A Damaged Reputation

by Harold Bindloss

  XVIII.

  BROOKE MAKES A DECISION.

  It was the second morning after the attempt upon the papers, and Brookelay in a basket chair on the little verandah at the ranch. In spite ofthe settlement doctor's ministrations his arm was a good deal morepainful than he had expected it to be, his head ached; and he feltunpleasantly lethargic and limp. It, however, seemed to him that thiswound was not sufficiently serious to account for this, and he wonderedvaguely whether it resulted from too strenuous physical exertion coupledwith the increasing mental strain he had borne of late. That questionwas, however, of no great importance, for he had a more urgent one tograpple with, and in the meanwhile it was pleasant to lie there andlisten languidly while Barbara talked to him.

  The sunshine lay bright upon the climbing pines which filled thelistless air with resinous odors, but there was restful shadow on theverandah, and wherever the eye wandered an entrancing vista of gleamingsnow. Brooke had, however, seen a good deal of snow, and flounderedthrough it waist-deep, already, and it was the girl who sat close athand, looking, it seemed to him, refreshingly cool and dainty in herloose white dress, his gaze most often rested on. Her quiet graciousnesshad also a soothing effect upon the man who had risen unrefreshed aftera night of mental conflict which had continued through the few briefsnatches of fevered sleep. Brooke felt the need of moral stimulant aswell as physical rest, for the struggle he had desisted from for thetime was not over yet.

  He was tenacious of purpose, but it had cost him an effort to adhere tothe terms of his compact with Saxton, and it was with a thrill ofintense disgust he realized how far it had led him when he came upon thethief, for there was no ignoring the fact that it would be verydifficult to make any great distinction between them. It had also becomeevident that he could not continue to play the part Saxton had allottedhim, and yet if he threw it over he stood to lose everything hiscompanion, who was at once a reproach to him and an incentive to acontinuance in the career of deception, impersonated. Her society andhis few visits to the ranch had shown him the due value of therefinement and congenial environment which no man without dollars couldhope to enjoy, and re-awakened an appreciation of the little amenitiesand decencies of life which had become scarcely more than a memory tohim. With the six thousand dollars in his hands he might once moreattain them, but it was now evident that the memory of how he hadaccomplished it would tend to mar any satisfaction he could expect toderive from this. He could, in the meanwhile, neither nerve himself tobear the thought of the girl's scorn when she realized what his purposehad been, nor bid her farewell and go back to the aimless life ofpoverty. One thing alone was certain. Devine's papers were safe fromhim.

  He lay silent almost too long, watching her with a vague longing in hisgaze, for her head was partly turned from him. He could see her face inprofile, which accentuated its clean chiselling, while her posedisplayed the firm white neck and fine lines of the figure the thinwhite dress flowed away from. He had also guessed enough of hercharacter to realize that it was not to any approach to physicalperfection she owed most of her attractiveness, for it seemed to himthat she brought with her an atmosphere of refinement and tranquillitywhich nothing that was sordid or ignoble could breathe in. Perhaps shefelt his eyes upon her, for she turned at last and glanced at him.

  "I have been thinking--about that night," she said.

  "You really shouldn't," said Brooke, who felt suddenly uneasy. "It isn'tworth while."

  Barbara smiled. "That is a point upon which opinions may differ, but Iunderstand your attitude. You see, I have been in England, and youapparently believe it the correct thing to hide your light under abushel there."

  "No," said Brooke, drily, "at least, not all of us. In fact, we are notaverse from graciously permitting other folks, and now and then thePress, to proclaim our good deeds for us. I don't know that the moreprimitive fashion of doing it one's self isn't quite as tasteful."

  Barbara shook her head. "There are," she said, "several kinds ofaffectation, and I am not to be put off. Now, you are quite aware thatyou did my brother-in-law a signal service, and contrived to get me outof a very unpleasant, and, I fancy, a slightly perilous situation."

  The color deepened a little in Brooke's face, and once more he wassensible of the humiliation that had troubled him on previous occasions,as he remembered that it was by no means to do Devine a service he hadcrept into the ranch. It was a most unpleasant feeling, and he hadsignally failed to accustom himself to it.

