme once. Come, and I will show you."
He tethered his horse to an iron peg, beckoned me to do the same, andthen, moving forward until we stood on the highest of the rise, pointedto something that rose darkly from the grass. Then I remembered, andswung my hat to my knee, as my eyes rested on a little wooden cross.Following the hand he stretched out, I could read the rude letters cuton it--"Helen Boone."
He stooped, and, I fancied with some surprise, lifted a glass vesselfrom beneath a handful of withered stalks. He shook them out gently,laid the fresh blossoms in their place, and a faint fragrance rose likeincense through the coolness of the dew. Then he turned, and I followedhim to where we had left the horses. "There are still kind souls on thisearth, and one of them placed that vessel under the last flowers I left.You have a partial answer to your question now."
I bent my head, and seeing that he was not averse to speech, saidquietly: "You come here sometimes? It is a long journey."
"Yes," was the answer; and Boone's voice vibrated. "She who sleeps theregave up a life of luxury for me; and is a three-hundred-mile journey toomuch to make, or a summer night too long to watch beside her? I am drawnhere, and there are times when one wonders if it is possible for us torise into partial communion with those who have passed into the darknessbefore us."
"It is all," I answered gravely, "a mystery to me. Can you conceive sucha possibility?"
"Not in any tangible shape to such as I, but this at least I know. Inspite of the destruction of the mortal clay, when I can see my way nofurther, and lose courage in my task, fresh strength comes to me aftera night spent here."
"Your task?" I said. "I guessed that there was a motive behind yourwanderings."
"There is one," and Boone's voice rose to its natural level. "The wagonjourneys suit it well. Had Lane ruined me alone I should have tried topay my forfeit for inexperience and the risk I took gracefully; but whenI saw the woman, who had lain down so much for me, fading day by daythat he might add to his power of oppressing others the money whichwould have saved her life, the case was different. The last part heplayed in the pitiful drama was that of murderer, and the loss heinflicted on me one that could never be forgiven."
"And you are waiting revenge?" I asked.
"No." Boone looked back towards the crest of the rise. "At first I didso, but it is justice that prompts me now. I have a full share of humanpassions, and once I lay in wait for him with a rifle--my throat parchedand a fire of torment in my heart; but when he passed at midnight withinten paces I held my hand and let him go. Perhaps it was because I couldnot take the life of even that venomous creature in cold blood, andfeared he would not face me. Perhaps another will was stronger than myown, for, with every purpose strained against what seemed weakness, itwas borne in on me that I could not force him to stand with a weapon,and that I dare not kill him groveling. Then the power went out of me,and I let him go. Yet I have twice lain long hours in hot sand under adeadly rifle fire, Ormesby. There are many mysteries, and as yet it isvery little that we know."
"But you are following him still, are you not?" I asked. And Boonecontinued: "As I said, it is for justice, and it was here I learned thedifference. I would not take the reptile's life unless he met me armedin the daylight, which he would never do; but for the sake ofothers--you and the rest, whose toil and blood he fattens on--I amwaiting and working for the time when, without a crime, it may bepossible to end his career of evil."
We were both silent for a few minutes, and I felt that Boone's task,self-imposed or otherwise, was a worthy one. Lane was a man withouteither anger or compassion--an incarnation of cunning and avarice moreterrible to human welfare than any legendary monster of the olden time.It was no figure of speech to declare that he fattened on poor men'sblood and agony, and his overthrow could not be anything but a blessing.Still, it was in prosaic speech that, considering the practical aspectof the question, I said: "I wish you luck, but you will need a longpatience, besides time and money."
"I have them," was the answer. "The first was the hardest to acquire.Time--I could wait ages if I knew the end was certain; and, as to money,when it came too late to save her, someone died in the old country, andpart of the property fell to me. Well, you c
an guess my purpose--usingall means short of bloodshed and perjury to take him in his own net. Shewho sleeps there was pitiful and gentle, but she hated oppression andcruelty, and I feel that if she knows--and I think it is so--she wouldsmile on me."
Boone's face was plain before me under the moon. It was quietlyconfident, calm, and yet stamped with a solemn purpose. He had, itseemed, mastered his passions, and would perhaps be the more dangerousbecause he followed tirelessly, with brain unclouded by hatred orimpatience. I felt that there was much I should say in the shape ofencouragement and sympathy, but the only words that rose to my lipswere: "He has fiendish cunning."
