Bindloss Harold
Lorimer of the Northwest

“We will wait until harvest,” Grace said, in reply to my questions. “There will, I fear, be changes by then.”

Half an hour later we rode into sight of Carrington, and both instinctively drew rein; then Grace signified approval as without speaking we rode on again. Still her faint smile showed that she recognized my own feeling that we were riding boldly into the camp of the enemy. Miss Carrington met us at the entrance, and when I dismounted said to me aside:

“My brother came in a little while since in an angry mood. I fancy he must have met you, and will not ask injudicious questions; but, to please me, you will go. He has been broken in health lately, and any further excitement is to be avoided just now.”

I took my leave accordingly, for as far as she could do so without offending her brother Miss Carrington sympathized with us, and as I rode back to Fairmead I could not forget the Colonel’s curious manner when he concluded the interview. I also recollected how Calvert had said: “That man will end with a stroke, or in a fit, when he lets his passion master him some day.”

CHAPTER XXX
CARRINGTON ASSERTS HIS AUTHORITY

A week or two passed, and then when riding to Lone Hollow on business connected with the creamery scheme I chanced upon Jasper. I had seen very little of him since Harry returned, and taxed him with it, saying: “Have we frightened you away from Fairmead lately?”

“No,” he answered, with some confusion. “I guess there’s no place in the Dominion where I should sooner go.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come?” I asked; and the big man hesitated still, inspecting his boots, until, facing round toward me, he said: “I’ve been figuring it mightn’t be good for me. I’m a plain man with a liking for straight talk, Ralph – so are you – and it might make things easier if I were to tell you. It’s Miss Aline that scared me.”

I burst out laughing, but Jasper did not join; then I waited somewhat astonished until he continued: “She’s the flower of this prairie, and she’s got a mighty cute head of her own. I never could stand them foolish women. So I came, and I would have come every day, until Harry chipped in, and that set me thinking. I said, ‘You stop there and consider, Jasper, before it’s too late, and you’re done for.’”

I frowned at this, but Jasper added: “You don’t get hold exactly – what I meant was this: I’m a big rough farmer, knowing the ways of wheat and the prairie, and knowing nothing else. She’s wise, and good, and pretty, way up as high as the blue heaven above me. Even if she’d take me – which, being wise, she wouldn’t – the deal wouldn’t be fair to her. No; it couldn’t anyway be fair to her. Then I saw Harry with his clever talk and pretty ways, and I said, ‘That’s the kind of man that must mate with her. Go home to your plowing, Jasper, before it becomes harder, and you make a most interesting fool of yourself.’ So I went home, and I’m going to stop there, Ralph Lorimer, until the right man comes along. Then – well, I’ll wish Miss Aline the happiness I could never have given her.”

“You are a very good fellow, Jasper,” I said, and pitied my old friend as he departed ruefully. He had acted generously, and though I hardly fancy Aline would have accepted him, in any case, I knew that she might have chosen worse. There are qualities which count for more than the graces of polish and education, especially in new lands, but Harry possessed these equally, and, as Jasper had said, Aline and he had much more in common. Then it also occurred to me that there was some excuse for Colonel Carrington. The cases were almost parallel, and to use my friend’s simile Grace Carrington was also as high as the blue heavens above her accepted lover. Still, if I had not the Ontario man’s power of self-abnegation, and had forgotten what was due to her, she had said with her own lips that she could be happy with me, and I blessed her for it.

What transpired at Lone Hollow also provided food for thought. Lyle and several of the supporters of the creamery scheme awaited me there.

“We have practically decided to accept your estimates,” Lyle said, “but it seems advisable to make one or two alterations, and we want you to ride over with us to Green Mountain to-morrow and make a survey of a fresh site that one of the others seems to think favorable. After we decide on a place for the buildings, and a few other details, we’ll ask you to attend a meeting which we expect to hold at the Manor. The matter will have to be discussed with Colonel Carrington.”

“Then I should sooner you excuse me. I’m afraid that my presence might prejudice the Colonel,” I replied, and several of the others laughed.

