CHAPTER XLI
SENSE AND NONSENSE
Beresford speaking, to an audience of one, who listened with soft darkeyes aglow and sparkling.
"He's the best scout ever came over the border, Jessie. Trusty assteel, stands the gaff without whining, backs his friends to thelimit, and plays the game out till the last card's dealt and the lasttrick lost. Tom Morse is a man in fifty thousand."
"I know another," she murmured. "Every word you've said is true forhim too."
"He's a wonder, that other." admitted the soldier dryly. "But we'retalking about Tom now. I tell you that iron man dragged West and meout of the Barrens by the scruff of our necks. Wouldn't give up.Wouldn't quit. The yellow in West came out half a dozen times. Whenthe ten-day blizzard caught us, he lay down and yelped like a cur. Iwouldn't have given a plugged six-pence for our chances. But Tom wentout into it, during a little lull, and brought back with him a timberwolf. How he found it, how he killed it, Heaven alone knows. He wascoated with ice from head to foot. That wolf kept us and the dogsalive for a week. Each day, when the howling of the blizzard died downa bit, Tom made West go down with him to the creek and get wood.It must have been a terrible hour. They'd come back so done up, sofrozen, they could hardly stagger in with their jags of pine for thefire. I never heard the man complain--not once. He stood up to it theway Tom Sayers used to."
The girl felt a warm current of life prickling swiftly through her. "Ilove to hear you talk so generously of him."
"Of my rival?" he said, smiling. "How else can I talk? The scoundrelhas been heaping on me those coals of fire we read about. I haven'ttold you half of it--how he nursed me like a woman and looked after meso that I wouldn't take cold, how he used to tuck me up in the sledwith a hot stone at my feet and make short days' runs in order not towear out my strength. By Jove, it was a deucedly unfair advantage hetook of me."
"Is he your rival?" she asked.
"Isn't he?"
"In business?"
"How demure Miss McRae is," he commented. "Observe those longeyelashes flutter down to the soft cheeks."
"In what book did you read that?" she wanted to know.
"In that book of suffering known as experience," he sighed, eyesdancing.
"If you're trying to tell me that you're in love with some girl--"
"Haven't I been trying to tell you for a year?"
Her eyes flashed a challenge at him. "Take care, sir. First thing youknow you'll be on thin ice. You might break through."
"And if I did--"
"Of course I'd snap you up before you could bat an eye. Is there agirl living that wouldn't? And I'm almost an old maid. Don't forgetthat. I'm to gather rosebuds while I may, because time's flying sofast, some poet says."
"Time stands still for you, my dear," he bowed, with a gay imitationof the grand manner.
"Thank you." Her smile mocked him. She had flirted a good deal withthis young man and understood him very well. He had no intentionwhatever of giving up the gay hazards of life for any adventure soenduring as matrimony. Moreover, he knew she knew it. "But let's stickto the subject. While you're proposing--"
"How you help a fellow along!" he laughed. "Am I proposing?"
"Of course you are. But I haven't found out yet whether it's foryourself or Mr. Morse."
"A good suggestion--novel, too. For us both, let's say. You take yourchoice." He flung out a hand in a gay debonair gesture.
"You've told his merits, but I don't think I ever heard yoursmentioned," she countered. "If you'd recite them, please."
"It's a subject I can do only slight justice." He bowed again."Sergeant Beresford, at your service, of the North-West Mounted."
"Sergeant! Since when?"
"Since yesterday. Promoted for meritorious conduct in the line ofduty. My pay is increased to one dollar and a quarter a day. In casehappily your choice falls on me, don't squander it on silks andsatins, on trips to Paris and London--"
"If I choose you, it won't be for your wealth," she assured him.
"Reassured, fair lady. I proceed with the inventory of SergeantBeresford's equipment as a future husband. Fond, but, alas! fickle. Afamily black sheep, or if not black, at least striped. Likely not toplague you long, if he's sent on many more jobs like the last. Saidto be good-tempered, but not docile. Kind, as men go, but ane'er-do-well, a prodigal, a waster. Something whispers in my ear thathe'll make a better friend than a husband."
"A twin fairy is whispering the same in my ear," the girl nodded."At least a better friend to Jessie McRae. But I think he has a pooradvocate in you. The description is not a flattering one. I don't evenrecognize the portrait."
