Bindloss Harold
The Protector

CHAPTER XVII – VANE POSTPONES THE SEARCH

When Vane rose early next morning, there was frost in the air, and when breakfast was ready the men ate hastily, eager for the exertion that would put a little warmth into them.

“We had it a good deal colder on other trips; I suppose I’ve been getting luxurious, since I seem to resent it now,” said Vane. “There’s no doubt that winter’s beginning earlier than I expected up here; As soon as you can strike the tent, we’ll move on.”

The valley grew wilder and more rugged as they proceeded. In places, its bottom was filled with muskegs, cumbered with half-submerged, decaying trunks of fallen trees; and when they could not spring from one falling log to another they sank in slime and water to the knee. They entered transverse valleys, and after hours of exhausting labour, abandoned the search of each in turn and plodded back to the one they had been following. Their boots and clothing suffered; their packs were rent upon their backs, and, since men engaged in such work must be generously fed, their provisions diminished rapidly.

At length, one lowering afternoon, they were brought to a standstill by the river, which forked into two branches, one of which came foaming out on a cleft in the rocks. This would have mattered less had it flowed across the level; but just there it had scored itself out a deep hollow, from which the roar of its turmoil rose in long reverberations. Carroll, who was aching all over, stood upon the brink, and first of all gazed ahead. He surmised from the steady ascent and the contours of the hills that the valley was dying out, and that they should reach the head of it in another day’s journey. The higher summits, however, were veiled in leaden mist, and there was a sting in the cold breeze that blew down the hollow and set the ragged firs wailing. Then he glanced dubiously at the dim, green water, which swirled in deep eddies and boiled in white confusion among the fangs of rock sixty or seventy feet below. Not far away the stream was wider and he supposed in consequence shallower, though it ran furiously.

“It doesn’t look encouraging, and we have no more food left than will take us back to the sloop if we’re economical,” he said. “Do you think it’s worth while going on?”

“I haven’t a doubt about it,” Vane declared. “We ought to reach the head of the valley and get back here in two or three days.”

“Three days will make a big hole in the provisions.”

“Then we’ll have to put up with short rations,” Vane rejoined.

“If you’re determined, we may as well get on.”

He stepped cautiously over the edge of the descent, and went down a few yards with a run, while loosened soil and stones slipped away under him. Then he clutched a slender tree, and proceeded as far as the next on his hands and knees. After that, it was necessary to swing himself over a ledge, and he was on the whole astonished when he alighted safely on one below, from which he could scramble down to the narrow strip of gravel between rock and water. He was standing, breathless, looking at the latter, when Vane joined him. The stones dipped sharply, and two or three large boulders, ringed about with froth, rose near the middle of the stream, which seemed to be running slacker on the other side of them.

There was nothing to show how deep it was, but Carroll braced himself for an effort and sturdily plunged in.

Two steps took him up to the waist, and he had trouble in finding solid bottom at the next, because the gravel rolled and slipped away beneath his feet in the strong stream. The current also dragged hard at his limbs, and he set his lips tight when it crept up to his ribs. Then he lost his footing, and was washed away, plunging and floundering, with now and then one toe resting momentarily upon the bottom, until he was hurled against the first of the boulders with a crash that almost drove the little remaining breath out of his body. He clung to it desperately, gasping hard; and then with a determined struggle contrived to reach the second stone, against which the stream pressed him, without finding any support for his feet. A moment or two later, Vane was washed down towards him, and grabbing at the boulder held on by it. They said nothing to each other, but they looked at the sliding water between them and the opposite bank. Carroll was getting horribly cold, and felt the power ebbing out of him; he thought if he must swim across he had better do so at once.

Launching himself forward, he felt the flood lap his breast, but as his arms went in he struck something violently with one leg and found that he could stand up on a submerged ledge. This carried him a yard or two, and though he stepped over the end of the ledge into deeper water, he reached a strip of shelving shingle, up which he staggered. Vane overtook him, and they scrambled up the slope ahead, which was a little less steep than the one they had descended. The work warmed them slightly, and they needed it, but as they strode on again, keeping to the foot of the hillside where the timber was less dense, a cold rain drove into their faces. It grew steadily thicker; the straps began to gall their wet shoulders, and their saturated clothing clung heavily about their limbs. In spite of this, they went on until nightfall, when it was difficult to make a fire, and after a reduced supper found a little humid warmth in their wet blankets.

The next day’s work was much the same, only that they crossed no rivers and it rained harder; and, when evening came, Carroll, who had burst one boot, was limping badly. They made camp among the dripping firs which partly sheltered them from the bitter wind, and shortly after supper both fell asleep.

