A Damaged Reputation

by Harold Bindloss

  II.

  BROOKE TAKES THE TRAIL.

  The sun had not cleared the dark firs upon the steep hillside, thoughthe snow on the peaks across the valley glowed with saffron light, whenBrooke came upon the girl with the brown eyes sitting on a cedar trunkbeside the river, and she looked up with a smile when he stopped besideher. There was nobody else about, for the rest of the party hadapparently not risen yet, and Jimmy had set out to catch a trout forbreakfast. Save for the song of the river all the pine-shrouded hollowwas very still.

  "I was wondering if I might ask what you thought of this country?" saidBrooke. "It is, of course, the usual question."

  The girl laughed a little. "If you really wish to know, I think it isthe grandest there is on this earth, as I believe it will be one of thegreatest. Still, my liking for it isn't so astonishing, because,although I have lived in England, I am a Canadian."

  Brooke made a little deprecatory gesture. "It's a mistake I've been ledinto before, and I'm not sure you would consider it a compliment if Itold you that I scarcely supposed you belonged to Canada. It alsoreminds me of a friend of mine who had spent a few months in Spain, andtook some pains to teach a man, who, though he was not aware of it, hadlived fifteen years in Cuba, Castilian. Still, perhaps you will tell mewhat you thought of England."

  The girl did not invite him, but she drew her skirt a trifle aside, andBrooke sat down upon the log beside her. She looked even daintier, andappealed to his fancy more, in the searching morning light than she haddone when the moon shone down on her, which he was not altogetherprepared for. Her eyes were clear and steady in spite of the faint smilein them, and there was no uncertainty of coloring on cheek or forehead,which had been tinted a delicate warm brown by wind and sun.

  "When you came up I was just contrasting this valley with one I remembervisiting in the Old Country," she said. "It was in the West. Major Hume,who is with us now, once took me there, and we spent an afternoon at ahouse which, I think, is older than any we have in Canada."

  "In a river valley in the West Country?" said Brooke.

  The girl nodded. "Yes," she said. "Ivy, with stems thicker than yourwrist, climbs about the front of it, and a lawn mown until it looks likevelvet slopes to the sliding water. A wall of clipped yews shuts it in,and the river slides past it silently without froth or haste, as thoughafraid that any sound it made would jar upon the drowsy quietness of theplace. There is a big beech wood behind it, and one little meadow, greenas an emerald, between that and the river----"

  "Where the stepping-stones stretch across. A path comes twisting downthrough the dimness of the wood, and there are black firs upon the ridgeabove."

  "Of course!" said the girl. "That is, beyond the ash poles--but howcould you know?"

  Brooke smiled curiously. "I was once there--ever so long ago."

  His companion seemed a trifle astonished. "Then I wonder if you felt asI did, that those shadowy woods and dark yew hedges shut out all that isreal and strenuous in life. One could fancy that nobody did anything butsit still and dream there."

  Brooke smiled a little, though it had not escaped his attention that sheseemed to take his comprehension for granted.

  "Well," he said, reflectively, "there was very little else one could do.Anything that savored of strenuousness would have been considereddistinctly bad form in that valley."

  A little sardonic twinkle flickered in the girl's eyes. "Oh," she said,"I know. The distinction between those who work and those who idle ismarked in your country. It even seems to be considered a desirablething for a man to fritter his time away, so long as he does itgracefully. Still, there is room for all one's activities, and the bigthoughts that lead to big schemes here. How far does your ranch go?"

  "To the lake," said Brooke, who understood the purport of the question."There are four hundred acres of it, and I have, I don't mind tellingyou, been here rather more than two years."

  The girl glanced at the very small gap in the forest, and again the manguessed her thoughts.

  "And that is all you have cleared?"

  "Yes," said Brooke, with a little smile. "One can lounge verysuccessfully here. Still, even if there was not a tree upon it the soilwouldn't be worth anything, and it's only in places one can find a footor two of it. When I first came in, an enterprising gentleman in theland agency business sold me this wilderness of rock and gravel to feedcattle and grow fruit trees on, though I fancy I am not the onlyconfiding stranger who has been treated in the same fashion in thiscountry."

  For a moment a curious expression, which Brooke could attach no meaningto, crept into his companion's face, but though there was a faint flushin her cheeks it grew suddenly reposeful again.

