A Man of Two Countries Part 10

The Return to Fort Benton

That autumn visit of Eva Thornhill glowed in Danvers' heart like the riotous colors in the gray landscape that precedes the frost of winter; for winter was coming, her visit was over, and Eva and her father were to leave for Fort Benton on the morrow. Danvers inwardly chafed under the secrecy imposed upon their engagement, and yet it would have been hard for him to have spoken of his love for Eva, even to the sympathetic Latimer.

But he longed to see more of her, to drink his fill of her beauty and fix her image in his memory that he might not famish in his loneliness during the dreary winter months when they should be separated.

Though it was hard to evade her father, Eva Thornhill granted her lover a last interview. His reserve, now softened by his love, fascinated the girl, and the element of secrecy lent a romantic touch that did not lessen her enjoyment of the situation. Yet it was a relief to return to Fort Benton, where she could think it all over and avoid her father's anger at a possible discovery.

"You will write to me?" said Danvers eagerly, as he held her hands, in parting. "There are few mails in the winter, but some one will be coming up." He looked imploringly into her eyes, as she hesitated.

"Of course I'll answer your letters--Philip," she spoke the name deliberately, as though enjoying her right to the familiarity of its use. "And when shall I hear from _you_?"

"_Always_; whenever you will close your eyes and listen! It may be weeks before a freighter makes the trip; but without a written message you will know that I am thinking of you, loving you! Remember it, Eva!"

His arm drew her close, and the girl caught his ardor as she returned his good-bye kiss.

"I will, dear; oh, I will!" She clung to him and for a moment caught the glory of his vision. Real tears dimmed her eyes as her lover tenderly released her, and the man was satisfied.

That night Latimer had a long talk with his friend.

"You see, old man, I may as well go now, when the doctor and the Thornhills are returning to Fort Benton. It may be weeks before I have another chance."

Latimer, too! The thought sent a chill to the heart of the lieutenant, now doubly sensitive to the love of this only friend! He had long known that Latimer would return to his law practice in Fort Benton, but the time had never been set for his going.

"The years of outdoor life," continued Latimer, "have made a new man of me!" patting his chest, not yet so broad as Danvers'. "And if I am ever to go back to the law I must get about it before I forget all I ever knew." He gave his arguments with a half apology as if to soften the sharpness of his decision, which to his loyal heart seemed like a desertion of his friend.

Danvers was silent. He saw, more clearly than his companion, that the doctor's visit, the presence of Major Thornhill and his daughter, and the a.s.sociation with those of his own cla.s.s, had roused in the Southerner a longing for the old life of civic usefulness, had drawn him back to his office, to his books and civilized a.s.sociations.

"And if I get away to-morrow," went on Latimer, "I must pack up my few belongings in the morning, and shall not have time for much of a good-bye--you will understand, Phil?"

"Yes, indeed!" said Danvers, realizing that he had been too long silent.

"Write to me when you can, Arthur. You know what the winters are up in this country."

They smoked in silence for an hour or more--that strange communion that men find gives greater sympathy than any speech. Then Danvers wrung the hand of his friend, and set out for the barracks.

Many sober faces cl.u.s.tered around Eva when she said good-bye next morning, but Burroughs' was not among them. He had said nothing of his humiliation, but had avoided meeting Miss Thornhill again. Her father was greatly dissatisfied; he thought that Eva's reception of the attention of other men had offended the trader, and he did not spare his blame for such a condition of things. Eva maintained her equanimity, feeling that she had done well to preserve the secret of her engagement, and to win Philip's pledge to silence.

Two months later Robert Burroughs sold out his trading-post, and he, too, prepared to return to the States. When he told Pine Coulee that she was to return to her father's lodge with the boy, he was, for the first time, afraid of the woman. All her savage blood surged in protest; his offers to support their child were spurned. He was glad when the squaw was sullenly silent in the lodges of her tribe, and he determined never to come again to Macleod--to leave the past behind him. That was his dominant thought as he started out for Fort Benton, accompanied by his familiar, Wild Cat Bill.

Their life at Fort Macleod had been in many ways one of jeopardy. He had run incredible risks of exposure and ruin, but he had won, through sheer audacity and bravado. He smiled covertly as he recalled the fact that he, the greatest whiskey smuggler in the Whoop Up Country, was also the privileged friend of an unsuspecting, honorable, upright officer--Colonel Macleod. Even his hardened conscience p.r.i.c.ked as he thought how he had deceived one who, with somewhat more of ac.u.men, and somewhat less of belief in men, would have been most severe on his wrong-doing.