At evening next day they reached the head of the valley. It was still raining and heavy mists obscured the summits of the hills, but above the lower slopes of rocks glimmering snow ran up into the vapour. There were a few balsams and hemlocks about them, but no sign of a spruce.

“Now,” said Carroll, “I expect you’ll be satisfied.”

Vane was no nearer to owning himself defeated than he had been when they first set out. “We know there’s no spruce in this valley; and that’s something,” he replied. “When we come back again we’ll try the next one.”

“It has cost us a good deal to make sure of the fact.”

Vane’s expression changed. “We haven’t ascertained the cost just yet. As a rule, you don’t make up the bill until you’re through with the undertaking; and it may be a longer one than either of us think. Now we’ll turn upon our tracks.”

Carroll recalled his speech afterwards, but just then he only hitched his burden a little higher on his aching shoulders as he plodded after his comrade down the rain-swept hollow, and he had good cause to remember the march to the inlet. It rained most of the way, and their clothes were never dry; parts of them, indeed, flowed in tatters about their aching limbs, and before they had covered half the distance their boots were dropping to pieces. What was more important, their provisions were rapidly running out, and they marched on a few handfuls of food, carefully apportioned twice daily. At last one night they lay down hungry, with empty bags, to sleep shelterless in the rain, for they had thrown their tent away; and Carroll had some difficulty in getting on his feet next morning.

“I believe I can hold out until sundown, though I’m far from sure of it,” he said. “You’ll have to leave me behind if we don’t strike the inlet then.”

“We’ll strike it in the afternoon,” Vane assured him.

They set out as soon as they had reslung their packs, and Carroll limped and stumbled. He managed, however, to keep pace with Vane, and some time after noon the latter cried out as a twinkling gleam among the trees caught his eye. Then the shuffling pace grew faster, and they were breathless when at last they stopped and dropped their burdens beside the boat. It was only at the third or fourth attempt they got her down to the water, and the veins were swollen high on Vane’s flushed forehead when at last he sat down, panting heavily, on her gunwale.

“We ran her up quite easily, though we had the slope to face then,” he remarked.

“You could scarcely expect to carry boats about without trouble, after a march like the one we’ve made,” Carroll pointed out.

They ran her in and pulled off to the sloop. When they sat down in the little saloon, in which there was a mirror, Vane grinned.

“I knew you looked a deadbeat, but I’d no idea I was quite so bad,” he said. “Anyhow, we’ll get the stove lighted and some dry things on. The next question is – what shall we have for supper?”

“That’s simple,” Carroll answered. “Everything that’s most tempting and the whole of it.”

Some little time later, they flung their boots and rent garments overboard and sat down to a feast. The plates were empty when they rose, and in another hour both of them were wrapped in heavy slumber.

CHAPTER XVIII – JESSIE CONFERS A FAVOUR

It was blowing fresh next morning from the south-east, which was right ahead, and Vane’s face was hard when he and Carroll got the boat on deck and set about tying down two reefs in the mainsail.

They got sail upon the sloop and drove her out into a confused head sea, through which she laboured with flooded decks, making very little to windward. When night came, a deluge killed the breeze, and next day she lay rolling wildly in a heavy calm, while light mist narrowed in the horizon and a persistent drizzle poured down upon the smoothly-heaving sea. Then they had light variable winds, and their provisions were once more running out when they drew abreast of a little coaling port. Carroll suggested running in and going on to Victoria by train, but they had hardly decided to do so when the fickle breeze died away, and the tide-stream bore them past to the south. They had no longer a stitch of dry clothing left, and they were again upon reduced rations.

Still bad fortune dogged them, for that night a fresh head wind sprang up and held steadily while they thrashed her south, swept by stinging spray. Their tempers grew shorter under the strain, and their bodies ached from the chill of their soddened garments and sitting hour by hour at the helm. At last the breeze fell, and shortly afterwards a trail of smoke and a half seen strip of hull emerged from the creeping haze astern of them.

“A lumber tug,” said Vane. “She seems to have a raft in tow, and it will probably be for Drayton’s people. If you’ll edge in towards her, I’ll send him word that we’re on the way.”

There was very little wind just then and presently the tug was close alongside, pitching her bows out of the slow swell, while a mass of timber, wonderfully chained together, surged along astern. A shapeless oil-skinned figure stood outside her pilot-house, balancing itself against the heave of the bridge, which slanted and straightened.

“Winstanley?” Vane shouted.

The figure waved an arm, as if in assent, and Vane raised his voice again. “Report us to Mr. Drayton. We’ll come along as fast as we can.”