"But Tom Morse--"
"Exactly, Tom Morse. Haven't you rather taken the poor fellow forgranted?" She felt an unexpected blush burn into her cheek. It stainedthe soft flesh to her throat. For she was discovering that thenonsense begun so lightly was embarrassing. She did not want to talkabout the feelings of Tom Morse toward her. "It's all very well tojoke, but--"
"Shall I ask him?" he teased.
She flew into a mild near-panic. "If you dare, Win Beresford!" Theflash in her eyes was no longer mirth. "We'll talk about somethingelse. I don't think it's very nice of us to--to--"
"Tom retired from conversational circulation," he announced. "Shall wetalk of cats or kings?"
"Tell me your plans, now you've been promoted."
"Plans? Better men make 'em. I touch my hat, say, 'Yes, sir,' and helpwork 'em out. Coming back to Tom for a minute, have you heard thatthe Colonel has written him a letter of thanks for the distinguishedservice rendered by him to the Mounted and suggesting that a permanentplace of importance can be found for him on the Force if he'll takeit?"
"No. Did he? Isn't that just fine?" The soft glow had danced into hereyes again. "He won't take it, will he?"
"What do you think?" His eyes challenged hers coolly. He was willing,if he could, to discover whether Jessie was in love with his friend.
"Oh, I don't think he should," she said quickly. "He has a goodbusiness. It's getting better all the time. He's a coming man. And ofcourse he'd get hard jobs in the Mounted, the way you do."
"That's a compliment, if it's true," he grinned.
"I dare say, but that doesn't make it any safer."
"They couldn't give him a harder one than you did when you sent himinto the Barrens to bring back West." His eyes, touched with humorand yet disconcertingly intent on information, were fixed steadily onhers.
The girl's cheeks flew color signals. "Why do you say that? I didn'task him to go. He volunteered."
"Wasn't it because you wanted him to?"
"I should think you'd be the last man to say that," she protestedindignantly. "He was your friend, and he didn't want you to run sogreat a risk alone."
"Then you didn't want him to go?"
"If I did, it was for you. Maybe he blames me for it, but I don't seehow _you_ can. You've just finished telling me he saved your life adozen times."
"Did I say I was blaming you?" His warm, affectionate smile beggedpardon if he had given offense. "I was just trying to get it straight.You wanted him to go that time, but you wouldn't want him to go again.Is that it?"
"I wouldn't want either of you to go again. What are you driving at,Win Beresford?"
"Oh, nothing!" He laughed. "But if you think Tom's too good to wasteon the Mounted, you'd better tell him so while there's still time.He'll make up his mind within a day or two."
"I don't see him. He never comes here."
"I wonder why."
Jessie sometimes wondered why herself.
CHAPTER XLII
THE IMPERATIVE URGE
The reason why Tom did not go to see Jessie was that he longed to doso in every fiber of his being. His mind was never freed for a momentfrom the routine of the day's work that it did not automatically turntoward her. If he saw a woman coming down the street with the freelight step only one person in Faraway possessed, his heart would beginto beat faster. In short,
he suffered that torment known as being inlove.
He dared not go to see her for fear she might discover it. She was thesweetheart of his friend. It was as natural as the light of day thatshe turn to Win Beresford with the gift of her love. Nobody like himhad ever come into her life. His gay courage, his debonair grace,the good manners of that outer world such a girl must crave, theaffectionate touch of friendliness in his smile: how could any womanon this forsaken edge of the Arctic resist them?
She could not, of course, let alone one so full of the passionatelonging for life as Jessie McRae.
If Tom could have looked on her unmoved, if he could have subduedor concealed the ardent fire inside him, he would have gone to calloccasionally as though casually. But he could not trust himself. Hewas like a volcano ready for eruption. Already he was arranging withhis uncle to put a subordinate here and let him return to Benton.Until that could be accomplished, he tried to see her as little aspossible.
But Jessie was a child of the imperative urge. She told herself fiftytimes that it was none of her business if he did accept the offer of aplace in the North-West Mounted. He could do as he pleased. Why shouldshe interfere? And yet--and yet--
She found a shadow of excuse for herself in the fact that it had beenthrough her that he had offered himself as a special constable. Hemight think she wanted him to enlist permanently. So many girls werefoolish about the red coats of soldiers. She had noticed that amongher school-girl friends at Winnipeg. If she had any influence with himat all, she did not want it thrown on that side of the scale.