“He’s prejudiced already,” said one. “Still, we are growing rather tired of the Colonel’s opposition to whatever he does not suggest himself, and we mean to build the creamery. You will have to face your share of the unpleasantness with the rest of us.”

I almost regretted that I had furnished the estimates, but it was too late and I could not very well draw back now; so, promising to attend, I returned to Fairmead in a thoughtful mood. Aline bantered me about my absent-mindedness, and desired to learn the cause of it, but as Harry was there and it partly concerned Jasper’s explanation I did not enlighten her. Strange to say, I had never pictured Harry as a suitor for my sister, but now I could see only advantages in the union for both of them, and, what was perhaps as much to the purpose, advantages for me. I expected to bring Grace to Fairmead sooner or later, and she and Aline were, I felt, too much alike in one or two respects to agree.

On the following day I rode over to Green Mountain with Lyle and three or four of his friends. We had a measuring chain with us as well as one or two instruments that I had learned how to use when railroad building, and it was afternoon when we got to work plotting out the alternative site for the creamery that one of the others had considered more favorable on account of its convenience to running water. The term Mountain is used somewhat vaguely on the prairie, and Green Mountain could scarcely be called a hill. It was a plateau of no great height dotted with a dense growth of birches and seamed by ravines out of one of which a creek that would supply the creamery with power came swirling.

We alighted on the birch bluff that stretched out some distance into the prairie from the foot of the plateau, and spent an hour or so before we decided that the new site was more favorable than the other. Then Lyle turned to me.

“Hadn’t we better run our line through and mark it off now that we’re here?” he suggested.

I agreed, and as one of the men had brought two or three saws and axes in a wagon we set about it. The men from Carrington, however, were not very proficient at the work and a good deal of the chopping fell to me. The bush was rather thick, and I spent an hour in tolerably arduous labor before our base line was clear. Then I sat down on a slender fallen birch while Lyle and the rest went back to the wagon for some provisions they had brought. It was evident that we could not get home for supper.

It was a still afternoon, and the sound of the creek rang across the shadowy birches with an almost startling distinctness. That end of the line had, however, nearly reached the verge of the prairie. Presently another sound that rapidly grew louder reached my ears. It was the rhythmic beat of approaching hoofs, and for no very definite reason it brought me a trace of uneasiness. However, I sat still with my pipe in my hand until the drumming of hoofs that grew very close stopped suddenly, and then turning sharply I saw Colonel Carrington striding through the bush. He stopped near my side, and nobody would have supposed from his appearance that the sight of me or the fallen trees afforded him any pleasure.

Three or four slender birches lay close at my feet, and here and there another was stretched across the line I had driven. Carrington’s face grew hard, and a little portentous sparkle crept into his eyes as he looked at them. Then he turned to me.

“Mr. Lorimer,” he said, “will you be kind enough to explain why you are cutting my timber without permission?”

“I have done it at Mr. Lyle’s request, sir,” I said.

Now I do not know how Carrington had heard of what was going on, but his answer made it evident that he had.

“Ah, I had partly expected this. Will you tell Lyle that I want him at once!”

It was not a request but a command flung at me with a curt incisiveness that brought the blood to my face, and I was never quite sure afterward why I went. Still, it was usually difficult for even those who disliked him most to disobey Colonel Carrington. In any case, I found Lyle and the others, and came back with them outside the bluff which was the easier way. Carrington, however, had evidently grown impatient, and I saw Lyle’s lips set tight when he and three or four of the younger men who I heard afterward were rather indebted to the Colonel rode out from the shadow of the bluff. One of my companions smiled expressively, but nothing was said until Carrington drew bridle a few yards away. He sat impassively still with one hand on his hip and a handful of young lads behind him, and there was silence for a few moments while the two parties looked at each other. It was not exactly my quarrel, but I could feel the tension.

Lyle stood close beside me quietly resolute, but one or two of his comrades looked half-ashamed and as though they wished themselves anywhere else, while the lads who rode with Carrington were manifestly uneasy. Still, the grim, erect figure sitting almost statuesque on the splendid horse dominated the picture. At length Carrington indicated me with a glance which, though I was ashamed of the fact afterward, made me wince.