The man turned and pointed to the misty horizon, astern. “You’ll get it from the north before to-morrow.”

Then the straining tug and long wet line of working raft drew ahead, while the sloop crawled on, close-hauled, towards the south. Late that night, however, the mists melted away, and a keen rushing breeze that came out of the north crisped the water. She sprang forward when the ripples reached her; the flapping canvas went to sleep, and while each slack rope tightened a musical tinkle broke out at the bows. It grew steadily louder, and when the sun swung up red above the eastern hills, she had piled the white froth to her channels and was driving forward merrily, with little sparkling seas tumbling, foam-tipped, after her. The wind fell light as the sun rose higher, but she ran on all day, and the western sky was still blazing with a wondrous green when she stole into Vancouver harbour.

The light faded as they crept across the inlet before a faint breeze, but when they had got the anchor over and the boat into the water, Carroll made out two dim figures standing on the wharf and waved a hand to them.

“It’s Drayton, I think,” he said. “Kitty’s with him.”

They pulled ashore, and Drayton shook hands with them.

“I’ve been looking out for you since noon,” he said. “What about that spruce?”

There was eagerness in his voice, and Vane’s face clouded. “We couldn’t find a trace of it.”

Drayton’s disappointment was obvious, though he tried to hide it. “Well,” he said resignedly, “I’ve no doubt you did all you could.”

“Of course,” Kitty broke in. “We’re quite sure of that.”

Vane thanked her with a glance; he felt sorry for her and Drayton. They were strongly attached to each other, and he had reason for believing that even with the advanced salary the man expected to get they would find it needful to study strict economy.

“I’m going to make another attempt. I expect some of our difficulties will vanish after I’ve had a talk with Hartley,” he said.

Kitty looked grave. “That’s impossible,” she answered softly. “Hartley died a week ago.”

Vane started.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “How’s Celia?”

“She’s very sick.” There was concern in Kitty’s voice. “Hartley got worse soon after you left, and she sat up all night with him after her work for the last two weeks. Now she’s broken down, and she doesn’t seem to know if they’ll take her back again at the hotel.”

“I must go and see her,” said Vane. “But won’t you and Drayton come with us and have dinner?”

Drayton explained that this was out of the question – Kitty’s employer, who had driven in that afternoon, was waiting with his team; and the party left the wharf together. A few minutes later, Vane shook hands with the girl and her companion.

“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “We’re far from beaten yet.”

They separated, and after dinner Vane, who rejoiced in the unusual luxury of clean, dry clothes, walked across to call on Nairn. He was shown into a room where Jessie Horsfield was sitting, but she rose with a slight start when he came in. Vane, who had been preoccupied since he had heard Kitty’s news, did not notice it, and Jessie’s manner was reposeful and quietly friendly when she held out her hand.

“So you have come back?” she said. “Have you succeeded in your search?”

Vane was gratified. It was pleasant to feel that she was interested in his undertaking.

“No,” he confessed. “I’m afraid I have failed.”

“Then,” said Jessie, with reproach in her voice, “you have disappointed me.”

It was skilful flattery, since she had conveyed the impression that she had expected him to succeed, which implied that she held a high opinion of his abilities.

“After all, you must have had a good deal against you,” she resumed consolingly. “Won’t you sit down and tell me about it? Nairn, I understand, is writing some letters, and he sent for Mrs. Nairn just before you came in.”

She indicated a chair beside the open hearth and Vane sat down opposite her, where a low screen cut them off from the rest of the room. Vane, who was still stiff and aching from exposure to the cold and rain, revelled in the unusual sense of comfort. In addition to this, his companion’s pose was singularly graceful, and the ease of it and the friendly smile with which she regarded him somehow implied that they were on excellent terms.

“It’s very nice to be here again,” he said.

Jessie looked up at him languidly. He had spoken as he felt, on impulse, which was more gratifying than an obvious desire to pay her a compliment would have been.

“I suppose you wouldn’t get many comforts in the bush,” she suggested.

“No,” said Vane. “Comforts of any kind are remarkably scarce up yonder. As a matter of fact, I can’t imagine a country where the contrasts between the luxuries of civilisation and the other thing are sharper. But that wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I don’t know that it’s worth explaining,” Vane answered with an air of consideration. “We have rather luxurious quarters at the hotel, but this room is somehow different. It’s restful – I think it’s homely – in-fact, as I said, it’s nice to be here.”

Jessie understood that he had been attempting to analyse his feelings, and had failed clearly to recognise that her presence contributed to the satisfaction he was conscious of. She had no doubt that if he were a man of average susceptibility, the company of an attractive woman would have some effect on him after his sojourn in the wilds; but whether she had produced any deeper effect she could not determine. Nor did it appear judicious to prompt him unduly.

