Bindloss Harold
The Protector

CHAPTER XIII – A NEW PROJECT

Vane was sitting alone in the room set apart for the Clermont Company in Nairn’s office, when Drayton was shown in. He took the chair Vane pointed to and lighted a cigar the latter gave him.

“Now,” he began with some diffidence, “you cut me off short when I met you the other day, and one of my reasons for coming over was to get through with what I was saying then. It’s just this – I owe you a good deal for taking care of Kitty; she’s very grateful, and thinks no end of you, I want to say I’ll always feel you have a claim on me.”

Vane smiled at him. It was evident that Kitty had taken her lover into her confidence with regard to her trip on board the sloop, and, that she had done so said a good deal for her.

“It didn’t cost me any trouble,” Vane replied. “We were coming down to Vancouver, anyway.”

Drayton’s embarrassment became more obvious. “It cost you some dollars; there were the tickets. Now I feel I have to – ”

Vane stopped him. “When you are married to Miss Blake you can pay me back, if it will be a relief to you. When’s the wedding to be?”

“In a couple of months,” said Drayton, who saw it would be useless to protest. “I’m a clerk in the Winstanley mills, and, as one of the staff is going, I’ll get a move up then. We are to be married as soon as I do.”

He said a little more on the same subject, and then, after a few moments’ silence added: “I wonder if the Clermont business keeps your hands full, Mr. Vane.”

“It doesn’t. It’s a fact I’m beginning to regret.”

Drayton appeared to consider. “Well,” he said, “folks seem to regard you as a rising man with snap in him, and there’s a matter I might, perhaps, bring before you. Let me explain. I’ve taken an interest, outside my routine work in the lumber trade of this province and its subsidiary branches. I figured any knowledge I could pick up might stand me in some dollars some day. So far” – he smiled ruefully – “it hasn’t done so.”

“Go on,” said Vane, whose curiosity was aroused.

“Well, I think that pulping spruce – paper spruce – is likely to be scarce soon. The supply’s not unlimited and the world’s consumption is going up by jumps.”

“There’s a good deal of timber you could make pulp of in British Columbia alone,” Vane interposed.

“Sure. But there’s not a very great deal of spruce that could be milled into high-grade paper pulp; and it’s rapidly getting worked out in most other countries. Then, as a rule, it’s mixed up with the firs, cedars and cypresses; and that means the cutting of logging roads to each cluster of milling trees. There’s another point – a good deal of the spruce lies back from water or a railroad, and it would be costly to bring in milling plant or pack the pulp out.”

“That’s obvious,” said Vane: “for you might have to haul every pound of freight over a breakneck divide.”

Drayton leaned forward confidentially. “Then if one struck high-grade paper spruce – a valley full of it – with water power and easy access to the sea, there ought to be dollars in the thing?”

“Yes,” said Vane, with growing interest. “That is very probable.”

“I could put you on the track of such a valley,” Drayton replied.

“We had better understand each other. Do you want to sell me the information, and have you offered it to anyone else?”

His companion answered with the candour he had expected. “The one or two folks I’ve spoken to don’t seem anxious to consider it. It’s mighty hard for a small man to launch a project.”

“As a rule, it is.”

“Then,” Drayton continued, “the idea’s not my own. It was a mineral prospector – a relative of mine – who struck the valley on his last trip. He’s an old man, and he came down played out and sick. Now I guess he’s slowly dying.” He paused a moment. “Would you like to see him?”

“I’ll go with you now, if it’s convenient,” Vane replied.

They crossed the city to where a row of squalid frame shacks stood on its outskirts. In one which they entered, a gaunt man, with grizzled hair lay upon a rickety bed. A glance showed Vane that the man was very frail. Drayton, who explained the cause of his visit, motioned Vane to sit down, and the prospector fixed his eyes upon the latter.

“I’ve heard of you. You’re the man who located the Clermont – and put the project through,” he said. “You had the luck. I’ve been among the ranges half my life, and you can see how much I’ve made of it. When I struck a claim worth anything, somebody else got the money.”

Vane had reasons for believing that this was not an uncommon experience; but the man went on again: “Well, you look straight, and I’ve got to take some chances; it’s my last stake. We’ll get down to business; I’ll tell you about that spruce.”

He spoke for a few minutes, and then asked abruptly: “What are you going to offer?”

Vane had not been certain that he would make any offer at all; but, as had befallen him before, the swift decision flashed instinctively into his mind.

“If I find that the timber and its location come up to your account of it, I’ll pay you so many dollars down – whatever we can agree upon – when I get my lease from the land office,” he said. “Then I’ll make another equal payment the day we start the mill. But I don’t bind myself to record the timber or put up a mill, unless I’m convinced it’s worth while.”

