Bindloss Harold
Thurston of Orchard Valley

CHAPTER XVII
THE INFATUATION OF ENGLISH JIM

It was perhaps hardly wise of Geoffrey Thurston to suddenly promote English Jim from the position of camp cook to that of amanuensis. Geoffrey, however, found himself hard pressed when it became necessary to divide his time between Vancouver and the scene of practical operations, and he remembered that the man he had promoted had been Helen's protégé. James Gillow was a fair draughtsman, also, and, if not remarkable otherwise for mental capacity, wielded a facile pen, and Geoffrey found it a relief to turn his rapidly-increasing correspondence over to him. It was for this reason Gillow accompanied him on a business trip to Victoria.

English Jim enjoyed the visit, the more so because he found one or two acquaintances who had achieved some degree of prosperity in that fair city. He was entertained so well that on the morning of Geoffrey's return he boarded the steamer contented with himself and the world in general. He was perfectly sober, so he afterwards decided, or on board a rolling vessel he could never have succeeded in working out quantities from rough sketches Thurston gave him. But he had breakfasted with his friends, just before sailing, and the valedictory potations had increased, instead of assuaging, his thirst.

The steamer was a fast one. The day was pleasant with the first warmth of Spring, and Geoffrey sat under the lee of a deckhouse languidly enjoying a cigar and looking out across the sparkling sea. Gillow, who came up now and then for a breath of air, envied him each time he returned to pore over papers that rose and fell perplexingly on one end of the saloon table. It was hard to get his scale exactly on the lines of the drawings; the sunrays that beat in through the skylights dazzled his eyes, and his sight did not become much keener after each visit to the bar. Nevertheless, few persons would have suspected English Jim of alcoholic indulgence as he jotted down weights and quantities in his pocket-book.

Meantime, Thurston began to find the view of the snow-clad Olympians grow monotonous. It is true that every pinnacle was silhouetted, a spire of unsullied whiteness, against softest azure. The peaks towered, a sight to entrance the vision – ethereally majestic above a cerulean sea – but Geoffrey had seen rather too much snow unpleasantly close at hand within the last few months. Therefore, he opened the newspaper beside him, and frowned to see certain rumors he had heard in Victoria embodied in an article on the Crown lands policy. Anyone with sufficient knowledge to read between the lines could identify the writer's instances of how gross injustice might be done the community with certain conditional grants made to Savine.

"That man has been well posted. He may have been influenced by a mistaken public spirit or quite possibly by a less praiseworthy motive; but if we have any more bad breakdowns I can foresee trouble," Geoffrey said to himself.

Then he turned his eyes towards the groups of passengers, and presently started at the sight of a lady carrying a camp chair, a book, and a bundle of wrappings along the heaving deck. It was Millicent Leslie, and there was no doubt that she had recognized him, for she had set down her burden and was waiting for his assistance. Geoffrey was at her side in a moment and presently ensconced her snugly under the lee of the deckhouse, where he waited, by no means wholly pleased at the meeting. He had spent most of the previous night with certain men interested in finance and provincial politics, and being new to the gentle art of wire-pulling had not quite recovered his serenity. He regretted the good cigar he had thrown away, and scarcely felt equal to sustaining the semi-sentimental trend of conversation Millicent had affected whenever he met her, but she was alone, and cut off all hope of escape by saying:

"You will not desert me. One never feels solitude so much as when left to one's own resources among a crowd of strangers."

"Certainly not, if you can put up with my company; but where is your husband?" Geoffrey responded. Millicent looked up at him with a chastened expression.

"Enjoying himself. Some gentlemen, whose good-will is worth gaining, asked him to go inland for a few days' fishing, and he said it was necessary he should accept the invitation. Accordingly, I am as usual left to my own company while I make a solitary journey down the Sound. It is hardly pleasant, but I suppose all men are much the same, and we poor women must not complain."

Millicent managed to convey a great deal more than she said, and her sigh suggested that she often suffered keenly from loneliness; but while Geoffrey felt sorry for her, he was occupied by another thought just then, and did not at first answer.

"What are you puzzling over, Geoffrey?" she asked, and the man smiled as he answered:

"I was wondering if the same errand which took your husband to Victoria, was the same that sent me there."