  "I really don't think there was very much risk," he said. "Besides, youhad a pistol."

  Barbara laughed softly. "I never fired off a pistol in my life, and Ialmost fancy there was nothing in the one in question."

  "Didn't you notice whether there were any cartridges in the chamber?"

  "No," said Barbara. "I'm not sure I know which the chamber is, but Ipressed something I supposed to be the trigger, and it only made aclick."

  Brooke glanced at her a trifle sharply. "You meant to fire at the man?"

  "I'm afraid I did. Was it very dreadful? He was there with an unlawfulpurpose, and I saw his eyes grow wicked and his hand tighten just as yousprang at him. Still, I was almost glad when the pistol did not go off."

  She seemed to have some difficulty in repressing a shiver at therecollection, and Brooke sat silent for a moment or two with his heartthrobbing a good deal faster than usual. He could guess what that efforthad cost his companion, and that it was his peril which had nerved herto overcome her natural shrinking from taking life. Perhaps Barbaranoticed the effect her explanation had on him, and desired to lessen it,for she said, "It really was unpleasant, but I remembered that you hadcome there to ensure the safety of my brother-in-law's property, and oneis permitted to shoot at a thief in this country."

  Brooke, who could not help it, made a little abrupt movement, and felthis face grow hot as he wondered what she would think of him if she knewthe purpose that had brought him there. The fact that she seemed quitewilling to believe that one was warranted in firing at a thief had alsoits sting.

  "Of course!" he said. "I am, however, inclined to think you saved mylife. The man probably saw your hand go up and that made him a trifletoo precipitate. Still, perhaps, he only wanted to look at yourbrother-in-law's papers and had no intention of stealing anything."

  Barbara, who appeared glad to change the subject, smiled.

  "Admitting that, I can't see any great difference," she said. "The manwho runs a personal risk to secure a wallet with dollar bills in it thatbelongs to somebody else naturally does not expect commendation, orusually get it, but it seems to me a good deal meaner thing to steal aclaim by cunning trickery. For instance, one has a certain admirationfor the train robbers across the frontier. For two or threeroad-agents--and there are not often more--to hold up and rob a traindemands, at least, a good deal of courage, but to plunder a man byprying into his secrets is only contemptible. Don't you think so?"

  Brooke winced beneath her gaze.

  "Well," he said slowly, "I suppose it is. Still, you see there may beexcuses even for such a person."

  "Excuses! Surely--you--do not feel capable of inventing any for aclaim-jumper?"

  Brooke felt that in his case there were, at least, one or two, but hehad sufficient reasons for not making them clear to the girl.

  "Well," he said, "I wonder if you could make any for a train-robber?"

  Barbara appeared reflective. "We will admit that the dishonesty is thesame in both cases, though that is not quite the point. The men who holda train up, however, take a serious personal risk, and stake their livesupon their quickness and nerve. They have nobody to fall back upon, andmust face the results if the courage of any of the passengers is equalto theirs. Daring of that kind commands a certain respect. Theclaim-jumper, on the contrary, must necessarily proceed by stealth, and,of course, rarely ventures on an attempt until he makes sure that thelaw will support him, because the man he means to rob has neglected sometrivial requirement."

  "Then it is a
dmissible to steal, so long as you do it openly and take apersonal risk? Still, I believe I have heard of claim-jumpers beingshot, though I am not quite sure that it happened in Canada."

  Barbara laughed. "They probably deserved it. It is not admissible tosteal under any circumstances, but the safer and more subtle forms oftheft are especially repellent. Now, I think I have made out my case forthe train-robber, but I cannot see why you should constitute yourself anadvocate for the claim-jumper."

  Brooke contrived to force a smile. "It is," he said, "often a littledifficult to make sure of one's motives, but we can, at least, take itfor granted that the man who robs a train is the nobler rascal."

  Barbara, who appeared thoughtful, sat silent awhile. "It was fortunateyou arrived when you did that night," she said, meditatively. "Still, asyou could not well have known the man meant to make the attempt, or haveexpected to find anybody still awake at the ranch, it seems an almostastonishing coincidence."