"And I was once a careless fool!" said Boone. "Still, the most cunningforget, and blunder at times. I, however, can never forget, and when hedoes, it will be ill for Lane. I have--I don't know why--spoken to you,Ormesby, as I have spoken to no man in the Dominion before, and I feel Ineed ask no promise of you. I am going east with the sunrise, but I mustbe alone now."
I left him to keep his vigil with his dead, and camped in a hollow somedistance away. That is to say, I tethered the horse, rolled a thickbrown blanket round me, and used the saddle for a pillow. There was nohardship in this. The grasses, if a trifle damp, were soft and springy,the night still and warm; and many a better man has slept on a worse bedin the Western Dominion. Slumber did not, however, come at first, and Ilay watching the stars, neither asleep nor wholly awake, until they grewindistinct, and a woman's figure, impalpable as the moonlight, gatheredshape upon a rise of the prairie.
It was borne in on me that this was Helen Boone risen from her sleep;for she was ethereal, and her face with its passionless calmness notthat of a mortal, while no shadow touched the grasses when she passed,and, fading, gave place or changed into one I knew. Haldane's elderdaughter looked down at me from the rise, but she, too, seemed ofanother world, wearing a cold serenity and a beauty that was not of thisearth. She also changed with a marvelous swiftness before my bewilderedvision, and it was now Lucille Haldane who moved across the prairie withsoft words of pity on her lips and yet anger in her eyes. She, at least,appeared not transcendental, but a living, breathing creature of fleshand blood subject to human weaknesses, and I raised myself on one elbowto speak to her.
The prairie was empty. Nothing moved on it; even the horse stood still,while, when I sank back again, moonlight and starlight went outtogether; and perhaps it was as well, for, sleeping or waking, a plainstock-raiser has no business with such fancies, and next morning Iconvinced myself that I had dreamed it all. I had doubtless done so, andthe explanation was simple. The influence of the night, or the words ofBoone, had galvanized into abnormal activity some tiny convolution ofthe brain; but, even that once granted, it formed the beginning, not theend, of the question, and Boone had, it seemed, supplied the bestsolution when he said we know so little as yet.
The sun was lifting above the prairie when I set out in search of Boonewith my horse's bridle over my arm. I met him swinging across thespringy sod in long elastic strides, but there was nothing about himwhich suggested one preyed upon by morbid fancies or the visionary. Hiseyes were a little heavy, but that was all, for with both of us thedreams of the night had melted before the rising sun. The air had beenfreshened by the dew, and the breeze, which dried the grasses, rousedone to a sense of human necessities and the knowledge that there was aday's work to be done. I was also conscious of an unfanciful and veryprosaic emptiness.
"I wonder where we could get anything to eat. I have a long ride beforeme," said Boone, when he greeted me.
"It can hardly be safe for you to be seen anywhere in thisneighborhood," I said; and Boone smiled.
"I walked openly into the railroad depot and asked for a packageyesterday. You forget that I partly changed my appearance, while, so faras memory serves, only two police troopers occasionally saw me. Theothers?--you should know your own kind better, Ormesby. Do you think anysettler in this region would take money--and Lane offered a roundsum--for betraying me?"
"No," I answered with a certain pride; "that is to say, not unless hewere a nominee of the man you name."
No proof of this was needed, but one was supplied us. A man whopresently strode out of a hollow stopped and stared at Boone. He was, tojudge from his appearance, one of the stolid bushmen who come out Westfrom the forests of Northern Ontario--tireless men with ax and plow, butwith little knowledge of anything else.
"I'm kind of good at remembering faces, and I've seen you before," hesaid. "You are the man who used to own my place."
"How often have you seen me?" asked Boone.
"Once in clear daylight, twice back there at night," answered thestranger.
"Did you know that you could have earned a good many dollars by tellingthe police as much?" asked Boone; and the other regarded him with afrown.
"I'm a peaceable man when people will let me be; but I don't take thatkind of talk from anybody."
"I was sure, or I shouldn't have asked you," said Boone. "They don'traise mean Canadians yonder in the country you came from among the rocksand trees. You're not overrich, either, are you? to judge from my ownexperience, for I put more money into the land than I ever took out ofit. However, that doesn't concern the main thing. Just now I'm a hungryman."
The big axman's face relaxed, and he laughed the deep, almost silent,laugh which those like him learn in the shadow of the northern pines.There is as little mirth in it as there is in most of their hard lives,but one can generally trust them with soul and body.
"Breakfast will be ready soon's I get home. You just come along," hesaid.
