E-text prepared by Al Haines
CARMEN'S MESSENGER
by
HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of _Johnstone of the Border_, _Prescott of Saskatchewan_, etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors
Grosset & Dunlap PublishersNew York
1917
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. FEATHERSTONE CHANGES HIS PLANS II. THE MILL-OWNER III. FOSTER MAKES A PROMISE IV. THE FIRST ADVENTURE V. FEATHERSTONE'S PEOPLE VI. HIS COMRADE'S STORY VII. THE PACKET VIII. AN OFFER OF HELP IX. THE FALSE TRAIL X. THE DROVE ROAD XI. THE POACHERS XII. A COMPLICATION XIII. FOSTER RETURNS TO THE GARTH XIV. FOSTER SEES A LIGHT XV. THE GLOVE XVI. A DIFFICULT PART XVII. THE LETTERS XVIII. SPADEADAM WASTE XIX. ALICE'S CONFIDENCE XX. THE RIGHT TRACK XXI. DALY TAKES ALARM XXII. CARMEN GETS A SHOCK XXIII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING XXIV. LAWRENCE'S STORY XXV. FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN XXVI. THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT XXVII. THE MINE XXVIII. THE LOG BRIDGE XXIX. FOSTER ARRIVES XXX. RUN DOWN XXXI. DALY SOLVES THE PUZZLE XXXII. FEATHERSTONE APOLOGIZES
I
FEATHERSTONE CHANGES HIS PLANS
It was getting dark, and a keen wind blew across the ragged pinesbeside the track, when Jake Foster walked up and down the station atGardner's Crossing in North Ontario. Winter was moving southwards fastacross the wilderness that rolled back to Hudson's Bay, silencing thebrawling rivers and calming the stormy lakes, but the frost hadscarcely touched the sheltered valley yet and the roar of a rapidthrobbed among the trees. The sky had the crystal clearness that isoften seen in northern Canada, but a long trail of smoke stretchedabove the town, and the fumes of soft coal mingled with the aromaticsmell of the pines. Gardner's Crossing stood, an outpost of advancingindustry, on the edge of the lonely woods.
The blue reflections of big arc-lamps quivered between the foam-flakeson the river, a line of bright spots, stretching back along the bank,marked new avenues of wooden houses, and, across the bridge, the topsof tall buildings cut against the glow that shimmered about the town.At one end rose the great block of the Hulton factory, which lostsomething of its utilitarian ugliness at night. Its harsh, rectangularoutline faded into the background of forest, and the rows of glimmeringwindows gave it a curious transparent look. It seemed to overflow withradiance and filled the air with rumbling sound.
In a large measure, Gardner's Crossing owed its rapid development tothe enterprise of the Hulton Manufacturing Company. Hulton was readyto make anything out of lumber for which his salesmen found a demand;but his firm grip on the flourishing business had recently relaxed, andpeople wondered anxiously what would happen if he did not recover fromthe blow that had struck him down. Fred Hulton, his only son, andassistant treasurer to the Company, had been found in the factory onemorning with a bullet-hole in his head, and it was believed that he hadshot himself. His father gave his evidence at the inquiry with sternself-control, but took to his bed afterwards and had not left it yet.So far as the townsfolk knew, this was the first time he had shown anyweakness of body or mind.
The train was late, but Foster enjoyed the pipe he lighted. It was tenyears since he landed at Montreal, a raw lad without friends or money,and learned what hard work was in a lumber camp. Since then he hadprospered, and the strenuous life he led for the first few years hadnot left much mark on him. Now he thought he had earned a holiday, andall arrangements for his visit to England were made. Featherstone, hispartner, was going with him. Their sawmill, which was run bywater-power, had closed for the winter, when building material was notwanted, and the development of a mineral claim they owned would bestopped by the frost. They had planned to put in a steam engine at themill, but the Hulton Company had delayed a contract that would havekept the saws running until the river thawed.
Foster, however, did not regret this. Except on Sundays, he had seldomhad an hour's leisure for the last few years. Gardner's Crossing,which was raw and new, had few amusements to offer its inhabitants; hewas young, and now he could relax his efforts, felt that he was gettingstale with monotonous toil. But he was a little anxious aboutFeatherstone, who had gone to see a doctor in Toronto.
A whistle rang through the roar of the rapid and a fan-shaped beam oflight swung round a bend in the track. Then the locomotive bell beganto toll, and Foster walked past the cars as they rolled into thestation. He found Featherstone putting on a fur coat at a vestibuledoor, and gave him a keen glance as he came down the steps. He thoughthis comrade looked graver than usual.
"Well," he said, "how did you get on?"
"I'll tell you later. Let's get home, but stop at Cameron's drug storefor a minute."