“But won’t you tell me your adventures?” she said.

It required a few leading questions to start him, but at length he told the story.

“You see,” he said in conclusion, “it was lack of definite knowledge as much as the natural obstacles that brought us back – and I’ve been troubled about the thing since we landed.”

Jessie’s manner invited his confidence. “I wonder,” she said softly, “if you would care to tell me why?”

“Hartley’s dead, and I understand his daughter has broken down after nursing him. It’s doubtful if her situation can be kept open, and it may be some time before she’s strong enough to look for another.” He hesitated. “In a way, I feel responsible for her.”

“You really aren’t responsible in the least,” Jessie declared. “Still, I can understand the idea troubling you. Would you like me to help you?”

“I can hardly ask it, but it would be a relief to me,” Vane answered with obvious eagerness.

“Then, if you’ll tell me her address, I’ll go to see her, and we’ll consider what can be done.”

Vane leaned forward impulsively. “You have taken a weight off my mind. It’s difficult to thank you properly.”

“I don’t suppose it will give me any trouble. Of course, it must be embarrassing to feel you had a helpless young woman on your hands.”

Then a thought flashed into her mind, as she remembered what she had seen at the station some months ago. “I wonder if the situation is an altogether unusual one to you,” she continued. “Have you never let your pity run away with your judgment before?”

“You wouldn’t expect me to proclaim my charities,” Vane objected humorously which was the only means of parrying the question that occurred to him.

“I think you are trying to put me off. You haven’t given me an answer.”

“I believe I was able to make things easier for somebody else not very long ago,” Vane confessed, reluctantly, but without embarrassment. “I now see that I might have done harm without meaning to do so. It’s sometimes extraordinarily difficult to help folks – which is why I’m so grateful for your offer.”

For the next few moments Jessie sat silent. It was clear that she had misjudged him, for although she was not one who demanded too much from human nature, the fact that Kitty Blake had arrived in Vancouver in his company had undoubtedly rankled in her mind. Now she acquitted him of any blame, and it was a relief to do so. She changed the subject abruptly.

“I suppose you will make another attempt to find timber?” she suggested.

“Yes,” said Vane. “In a week or two.”

He had hardly spoken when Mrs. Nairn came in and welcomed him with her usual friendliness.

“I’m glad to see ye, though ye’re looking thin,” she said. “Why did ye not come straight to us, instead of going to the hotel? Ye would have got as good a supper as they would give ye there.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” Vane declared. “On the other hand, I hardly think even one of your suppers would quite have put right the defect in my appearance you mentioned. You see, the cause of it has been at work for some time.”

Mrs. Nairn regarded him with half-amused compassion. “If ye’ll come ower every evening, we’ll soon cure that. I would have been down sooner if Alec, who’s writing letters, had not kept me. There was a matter or two he wanted to ask my opinion on.”

“I think that was very wise of him.”

His hostess smiled. “For one thing, we had a letter from Evelyn Chisholm this afternoon. She’ll be out to spend some time with us in about a month.”

“Evelyn’s coming here?” Vane exclaimed, with a sudden stirring of his heart.

“And why should she not come?” Mrs. Nairn inquired. “I told ye some time ago that we partly expected her. Ye were-na astonished then.”

She appeared to expect an explanation of the change in his attitude, and as he volunteered none she drew him a few paces aside.

“If I’m no betraying a confidence; Evelyn writes that she’ll be glad to get away a while. Now, I’ve been wondering why she should be anxious to leave home.”

She looked at him fixedly, and to his annoyance he felt his face grow hot. Mrs. Nairn had quick perceptions, and was now and then painfully direct.

“It struck me that Evelyn was not very comfortable there,” he replied. “She seemed out of harmony with her people.”

Mrs. Nairn glanced at him again with amusement in her eyes. “It’s no unlikely. The reason may serve – for the want of a better.” Then she changed her tone. “Ye’ll away up to Alec; he told me to send ye.”

Vane went out of the room, but he left Jessie in a thoughtful mood. She had seen him start at the mention of Evelyn, and it struck her as significant, since she had heard that he had spent some time with the Chisholms; On the other hand there was the obvious fact that he had been astonished to hear that Evelyn was coming out, which implied that their acquaintance had not progressed far enough to warrant the girl’s informing him. Besides, Evelyn would arrive for a month, and Jessie reflected that she would probably see a good deal of Vane in the meanwhile. She now felt glad that she had promised to look after Celia Hartley, which would, no doubt, necessitate her consulting with him every now and then.