“This man tells me that it is by your authority he is cutting down my timber,” he said.

“He is quite correct in that, sir,” answered Lyle.

“Ah,” said Carrington, and his voice was very sharp, “you did not consider it necessary to ask my sanction?”

Lyle looked at his companions, and it was evident that they realized that the time for decisive action had come. The Colonel clearly meant to assert his authority, and I fancied that he would not hesitate to overstep it if this appeared advisable. He had, however, ridden them on the curb too long, and his followers’ patience was almost at an end. Still, it requires a good deal of courage suddenly to fling off a yoke to which one has grown accustomed, and I sometimes think that if Carrington had been a trifle less imperious and Lyle had not stood fast then his companions once more would have deferred to their ruler and the revolt would never have been made. Perhaps Lyle recognized this for his answer seemed intended to force the matter to an issue.

“We were afraid it would be withheld, sir,” he said.

Carrington understood him, for I saw the blood creep into his face. “So you decided to dispense with it?”

“I should have preferred to put it another way, but it amounts to that,” said Lyle, and there was a murmur of concurrence from the rest which showed that their blood was up.

“Then you may understand that it is refused once for all,” said Carrington. “I will not have another birch felled on Green Mountain. Now that you know my views there is an end of it.”

He was wrong in this. The end which I think must have proved very different from what he could have expected had not yet come. He had taken the wrong way, for those whom he addressed were like himself mettlesome Englishmen of the ruling caste, and while they had long paid him due respect they were not to be trampled on. They stood fast, and losing his temper he turned to them in a sudden outbreak of fury.

“Why don’t you go?” he thundered, and pointed to the saws and axes. “Take those – things along with you.”

None of them moved except Lyle who stepped forward a pace or two.

“There is a little more to be said, sir. You have refused your sanction, but bearing in mind a clause or two in the charter of the settlement I’m not quite sure it’s necessary. In one sense Green Mountain is not exactly yours.”

“Not mine!” and Carrington stared at him in incredulous astonishment. Then he seemed to recover himself and smiled in an unpleasant fashion. “Ah,” he said, “you have been reading the charter, but there are several points that evidently you have missed. For one thing, it vests practically complete authority in me, and my decision as to any changes or the disposal of any of the Carrington land can only be questioned by a three-fourths majority of a general assembly. I have not heard that you have submitted the matter to such a meeting.”

“I have not done so, sir,” answered Lyle.

There was, I thought, still a faint chance of a compromise, but Carrington flung it away.

“Then,” he said, “I choose to exert my authority, and I think that I have already told you to leave Green Mountain.”

Lyle apparently recognized that the Colonel had the best of it on what one might call a point of law, but the way the latter used the word “told” would, I think, have stirred most men to resistance. It was far more expressive than if he had said commanded. Lyle stood quite still a moment or two looking at the Colonel with wrinkled brows.

“If you will listen to me for a few minutes, sir,” he said at length.

“No!” interrupted Carrington. “It would be a waste of time. You know my views. There is nothing more to be said.”

Then he committed the crowning act of folly as tightening his grasp on his bridle he turned to the lads behind him.

“Drive them off!” he said.

The half-contemptuous command was almost insufferably galling. Carrington might have been dealing with mutinous dusky troopers instead of free Englishmen who farmed their own land, and the lads who had at first appeared disposed to side with him hesitated. He swung around in the saddle and looked at them.

“Must I speak twice?” he asked.

He turned again raising the heavy riding crop he carried, and I expected to see the big horse driven straight at Lyle, but one of the lads seized his leader’s bridle just in time.

“Hold on, sir,” he cried, and then while the big horse plunged he flung a few words at my companion.

“Don’t be a fool, Raymond. Get out of this – now!” he cried.

Lyle’s face was darkly flushed, and it appeared to cost him an effort to hold himself in hand.

“We’re going, sir,” he said. “Loose his bridle, Charley.”

The lad did as he was bidden, and Lyle motioned us to withdraw, after which he once more addressed Carrington.