“I’d sooner take less dollars and a small share in the concern; and Drayton must stand in.”

“It’s a question of terms,” Vane replied. “I’ll consider your views.”

They discussed it for a while, and when they had at length arrived at a provisional understanding, the prospector made a sign of acquiescence. “We’ll let it go at that; but the thing will take time, and I’ll never get the money. If you exercise your option, you’ll sure pay it down to Seely?”

“Celia’s his daughter,” Drayton explained. “He has no one else. She’s a waitress at the – House in the city.” He named an hotel of no great standing. “Comes home at nights and looks after him.”

Vane glanced round the room. It was evident that Celia’s earnings were small; but he noticed several things which suggested that she had lavished loving care upon the sick man, probably at the cost of severe self-denial.

“Yes,” he answered; “I’ll promise that. But, as I pointed out, while we have agreed upon the two payments, I reserve the right of deciding what share your daughter and Drayton are to take afterwards within the limits sketched out. I can’t fix it definitely until I’ve seen the timber – you’ll have to trust me.”

The prospector once more looked at him steadily, and then implied by a gesture that he was satisfied.

The man fumbled under his pillow, and produced a piece cut out from a map of the province, with rough pencil notes on the back of it.

“It was on my last prospecting trip I found the spruce,” he said. “I’d been looking round for the Company I was with, and I figured I’d strike the coast over the range. The creeks were full of snow-water, and as I was held up here and there before I could get across, provisions began to run short. By and by I fell sick; but I had to get out of the mountains, and I was pushing on for the Strait when I struck the place where the spruce is. After that, I got kind of muddled in the head, but I went down a long valley on an easy grade and struck some Siwash curing the last of the salmon. The trouble is, I was too sick to figure exactly where the small inlet they were camped by lies. They took me back with them to their rancherie – you could find that – and sailed me across to Comox by and by. I came down on a steamboat, and the doctor told me I’d made my last journey.”

Vane expressed his sympathy. The narrative has been crudely matter-of-fact, but he had been out on the prospecting trail often enough to fill in the details the sick man omitted.

“How far was the valley from the inlet?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you. I think I was four days on the trail, but it might have been more. I was too sick to remember. Anyway, there was a creek you could run the logs down.”

Vane nodded. “Well,” he said, “how far was the inlet from the rancherie?”

“I was in the canoe part of one night and some of the next day. Guess thirty miles wouldn’t be far out.”

“That’s something to go upon.”

Vane rose. “If Drayton will come along with me, I’ll send him back with a hundred dollars. It’s part of the first payment – but your getting it now should make things a little easier for Celia.”

“But you haven’t located the spruce yet.”

“I’m going to locate it, if the thing’s anyway possible.” Vane shook hands with the man. “I expect to get off up the Strait very shortly.”

The prospector looked at him with relief and gratitude in his eyes, “You’re white – and I guess you’d be mighty hard to beat.”

Vane touched Drayton’s arm, and when they reached the street, his companion glanced at him with open admiration.

“I’m glad I brought you across,” he broke out. “You have a way of getting hold of folks, making them believe in you. Hartley hasn’t a word in writing, but he knows you mean to act square with him. Kitty felt the same thing – it was why she came down in the sloop with you.”

Vane smiled, though there was a trace of embarrassment in his manner. “Now you mention it, you were equally confiding. We have only arrived at a rather indefinite understanding about your share yet.”

“We’ll leave it at that,” said the other. “I haven’t struck anybody else in this city who would hear about the thing. Anyway, I’d prefer a few shares in the concern, as mentioned, instead of money. If you get the thing on foot, I guess it will go.”

During the rest of the day Vane was busy on board the sloop, but in the evening he walked over to Horsfield’s house with Mrs. Nairn, and found Jessie and her brother at home. Horsfield presently took him to his smoking-room.

“About that smelter,” he said. “Haven’t you make your mind up yet?”

“Isn’t it a matter for the board?” Vane asked suggestively. “There are several directors.”

Horsfield laughed. “We’ll face the fact; they’ll do what you decide upon.”

Vane did not reply to this. “Well,” he said, “at present we couldn’t keep a smelter big enough to be economical going, and I’m doubtful if we would get much ore from the other properties you were talking to Nairn about.”

“Did he say it was my idea?”

“He didn’t: I’d reasons for assuming it. Those properties, however, are of no account.”

Horsfield waited expectantly, and Vane went on: “If it seems possible that we can profitably increase our output later by means of further capital, we’ll put up a smelter. But in that case it might be economical to do the work ourselves.”

“Who would superintend it?”

“I would, if necessary.”