  "I gave you a dollar last night," she said, and stopped a moment. "Ihave, as I told you, lived in England, and I recognized by your voicethat you came from there, but, of course, I hadn't----"

  Brooke smiled at her. "If you look at it in one light, I scarcely thinkthat explanation is gratifying to one's vanity. Still, you have alsolived in Canada, and you ought to know that whoever parts with a dollarin this country, even under a misapprehension, very rarely gets itback."

  The girl regarded him gravely a moment with the faint warmth stillshowing in her sun-tanned cheeks, and then looked away towards thesliding water. She said nothing whatever, although there was a good dealto be deduced from the man's speech. Then she rose as Major Hume cameout of the house.

  They left the ranch that day, and for a week Brooke led them throughdark fir forests, and waited on them in their camps. He would also havestayed with them longer could he have found a reasonable excuse, but, asit happened, a most exemplary Siwash whom he knew appeared, and offeredhis services, when they reached the lonely mountain-girt lake. Then hesaid farewell to Major Hume, and was plodding down the homeward trailwith his packs slung about him, when he met the girl coming up from thelake. She carried a cluster of the crimson wine-berries in her hand, andstopped abruptly when she saw him. She and her younger companions hadbeen fishing that afternoon, and though Brooke could not see the latteramidst the serried trunks, their voices broke sharply through thestillness of the evening. It was significant that both he and the girlstood still without speaking until the voices grew less distinct.

  Then she said, quietly, "So you are going away?"

  "Yes," said Brooke, a trifle grimly. "An Indian I can recommend came inthis afternoon. That made it unnecessary for me to stay."

  "You seem in a hurry to go."

  Brooke made a little gesture. "I fancy I have stayed with Major Humequite as long as is good for me. The effort it cost me to go away wassufficiently unpleasant already. It is, you see, scarcely likely that Ishall ever spend a week like the past one again."

  There was sympathy in his companion's eyes, for she had seen hiscomfortless dwelling, and guessed tolerably correctly what manner oflife he led. It would, she realized, have been easier for him had hebeen born a bushman, for there was no doubt in her mind that he was onewho had been accustomed to luxury in England.

  "You are going back to the ranch?" she said.

  "For a little while, and then I shall take the trail. Where it will leadme is more than I know, but the ranch is as great a failure as itsowner. And yet a month--or even a week--ago I was dangerously content tostay there."

  The girl fancied she understood him, for she had seen broken men who hadlost heart in the struggle sink to the Indian's level, and ask no morethan the subsistence they could gain with rod and gun. That was,perhaps, enough for an Indian, but it seemed to her a flinging of hisbirthright away in the case of a white man. Her face was quietly grave,and Brooke felt a little thrill run through him as he looked at her.

  She stood, slender and very shapely, with unconscious pride in her pose,in front of the great cylindrical trunk of a cedar whose grey barkforced up every line of her white-clad figure, and he realized, when hemet the big grave eyes, that he had pulled himself upon the edge of aprecipice a week ago. He had let himself drift recklessly durin
g thelast two years, but it was plain to him now that he would have gone downonce for all had he mated with Bella.

  "I think you are doing wisely," she said, quietly. "There is a chancefor every man somewhere in this country."

  Brooke smiled drily. "I am going to look for mine. Whether I shall findit I do not know, but I am, at least, glad I have seen you. Otherwise, Imight have settled down at the ranch again."

  "What have I to do with that decision?" and the girl regarded himsteadily.

  "It is a trifle difficult to explain. Still, you see, your graciouskindliness reminded me of a good deal that once was mine, and after thepast week I could never go back to the old life at the ranch. No doubtthere comes to every one who attempts to console himself with them, atime when the husks and sty grow nauseating. I do not know why I shouldtell you this, and scarcely think I would have done so had there beenany probability of our ever meeting again."

  There was full comprehension in the girl's eyes, as well as a trace ofcompassion, and she held out a little hand.

  "Good-bye!" she said, quietly. "If they are of any value, my good wishesgo with you."

  Brooke made her a little deferential inclination, as the dainty fingersrested a moment in his hard palm; then he swung off his big shapelesshat and turned away, but the girl stood still, looking after him, untilthe lonely, plodding figure faded into the shadows of the pines, whileit was with a little thrill of sympathy she went back to camp, for sherealized it was a very great compliment the man had paid her. He was, itseemed, turning his back on his possessions, and going away, because shehad awakened in him the latent sense of responsibility. She was,however, also a little afraid, for no one could foresee what the resultof his decision would be, and she felt that to help in diverting thecourse of another's life was no light thing.