  Though he surmised that no notion of what had brought him there hadentered his companion's mind, Brooke felt hot to the forehead now, forhe was unpleasantly sensible that the girl was watching him. Anexplanation that might have served also suggested itself to him, but hefelt that he could not add to his offences.

  "It certainly was," he said, languidly. "I have, however, heard ofcoincidences that were more astonishing still."

  Barbara nodded. "No doubt," she said. "We will let it go at that. As youmay have noticed, we are now and then almost indecently candid in thiscountry, but I agree with my brother-in-law who says that nobody couldmake an Englishman talk unless he wanted to."

  "Silence is reputed to be golden," said Brooke, reflectively, "and Ireally think there are cases when it is. At least, there was one Ifigured in when some two or three minutes' unchecked speech cost me moredollars than I have made ever since. It happened in England, and Imerely favored another man with my frank opinion of him. After a thingof that kind one is apt to be guarded."

  "I think you should cultivate a sense of proportion. Can one make up fora single mistake in one direction by erring continually in the oppositeone? Still, that is not a question we need go into now. You expect toget the rope across the canyon very shortly?"

  "Yes," said Brooke, whose expression changed suddenly, "I do."

  "And then?"

  Brooke, who felt the girl's eyes upon him, and understood what shemeant, made a little gesture. "I don't know. I shall probably take thetrail again. It does not matter greatly where it may lead me."

  There was a curious little vibration he could not quite repress in hisvoice, and both he and his companion were, under the circumstances,silent a trifle too long, for there are times when silence is veryexpressive. Then it was Barbara who spoke, though she felt that what shesaid was not especially appropriate.

  "You will be sorry to go?"

  Brooke looked at her steadily, with his lips set, and, though she didnot see this, his fingers quivering a little, for he realized at lastwhat it would cost him to leave her. For a moment a hot flood of passionand longing threatened to sweep him away, but he held it in check, andBarbara only noticed the grimness of his face.

  "What answer could I make? The conventional one demanded scarcely fitsthe case," he said, and his laugh rang hollow.

  "But the dam will not be finished," said Barbara, who realized that shehad made an unfortunate start.

  Again Brooke sat silent. It seemed folly to abandon his purpose, and hewondered whether he would have sufficient strength of will to go away.It was also folly to stay and sink further under the girl's influence,when the revelation he shrank from would, if he persisted in his attemptto recover his dollars, become inevitable. Still, once he left theCanopus he must go back to a life of hardship and labor, and, in spiteof the humiliation and fear of the future he often felt, the present wasvery pleasant. On the other hand there was only scarcity, exposure torain and frost, and bitter, hopeless toil. He sat very still with onehand closed, not daring to look at his companion until she spoke again.

  "You say you do not know where the trail may lead you, and you do notseem to care. One would fancy that was wrong," she said.

  "Why?"

  Barbara turned a little, and looked at him with a faint sparkle in hereyes. "In this province the trail the resolute man takes usually leadsto success. We want bridges and railroad trestles, forests cleared, andthe valleys lined with roads. You can build them."

  Brooke shook his head, though her confidence in him, as well as heroptimism, had its due effect.

  "I wish I was a little more sure," he said. "The difficulty, as I thinkI once pointed out, is that one needs dollars to make a fair startwith."

  "They are, at least, not indispensable, as the history of most of themen who have done anything worth while in the province shows. Isn'tthere a certain satisfaction in starting with everything against one?"

  "Afterwards, perhaps. That is, if one struggles through. There is,however, one learns by experience, really very little satisfaction atthe time, especially if one scarcely gets beyond the start at all."

  Barbara smiled a little, though she looked at him steadily. "You," shesaid, "will, I think, go a long way. In fact, if it was a sword I gaveyou, I should expect it of you."