But that was over. To turn to less reprehensible and underhand ways would be easy, he was sure. Or, if he found that the old ways of accomplishing his purpose were more profitable, he would exercise them on bigger projects in Montana. He had made a fortune in the Whoop Up Country. Now he intended to increase it in the development of Montana's resources. He proposed to marry and rear a family, as became a prosperous and respected citizen.

Dreams of statehood were beginning to waken into hope of reality among the st.u.r.dy men who dwelt in the territory, and during this journey south Burroughs confided to Bill his ambition to sit in the United States Senate. Fortune had favored him so far. All that was necessary to further his ambitions was to be as shrewd and cautious as he had been hitherto, and all things should be his--with Bill's help. Bill listened--that was his role for the time being. But he thought well of the plans, and said so before his chief referred to quite another subject--Pine Coulee and the boy. Here Bill found no words.

Burroughs opined that the episode with Pine Coulee was nothing. She was a fool to expect him to continue their relations simply because there was a child. He would see that they did not suffer. Really Sweet Oil Bob felt a glow of self-approval as he talked. But few men in the Whoop Up Country gave a thought to the comfort of the squaws when they left them.

And as for the children--let them go with their mothers! It was the easiest thing imaginable.

To Danvers it seemed that half the population of Fort Macleod was leaving, since Scar Faced Charlie had departed months before, and Toe String Joe had been dishonorably discharged and gone out of the country. Only the loyal O'Dwyer remained, and to him he sometimes spoke of Fort Benton friends. To Eva he wrote with every outgoing mail, and watched eagerly for a sign from her when a chance freighter should bring the Fort Benton mail. Then fever broke out in the barracks and Danvers spent his nights caring for the others and had little time for thought.

His splendid const.i.tution seemed able to bear any amount of fatigue, and he boasted that the loss of sleep was nothing--that he preferred to talk to some one--he had not enough to do to keep busy!

But he overestimated his strength, and when a mail was brought with no letter from Eva the disappointment and anxiety told on his already overtaxed const.i.tution. O'Dwyer was the last to convalesce, and even he was no longer in need of constant attention. With the relaxing of the strain came Philip's utter collapse. The fever was on him, and for weeks he talked deliriously of English lanes, of his sister Kate, of his rise in the service, but never of Eva Thornhill. It was as if some psychic power guarded his lips and loyally preserved his secret.

The spring flowers were budding when he again breathed the outer air, and it was a gaunt figure which sat in the lee of the stockade one day in May and took the package of letters brought from Fort Benton.

At last! Eva's first letter lay in his hand. He forgave her the long silence. The winter had been unusually severe and to the irregularity of the mails he ascribed his love's apparent defection. With trembling fingers he opened the thin envelope. The letter had no heading.

_"I have told father of my promise to you. He refuses absolutely to sanction it and declares I shall never marry an Englishman. I now agree with father that it would be very unwise. I hate the army, and you say you will never leave it. It is best that we understand each other at once, and very fortunate that we agreed not to speak of our engagement. I have not heard from you in three months, and so I presume you are tired of it and as glad to break as I am."_

That was all. The dazed convalescent remembered that his letter was mailed the very day that he went to the hospital, and his promise of silence made it impossible to ask another to notify her of his condition. Fate's cruelty bit deep. The heartlessness of Eva's dismissal pierced his soul. Mechanically he took up a letter from his sister.

"_Dear brother Philip_," her letter began. _"We have written and written. What has become of you these last months? Haven't you received the solicitor's letters or mine, telling you of father's sudden death, and the discovery that we are almost penniless--all the fortune gone?"_

Danvers gasped, weakly, at the wealth of disaster. He had always regarded his father as an exceptionally acute man of business. And now.... The letters of which his sister Kate wrote had never reached him. The mail service was wretched, he knew; but it seemed incredible that such important letters should be lost. He turned to the other envelopes just received. Yes, there were three from the family solicitors, and one from Arthur Latimer. These from England had probably lain at Fort Benton all winter. Presently he read on:

_"However, you no doubt have received them all by this time. I write this, in haste, to ask you to meet me at Fort Benton by the middle of June, as I shall come to America in time to take the first boat leaving Bismarck. I shall have about a hundred pounds when I start. I am determined to come to you."_

With some expression of grief at their bereavement, and antic.i.p.ation of seeing her brother, the letter closed.