“You have refused us permission to touch this timber, and I suppose we must yield to your wishes in this respect,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s more than likely, too, that you will object to our putting up the buildings we have in mind anywhere about Carrington?”

“Your surmises are perfectly correct,” replied the Colonel.

“Well,” said Lyle, “according to the charter we can overrule your objections by a three-fourths majority, and I have to give you notice that I’m going to call a meeting on Thursday next to consider the matter. We have generally met at the Manor to discuss anything of interest.”

Carrington who appeared to have recovered his composure raised his hand in sign of dismissal.

“Any time you wish in the evening – say six o’clock,” he said.

We turned away and left him, but it seemed to me from his manner that he would not have agreed to the meeting so readily had he not been certain that it would cost him very little trouble to humiliate the men who called it. Lyle appeared very thoughtful as we rode away.

“I’m sorry all this has happened, but it was bound to come,” he said to one of his companions. “I may not have been particularly tactful, but, after all, unless I’d given way altogether I don’t see that I could have handled the matter in any very different way.”

The man who rode beside him laughed somewhat ruefully. “No,” he admitted, “you simply can’t discuss a point with the Colonel. I’m rather afraid the thing’s going to hurt a good many of us, and it may result in breaking up the settlement, but the fat’s in the fire now, and we must stand fast.” He broke off for a moment with a sigh. “If he only weren’t so sickeningly obstinate! It’s an abominably unpleasant situation.”

I could understand how the speaker shrank from the task in front of him. For years he and the others had rendered their leader unquestioning obedience, and the Colonel hitherto had ruled the settlement more or less in accordance with their wishes, though I fancy that this was due to the fact that their views had generally coincided and not to any willingness to defer to them. It was, perhaps, not unnatural that most of them should look coldly on innovations and hold by traditions, for Englishmen are proverbially averse to change. Still, they could recognize when a change was absolutely necessary, and setting aside their predilections and prejudices insist on it. I, however, had less of the latter, since my status was not theirs, and it seemed to me that the man who would be most hurt was Colonel Carrington.

There was no doubt that he had the gift of command. Some men are unmistakably endued with it, and as a rule everybody defers to them even when they do not use it wisely. They come to regard it as their right, and by presuming on the good-nature or supineness of those with whom they come into contact, until at length the exception to the rule appears. Then being boldly faced they prove to be very much like other men. The air of authority disappears, and everybody wonders why he allowed himself to be overawed so long.

Still, I sympathized with Lyle who rode slackly, as it were, gazing straight in front of him with thoughtful eyes. There was no doubt that what he meant to do was repugnant to him, especially as the Colonel was a distant kinsman of his. He was a quiet, honest, good-humored Englishman, but men of that kind now and then prove very grim adversaries when they are pushed too hard, and they stand for what they consider the interest of their fellows. Nothing further was said until we reached the spot where the trail to Fairmead branched off, and then Lyle turned to me.

“I’ll expect you at the Manor on Thursday,” he said.

Then they rode on to Carrington, and I turned off toward Fairmead.

CHAPTER XXXI
THE DEPOSED RULER

The day of the meeting was never forgotten at Carrington, and distorted rumors of what had happened there traveled far across the prairie. One Mennonite settler compared it to the downfall of King Herod, but among Carrington’s own people there were none who referred to the events of that evening without reluctance and regret.

It was a glorious afternoon when I set out, and the prairie was fresh and green after a gentle rain that promised an early sprouting of the seed, but as I neared the Manor the faces of those I met were anxious and somber. They looked like men who after mature consideration had undertaken an unpleasant duty, and I could not help a fancy that some of them wished themselves well out of it. Saddled horses, buggies, and wagons stood in front of the house, and further mounted figures were approaching across the prairie, but the men who had already arrived seemed more inclined to wait for them than to enter the building, until its owner stood in the doorway. He looked at them with a little grim smile.

“It is not the first time you have been here, and this difference appears a little unusual,” he said. “Won’t you come in?”