"I cannot say." Millicent's gesture betokened weariness. "I know nothing of my husband's business, and must do him the justice to say that he seldom troubles me about it. I have little taste for details of intricate financial scheming, but practical operations, like your task among the mountains, would appeal to me. It must be both romantic and inspiring to pit one's self against the rude forces of Nature; but one grows tired of the prosaic struggle which is fought by eating one's enemies' dinners and patiently bearing the slights of lukewarm allies' wives. However, since the fear of poverty is always before me, I try to play my part in it."

Helen Savine had erred strangely when she concluded that Geoffrey Thurston was without sympathy. Hard and painfully blunt as he could be, he was nevertheless compassionate towards women, though not always happy in expressing his feelings, and when Millicent folded her slender hands with a pathetic sigh, he was moved to sincere pity and indignation. He knew that some of the worthy Colonials' wives and daughters could be, on occasion, almost brutally frank, and that, in spite of his efforts, Leslie was not wholly popular.

"I can quite understand! It must be a trying life for you, but there are always chances for an enterprising man in this country, and you must hope that your husband will shortly raise you above the necessity of enduring uncongenial social relations."

"Please don't think I am complaining." Millicent read his sympathy in his eyes. "It was only because you looked so kind that I spoke so frankly. I fear that I have grown morbid and said too much. But one-sided confidence is hardly fair, and, to change the subject, tell me how fortune favors you."

"Where shall I begin?"

Millicent smiled, as most men would have fancied, bewitchingly.

"You need not be bashful. Tell me about your adventures in the mountains, with all the hairbreadth escapes, fantastic coloring, and romantic medley of incidents that must be crowded into the life of anyone engaged in such work as yours."

"I am afraid the romance wears thin, leaving only a monotonous, not to say sordid, reality, while details of cubic quantities would hardly interest you. Still, and remember you have brought it upon yourself, I will do my best."

Geoffrey reluctantly began an account of his experiences, speaking in an indifferent manner at first, but warming to his subject, until he spoke eloquently at length. He was not a vain man, but Millicent had set the right chord vibrating when she chose the topic of his new-world experiences. He stopped at last abruptly, with an uneasy laugh.

"There! I must have tired you, but you must blame yourself," he said.

"No!" Millicent assured him. "I have rarely heard anything more interesting. It must be a very hard battle, well worth winning, but you are fortunate in one respect – having only the rock and river to contend against instead of human enemies."

"I am afraid we have both," was the incautious answer, and Millicent looked out across the white-flecked waters as she commented indifferently, "But there can be nobody but simple cattle-raisers and forest-clearers in that region, and what could your enemies gain by following you there?"

"They might interfere with my plans or thwart them. One of them nearly did so!" and Geoffrey, hesitating, glanced down at his companion just a second too late to notice the look of suspiciously-eager interest in her face, for Millicent had put on the mask again. She was a clever actress, quick to press into her service smile or sigh, where words might have been injudicious, and with feminine curiosity and love of unearthing a secret, was bent on drawing out the whole story. It did not necessarily follow that she should impart the secret to her husband, she said to herself. Geoffrey was, for the moment, off his guard, and victory seemed certain for the woman.

"How did that happen?" she asked, outwardly with languid indifference, inwardly quivering with suspense, but, as luck would have it, the steamer, entering one of the tide races which sweep those narrow waters, rolled wildly just then, and Geoffrey held her chair fast while the book fell from her knee and went sliding down the slanted deck. Vexed and nervously anxious, Millicent bit one red lip while Thurston pursued the volume, and she could hardy conceal her chagrin when he returned with it.

"It flew open and a page or two got wet in the scuppers. Still, it will soon dry in the sun, and because I did my best, you will excuse me being a few seconds too slow to save it," Geoffrey apologized.

Millicent was willing to allow him to deceive himself as to the cause of her annoyance.

"It was a borrowed book, and I can hardly return it in this condition. It is really vexatious," she replied, wondering how to lead the conversation back to the place where it was interrupted. She might have succeeded, but fate seemed against her. A passenger, who knew them both, strolled by and nodded to Geoffrey.

