Bindloss Harold
The Protector

“Ye’re ower lang in coming,” he remarked. “Where did ye leave your partner?”

Carroll sat silent a moment or two, his eyes fixed on Evelyn. It was evident that his sudden appearance unaccompanied by Vane, which he felt had been undesirably dramatic, had alarmed her. At first he felt compassionate, and then he was suddenly possessed by hot indignation. This girl, with her narrow prudish notions and cold-blooded nature, had presumed to condemn his comrade, unheard, for an imaginary offence. The thing was at once ludicrous and intolerable; if his news brought her dismay, let her suffer. His nerves, it must be remembered, were not in their normal condition.

“Yes,” he said, in answer to his host’s first remark; “I’ve gathered that we have failed to save the situation. But I don’t know exactly what has happened; you had better tell me.”

Mrs. Nairn made a sign of protest, but her husband glanced at her restrainingly.

“Ye will hear his news in good time,” he informed her, and turned to Carroll. “In a few words, the capital wasna subscribed; it leaked out that the ore was running poor and we held an emergency meeting. With Vane away, I could put no confidence into the shareholders – they were anxious to get from under – and Horsfield brought forward an amalgamation scheme: his friends would take the property over, on their valuation. I and a few others were outvoted; the scheme went through, and when the announcement steadied the stock, which had been tumbling down, I exercised the authority given me and sold your shares and Vane’s at considerably less than their face value. Ye can have particulars later. What I have to ask now is: Where is Vane?”

The man’s voice grew sharp; the question was flung out like an accusation, but Carroll still looked at Evelyn. He felt very bitter against her.

“I left him in the bush with no more than a few days’ provisions and a broken leg,” he said.

Then, in spite of Evelyn’s efforts to retain her composure, her face blanched; and Carroll’s anger vanished, because the truth was clear. Vane had triumphed through disaster; his peril and ruin had swept his offences away. The girl, who had condemned him in his prosperity, would not turn away from him in misfortune. In the meanwhile, the others sat silent, gazing at the bearer of evil news, until he spoke again.

“I want a tug to take me back at once, if she can be got,” he said. “I’ll pick up a few men along the water-front.”

Nairn rose and went out of the room. The tinkle of a telephone bell reached those who remained, and he came back a minute or two later.

“I’ve sent Whitney round,” he announced. “He’ll come across if there’s a boat to be had, and now ye look as if ye needed lunch.”

“It’s several weeks since I had one,” said Carroll with a smile.

The meal was brought in, but for a while he talked as well as ate; relating his adventures in somewhat disjointed fragments, while the rest sat listening. He was also pleased to notice something which suggested returning confidence in him in Evelyn’s intent eyes as the tale proceeded. When at last he had made the matter clear, he added: “If I keep you waiting, you’ll excuse me.”

His hostess watched his subsequent efforts with candid approval, and, looking up once or twice, he saw sympathy in the girl’s face, instead of the astonishment or disgust he had half expected. When he had finished, his hostess rose and Carroll stood up, but Nairn signed to him to resume his place.

“I’m thinking ye had better sit still a while and smoke,” he said.

Carroll was glad to do so, and he and Nairn conferred together, until the latter was called to the telephone.

“Ye can have the Brodick boat at noon to-morrow,” he said on his return.

“That won’t do,” Carroll objected heavily. “Send Whitney round again; I must sail to-night.”

He had some difficulty in getting out the words, and when he rose his eyes were half closed. Walking unsteadily, he crossed the room and sank into a big lounge.

“I think,” he resumed, “if you don’t mind, I’ll go to sleep.”

Nairn merely nodded, and when, after sitting silent a minute or two, he went softly out, the worn-out man was already wrapped in profound slumber. As it happened, Nairn received another call by telephone and left in haste for his office, without speaking to his wife; with the result that the latter and Evelyn, returning to the room by and by in search of Carroll, found him lying still. The elder lady raised her hand in warning as she bent over the sleeper, and then, taking up a light rug, spread it gently over him, Evelyn, too, was stirred to sudden pity, for the man’s attitude was eloquent of exhaustion.