I went in with the others, and was not pleased when Lyle placed me beside himself in a prominent position. Indeed, after a desultory conversation during which no one seemed quite at ease it was a relief to hear the last arrivals dismount and then to take our places at the long table upon which Lyle had deposited plans of the settlement. He with a few others of what was evidently the executive committee sat near me, and the rest stretched back toward the doorway. As we waited a few moments in a state of tense expectation the details of the scene impressed themselves on my memory.

There were heads and skins, as well as Eastern weapons – trophies the Colonel had brought home from several of England’s smaller wars – on the cedar wainscot. The prairie was flooded with sunlight outside, and an invigorating breeze that flowed in through the open windows brought with it the smell of the grass and stirred the heavy curtains. Carrington sat at the head of the table in a great oak chair which Grace once told me had come from a house that was famous in English history. There was an escutcheon which some of the settlers derided on the paneling above it, and the sunlight beating in through a window fell on him. He sat very erect, a lean, commanding figure with expressionless face and drooping white moustache, close to the great English pattern hearth which in winter assisted the much more useful stove, while both his manner and the surroundings suggested some scene in the feudal ages rather than an incident on the newly-opened prairie.

“You asked me to meet you, and, as far as I can see, every man in Carrington is here,” he said. “Raymond Lyle, you called this meeting. We are waiting for what you have to say.”

Lyle was not an orator, but he was filled with his subject, and the men listened to him that day. First he supplied them with details respecting the projected creamery, and then straightening himself a little he turned his quiet, honest eyes upon his host.

“We desire to have your approval, sir, but we clearly recognize the necessity for more attention to the commercial side of the question if there is to be a lasting future for Carrington,” he said. “We are proud of the colony, and we are all sportsmen, I think, but it seems to us that it is not wise to make it a mere playground and keep out all but people of our own station. On the contrary it would be better to welcome any well-educated Englishman and make it easier for him to earn a living here. In fact, we want an open-door policy, and a means of providing for the future of our children. It can be provided only by industrial enterprise, which is why I advocate the building of the creamery.”

For the first time a cynical smile flickered across Carrington’s face.

“Are you speaking for yourself, or for the rest?” he asked.

“For myself certainly,” said Lyle. “How far the rest agree with me will be seen if we appeal to them as an assembly with power to decide, which, unless we are forced to it, I think most of us should sooner avoid.”

“Then,” remarked Carrington dryly, “in your case, at least, I quite fail to see any duty toward posterity. You have always lived among us as a bachelor, Lyle. I suspect your other arguments would appear equally foolish on examination. Will somebody else set out the precise advantages we may expect to derive from this creamery. I wish to see how far the crazy notion has laid hold of you.”

Lyle flushed. Some of the younger men laughed, and it is possible that had their leader shown any sign of faltering, the Colonel’s sarcastic disapproval would even then have induced them to abandon the scheme. Most of the men of Carrington had, however, made up their minds, and several in succession explained in deferent but determined fashion why they considered it necessary to support Lyle. Carrington, I fancied, found it somewhat difficult to hide his astonishment.

“We are going down to the root of the matter,” said the last of them. “We wish to earn money, and not merely to spend it on half-hearted farming; and every desirable settler who takes up Carrington land increases the value of our possessions, and what is more important, our means of progress. We want more bridges, graded roads through the coulées, a stockyard on the railroad, and some day a branch line; and with all deference to you, we mean to get them. If this is impossible under present conditions, those conditions must be changed.”

There was a murmur of approval, but watching Colonel Carrington I knew that the man had said too much. In reply to a sharp question as to who was to undertake the building operations my name was mentioned.

“Lorimer of Fairmead! I might have known it!” gasped the Colonel.

Then there was silence as he gazed down the long rows of faces before answering.

“I have listened with painful surprise,” he said. “You wish to hear my views, and you shall have them, but first I want to read the agreement made by each one of you when you first settled in Carrington.”

He did so, and some of the men looked uncomfortable, for the land-settlement scheme practically made him supreme authority over all matters which the law of Canada did not affect. It also made it clear that he had borne the largest share of the cost of inaugurating the colony. He broke off, and it was a few moments before he went on again.