"I have been looking for you, Thurston, and if Mrs. Leslie, accepting my excuses, can spare you for a few minutes, I have something important to tell you," said the man. "I wouldn't have disturbed you, but we'll be alongside Vancouver wharf very shortly."

Millicent could only bow in answer, and after an apologetic glance in her direction, Geoffrey followed the passenger.

"Mrs. Leslie's a handsome woman, though one would guess she had a temper of her own. Perhaps you didn't notice it, but she just looked daggers at you when you let that book get away," observed the companion, who smiled when Geoffrey answered:

"Presumably, you didn't take all this trouble to acquaint me with that fact?"

"No," admitted the man, with a whimsical gesture. "It was something much more interesting – about the agitation some folks are trying to whoop up against your partner."

Geoffrey found the information of so much interest that the steamer was sweeping through the pine-shrouded Narrows which forms the gateway of Vancouver's land-locked harbor when he returned to Millicent, with English Jim following discreetly behind him.

"I am sorry that, as we are half-an-hour late, I shall barely have time to keep an important business appointment," said Thurston. "However, as the Sound boat does not sail immediately, my assistant, Mr. Gillow, will be able to look after your baggage, and secure a good berth for you. You will get hold of the purser, and see Mrs. Leslie is made comfortable in every way before you follow me, Gillow. I shall not want you for an hour or two."

Millicent smiled on the assistant, who took his place beside her, as the steamer ran alongside the wharf, and his employer hurried away. English Jim was a young, good-looking man of some education, and, since his promotion from the cook-shed, had indulged himself in a former weakness for tasteful apparel. He had also, though Thurston did not notice it, absorbed just sufficient alcoholic stimulant to render him vivacious in speech without betraying the reason for it, and Millicent, who found him considerably more amusing than Geoffrey, wondered whether, since she had failed with the one, she might not succeed with the other. English Jim no more connected her with the servant of the corporation whose interests were opposed to Savine's than he remembered the brass baggage checks in his pocket. His gratified vanity blinded him to everything besides the pleasure of being seen in his stylish companion's company.

He found a sunny corner for her beside one of the big Sound steamer's paddle casings, from which she could look across the blue waters of the forest-girt inlet, brought up a chair and some English papers, and after Millicent had chatted with him graciously, was willing to satisfy her curiosity to the utmost when she said with a smile:

"You are a confidential assistant of Mr. Thurston's? He is an old friend of mine, and knowing his energy, I dare say he works you very hard."

"Hard is scarcely an adequate term, madam," answered English Jim. "Nothing can tire my respected chief, and unfortunately, he expects us all to equal him. He found me occupation – writing his letters – until 1 A.M. this morning; and, I believe, must have remained awake himself until it was almost light, making drawings which I have had the pleasure of poring over, all the way across. Don't you think, madam, that it is a mistake to work so hard, that one has never leisure for the serene contemplation which is one of the – one of the best things in life. Besides, people who do so, are also apt to deprive others of their opportunities."

"Perhaps so, though I hardly think Mr. Thurston would agree with you. For instance?" asked Millicent, finding his humor infectious, for English Jim could gather all the men in camp about him, when half in jest and half in earnest he began one of his discourses.

"These!" was the answer, and the speaker thrust his hand into his jacket pocket. "If Mr. Thurston had not been of such tireless nature, I might have found leisure to admire the beauty of this most entrancing coast scenery, instead of puzzling over weary figures in a particularly stuffy saloon."

He held up a large handful of papers as he spoke, glanced at them disdainfully, and, pointing vaguely across the inlet, continued, "Is not an hour's contemplation of such a prospect better than many days' labor?"

Millicent laughed outright, and, because, though English Jim's voice was even, and his accent crisp and clean, his fingers were not quite so steady as they might have been, one of the papers fluttered, unnoticed by either of them, to her feet.

"I feel tempted to agree with you," Millicent rejoined, wishing that she need not press on to the main point, for English Jim promised to afford the sort of entertainment which she enjoyed. "But a man of your frame of mind must find scanty opportunity for considering such questions among the mountains."

"That is so," was the rueful answer. "We commence our toil at daybreak, and too often continue until midnight. There are times when the monotony jars upon a sensitive mind, as the camp cooking does upon a sensitive palate. But our chief never expects more from us than he will do himself, and is generous in rewarding meritorious service."