They withdrew gently and had reached the corridor when Mrs. Nairn turned to the girl.

“When he first came in, ye blamed that man for deserting his partner,” she said.

Evelyn confessed it, and her hostess smiled meaningly. “Are ye no rather ready to blame?”

“I’m afraid I am,” said Evelyn, with the colour creeping into her face, as she remembered an instance in which she had condemned another person hastily.

“In this case,” said her companion, “ye were very foolish. The man came down for help, and if he could not get it, he would go back his lone; if all the way was barred with ice and he must walk on his naked feet. Love of woman’s strong and the fear of death is keen, but ye will find now and then a faith between man and man that neither would sever.” She paused and looked at the girl fixedly as she asked: “What of him that could inspire it?”

Evelyn did not answer. She had never seen her hostess in this mood, and she was also stirred; but the elder lady went on again: “The virtue of a gift lies in part, but no altogether, with the giver. Whiles, it may be bestowed unworthily, but I’m thinking it’s no often. The bond that will drag Carroll back to the North again, to his death if it is needful, has no been spun from nothing.”

Evelyn had no doubt that Mrs. Nairn was right. Loyalty, most often, demanded a worthy object to tender service to; it sprang from implicit confidence, mutual respect, and strong appreciation. It was not without a reason Vane had inspired it in his comrade’s breast; and this was the man she had condemned. The latter fact, however, was by comparison a very minor trouble. Vane was lying, helpless and alone, in the snowy wilderness, in peril of his life, and she knew that she loved him. She realised now, when it might be too late, that had he in reality been stained with dishonour, she could have forgiven him. Indeed, it had only been by a painful effort she had maintained some show of composure since Carroll had brought the disastrous news and she felt she could not keep it up much longer.

What she said to Mrs. Nairn she could not remember, but escaping from her, she retired to her own room, to lie still and grapple with an agony of fear and contrition.

It was two hours later when she went down and found Carroll, who still looked drowsy, about to go out. His hostess had left him for a moment in the hall, and meeting the girl’s eyes, he smiled at her reassuringly.

“Don’t be anxious; I’ll bring him back,” he said.

Then Mrs. Nairn appeared, and in a few moments Carroll went out without another word to Evelyn. She did not ask herself why he had taken it for granted that she would be anxious; she was beyond any petty regard for appearances. It was consoling to remember that he was Vane’s tried comrade; one of the men who kept their word.

CHAPTER XXIX – JESSIE’S CONTRITION

After leaving Mrs. Nairn, Carroll walked towards Horsfield’s residence in a thoughtful mood, because he felt it incumbent upon him to play a part he was not particularly fitted for in a somewhat delicate matter. Uncongenial as his task was, it was one which could not be left to Vane, who was even less to be trusted with the handling of such affairs; and Carroll had resolved, as he would have described it, to straighten out things.

His partner had somehow offended Evelyn, and though she was now disposed to forgive him, the recollection of his suppositious iniquity might afterwards rankle in her mind. Though Vane was innocent of any conduct she could with reason take exception to, it was first of all needful to ascertain the exact nature of the charge against him. Carroll, who had for several reasons preferred not to press this question upon Evelyn, had a strong suspicion that Jessie Horsfield was at the bottom of the trouble. There was also a clue to follow – Vane had paid the rent of Celia Hartley’s shack; and he wondered if Jessie could by any means have heard of it. If she had done so the matter would be simplified, because he had a profound distrust of her. A recent action of hers was, he thought, sufficient to justify this attitude.

He found her at home, reclining gracefully in an easy-chair in her drawing-room, and though she did not seem astonished to see him, he fancied her expression hinted at suppressed concern.

“I heard you had arrived alone, and I intended to come over and make inquiries as soon as I thought Mrs. Nairn would be at liberty,” she informed him.