  In the meanwhile, Brooke held on up the hillside with long, swingingstrides, crashing through barberry thickets and trampling thebreast-high fern, until he stopped and made his camp on the edge of thesnow-scarped slopes when the soft darkness fell. His road was rough, andin places perilous, but there was a relief in vigorous action now thedecision was made, and the old apathy fell from him as he climbedtowards the peaks above. It was, however, several days later when hereached the ranch, and came upon Jimmy sprawling his ungainly lengthoutside it, basking in the sun. Still, the latter took his corn-cob pipefrom his lips, and became attentive when he saw his face. This, herealized, was not altogether the same man who had left him a littlewhile ago.

  "Get up!" said Brooke, almost sharply. "I want you to listen to me. Ifit suits you to stay here by yourself, you can; in the meanwhile, dowhat you like, which will, of course, be very little, with the ranch. Inreturn, I'll only ask you to take care of the fiddle until I send forit. I'm going away."

  Jimmy nodded, for he had expected this. "That's all right!" he said. "Iguess I'll stay. I don't know any other place where one can grub outenough to eat quite so easily. Where're you going to?"

  "I don't quite know," and Brooke smiled grimly. "Up and down theprovince--anywhere I can pick up a dollar or two daily by working forthem."

  "The trouble is that they're so blamed hard to stick to when you've gotthem," said Jimmy, reflectively. "Now, you don't want dollars here."

  "If I had two thousand of them I'd stay, and make something of theranch, rocky as it is."

  "It couldn't be done with less, and I guess you're sensible. I'm quitehappy slouching round here, but there's a kind of difference between youand me. That girl with the big eyes has been putting notions into you?"

  Brooke made no disclaimer, and Jimmy laughed. "It's a littlecurious--you don't even know who she is?"

  "Her name is Barbara. She is, she told me, a Canadian."

  "Canada's quite a big country," said Jimmy, reflectively. "You could putEngland into its vest pocket without knowing it was there. I guess itwill be a long while before you see her again, and if you meet her inthe cities she's not going to remember you. You'd find her quite adifferent kind of young woman there. When are you going?"

  "At sundown. I'd go now, but I want a few hours' rest and sleep."

  Jimmy looked at him with sudden concern in his face. "Then I'll be goodand lonely to-night," he said. "Say, do you think I could take out thefiddle now and then to keep me company? I guess I could play it, like abanjo, with my fingers."

  "No," said Brooke, drily, "that's the one thing you can't do."

  He flung himself down in his straw-filled bunk, dressed as he was, forhe had floundered through tangled forest since the dawn crept into thesky; and the shadows of the cedars lay long and black upon the riverwhen he opened his eyes again. Jimmy was busy at the little stove, andin another few minutes the simple meal, crudely served but barbaric inits profusion, was upon the table. Neither of the men said very muchduring it, and then Jimmy silently helped his comrade to gird his packsabout him. The sun had gone, and the valley was dim and very still whenthey stood in the doorway.

  "Good luck!" said Jimmy. "You'll come back by-and-by?"

  Brooke smiled curiously as he shook hands with him. "If I'm ever a richman, I may."

  Then he went out into the deepening shadows, and floundering waist-deepthrough the ford, plodded up the climbing trail with his face towardsthe snow. It grew a trifle grim, however, when he looked back once froma bare hill shoulder, and saw a feeble light blink out far down in thehollow. Jimmy, he knew, was lying, pipe in hand, beside the stove, and,after all, the lonely ranch had been a home to him.

  A man without ambition who could stifle memory might have found the lifehe led there a pleasant one. Bountiful Nature fed him, the hills thatwalled the valley in shut out strife and care, and now he was homelessaltogether. He had also just six dollars in his pockets, and that sum,he knew, will not go a very long way in Western Canada.

  As he gazed, the fleecy mist that rolled up from the river blotted outthe light, and the man felt the deep stillness and loneliness as he hadnot done since he first came there. That sudden eclipse of Jimmy's lightseemed very significant just then, for he knew it would never burn againas a beacon for him. The last red gleam had also faded off the snow,and, with a jerk at the pack straps that galled his shoulders, he sethis lips, and swung away into the darkness of the coming night.