"So I should suppose," commented Millicent. "Knowing this, you will all be very loyal to him?"

"Every one of us!" The loyalty of English Jim, who gracefully ignored the inference and fell into the trap, was evident enough. "Of course, we do not always approve of being tired to death, but where our chief considers it necessary, we are content to obey him. In fact, it would not make much difference if we were not," he added whimsically. "There was, however, one instance of a black sheep, or rather wolf of the contemptible coyote species in sheep's clothing, whom I played a minor part in catching. But, naturally, you will not care to hear about this?"

"I should, exceedingly. Did I not say that I am one of Mr. Thurston's oldest friends? I should very much like to hear about the disguised coyote. I presume you do not mean a real one, and are speaking figuratively?"

Gillow was flattered by the glance she cast upon him, and, remembering only that this gracious lady was one of his employer's friends, proceeded to gratify her by launching into a vivid description of what happened on the night when he dropped the prowler into the river. He had, however, sense enough to conclude with the capture of the man.

"But you have not told me the sequel," said Millicent. "Did you lynch the miscreant in accordance with the traditional customs of the West, or how did Mr. Thurston punish him? He is not a man who lightly forgives an injury."

"No," replied Gillow, rashly. "Against my advice, though my respected employer is difficult to reason with, he kept the rascal in camp, both feeding and paying him well."

"You surprise me. I should have expected a more dramatic finale." Millicent's tone might have deceived a much more clever man who did not know her husband's position. "Why did he do so?"

There were, however, limits to English Jim's communicativeness, and he answered: "Mr. Thurston did not explain his motives, and it is not always wise to ask him injudicious questions."

Millicent, having learned what she desired to know, rested content with this, and chatted on other subjects until the big bell clanged, and the whistle shrieked out its warning. Then the dismissed Gillow with her thanks, and the last she saw of him he was being held back by a policeman as he struggled to scale a lofty railing while the steamer slid clear of the wharf. He waved an arm in the air shouting frantically, and through the thud of paddles she caught the disjointed sentences, "Very sorry. Forgot baggage checks – all your boxes here. Leave first steamer – sending checks by mail!"

"It is impossible for us to turn back, madam," said the purser to whom Millicent appealed. "The baggage will, no doubt, follow the day after to-morrow."

"But that gentleman has my ticket, and doesn't know my address!" protested the unfortunate passenger, and the purser answered:

"I really cannot help it, but I will telegraph to any of your friends from the first way-port we call at, madam."

When the steamer had vanished behind the stately pines shrouding the Narrows, English Jim sat down upon a timber-head and swore a little at what he called his luck, before he uneasily recounted the folded papers in his wallet.

"A pretty mess I've made of it all, and there'll be no end of trouble if Thurston hears of this," he said aloud, so that a loafing porter heard and grinned. "I'll write a humble letter – but, confound it, I don't know where she's going to, and now here is one of those distressful tracings missing. It must have been that old sketch of Savine's, and Thurston will never want it, while nobody but a draughtsman could make head or tail of the thing. Anyway, I'll get some dinner before I decide what is best to be done."

While Gillow endeavored to enjoy his dinner, and, being an easy-going man, partially succeeded, Millicent, who had picked up a folded paper, leaned upon the steamer's rail with it open in her hand.

"This is Greek to me, but I suppose it is of value. I will keep it, and perhaps give it back to Geoffrey," she ruminated. "The game was amusing, but I feel horribly mean, and whether I shall tell Harry or not depends very much upon his behavior."

CHAPTER XVIII
THE BURSTING OF THE SLUICE

One morning of early summer, Geoffrey Thurston lay neither asleep, nor wholly awake, inside his double tent. The canvas was partly drawn open, and from his camp-cot he could see a streak of golden sunlight grow broader across the valley, while rising in fantastic columns the night mists rolled away. The smell of dew-damped cedars mingled with the faint aromatic odors of wood smoke. The clamor of frothing water vibrated through the sweet cool air, for the river was swollen by melted snow. Geoffrey lay still, breathing in the glorious freshness, drowsily content. All had gone smoothly with the works, at least, during the last month or two. Each time that she rode down to camp with her father from the mountain ranch, Helen had spoken to him with unusual kindness. Savine would, when well enough, spend an hour in Geoffrey's tent. While some of the contractor's suggestions were characterized by his former genius, most betrayed a serious weakening of his mental powers, and it was apparent that he grew rapidly frailer, physically.