Carroll had found the direct attack effective in Evelyn’s case, and he determined to try it again. “Then,” he began, “it says a good deal for your courage.” He had never doubted that she possessed the latter quality, and she displayed it now.

“So,” she said calmly, “you have come as an enemy.”

“Not exactly; it didn’t seem worth while. Though there’s no doubt you betrayed us – Vane waited for the warning you could have sent – so far as it concerns our ruined interests in the Clermont, the thing’s done and can’t be mended. We’ll let that question go. The most important point is that if you had recalled us, as you promised, Vane would now be safe and sound.”

This shot told. The girl’s face became less imperturbable; there was eagerness and a suggestion of fear in it. “Then has any accident happened to him?” she asked sharply.

“He’s lying in the bush, helpless, in imminent peril of starvation.”

“Go on,” said the girl, with signs of strain clearly perceptible in her voice.

Carroll was brief, but he made her understand the position, after which she turned upon him imperiously. “Then why are you wasting your time here?”

“It’s a reasonable question. I can’t get a tug to take me back until noon to-morrow.”

“Ah!” said Jessie, and added: “You will excuse me for a minute.”

She left him astonished. He had not expected her to take him at a disadvantage, as she had done with her previous thrust, and now he did not think she had slipped away to hide her feelings. That did not seem necessary in Jessie’s case, though he believed she was more or less disturbed. She came back presently, looking calm, and sat down again.

“My brother will be here in a quarter of an hour,” she informed him. “Things are rather slack, and he had half promised to take me for a drive; I have called him up through the telephone.”

Carroll did not see how this bore upon the subject of their conversation, but he left her to take the lead.

“Did Vane tell you I had promised to warn him?” she asked.

“To do him justice, he let it out before he quite realised what he was saying. I’d better own that I partly surprised him into giving me the information.”

“The expedient seems a favourite one with you,” said Jessie. “I suppose no news of what has happened here can have reached him?”

“None. If it’s any consolation, he has still an unshaken confidence in you.” Carroll assured her with blunt bitterness.

The girl showed faint signs of confusion, but she sat silent for the next few moments, and during them it flashed upon her companion with illuminating light that he had heard Celia Hartley say Miss Horsfield had found her orders for millinery. This confirmed his previous suspicion that Jessie had discovered who had paid the rent of Celia’s shack, and that she had with deliberate malice informed Evelyn, distorting her account so that it would tell against Vane. There were breaks in the chain of reasoning which led him to this conclusion, but he did not think Jessie would shrink from such a course, and he determined to try a chance shot.

“Vane’s inclined to be trustful and his rash generosity has once or twice got him into trouble,” he remarked, and went on as if an explanation were needed: “It’s Miss Hartley’s case I’m thinking about just now. I’ve an idea he asked you to look after her. Am I right?”

As soon as he had spoken he knew he had hit the mark. Jessie did not openly betray herself, but there are not many people who can remain absolutely unmoved when unexpectedly asked a startling question. Besides, the man was observant, and had strung up all his faculties for the encounter. He saw one of her hands tighten on the arm of her chair and a hint of uneasiness in her eyes, and it sufficed him.

“Yes,” she said; “I recommended her to some of my friends. I understand she is getting along satisfactorily.”

Carroll felt compelled to admire her manner. He believed she loved his comrade and had nevertheless tried to ruin him in a fit of jealous rage. She was now keenly regretting her success, but though he thought she deserved to suffer, she was bravely facing the trying situation. It was one that was rife with dramatic possibilities, and he was grateful to her for avoiding them.

“You are going back to-morrow,” she said after a brief silence. “I suppose you will have to tell your partner what you have discovered here as soon as you reach him?”

Carroll had not intended to spare her, but now he felt almost compassionate, and he had one grain of comfort to offer. “I must tell him that his shares in the Clermont have been sacrificed. I wonder if that is all you meant?”