Foster took his bag and put it in a small American car. He droveslowly across the bridge and up the main street of the town, becausethere was some traffic and light wagons stood in front of the stores.Then as he turned in towards the sidewalk, ready to pull up, he saw aman stop and fix his eyes on the car. The fellow did not live at theCrossing, but visited it now and then, and Foster had met him once whenhe called at the sawmill.
"Drive on," said Featherstone, touching his arm.
Although he was somewhat surprised, Foster did as he was told, and whenthey had passed a few blocks Featherstone resumed: "I can send down theprescription to-morrow. That was Daly on the sidewalk and I didn'twant to meet him."
A minute later Foster stopped to avoid a horse that was kicking andplunging outside a livery stable while a crowd encouraged its driverwith ironical shouts. Looking round, he thought he saw Daly followingthem, but a man ran to the horse's head and Foster seized theopportunity of getting past.
"What did the doctor tell you?" he asked.
"He was rather disappointing," Featherstone replied, and turned up thedeep collar of his coat.
Foster, who saw that his comrade did not want to talk, imagined that hehad got something of a shock. When they left the town, however, thejolting of the car made questions difficult and he was forced to mindhis steering while the glare of the headlamps flickered across deepholes and ruts. Few of the dirt roads leading to the new Canadiancities are good, but the one they followed, though roughly graded, wasworse than usual and broke down into a wagon trail when it ran intothick bush. For a time, the car lurched and labored like a ship at seaup and down hillocks and through soft patches, and Foster durst notlift his eyes until a cluster of lights twinkled among the trees. Thenwith a sigh of relief he ran into the yard of a silent sawmill and theywere at home.
Supper was waiting, and although Foster opened a letter he found uponthe table, neither of the men said anything of importance during themeal. When it was over, Featherstone sat down in a big chair by thestove, for the nights were getting cold. He was about thirty years ofage, strongly built, and dressed in city clothes, but his face waspinched. For part of the summer, he and Foster had camped upon theirnew mineral claim in the bush and worked hard to prove the vein. June,as often happens in Canada, was a wet month, and although Featherstonewas used to hardship, he sickened with influenza, perhaps inconsequence of digging in heavy rain and sleeping in wet clothes. Ashe was nothing of a valetudinarian he made light of the attack, but didnot get better as soon as he expected on his return, and went to seethe Toronto doctor, when Foster urged him.
The latter lighted his pipe and looked about the room. It was warm andwell lighted, and the furniture, which was plain but good, had beenbought, piece by piece, to replace ruder articles they had made at themill. One or two handsome skins lay upon the uncovered floor, and thewalls were made of varnished cedar boards. A gun-rack occupied acorner, and the books on a shelf indicated that their owners had someliterary taste, though there were works on mining
and forestry. Abovethe shelf, the huge head of a moose, shot on a prospecting Journey tothe North, hung between the smaller heads of bear and caribou.
Foster, who had hitherto lived in tents and shacks, remembered hismisgivings when they built the house. Indeed, he had grumbled that itmight prove a dangerous locking up of capital that was needed for theenlargement of the mill. Featherstone, however, insisted, and sincemost of the money was his, Foster gave in; but they had prospered sincethen. They were good friends, and had learned to allow for eachother's point of view during several years of strenuous toil and sterneconomy. Still, Foster admitted that their success was not altogetherdue to their own efforts, because once or twice, when they had to facea financial crisis, the situation was saved by a check Featherstone gotfrom home. By and by the latter turned to his comrade.
"Your letter was from Hulton, wasn't it? What does he want?"
"He doesn't state, but asks us to call at the factory to-morrowevening. That's all, but I heard in town that the doctor and nurse hadleft; Cameron told me Hulton fired them both because they objected tohis getting up."
"It's possible," Featherstone agreed. "Hulton's not the man to botherabout his health or etiquette when he wants to do a thing. Anyhow, ashe has been a pretty good friend of ours, we will have to go, but Iwouldn't have imagined he'd have been ready to talk about the tragedyjust yet."
"You think that is what he wants to talk about?"
Featherstone nodded. "We knew Fred Hulton better than anybody at theCrossing, and at the inquiry I tried to indicate that his death was dueto an accident. I imagined that Hulton was grateful. It's true that Idon't see how the accident could have happened, but I don't believeFred shot himself. Though it was an open verdict, you and I and Hultonare perhaps the only people who take this view."
"We'll let it drop until to-morrow. What did you learn at Toronto?"
"Perhaps the most important thing was that I'll have to give up my tripto the Old Country."
"Ah," said Foster, who waited, trying to hide his disappointment andalarm, for he saw that his suspicions about his partner's health hadbeen correct.
"The doctor didn't think it wise; said something about England's beingtoo damp, and objected to a winter voyage," Featherstone resumed. "Itlooks as if you were better at calculating the profit on a lumber dealthan diagnosing illness, because while you doctored me for influenza,it was pneumonia I had. However, I admit that you did your best andyou needn't feel anxious. It seems I'm not much the worse, though I'llhave to be careful for the next few months, which I'm to spend on thePacific slope, California for choice. It's a bit of a knock, but can'tbe helped."