On this particular morning Geoffrey found something very soothing in the river's song, and, yielding to temptation, he turned his head from the growing light to indulge in another half-hour's slumber. Suddenly, a discordant note, jarring through the deep-toned harmonies, struck his ears, which were quick to distinguish between the bass roar of the cañon and the higher-pitched calling of the rapid at its entrance. What had caused it he could not tell. He dressed with greatest haste and was striding down into the camp when Mattawa Tom and Gillow came running towards him.

"Sluice number six has busted, and the water's going in over Hudson's ranch," shouted Tom. "I've started all the men there's room for heaving dirt in, but the river's going through in spite of them."

Geoffrey asked no questions, but ran at full speed through the camp, shouting orders as he went, and presently stood breathless upon a tall bank of raw red earth. On one side the green-stained river went frothing past; on the other a muddy flood spouted through a breach, and already a shallow lake was spreading fast across the cleared land, licking up long rows of potato haulm and timothy grass. Men swarmed like bees about the sloping side of the bank, hurling down earth and shingle into the aperture, but a few moments' inspection convinced Geoffrey that more heroic measures were needed and that they labored in vain. Raising his hand, he called to the men to stop work and, when the clatter of shovels ceased, he quietly surveyed the few poor fields rancher Hudson had won from the swamp. His lips were pressed tight together, and his expression showed his deep concern.

"There's only one thing to be done. Open two more sluice gates, Tom," he commanded.

"You'll drown out the whole clearing," ventured the foreman, and Geoffrey nodded.

"Exactly! Can't you see the river will tear all this part of the dyke away unless we equalize the pressure on both sides of it? Go ahead at once and get it done."

The man from Mattawa wondered at the bold order, but his master demanded swift obedience and he proceeded to execute it, while Geoffrey stood fast watching two more huge sheets of froth leap out. He knew that very shortly rancher Hudson's low-level possessions would be buried under several feet of water.

"It's done, sir, and a blamed bad job it is!" said the foreman, returning; and Geoffrey asked: "How did it happen?"

"The sluice gate wasn't strong enough, river rose a foot yesterday, and she just busted. I was around bright and early and found her splitting. Got a line round the pieces – they're floating beneath you."

"Heave them up!" ordered Geoffrey.

He was obeyed, and for a few minutes glanced at the timber frame with a puzzled expression, then turning to Gillow, he said: "You know I condemned that mode of scarting, and the whole thing's too light. What carpenters made it?"

"It's one of Mr. Savine's gates, sir. I've got the drawing for it somewhere," was the answer, and Geoffrey frowned.

"Then you will keep that fact carefully to yourself," he replied. "It is particularly unfortunate. This is about the only gate I have not overhauled personally, but one cannot see to quite everything, and naturally the breakage takes place at that especial point."

"Very good, sir," remarked Gillow. "Things generally do happen in just that way. Here's rancher Hudson coming, and he looks tolerably angry."

The man who strode along the dyke was evidently infuriated, a fact which was hardly surprising, considering that he owned the flooded property. The workmen, who now leaned upon their shovels, waited for the meeting between him and their master in the expectation of amusement.

"What in the name of thunder do you mean by turning your infernal river loose on my ranch?" inquired the newcomer. Thurston rejoined:

"May I suggest that you try to master your temper and consider the case coolly before you ask any further questions."

"Consider it coolly!" shouted Hudson. "Coolly! when the blame water's washing out my good potatoes by the hundred bushel, and slooshing mud and shingle all over my hay. Great Columbus! I'll make things red hot for you."

"See here!" and there were signs that Thurston was losing his temper. "What we have done was most unfortunately necessary, but, while I regret it at least as much as you do, you will not be a loser financially. As soon as the river falls, we'll run off the water, measure up the flooded land, and pay you current price? for the crop at average acre yield. As you will thus sell it without gathering or hauling to market, it's a fair offer."

