Bindloss Harold
Harding of Allenwood

"You seem so sure?"

"I am, of myself."

"The difficulty is that I'm not an isolated individual, but a member of a family, and belong to a race that has its code of rules. I must think of the shock to my parents and my friends; all the pain that any rash act of mine might give to others. They may be wrong, but what they think I feel, in a half-instinctive way, that reasoning can't change. I should have to stand upon defense against my subconscious self."

"I know," he said gently. "But the choice is one that many have to make. One must often stand alone. It's true that I have all to gain and you all to risk; but, Beatrice – "

He broke off, and held out both hands appealingly to her.

"Beatrice!"

The girl was deeply stirred. She had not expected him to plead like this. In her world one took things for granted and implied instead of asserting them. At Allenwood he was spoken of as a rude, materialistic iconoclast, but she had found him a reckless idealist; although he made her feel that instead of being impractical he was dealing with stern realities. She would have made the great adventure only that she was not sure of her own heart yet. The consequences were too serious for one to risk a mistake.

She stood motionless, her eyes veiled by her dark lashes, and he knew the struggle that was going on within her. In his own eyes there was a great yearning; but a birthright of the pioneer is patience.

"I'm afraid you ask too much," she said at last. "If you like, you may think I am not brave enough." She raised her eyes to his; and winced at the pain she saw there. But she went on bravely: "Had things been different, I might perhaps have married you, but I think our ways are separate. And now you must let me go, and not speak of this again."

He bowed, and it struck Beatrice that there was a great dignity in his bearing.

"Very well," he answered gravely. "I will not trouble you again unless, in one way or another, you give me permission."

She turned away, and he stood still until long after she and the dog had disappeared in the bluff. Then he roused himself with a laugh.

"I won't get her this way!" he said half aloud, and picked up some of the fittings of the pump.

Beatrice went straight to her mother, for there was strong confidence between the two.

"So you refused him!" Mrs. Mowbray said, after listening silently while Beatrice was telling her of the interview. "Did you find it hard?"

"Yes," she answered slowly; "harder than I thought. But it was the only way."

"If you felt that, dear, it certainly was so."

Beatrice looked up in surprise, but her mother's face was quietly thoughtful.

"You can't mean that I did not do right?"

"No; there's a heavy penalty for leaving the circle you were born in and breaking caste. It would have hurt me to see you suffer as you must have done. Only the very brave can take that risk."

The girl was puzzled. Her mother agreed with her, and yet she had faintly reflected Harding's ideas.

"Well," Beatrice said, "I shrink from telling Father."

"I'm not sure that he need know. It would disturb him, and he might do something that we should regret. On the whole, I think you had better visit our friends in Toronto as you were asked. They would be glad to have you for the summer."

"Do you wish me to run away?" Beatrice asked in surprise.

"It might be better for both. Harding is not one of us, but I think he feels things deeply, and his is a stubborn nature. In a sense, it is your duty to make it as easy as you can for him."

Beatrice looked at her mother curiously.

"You seem more concerned about Mr. Harding than I expected."

"He gave your brother his coat in the blizzard and saved his life," Mrs. Mowbray answered. "That counts for something."

The girl hesitated a moment.

"Well, I'll go to Toronto," she promised.

CHAPTER XIV
A BOLD SCHEME

One morning a week or two after his meeting with Beatrice, Harding drove his rattling engine across the plowed land. His face was sooty, his overalls were stained with grease, and now and then a shower of cinders fell about his head. Behind him Devine stood in the midst of a dust-cloud, regulating the bite of the harrows that tossed about the hard, dry clods. It was good weather for preparing the seedbed, and the men had been busy since sunrise, making the most of it. Spring comes suddenly in the Northwest, the summer is hot but short, and the grain must be sown early if it is to escape the autumn frost.

When they reached the edge of the breaking, Harding stopped the engine, and, taking a spanner from a box, turned to look about. The blue sky was flecked with fleecy clouds driving fast before the western breeze. The grass had turned a vivid green, and was checkered by clusters of crimson lilies. The ducks and geese had gone, but small birds of glossy black plumage with yellow bars on their wings fluttered round the harrows.

"Looks promising," Harding said. "The season has begun well. That's fortunate, for we have lots to do. I'd go on all night if there was a moon."

"Then I'm glad there isn't," Devine replied; "I want some sleep. But this jolting's surely rough on the machine. I wasn't sure that new locomotive type would work. She's too heavy to bang across the furrows with her boiler on board."

"She'll last until I get my money back, which is all I want. The rope-haulage pattern has its drawbacks, but the machine we're using won't be on the market long. They'll do away with furnace and boiler, and drive by gasoline or oil. I'd thought of trying that, but they haven't got the engine quite right yet."