“I founded this colony, and – I feel compelled to mention it – delivered some of you from difficulties, and brought you here. I have spent my time and money freely for the good of the Carrington district, and I have made it what it is, a place where an English gentleman can live economically if he will work a little, enjoying abundant sport and the society of his equals. That was my one object, and I have accomplished it, but further I will not go. Green Mountain is the finest cover for game on the prairie, and while I live no man shall cut timber, make roads, or put up a factory there. Neither will I in any way countenance the opening up of Carrington – my Carrington – to industrial exploitation for the influx of all and sundry. I will have no railroad nor any kind of factory within our limits if I can prevent it, and seeing in it the thin end of the wedge I must ask you to abandon the creamery scheme.”

He broke off abruptly, and then turned to Lyle again.

“Have you lost your senses, Raymond. Would you make this clean, green land like Lancashire or parts of Pennsylvania?”

One could see by the faces of the others that this shot had told. There was no great liking for commerce in any of those who heard him. They were sportsmen first of all, and they loved the open. Even had the thing been probable none of them would have wished to see Carrington defiled by the smoke of mills and factories. It seemed to me that the Colonel might have bent them to his will had he made some trifling concession or been willing to discuss the matter quietly. Most of them, I felt, would gladly have met him half-way. Still that was never a habit of Colonel Carrington’s. He was an autocrat all through, and when he desired anything done he simply commanded it. In a moment or two Lyle answered him.

“No sir,” he said. “At least, not exactly, though Lancashire clothes half the people in the world with her cotton, and the roads that have opened up this continent are laid with Pennsylvania steel. Still, as we haven’t iron or coal here there’s very little probability of our doing what you seem afraid of with Carrington. We believe that the enterprise will prove a general benefit. We merely want good wagon roads, a creamery, and a few other similar things, and we respectfully ask you not to veto them.”

“I can’t meet you,” said Carrington. “As I said, my suggestion is that this preposterous scheme be abandoned forthwith.”

There was for a few moments a silence which seemed intensified by the soft rustle of the curtains as the breeze from the prairie flowed into the room. Then one of the men who had spoken in favor of the creamery rose and looked hard at Lyle who made a little sign.

“Then as a matter of form and to take a vote I second that,” he said.

The others were very still, but I saw Carrington gaze at the speaker almost incredulously. Though, as one of them told me afterward, a vote had once before been asked for, it had only established their leader’s authority more firmly, and I think this was the first time that any determined opposition had been offered to his will.

“You mean to take a vote?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” said another man, and there was a little murmur of concurrence. “I’m afraid there is no other course left open to us.”

Again the Colonel stared at them incredulously, and it seemed to me that there was something almost pathetic about the old man’s position. Grim and overbearing as he was, he stood alone, and for the first time I think he to some extent realized it. Still, it was evident that he could not bring himself to believe that they would go so far as to overrule his plainly expressed decision.

“Then,” he said, “you must proceed to take it. As stipulated in the charter it must be by ballot.”

A man who had not spoken yet, stood up. “To save time I move as an amendment that a committee be appointed to confer with Mr. Lorimer, who is here for the purpose, as to the construction of the creamery and to prepare a workable scheme which will if possible be submitted to this meeting.”

It was seconded, and Lyle moved down the long table with a handful of little papers. It was clear that the supporters of the scheme had everything ready, and for the first time a shadow of doubt seemed to creep into Carrington’s eyes.

“You are all supplied?” he said at length. “Then we will, as usual, take the amendment first.”

One or two of them borrowed a pencil from a neighbor, but it seemed very significant to me that most had one ready, and though I had no part in what was being done, I felt the tension when a man moved down the table collecting the little folded papers on a tray. Then the Colonel signed for him and another man to open them, and I think every eye was fixed on the two men who stood by the window tossing the papers upon a growing pile. There was only one pile, though three little slips were laid suggestively by themselves. Then in the midst of a very impressive silence through which the footsteps broke with a startling distinctness the two men moved toward the head of the table. The rest leaned forward watching their ruler who sat very still and grim in face. I fancied that though he was anxious he could not realize what awaited him.