Jessie met his inquiring gaze with something very like an appeal; and then spread out her hands in a manner to indicate that she threw herself upon his mercy.

“It is not all I meant,” she confessed.

“Then, if it’s any relief to you, I’ll confine myself to telling him that he has been deprived of his most valuable property. I dare say the news will hit him hard enough; but though he may afterwards discover other facts for himself, on the whole I shouldn’t consider it likely. As I said, he’s confiding and slow to suspect.”

He read genuine gratitude, which he had hardly expected, in the girl’s face; but he raised his hand and went on in the rather formal manner which he felt was the only safe one to assume. “I had, however, better mention that I am going to call upon Miss Hartley. After that I shall be uncommonly thankful to start back for the bush.” He paused, and concluded with a sudden trace of humour: “I’ll own that I feel more at home with the work that waits me there.”

Jessie made a little gesture which, while it might have meant anything, was somehow very expressive, and just then there were footsteps outside. Next moment Horsfield walked into the room.

“So you’re back,” he said.

“Yes,” said Carroll shortly. “Beaten at both ends – there’s no use in hiding it.”

Horsfield showed no sign of satisfaction, and Carroll afterwards admitted that the man behaved very considerately.

“Well,” he said, “though you may be surprised to hear it, I’m sorry. Unfortunately, our interests clashed, and I naturally looked after mine. Once upon a time, I thought I could have worked hand in hand with Vane; but our ideas did not coincide, and your partner is not the man to yield a point or listen to advice.”

Carroll was aware that Horsfield had by means which were far from honourable deprived him of a considerable portion of his possessions. He had also betrayed his fellow shareholders in the Clermont mine, selling their interests, doubtless for some benefit to himself, to another company. For all that, Carroll recognised that since he and Vane were beaten, as he had confessed, recriminations and reproaches would be useless as well as undignified. He preferred to face defeat calmly.

“It’s the fortune of war,” he replied. “What you say about Vane is correct; but although it is not a matter of much importance now, it was impossible from the beginning that your views and his ever should agree.”

“Too great a difference of temperament? I dare say you’re right. Vane measures things by a different standard – mine’s perhaps more adapted to the market-place. But where have you left him?”

“In the bush. Miss Horsfield will, no doubt, give you particulars; I’ve just told her the tale.”

“She called me up at the office and asked me to come across at once. Will you excuse us for a few minutes?”

They went out together, and Jessie, who came back alone, sat down and looked at Carroll in a diffident manner.

“I suppose,” she said, “one could hardly expect you to think of either of us very leniently; but I must ask you to believe that I am sincerely distressed to hear of your partner’s accident. This was a thing I could never have anticipated; but there are amends I can make. Every minute you can save is precious, isn’t it?”

Carroll agreed, and she resumed: “Then I can get you a tug. My brother tells me the Atlin’s coming across from Victoria and should be here early this evening. He has gone back to the office to secure her for you, though she was fixed to go off for a log boom.”

“Thank you,” said Carroll. “It’s a great service.”

Jessie hesitated. “I think my brother would like to say a few words when he returns. Can I offer you some tea?”

“I think not,” said Carroll, smiling. “For one thing, if I sit still much longer, I shall, no doubt, go to sleep again, as I did at Nairn’s, which would be neither seemly nor convenient, if I’m to sail this evening. Besides, now we’ve arranged an armistice, it might be wiser not to put too much strain on it!”

“An armistice?”

“I think that describes it.” Carroll’s manner grew significant. “The word implies a cessation of hostilities – on certain terms.”

Jessie could take a hint, and his meaning was clear. Unless she forced him to do so, he would not betray her to his comrade, who might never discover the part she had played; but he had given her a warning, which might be bluntly rendered as, “Hands off.” There was only one course open to her – to respect it. She had brought down the man she loved, but it was clear that he was not for her, and now the unreasoning fury which had driven her to strike had passed, she was troubled with contrition. There was nothing left except to retire from the field, and it was better to do so gracefully. For all that, there were signs of strain in her expression as she capitulated.