Most of the forest ranchers in that region would have closed with the offer forthwith, but there were reasons why the one in question, who was, moreover, an obstinate, cantankerous man, should seize the opportunity to harass Thurston.

"It's not half good enough for me," he said. "How'm I going to make sure you won't play the same trick again, while it's tolerably certain you can't keep on paying up for damage done forever. Then when you're cleaned out where'll I be? This scheme which you'll never put through's a menace to the whole valley, and – "

"You'll be rich, I hope, by that time, but if you'll confine yourself to your legitimate grievance or come along to my tent I'll talk to you," said Geoffrey. "If, on the other hand, you cast doubt upon my financial position or predict my failure before my men, I'll take decided measures to stop you. You have my word that you will be repaid every cent's worth of damage done, and that should be enough for any reasonable person."

"It's not – not enough for me by a long way," shouted the rancher. "I'll demand a Government inspection, I'll – I'll break you."

"Will you show Mr. Hudson the quickest and safest way off this embankment, Tom," requested Geoffrey, coolly, and there was laughter mingled with growls of approval from the men, as the irate rancher, hurling threats over his shoulder, was solemnly escorted along the dyke by the stalwart foreman. He turned before descending, and shook his fist at those who watched him.

"I think you can close the sluices," said Geoffrey, when the foreman returned. "Then set all hands filling in this hole. I want you, Gillow."

"We are going to have trouble," he predicted, when English Jim stood before him in his tent. "Hudson unfortunately is either connected with our enemies, or in their clutches, and he'll try to persuade his neighbors to join him in an appeal to the authorities. Send a messenger off at once with this telegram to Vancouver, but stay – first find me the drawing of the defective gate."

English Jim spent several minutes searching before he answered: "I'm sorry I can't quite lay my hands upon it. It may be in Vancouver, and I'll write a note to the folks down there."

He did so, and when he went out shook his head ruefully. "That confounded sketch must have been the one I lost on board the steamer," he decided with a qualm of misgiving. "However, there is no use meeting trouble half-way by telling Thurston so, until I'm sure beyond a doubt."

Some time had passed, and the greater portion of Hudson's ranch still lay under water when, in consequence of representations made by its owner and some of his friends, a Government official armed with full powers to investigate held an informal court of inquiry in the big store shed, at which most of the neighboring ranchers were present. Geoffrey and Thomas Savine, who brought a lawyer with him, awaited the proceedings with some impatience.

"I have nothing to do with any claim for damages. If necessary, the sufferers can appeal to the civil courts," announced the official. "My business is to ascertain whether, as alleged, the way these operations are conducted endangers the occupied, and unappropriated Crown lands in this vicinity. I am willing to hear your opinions, gentlemen, beginning with the complainants."

Rancher Hudson was the first to speak, and he said:

"No sensible man would need much convincing that it's mighty bad for growing crops to have a full-bore flood turned loose on them. What's the use of raising hay and potatoes for the river to wash away? And it's plain that what has just happened is going to happen again. Before Savine began these dykes the river spread itself all over the lower swamp; now the walls hold it up, and each time it makes a hole in them, our property's most turned into a lake. I'm neither farming for pleasure nor running a salmon hatchery."

There was a hum of approval from the speaker's supporters, whose possessions lay near the higher end of the valley, and dissenting growls from those whose boundaries lay below. After several of the ranchers from the lower valley had spoken the official said:

"I hardly think you have cited sufficient to convince an unprejudiced person that the works are a public danger. You have certainly proved that two holdings have been temporarily flooded, but the first speaker pointed out that this was because the river was prevented from spreading all over the lower end of the valley, as it formerly did. Now a portion of the district is already under cultivation, and even the area under crop exceeds that of the damaged plots by at least five acres to one."

There was applause from the men whose possessions had been converted into dry land, and Hudson rose, red-faced and indignant, to his feet again.

"Has Savine bought up the whole province, Government and all? That's what I'm wanting to know," he rejoined indignantly. "What is it we pay taxes to keep you fellows for? To look the other way when the rich man winks, and stand by seeing nothing while he ruins poor settlers' hard-won holdings? I'm a law-abiding man, I am, but I'm going to let nobody tramp on me."