"You look ahead," Devine commented.

"I have to; I must make this farm pay. Now if you'll clear the harrows, I'll tighten these brasses up."

He set to work, but while he adjusted the loose bearing Devine announced in a whisper:

"Here's the Colonel!"

Harding saw Mowbray riding toward them, and went on with his task. Beatrice had no doubt told her mother about his proposal, and he could imagine the Colonel's anger if he had heard of it. Pulling up his horse near the harrows, Mowbray sat silent, watching Harding. Fastidiously neat in dress, with long riding gloves and a spotless gray hat, he formed a marked contrast to the big, greasy man sprinkled with soot from the engine.

"I regret, Mr. Harding, that after the service you did my son, I should come with a complaint when I visit you."

"We'll let the service go; I'll answer the complaint as far as I can."

"Very well. I was disagreeably surprised to learn that you have persuaded my friends to take a course which the majority of our council decided against, and to which it is well known that I object."

Harding felt relieved. Mowbray did not seem to know of what he had said to Beatrice, and his grievance did not require very delicate handling. Harding was too proud to conciliate him, and as he could expect nothing but uncompromising opposition, he saw no necessity for forbearance.

"The majority was one, a casting vote," he said. "If you are referring to my plowing for some of your people, I did not persuade them. They saw the advantage of mechanical traction and asked me to bring the engine over."

"The explanation doesn't take us far. It's obvious that they couldn't have experimented without your help."

"I hardly think that's so. There are dealers in Winnipeg and Toronto who would be glad to sell them the machines. If three or four combined, they could keep an engine busy and the cost wouldn't be prohibitive."

"Our people are not mechanics," Mowbray said haughtily.

"I'm not sure that's a matter for congratulation," Harding answered with a smile. "But I never drove a steam-plow until a few weeks ago, and there seems to be no reason why your friends shouldn't learn. You don't claim that they're less intelligent than I am."

"Your talents run in this direction," Mowbray retorted with a polished sneer.

"In a way, that's fortunate. When you're farming for a profit, you want to be able to do a little of everything. Some of the Allenwood boys are pretty good horse-breakers, and you approve; why managing an engine should be objectionable isn't very plain."

"It is not my intention to argue these matters with you."

"Then what is it you want me to do?"

"To be content with using these machines on your own land. I must ask you to leave Allenwood alone."

"I'm afraid you ask too much," Harding replied. "I can't break off the arrangements now without a loss to your friends and myself, and I see no reason why I should do so."

"Do you consider it gentlemanly conduct to prompt men who acknowledge me as their leader to thwart my wishes?"

"Hardly so. Where you have a clear right to forbid anything that might be hurtful to the settlement, I'd be sorry to interfere."

Mowbray's eyes glinted.

"Do you presume to judge between my people and me?"

"Oh, no," Harding answered with good humor. "That's not my business; but I reserve the right to do what's likely to pay me, and to make friends with whom I please, whether they belong to Allenwood or not."

Mowbray was silent a moment, looking down at him with a frown.

"Then there's nothing more to be said. Your only standard seems to be what is profitable."

Mowbray rode away, and Devine laughed.

"Guess the Colonel isn't used to back talk, Craig. If he wasn't quite so high-toned, he'd go home and throw things about. What he wants is somebody to stand right up to him. You'll have him plumb up against you right along; where you look at a thing one way, he looks at it another. It's clean impossible that you should agree."

"I'm afraid that's so," said Harding. "And now we'll make a start again."

The ribbed wheels bit the clods, and the engine lurched clumsily across the furrows, with the harrows clattering as they tore through the tangled grass roots and scattered the dry soil. Harding was violently shaken, and Devine half smothered by the dust that followed them across the breaking. It was not a dainty task, and the machine was far from picturesque, but they were doing better work than the finest horses at Allenwood were capable of. The sun grew steadily hotter, the lower half of Harding's body was scorched by the furnace, and the perspiration dripped from his forehead upon his greasy overalls, but he held on until noon, with the steam gradually going down. The boiler was of the water-tube type and the water about Allenwood was alkaline.

"She must hold up until supper, and I'll try to wash her out afterward," he said.

"You were at it half last night," Devine objected.

"That's the penalty for using new tools. They have their tricks, and you've got to learn them. I don't find you get much without taking trouble."

"I believe you're fond of trouble," Devine answered, laughing.

They went home together, for Devine often dined with the Hardings. They had just finished the meal of salt pork and fried potatoes when there was a rattle of wheels. Hester was putting the dessert – hot cakes soaked in molasses – and coffee on the table, but she went to the door.