Horsfield smiled in a significant manner. “Aren’t you inclined to take hold of too much? When you have plenty in your hands, it’s good policy to leave a little for somebody else. Sometimes the person who benefits is willing to reciprocate.”

The hint was plain, and Nairn had said sufficient on another occasion to make it clearer; but Vane did not respond.

“If we gave the work out, it would be an open tender,” he said. “There would be no reason why you shouldn’t make a bid.”

Horsfield found it difficult to conceal his disgust. He had no desire to bid on an open tender, which would prevent his obtaining anything beyond the market price.

“The question must stand over until I come back,” Vane resumed. “I’m going up the west coast shortly and may be away some little time.”

They left the smoking-room soon afterwards, and when they strolled back to the other, Vane sat down near Jessie.

“I hear you are going away,” she began.

“Yes,” said Vane; “I’m going to look for pulping timber.”

“But why do you want pulping timber?”

“It can sometimes be converted into dollars.”

“Isn’t there every prospect of your obtaining a good many already? Are you never satisfied?”

“I suppose I’m open to take as many as I can get,” Vane answered with an air of humorous consideration. “The reason probably is that I’ve had very few until lately. Still, I don’t think it’s altogether the dollars that are driving me.”

“If it’s the restlessness you once spoke of, you ought to put a check on it and try to be content. There’s danger in the longing to be always going on.”

“It’s a common idea that a small hazard gives a thing an interest.”

Jessie shot a swift glance at him, and she had, as he noticed, expressive eyes.

“Be careful!” she said. “After all, it’s wiser to keep within safe limits, and not climb over too many fences.” She hesitated, and her voice grew softer. “You have friends who would be sorry if you got hurt.”

The man was a little stirred; she was alluring physically, while something in her voice had its effect on him. Evelyn, however, still occupied his thoughts, and he smiled at his companion.

“Thank you,” he said. “I like to believe it.”

CHAPTER XIV – VANE SAILS NORTH

It was growing dusk on the evening of Vane’s departure when he walked out of Nairn’s room. His host was with him, and when they entered an adjacent room, where a lamp was burning, the older man’s face relaxed into a smile as he saw Jessie Horsfield talking to his wife. Vane stopped a few minutes to speak to them, and it was Jessie who gave the signal for the group to break up.

“I must go,” she said to Mrs. Nairn. “I’ve already stayed longer than I intended. I’ll let you have those patterns back in a day or two.”

“Mair patterns!” Nairn exclaimed with dry amusement. “It’s the second lot this week; ye’re surely industrious, Jessie. Women” – he addressed Vane – “have curious notions of economy. They will spend a month knitting a thing to give to somebody who does not want it, when they could buy it for half a dollar done better by machinery. I’m no saying, however, that it does not keep them out of mischief.”

Jessie laughed. “I don’t think many of us are industrious in that, way now. After all, isn’t it a pity that so many of the beautiful old handicrafts are dying out? No loom, for instance, could turn out some of the things your wife makes. They’re matchless.”

“She has an aumrie – ye can translate it trunk – full of them,” said Nairn. “It’s no longer customary to scatter them ower the house.”

Mrs. Nairn’s smile was half a sigh. “There were no books, and no mony amusements, when I was young,” she said to Jessie. “We sat through the long winter forenights, counting stitches, at Burnfoot, under the Scottish moors. That, my dear, was thirty years ago.”

She shook hands with Vane, who left the house with Jessie, and watched them cross the lawn.

“I’m thinking ye’ll no see so much of Jessie for the next few weeks,” Nairn, who had accompanied her to the door, remarked. “Has she shown ye any of yon knick-knacks when she finished them.”

His wife shook her head at him reproachfully. “Alec,” she said, “ye’re now and then hasty in jumping at conclusions.”

“Maybe,” replied Nairn. “I’m no infallible, but the fault ye mention is no common in the land where we were born. I’m no denying that Jessie has enterprise, but how far it will carry her in this case is mair than I can tell.”

He smiled as he recalled a scene at the station some time ago, and Mrs. Nairn looked up at him.

“What is amusing ye, Alec?” she asked.

“It was just a bit idea no worth the mentioning,” said Nairn. “I think it wouldna count.” He paused, and resumed with an air of reflection: “A young man’s heart is whiles inconstant and susceptible.”

Mrs. Nairn, who ignored the last remark, went into the house, and in the meanwhile Jessie and Vane walked down the road until they stopped at a gate, Jessie held out her hand.

“I’m glad I met you to-night,” she said. “You will allow me to wish you every success?”

“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s nice to feel one has the sympathy of one’s friends.”

He turned away, and Jessie stood watching him as he strode down the road. There was, she thought, something that set him apart from other men in his fine poise and swing. She was, however, forced to confess that, although he had answered her courteously, there had been no warmth in his words.