“Well,” she said, “I have given you a proof that you have nothing to fear from me. My brother is the only man in Vancouver who could have got you that tug for this evening; I understand the saw-mill people are very much in need of the logs she was engaged to tow.”

She held out her hand and Carroll took it, though he had not expected to part from her on friendly terms.

“I owe you a deal for that,” he said and turned away.

His task, however, was only half complete when he left the house, and the remaining portion was the more difficult, but he meant to finish it. He preferred to take life lightly; he had trifled with it before disaster had driven him out into the wilds; but there was resolution in the man, and he could force himself to play an unpleasant part when it was needful. Fortune also favoured him, as she often does those who follow the boldest course.

He had entered Hastings Street when he met Kitty and Celia. The latter looked thin and somewhat pale, but she was moving briskly, and her face was eager when she shook hands with him.

“We have been anxious about you – there was no news,” she said. “Is Mr. Vane with you? How have you got on?”

“We found the spruce,” said Carroll. “It’s not worth milling – a forest fire has wiped most of it out – but we struck some shingling cedar we may make something of.”

“But where’s Mr. Vane?”

“In the bush; I’ve a good deal to tell you about him, but we can’t talk here. I wonder if we could find a quiet place in a restaurant, or if the park would be better.”

“The park,” said Kitty decidedly.

They reached it in due time and Carroll, who had refused to say anything about Vane on the way, found the girls a seat in a grove of giant firs and sat down opposite to them. Though it was winter, the day, as is often the case near Vancouver, was pleasantly mild.

“Now,” he began, “my partner is a singularly unfortunate person. In the first place, the transfer of the Clermont property, which you have no doubt heard of, means a serious loss to him, though he is not ruined yet. He talks of putting up a shingling mill, in which Drayton will be of service, and if things turn out satisfactory you will be given an interest in it.”

He added the last sentence as an experiment, and was satisfied with the result.

“Never mind our interests,” cried Kitty. “What about Mr. Vane?”

For the third time since his arrival, Carroll made the strongest appeal he could to womanly pity, drawing with a purpose a vivid picture of his comrade’s peril and suffering. Nor was he disappointed, for he saw consternation, compassion, and sympathy in the girls’ faces. So far, the thing had been easy, but now he hesitated, and it was with difficulty he nerved himself for what must follow.

“He has been beaten out of his stock in the mine; he’s broken down in health and in danger; but, by comparison, that doesn’t count for very much with him,” he continued. “He has another trouble, and though I’m afraid I’m giving things away in mentioning it, if it could be got over, it would help him to face the future and set him on his feet again.”

Then he briefly recounted the story of Vane’s regard for Evelyn, making the most of his sacrifice in withdrawing from the field, and again he realised that he had acted wisely. A love affair appealed to his listeners, and there was a romance in this one that heightened the effect of it.

“But Miss Chisholm can’t mean to turn from him now,” said Celia.

Carroll looked at her meaningly. “No; she turned from him before he sailed. She heard something about him.”

His companions appeared astonished. “But she couldn’t have heard anything that anybody could mind,” Kitty exclaimed indignantly. “He’s not that kind of man.”

“It’s a compliment,” said Carroll. “I think he deserves it. At the same time, he’s a little rash, and now and then a man’s generosity is open to misconception. In this case, I don’t think one could altogether blame Miss Chisholm.”

Kitty glanced at him sharply and then at Celia, who at first looked puzzled and afterwards startled. Then the blood surged into Kitty’s cheeks. “Oh!” she said, as if she were breathless, “I was once afraid of something like this. You mean we’re the cause of it?”

The course he followed was hateful to Carroll, but the tangle could not be straightened without somebody’s feelings being hurt, and it was his comrade he was most concerned about.

“Yes,” he said quietly; “I believe you understand the situation.”