"A stranger in a buggy!" she announced.

Harding was surprised to see the Winnipeg land-agent getting down, but he greeted him hospitably.

"Come in and have some dinner," he invited.

Davies entered and bowed to Hester.

"No, thanks. As I didn't know where I'd be at noon, I brought some lunch along. But if it won't trouble Miss Harding, I'll take some coffee."

He sat down and the men lighted their pipes; and Hester studied the newcomer as she removed the plates. He was smartly dressed and had an alert look, but while there was nothing particular in his appearance that she could object to, she was not prepossessed in his favor. Davies had already noticed that the room was of a type common to the prairie homesteads. Its uncovered floor was, perhaps, cleaner than usual when plowing was going on, and the square stove was brightly polished, but the room contained no furniture that was not strictly needed. There was nothing that suggested luxury; and comfort did not seem to be much studied. On the other hand, he had noticed outside signs of bold enterprise and a prosperity he had not expected to find. Davies was a judge of such matters, and he saw that his host was a man of practical ability.

"What brought you into our neighborhood?" Harding asked.

Davies smiled.

"I'm always looking for business, and I find it pays to keep an eye on my customers. Some of them have a trick of lighting out when things go wrong, and leaving a few rusty implements to settle their debts. Financing small farmers isn't always profitable."

"They can't take their land away," Devine said. "I guess you don't often lose much in the end."

"Land!" exclaimed Davies. "I've money locked up in holdings I can't sell, and have to pay big taxes on."

"You'll sell them all right by and by, but of course you know that," Harding replied. He gave the land-agent a shrewd look. "You have a call or two to make at Allenwood, and would rather get there in the afternoon?"

"True! The boys might find it embarrassing if I showed up just now. They're willing to do business with me, and when they're in Winnipeg they'll take a cigar or play a game of pool; but asking me to lunch is a different matter." He continued smiling, but Hester, who was watching him closely, thought there was something sinister in his amusement as he added: "They stick to the notions they brought from the Old Country, and I don't know that they'll find them pay."

"I shouldn't imagine all the business you'd get at Allenwood would have made a trip from Winnipeg worth while," Harding said.

"That's so," Davies agreed, as if eager to explain. "I'd a call in Brandon, and wanted to look up some customers in the outlying settlements. When I got so far, I thought I'd come on and see how this country's opening up. I notice the boys are doing pretty well."

"You don't mean at Allenwood? You haven't been there yet."

"No; this is my first trip, and I expect it will be my last. Is there much doing yonder?"

"The land's all right. They hauled out some fine wheat last fall. Stock's better than the usual run, and they've the finest light horses I've seen."

"That's more in their line than farming," Davies replied. "You wouldn't call raising horses a business proposition just now?"

Hester thought the men were fencing, trying to learn something about each other's real opinions. Craig looked careless, but Hester was not deceived. She knew him well, and saw that he was thinking.

"Prices are certainly low; but it strikes me you had better keep out of Colonel Mowbray's way," Harding said. "If he suspected that any of the boys had dealings with you, he'd make trouble, and probably insist upon paying you off."

Davies looked hard at him. He was not prepared to admit that he had lent money at Allenwood, but he could not tell how much Harding knew.

"One seldom objects to being paid a debt. Has the Colonel much money to spare?"

"I don't know; I can't claim to be a friend of his."

"Well, it doesn't matter, as I've nothing to do with him. Now that I'm here, I'll say that I'd be glad to accommodate you and your partner if you want to extend your operations or hold on for better prices at any time. You're putting in a big crop."

"Thanks; I don't think we'll make a deal," Devine drawled. "We don't farm for the benefit of another man. When I haul my wheat to the elevators I want the money myself, and not to turn it over to somebody else, who'll leave me a few pennies to go on with."

Davies took his leave soon afterward, and Devine and Harding went back to the plow. They had some trouble in keeping steam, and after a little the heavy engine sank into the soft soil as they crossed a hollow where the melting snow had run. The ribbed wheels went in deeper as they crushed down the boggy mold, and ground up the fence posts the men thrust under them. Before long they were embedded to the axle, and Harding turned off the steam.

"Bring the wagon and drop me off a spade as you pass," he said. "I'll dig her out while you drive to the bluff and cut the biggest poplar logs you can find."

When Devine hurried away he sat down and lighted his pipe. Until he got the spade there was nothing to be done and much to think about. To begin with, Davies' visit had turned his attention upon a matter that had already occupied his thoughts, and proved it worth consideration. The Allenwood homesteads were the best in the country, the settlement was fortunately located, and its inhabitants were people of intelligence. Their progress had been retarded by customs and opinions out of place on the prairie, but they might go a long way if these were abandoned. They were farming on the wrong lines, and wasting effort, but Harding did not think this would continue. Already some among them were pressing for a change. Harding was ready to work his big farm alone, but he looked to Allenwood for help that would benefit all.