We followed him to the log-house which had risen beside Boone'sdilapidated dwelling. A neatly-dressed, dark-haired woman was busy aboutthe stove, and our host presented us very simply. "Here's the man whoshot the money-lender, and a partner, Lou."
The woman, who laid down the pan she held, cast a quick glance ofinterest at my companion. "We have seen you, and wondered why you neverlooked in," she said.
"Did you twice do a great kindness for me?" asked Boone.
The woman's black eyes softened. "Sure, that was a little thing, anddon't count for much. The posies were so pretty, and I figured they'dkeep fresh a little longer," she said.
"It was one of the little things which count the most," said Boone.
Thereupon the woman's olive-tinted face flushed into warmer color, whileher long-limbed spouse observed: "She's of the French habitant stock,and their ways of showing they haven't forgotten aren't the same asours."
Breakfast was set before us, and I think Boone had made firm friends ofour hosts before we finished the meal. He had abilities in thisdirection. They, on their part, were very simple people, the man silentfor the most part, rugged in face, and abrupt when he spoke, but shrewdin his own way it seemed withal, and probably as generous as he was hardat a bargain. His wife was of the more emotional Latin stock, quick inher movements, and one might surmise equally quick in sympathy.
"You are not the man who bought the place at the sale," said Boone, atlength. "I can remember him tolerably well, and, if I couldn't, onewould hardly figure you were likely to work under Lane."
"No!" and the farmer laughed his curious laugh again. "No. I shouldn'tsay. We never worked for any master since my grandfather got fired forwanting his own way by the Hudson's Bay, and I guess neither Lane northe devil could handle the rest of us. He once came round to try."
"How?" I asked, and the gaunt farmer sighed a little as he filled hispipe. "This way. He was open to finance me to buy up a poor devil'splace, and if I'd had a little less temper and a little more sense Imight have obliged him, and landed a good pile of money, too."
"He's just talking. Don't you believe him," broke in the woman, with anindignant glance at her spouse.
I fancied Boone saw the drift of this, which was more than I did, andthe farmer nodded oracularly in his direction when I asked: "What didyou do instead?"
"Just reached for a big ox-goad, and walked up to him like a blamemillionaire or a ho
t-headed fool. Them negotiations broke right off, andhe lit out across the prairie talking 'bout assaults and violences attwenty mile an hour. Some other man will know better, and that's justhow Lane will get badly left some day."
The woman laughed immoderately. "It was way better'n a circus," shesaid. "He didn't tell you he rammed the ox-goad into the skittish horse,and Lane he just hugged the beast."
The picture of the full-fledged Lane, who made a very poor figure in thesaddle at any time, careering panic stricken across the prairie with hisarms about the neck of a bolting horse appealed to me; but as to thepossibility of the usurer's future discomfiture I was still in the dark,and asked for enlightenment.
"It's easy," said the farmer. "Lane he squeezes somebody until he can'thold on to his property, then he puts up the money and another man buysthe place dirt-cheap for him, in his own name. Suppose that man goesback on Lane? 'This place is my own,' says he. Well, he's recordedowner, isn't he? and I figure Lane wouldn't be mighty keen on draggingthat kind of case into the courts."
"But he wouldn't put any man in unless he had him by the throat," saidI; and the farmer grinned.
"Juss so! He'll choke some fellow with grit in him a bit too much someday, and when the wrong breed of scoundrel is jammed right up betweenthe devil and the sea, it's quite likely he'll go for the devil beforehe starts swimming."
"I"--and Boone regarded the farmer fixedly--"quite agree with you. Doyou mind telling me what you gave for this place?"
Our host named the sum without hesitation, adding that he would be gladto show us over it; and Boone's face grew somber as he said: "It is morethan twice what it was sold for when it was stolen from me."
We walked around the plowed land, inspected the stock, stables, andbarns, and when, after a cordial parting with our hosts, we rode away,Boone turned to me: "It was an ordeal, and harrowing to see what mighthave been but for an insatiable man's cunning and my poverty. Anotherhalf-hour of the memories would have been too much for me. Well, we canlet that pass. They were kind souls, and this last lesson may have beennecessary. Strange, isn't it, that the simple are sometimes shrewderthan the wise?"
"For instance?" I said; and Boone smiled significantly.
"Yonder very plain farmer has hit upon a weak spot in Lane's armor whichthe keenest brain on this prairie--I don't mean my own, of course--hashitherto failed to see."
Soon afterwards we separated, each going his different way.
The Mistress of Bonaventure Page 18
