A Damaged Reputation Part 14

He pointed to a forest-covered ridge above the mine, but Brooke, looking up with all his eyes, saw nothing but the serried ranks of climbing pines. As it happened, however, the girl, who stood amidst their shadows, saw him, and smiled. She had noticed Jimmy's pointing hand, and fancied she knew what his companion was looking for.

"Then you are certainly mistaken," he said. "There is nowhere she could be staying at within several leagues of the Canopus."

"There's the Englishman's old ranch house Devine bought. It's quite a good one."

Brooke started a little, and Jimmy, who was much quicker of wit than some folks believed, noticed it.

"She certainly couldn't be staying there. It's quite out of the question," he said, with an a.s.surance that was chiefly intended to convince himself.

"Well," said Jimmy, who appeared to ruminate, "I guess you know best.

Still, I can't think of any other place, unless she's living in a cave."

Brooke said nothing further, but signed to the men who were waiting, and proceeded to roll the shattered rock out of the course of his flume. He felt it was certain that Jimmy was mistaken, for the only other conclusion appeared preposterous, and he could not persuade himself to consider it. Still, he thought of the girl with the brown eyes often while he swung axe and hammer during the rest of the afternoon, and when he strolled up the hillside after the six o'clock supper he was thinking of her still. He climbed until the raw gap of the workings was lost among the pines, and then lay down.

The evening was still and cool, for the chill of the snow made itself felt once the sunlight faded from the valley. Now and then a sound came up faintly from the mine, but that was not often, and a great quietness reigned among the pines, which towered above him, two hundred feet to their topmost sprays, in serried ranks. They were old long before the white man first entered that wild mountain land, while, as he lay there in the scented dimness among their wide-girthed trunks, all that concerned the Canopus and its pounding stamp-heads slipped away from him. He was worn out in body, but his mind was clear and free, and, lying still, unlighted pipe in hand, he gave his fancy the rein, and, forgetting Devine and the flume, dreamed of what had once been his, and might, if he could make his purpose good, be his again.

The sordid details of the struggle he had embarked upon faded from his memory, for the cold silence of the mountains seemed to banish them. It gave him courage and tranquillity, and, for the time at least, nothing seemed unattainable, while through all his wandering fancies moved a vision of a girl in a long white dress, who looked down upon him fearlessly from a plunging pony's back. That was the recollection he cherished most, though he had also seen her with diamonds gleaming in her dusky hair in the Vancouver opera-house.

Then he started, and a little thrill ran through him as he wondered whether it was a trick his eyes had played him or he saw her in the flesh. She stood close beside him, with a grey cedar trunk behind her, in a long trailing dress, but the white hat was in her hand now, and the little shapely head bared to the cooling touch of the dew. Still, she had materialized so silently out of the shadows that he almost felt afraid to move lest she should melt into them again, and he lay very still, watching her until she glanced at him. Then he sprang, awkwardly, to his feet, with a little smile.

"I would scarcely venture to tell you what I thought you were, but it is in one respect consoling to find you real," he said.

"Why?" said the girl.

"Because you are not likely to vanish again. You must remember that I first saw you clothed in white samite, with the moon behind your shoulder, in the river."

The girl laughed. "I wonder if you know what white samite is?"

"I don't," said Brooke, reflectively. "I never did, but it seems to go with water lapping on the rocks and mystery. Still, you--are--material, fortunately."

"Very," said Barbara. "Besides, I certainly did not bring you a sword."

Brooke appeared to consider. "One can never be quite certain of anything--especially in British Columbia. But how did you come here?"

The girl favored him with a comprehensive glance, which Brooke felt took in his well-worn jean, coa.r.s.e blue shirt, badly-rent jacket, and shapeless hat.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. It was in Vancouver I saw you last," she said.

"I came here on a very wicked pack-horse--one that kicked, and on two occasions came very near falling down a gorge with me. I am now building a flume for the Canopus mine--if you know what that is."

Barbara laughed. "I fancy I know rather more about flumes than you did a little while ago. At least, I have reason to believe so, from what a mining foreman told me this afternoon. He, however, expressed unqualified approval, as well as a little astonishment, at the progress you had made. You see, I happened to observe what took place before the shot was fired a few hours ago."

"Then you witnessed an entirely unwarranted piece of folly."

A curious little gleam crept into Barbara's eyes, but she smiled. "You could have cut those fuses, and relighted them afterwards, but, since you did not remember it, I don't think that counts. What made you take the risk?"

"Well," said Brooke, reflectively, "after worrying over the probable line of cleavage of that troublesome rock, it seemed to me that if I wished to split it, I must explode three charges of giant powder in certain places simultaneously. Now, if you examine what you might call the texture of a rock, though, of course, a really crystalline body----"

Barbara made a little gesture of impatience. "That is not in the least what I mean--as I fancy you are quite aware."

"Then," said Brooke, with a faint twinkle in his eyes, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand the moral causes of the proceeding myself, though I have heard my comrade describe one quality which may have had something to do with it as mulishness. It was, of course, reprehensible of me to be led away by it, especially as when I took the contract I really didn't care if the flume was never built."

"And now you mean to finish it if it ruins you?"

"No," said Brooke, "I really don't think I do. In fact, I hope to make a good many dollars out of it, directly or indirectly."

He had spoken without reflection, and was sensible of a most unpleasant embarra.s.sment when the girl glanced at him sharply, which she did not fail to notice.

"Building flumes is evidently more profitable than I thought it was,"

she said. "Still, you will no doubt make most of those dollars--indirectly?"

Brooke decided that it was advisable to change the subject. "I have," he said, "answered--your--question."

"Then I will do the same. I came here, because one can see the sunset on the snow from this ridge, most prosaically on my feet."

"But from where?" and Brooke's voice was almost sharp.

"From the old ranch house in the valley, of course!"

Brooke made an effort to retain his serenity, but his face grew a trifle grim, and he looked at the girl curiously, with his lips tight set. Then he made a little gesture.

"But that is where Devine lives when he comes here. It's preposterous!"

he said.

Barbara felt astonished, though she was very reposeful. "I really don't see why it should be. Mrs. Devine is there. We have to entertain a good deal in the city, and are glad to get away to the mountains for quietness occasionally."

"But what connection can you possibly have with Mrs. Devine?"

"I am," said Barbara, quietly, "merely her sister. I have always lived with her."

Brooke positively gasped. "And you never told me!"

"Why should I? You never asked me, and I fancied everybody knew."

Brooke stood silent a moment, with the fingers of one hand closed, and the blood in his face, then he turned, as the girl moved, and they went back along the little rough rail together.

"Of course, I can think of no reason," he said, quietly. "Still, the news astonished me."

Barbara glanced away from him. There was only one way in which she could account for his evident concern at what she had told him, and the deduction she made was not altogether unpleasant to her, though, as it happened, it was not the correct one. The man was, as he had told her, without friends or dollars, but she knew that men with his capacities do not always remain poor in that country, and there were qualities which had gained her appreciation in him, while it had not dawned on her that there might also be others which could only meet with her disapprobation.

"If you had called at the address I gave you in Vancouver, you would have known exactly who I was, but there is now nothing to prevent you coming to the ranch," she said.

Brooke glanced down somewhat grimly at his hard, scarred hands and his clothes, and a faint flush crept into the girl's face.

"Have I to remind you again that you are not in the English valley?" she said. "Mr. Devine, at least, is rather proud of the fact that he once earned his living with the shovel and the drill."

"I am not sure that the one you imagine is my only reason for feeling a trifle diffident about presenting myself at Mr. Devine's house," said Brooke, very slowly.