The matter, however, had a more important side. Although Beatrice had refused him he did not despair; she had shown that she did not regard him with complete indifference. It was not his personal character, but his position and her father's hostility that stood in the way, and these were obstacles that might be overcome. He could expect nothing but the Colonel's stern opposition, and he must carefully arm himself for the fight; he did not undervalue the power of his antagonist.

Devine returned and threw him down a spade, and for the next hour Harding worked steadily, digging a trench to the buried wheels and beating its bottom flat. When his comrade came back they lined it with the logs he brought, and Harding started the engine. The machine shook and rattled, straining and panting under a full head of steam, but the wheels churned furiously in the soil and smashed the ends of the logs they bit upon. One big piece shot out of the trench and narrowly missed Devine, who fell among the harrows when he jumped. Harding stopped the engine as his friend got up.

"This won't do," he said. "We'll cut a log into short billets."

They packed some, split into sections, under the wheels, and Harding restarted the engine.

"Now," he said, "you can shove the rest in as she grinds them down."

The wheels spun, splintering the timber, rising a few inches and sinking again, while the big machine shook and tilted in danger of falling over. Harding, standing on the slippery plates, opened the throttle wide, and after a while the front rose to a threatening height while the logs groaned and cracked.

"Stand clear!" he cried. "She's climbing out!"

The engine straightened itself with a dangerous lurch, rolled forward, gathering speed, and ran out on to firmer ground. They had no further trouble, and when dusk settled down and the air grew sharp, Harding drew the fire and blew the water out of the boiler.

"After all, we have done pretty good work to-day," he said. "I'll come back and tend to those tubes as soon as she cools."

They went home together, and after supper was finished, they sat smoking and talking in the kitchen. It was now sharply cold outside, but the small room was warm and cheerful with the nickeled lamp lighted and a fire in the polished stove.

"The mortgage man was trying to play you," Devine remarked. "He certainly didn't learn much. Do you reckon he has been lending money to the Allenwood boys?"

"I think it's very likely."

"Then, with their way of farming and wheat going down, they won't be able to pay him off."

"No; and he doesn't want them to pay him off," Harding answered.

"You mean he wants their farms?"

"Yes; he'll probably get them, unless somebody interferes."

"Ah!" exclaimed Devine. "Who's going to interfere? … Now you have been thinking of something all afternoon."

Harding smiled.

"It's possible I may see what I can do," he admitted.

"You're a daisy!" Devine exclaimed. "It wouldn't surprise me if you thought of buying up the Canadian Pacific. All the same, I don't see where you're going to get the money. What do you think, Hester?"

Hester laid down her sewing.

"Isn't it too big a thing, Craig? You have a great deal of land now, and even if you get a good harvest, you'd hardly have money enough to sow another crop and leave enough to carry you over a bad season."

Harding quietly lighted his pipe, and there was silence for a few minutes. His sister and her fiancé knew him well and had confidence in his ability; he had so far made good, but the boldness of this last scheme daunted them.

"Farming has two sides," he said presently. "You want to raise the best and biggest crop you can; and then you want to handle your money well. That's where many good farmers fail. Bank your surplus and you get market interest, but nothing for your knowledge and experience. The money ought to be put into new teams and the latest machines, and after that into breaking new land. If you make a profit on two hundred acres, you'll increase it by a third when you break a hundred acres more, not to mention what you save by working on a larger scale. Well, I see what could be done with a united Allenwood where every man worked jointly with the rest, but the settlement needs a head."

"It has one. Colonel Mowbray is not likely to give up his place," Hester answered.

"He may not be able to keep it. There's another claimant – this fellow Davies, and he's not a fool. I can't tell you yet whether I'll make a third. It wants thinking over."

The others did not reply. They agreed that the matter demanded careful thought. After a short silence, Hester changed the subject.

"I saw Mrs. Broadwood to-day, and she told me that Miss Mowbray had gone East for the summer. As she had spoken about staying at Allenwood all the year, Mrs. Broadwood was surprised."

Harding betrayed his interest by an abrupt movement, yet he made no answer. On the whole the news was encouraging. He would miss Beatrice, but, on the other hand, it looked as if she had gone away to avoid him, and she would not have done so had she been unmoved by what he said to her. He regretted that he had driven her away; of course he might be mistaken, but there was hope in the suspicion he entertained.

"Well," he said, after a minute or two, "I'll go along and fix that boiler."