As it happened, Vane was just then conscious of a slight relief. He admired Jessie, and he liked Nairn and his wife; but they belonged to the city, which he was on the whole glad to leave behind. He was going back to the shadowy woods, where men lived naturally, and the lust of fresh adventure was strong in him.

On reaching the wharf he found Kitty and Celia Hartley, whom he had not met hitherto, awaiting him with Carroll and Drayton. A boat lay at the steps, and he and Carroll rowed the others off to the sloop. The moon was just rising from behind the black firs at the inlet’s inner end, and a little cold wind faintly scented with resinous fragrance, that blew down across them, stirred the water into tiny ripples that flashed into silvery radiance here and there.

A soft glow shone out from the skylights to welcome them as they approached the sloop, and when, laughing gaily, they clambered on board, Carroll led the way to the tiny saloon, which just held them all. It was brightly lighted by two nickelled lamps; flowers were fastened against the panelling, and clusters of them stood upon the table, which was covered with a spotless cloth. Vane took the head of it and Carroll modestly explained that only part of the supper had been prepared by him. The rest he had obtained in the city, out of regard for the guests, who, he added, had not lived in the bush.

Carroll started the general chatter, which went on after the meal was over, and nobody appeared to notice that Kitty sat with her hand in Drayton’s amidst the happy laughter. Even Celia, who had her grief to grapple with, smiled bravely. Vane had given them champagne, the best in the city, though they drank sparingly; and at last, when Celia made a move to rise, Drayton stood up with his glass in his hand.

“We must go, but there’s something to be done,” he said. “It’s to thank our host and wish him success. It’s a little boat he’s sailing in, but she’s carrying a big freight if our good wishes count for anything.”

They emptied the glasses, and Vane replied: “My success is yours. You have all a stake in the venture, and that piles up my responsibility. If the spruce is still in existence, I’ve got to find it.”

“And you’re going to find it,” said Drayton confidently.

Then Vane divided the flowers between Celia and her companion, but when they went up on deck Kitty raised one bunch and kissed it.

“Tom won’t mind,” she said. “Take that one back from Celia and me.”

They got down into the boat. Then, while the girls called back to Vane, Drayton rowed away, and the boat was fading out of sight when Kitty’s voice reached the men on board. She was singing a well-known Jacobite ballad.

“Considering what his Highland followers suffered on his account and what the women thought of him,” said Carroll, “some of the virtues they credited the Young Chevalier with must have been real,” He raised his hand. “You may as well listen.”

Vane stood still a moment with the blood hot in his face, and the refrain rang more clearly across the sparkling water:

“Better lo’ed ye cannot be,

Will ye no come back again?”

“I don’t know if you feel flattered, but I’ve an idea that Kitty and Celia would go into the fire for you, and Drayton seems to share their confidence,” Carroll resumed, in his most matter-of-fact tone.

Vane began to shake the mainsail loose. “I believe we both talked rather freely to-night; but we have to find the spruce.”

“So you have said already,” Carroll pointed out. “Hadn’t you better heave the boom up with the topping lift?”

They got the mainsail on to her, broke out the anchor and set the jib; and as the boat slipped away before a freshening breeze Vane sat at the helm, while Carroll stood on the foredeck, coiling up the gear. The moon was higher now; the broad sail gleamed a silvery grey; the ripples, which were getting bigger, flashed and sparkled as they streamed back from the bows, and the lights of the city dropped fast astern. Vane was conscious of a keen exhilaration. He had started on a new adventure; he was going back to the bush, and he knew that no matter how his life might change, the wilderness would always call to him. In spite of this, however, he was, as he had said, conscious of an unusual responsibility. Hitherto he had fought for what he could get for himself; but now Kitty’s future partly depended upon his efforts, and his success would be of vast importance to Celia.

He had a very friendly feeling towards both the girls. Indeed, all the women he had met of late had attracted him in different ways, but Evelyn stood apart from all.

She appealed less to his senses and intellect than she did to a sublimated something in the depths of his nature; and it somehow seemed fitting that her image should materialise before his mental vision as the sloop drove along under the cloudless night sky, while the moonlight poured down glamour on the shining water. Evelyn harmonised with such things as these.

It was true that she had repulsed him; but that, he remembered, once more with a sense of compunction, was what he deserved for entering into an alliance against her with her venial father. He was glad now that he had acquiesced in her dismissal of him, since to have stood firm and broken her to his will would have brought disaster upon both of them. He felt that she had not wholly escaped him, after all: by and by he would go back and seek her favour by different means. Then she might, perhaps, forgive him and listen.