  Brooke came very near losing his head just then, though he realizedthat, after all, the words implied little more than a belief in hiscapabilities, and for a few insensate moments he almost decided to stayat the Canopus and make the most of his opportunities. Saxton, hereflected, might put sufficient pressure upon Devine to extort the sixthousand dollars from him without the necessity for his part becomingapparent at all. With that sum in his hands there was, he felt, verylittle he could not attain, and then he shook off the deluding fancy,for it once more became apparent that the deed, which gave Saxton thehold he wished for upon Devine would, even if she never heard of it,stand as barrier between Barbara Heathcote and him.

  "One feels inclined to wonder now and then whether success does notoccasionally, at least, cost the man who achieves it more than it isworth," he said. "The actual record of the leaders one is expected tolook up to might, in that connection, provide one with a fund ofsomewhat astonishing information."

  Barbara made a little gesture of impatience. "Is the poor man the onlyone who can be honest?"

  "One would, at least, feel inclined to fancy that the man who is undulyhonest runs a serious risk of remaining poor."

  "I think that is an argument I have very little sympathy with," saidBarbara. "It is, you see, so easy for the incapable to impeach thesuccessful man's honesty. I might even go a little further and admitthat it is an attitude I scarcely expected from you."

  Brooke smiled somewhat bitterly. "You will, however, remember that Ihave made no attempt to persuade you of my own integrity."

  Just then, as it happened, Mrs. Devine came into the verandah with apacket in her hand.

  "These are the papers the man tried to steal," she said. "Since youinsist upon going back to the canyon to-day I wonder if you would takecare of them?"

  Brooke gasped, and felt the veins swell on his forehead as he looked ather. "You wish me to take them away?"

  "Of course! My nerves are really horribly unsettled, and I was sent tothe mountains for quietness. How could any one expect me to get it whenI couldn't even sleep for fear of that man or some one else coming backfor these documents?"

  "They are, I think, of considerable importance to your husband," saidBrooke.

  "That is precisely why I would like to feel that they were safe in yourtent. Nobody would expect you to have them there."

  Brooke turned his head a little so that he could see Barbara's face.

  "I appreciate your confidence," he said, and the girl noticed that hisvoice was a trifle hoarse. "Still, I must point out that I am almost astranger to Mr. Devine and you."

  Barbara smiled a little, but there was something that set the man'sheart beating in her eyes.

  "I am not sure that everybody would be so willing to
make the most ofthe fact, but I feel quite sure my sister's confidence is warranted,"she said. "That, of course, does not sound very nice, but you have madeit necessary."

  Brooke, who glanced curiously at the single seal, laid down the packet,and Mrs. Devine smiled. "_I_ feel ever so much easier now that is off mymind," she said. "Still, I shall expect you to sleep with the papersunder your pillow."

  She went out, and left him and Barbara alone again, but Brooke knew thatthe struggle was over and the question decided once for all. The girl'strust in him had not only made those papers inviolable so far as he wasconcerned, but had rendered a breach with Saxton unavoidable. He knewnow that he could never do what the latter had expected from him.

  "You appeared almost unwilling to take the responsibility," said thegirl.

  Brooke smiled curiously. "I really think that was the case," he said."In fact, your confidence almost hurt me. One feels the obligation ofproving it warranted--in every respect--you see. That is partly why Ishall go away the day we swing the first load of props across thecanyon."

  Barbara felt a trace of disconcertion. "But my brother-in-law may askyou to do something else for him."

  "I scarcely think that is likely," said Brooke, with a little dry smile.

  Barbara said nothing further, and when she left him Brooke was oncemore sensible of a curious relief. It would, he knew, cost him astrenuous effort to go away, but he would, at least, be freed from thehorrible necessity of duping the girl, who, it seemed, believed in him.When Jimmy arrived that evening to accompany him back to his tent at thecanyon, and expressed his satisfaction at the fact that he did not appearvery much the worse, he smiled a trifle drily.

  "That," he said, "is a little astonishing. I am, I think, warranted inbelieving myself six thousand dollars worse off than when I went away."

  Jimmy stared at him incredulously.

  "Well," he said, "I never figured you had that many, and I don't quitesee how you could have let them get away from you here. Something youdidn't expect has happened?"

  Brooke appeared reflective. "I'm not quite sure whether I expected it ornot, but I almost hope I did," he said.