But of course he probably did not care what she thought. Very likelyit was her vanity that whispered to her he had gone North with WinBeresford partly to please her. Still, since she was his friend, oughtshe not to just drop an offhand hint that he was a more useful citizenwhere he was than in the Mounted? He couldn't very well resent that,could he? Or think her officious? Or forward?
She contrived little plans to meet him when he would be alone and shecould talk with him, but she rejected these because she was afraid hewould see through them. It had become of first importance to her thatTom Morse should not think she had any but a superficial interest inhim.
When at last she did meet him, it was by pure chance. Dusk wasfalling. She was passing the yard where his storehouse was. He wheeledout and came on her plumply face to face. Both were taken by surprisecompletely. Out of it neither could emerge instantly with casual wordsof greeting.
Jessie felt her pulses throb. A queer consternation paralyzed thefaculties that ought to have come alertly to her rescue. She stood,awkwardly silent, in a shy panic to her pulsing finger-tips. Later shewould flog herself scornfully for her folly, but this did not help inthe least now.
"I--I was just going to Mr. Whaley's with a little dress Mother madefor the baby," she said at last.
"It's a nice baby," was the best he could do.
"Yes. It's funny. You know Mr. Whaley didn't care anything about itbefore--while it was very little. But now he thinks it's wonderful.I'm so glad he does."
She was beginning to get hold of herself, to emerge from the emotionalcrisis into which this meeting had plunged her. It had come to herconsciousness that he was as perturbed as she, and a discovery of thisnature always brings a woman composure.
"He treats his wife a lot better too."
"There was room for it," he said dryly.
"She's a nice little thing."
"Yes."
Conversation, which had been momentarily brisk, threatened to die outfor lack of fuel. Anything was better than significant silences inwhich she could almost hear the hammering of her heart.
"Win Beresford told me about the offer you had to go into theMounted," she said, plunging.
"Yes?"
"Will you accept?"
He looked at her, surprised. "Didn't Win tell you? I said right away Icouldn't accept. He knew that."
"Oh! I don't believe he did tell me. Perhaps you hadn't decidedthen." Privately she was determining to settle some day with WinthropBeresford for leading her into this. He had purposely kept silent, sheknew now, in the hope that she would talk to Tom Morse about it. "ButI'm glad you've decided against going in."
"Why?"
"It's dangerous, and I don't think it has much future."
"Win likes it."
"Yes, Win does. He'll get a commission one of these days."
"He deserves one. I--I hope you'll both be very happy."
He was walking beside her. Quickly her glance flashed up at him. Wasthat the reason he had held himself so aloof from her?
"I think we shall, very likely, if you mean Win and I. He's alwayshappy, isn't he? And I try to be. I'm sorry he's leaving this part ofthe country. Writing-on-Stone is a long way from here. He may neverget back. I'll miss him a good deal. Of course you will too."
This was plain enough, but Tom could not accept it at face value.Perhaps she meant that she would miss him until Win got ready to sendfor her. An idea lodged firmly in the mind cannot be ejected at aninstant's notice.
"Yes, I'll miss him. He's a splendid fellow. I've never met one likehim, so staunch and cheerful and game. Sometime I'd like to tell youabout that trip we took. You'd be proud of him."
"I'm sure all his friends are," she said, smiling a queer little smilethat was lost in the darkness.
"He was a very sick man, in a great deal of pain, and we had a ratherdreadful time of it. Of course it hit him far harder than it dideither West or me. But never a whimper out of him from first to last.Always cheerful, always hopeful, with a little joke or a snatch of asong, even when it looked as though we couldn't go on another day.He's one out of ten thousand."
"I heard him say that about another man--only I think he said one infifty thousand," she made comment, almost in a murmur.
"Any girl would be lucky to have such a man for a husband," he addedfatuously.
"Yes. I hope he'll find some nice one who will appreciate him."
This left no room for misunderstanding. Tom's brain whirled. "You--youand he haven't had any--quarrel?"
"No. What made you think so?"
"I don't know. I suppose I'm an idiot. But I thought--"
He stopped. She took up his unfinished sentence.
"You thought wrong."
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