Foster declared his sympathy, but Featherstone stopped him. "There'sanother matter; that fellow Daly's here again. I expect you guessedwhat he came for the last time?"
"I did. The bank-book showed you drew a rather large sum."
"No doubt you thought it significant that the check was payable tomyself?"
Foster was silent for a moment or two. He trusted his comrade, butsuspected that there was something in his past history that he meant tohide. For one thing, Featherstone never spoke about his life in theOld Country, and Foster was surprised when he stated his intention ofspending a few months there. It looked as if Daly knew his secret andhad used his knowledge to blackmail him.
"I'll go to California with you," he said. "One place is as good asanother for a holiday, and I'm really not keen on going home. I've nonear relations and have lost touch with my friends."
"No," said Featherstone, with a grateful look. "I want you to go toEngland and stay with my people. I haven't said much about them, butyou'll find they will do their best to make things pleasant. Anyhow,it's time you knew that I left home in serious trouble and meant tostop away until I thought the cause of it forgotten. Well, not longago, I heard that the man I'd injured was dead, but had sent me wordthat as I had, no doubt, paid for my fault in this country, I'd nothingmore to fear. Then Daly got upon my track."
Foster nodded sympathetically. "How much does he know?"
"Enough to be dangerous, but I don't know how he learned it and don'tmean to keep on buying him off. Now I want you to go home and tell mypeople what we're doing; if you can give them the impression that I've,so to speak, made good in Canada, so much the better. This is notentirely for my sake, but because it might be a relief to them. Yousee, they've had to suffer something on my account and felt mydisgrace, but, although I deserved it, they wouldn't give me up."
"Very well," said Foster, "I'll do as you wish."
He knocked out and re-filled his pipe, as an excuse for saying nothingmore, because he was somewhat moved. He guessed that Featherstone hadnot found it easy to take him into his confidence, and felt that he hadatoned for his errors in the past. Still, there was a point he wasdoubtful about. His comrade had a well-bred air, and Foster imaginedthat his people were rich and fastidious.
"I'm not sure your relatives will enjoy my visit," he resumed after atime. "My father and mother died when I was young, and I was sent to asecond-rate school and kept there by an uncle who wanted to get rid ofme. Then I'd a year or two in a merchant's office and cheap lodgings,and when I'd had enough of both came out to Canada with about fivepounds. You know how I've lived here."
Featherstone gave him an amused glance. "You needn't let that troubleyou. It's curious, but the bush seems to bring out the best that's ina man. I can't see why getting wet and half frozen, working fourteenhours a day, and often going without your dinner, should have arefining influence, but it has. Besides, I'm inclined to think youhave learned more in the Northwest than they could have taught you atan English university. Anyhow, you'll find my people aren't hard toplease."
"When are you going to California?" Foster, who felt half embarrassed,asked.
"Let's fix Thursday next, and I'll start with you."
"But I'm going east, and your way's by Vancouver."
"Just so," said Featherstone dryly. "For all that, I think I'll starteast, and then get on to a west-bound train at a station down the line.The folks at the Crossing know I'm going home, and I don't want to putDaly on my track." He smoked in silence for a few moments, and thenadded: "I wonder whether Austin helped the fellow to get after me?"
Foster looked up with surprise, but admitted that his partner might beright. Austin was a real-estate agent who now and then speculated inlumber and mineral claims. He had some influence at the Crossingwhere, however, he was more feared than liked, since he lent money andbought up mortgages. On three or four occasions he had been a businessrival of Foster and Featherstone's, and the former thought he might nothave forgiven them for beating him.
"It's possible," he said thoughtfully. "But you don't imagine Dalytold him what he knows about you?"
"I should think it most unlikely," Featherstone rejoined. "Daly meansto keep all he can get for himself, but if he gave Austin a hint thathe could injure me, the fellow might be willing to help. He's prettyoften up against us; but we'll let that go. You're a friend of CarmenAustin's, and as you'll meet her at the reunion, it might be better ifyou didn't tell her I have changed my plans. Of course, I don't meanto hint that she has anything to do with her father's schemes."
Foster laughed. He liked Carmen Austin and was mildly flattered by thefavor she showed him, but thought he knew her well enough not to attachmuch importance to this. Carmen was clever and ambitious, and would,no doubt, choose a husband who had wealth and influence. Though veryyoung, she was the acknowledged leader of society at the Crossing.
"You needn't be afraid of hurting my feelings," he said. "To someextent I do enjoy Miss Austin's patronage, but I know my drawbacks anddon't cherish any foolish hopes. If I did, I believe she'd tactfullynip them in the bud."
"On the whole, I'm pleased to hear it," Featherstone replied. "Now, ifyou don't mind, there's something I want to read."