He saw the fire in Kitty’s eyes and that Celia’s face was also flushed, but he did not think their anger was directed against him. They knew the world they lived in, and, for that matter, he could share their indignation. He resented the fact that a little thing should bring such swift suspicion upon them. He was, however, not required to face any disconcerting climax.

“Well,” said Celia, “why did you tell us this?”

“I think you both owe Vane something, and you can do him a great favour now,” Carroll informed her.

Kitty looked up at him. “Don’t ask me too much, Mr. Carroll. I’m Irish, and I feel like killing somebody.”

“It’s natural,” said Carroll, with a sympathetic smile. “I’ve now and then felt much the same thing; it’s probably unavoidable in a world like this. However, I think you ought to call upon Miss Chisholm, after I’ve gone, though you had better not mention that I sent you. You can say you came for news of Vane – and add anything you consider necessary.”

The girls looked at one another, and at length, though it obviously cost her a struggle, Kitty said to Celia firmly: “We will have to go.” Then she faced round towards Carroll. “If Miss Chisholm won’t believe us she’ll be sorry we came.”

Carroll made her a slight inclination. “She’ll deserve it, if she’s not convinced. But it might be better if you didn’t approach her in the mood you’re in just now.”

Kitty rose, signing to Celia, and he turned back with them towards the city, feeling a certain constraint in their company and yet conscious of a strong relief. It had grown dark when he returned to Nairn’s house.

“Where have ye been?” his host inquired. “I had a clerk seeking ye all round the city. I cannot get ye a boat before the morn.”

Carroll saw that Mrs. Nairn shared her husband’s desire to learn how he had been occupied. Evelyn was also in the room.

“There were one or two little matters that required attention, and I managed to arrange them satisfactorily,” he said. “Among other things, I’ve got a tug and I expect to sail in an hour or two. Miss Horsfield found me the vessel.”

He noticed Evelyn’s interest, and was rather pleased to see it. If she were disposed to be jealous of Jessie, it could do no harm. Nairn, however, frowned.

“I’m thinking it might have been better if ye had not troubled Jessie,” he commented.

“I’m sorry I can’t agree with you,” Carroll retorted. “The difference between this evening and noon to-morrow is a big consideration.”

“Weel,” said Nairn resignedly, “I canna deny that.”

Carroll changed the subject, but some time later Mrs. Nairn sat down near him in the temporary absence of her husband and Evelyn.

“We will no be disturbed for two or three minutes,” she said. “Ye answered Alec like a Scotsman before supper and put him off the track, though that’s no so easy done.”

“You’re too complimentary,” he declared. “The genuine Caledonian caution can’t be acquired by outsiders. It’s a gift.”

“I’ll no practise it now,” said the lady. “Ye’er no so proud of yourself for nothing. What have ye been after?”

Carroll crossed his finger tips and looked at her over them. “Since you ask the question, I may say this: If Miss Chisholm has two lady visitors during the next few days, you might make sure she sees them.”

“What are their names?”

“Miss Hartley, the daughter of the prospector who sent Vane off to look for the timber; Miss Blake who, as you have probably heard, once came down the west coast with him, in company with an elderly lady and myself.”

Mrs. Nairn started; then she looked thoughtful, and finally broke into a smile of open appreciation.

“Now,” she said, “I understand. I did not think it of ye. Ye’re no far from a genius.”

“Thanks,” said Carroll modestly. “I believe I succeeded better than I could have expected, and perhaps than I deserved.”

Then they were interrupted, for Nairn walked hastily into the room.

“There’s one of the Atlin’s deck hands below,” he announced. “He’s come on here from Horsfield’s to say the boat’s ready with a full head of steam up, and the packers ye hired are waiting on the wharf.”

Carroll rose and became in a moment intent and eager. “Tell him I’ll be down almost as soon as he is,” he said. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

Two minutes later, he left the house, and fervent good wishes followed him from the party on the stoop. He did not stop to acknowledge them, but shortly afterwards the blast of a whistle came ringing across the roofs from beside the water-front.