Come up to the Whoop Up Country! His young, unsophisticated sister? She must not! He started up, thinking to send a rider to Fort Benton with a message to cable to London. But she would already have started. And how could he support her in England? How support her in any country on his small income, used as she was to every luxury? It was horrible! What to do! What to do! At last he took up Latimer's letter. At least here would be something to put heart into a fellow, he thought, hopefully. The bold handwriting seemed so like the light-hearted Southerner that a wan smile played over Philip's ghastly face. The smile faded to be replaced by agony as the sense of the words was absorbed--words leaping at him, fiendishly:

_"Dear Old Chum--I am the happiest fellow alive. Eva Thornhill and I were married last week, and our only regret was that you could not be my best man. I spoke of it several times. How did this happen, you ask? Why, I was fortunate enough to fall heir to something like twenty-five thousand dollars this winter, and, after settling the question whether there was any understanding between you and Eva (she a.s.sured me there never had been) I sailed right in--and she is mine._

_"Old boy! Eva's the dearest little piece of guilelessness in the world. She's told me all about Burroughs, and even confessed that she used to admire you; but she thought you very reserved. I have told how companionable you really are and how she should have captured you. But she shakes her pretty head and says that she is jealous of you--that I am fonder of you than of her! She's a rogue!

I used to be dumbly jealous of the other fellows, knowing how poor I was. I had to keep myself well in hand, I tell you, especially when I used to see you two together. But if Eva had cared for you (how could she help it?) I'd have been the first one to congratulate you. We could not be rivals, could we, dear old man?_

_"We are going East for the summer, and the doctor goes with us as far as St. Louis. Wish us well, Phil! Why haven't you written? I know it has been a bad winter and only two mails from Macleod, but I expected to hear at least once._

_"I wish that you could find so ideal a wife as mine. Dear, innocent, truthful--what more can man ask?"_

Danvers pulled himself up from the bench, wondering why the day had grown so cold, where the sunshine had gone. He replaced Latimer's letter in its envelope, dully, slowly:

"'Truthful--innocent!'" he quoted. "Poor Arthur!" He laughed--a dreadful sound. Then he fell face downward--and so they found him.

A pale-faced youth looked with dilated eyes on the nearing town of Fort Benton. It was Philip Danvers, late second lieutenant of the North West Mounted Police of Canada. He had lived through the shock which the three letters had brought on his fever-weakened frame, and during his convalescence determined to leave the service and seek employment at Fort Benton. To his colonel alone he gave his reasons. His sister Kate was a delicate girl, unused to adversity. His pay was insufficient to support her, even if she could have lived at Fort Macleod. She must be safe-guarded. For three long, hard, lonely years he had dreamed of a commission, and now that he had secured it he must give it up, together with hope of further advancement. There was no alternative.

As the band played "The Girl I Left Behind Me" (invariably rendered when men in the English service change garrison), O'Dwyer stepped forward to say good-bye.

"Sure, Phil," he blubbered, "I'll lave the service 's soon's me time's up, now ye're gone! I'll folley ye to Fort Benton!"

Danvers turned tear-dimmed eyes away from his friend, from the low fort and the weather-beaten stockade, and resolutely denied himself the pain of looking back to catch the last flutter of the Union Jack as the long rise of land dipped toward the south. How often had he strained his eyes to see that symbol of his country as he returned from the various forays and hunting trips! But duty called! This was the only thought that he dared allow himself--and his sister, his sister! She had no one but him to look to, and in his loneliness she was a comforting thought, and worth all the sacrifice of his life's ambitions.

While he had lain unconscious, in his illness, she had arrived at the head of navigation, and had written him girlish, impatient letters. He knew that Latimer would look out for her if he and Eva had returned from their wedding trip, but he was sure they had not, and felt an equal relief that he need offer no congratulations. The doctor, too, Arthur had told him, was in St. Louis. He wondered how his sister had pa.s.sed the time. Once she had mentioned meeting Burroughs, and he knew that she was living at the little hotel that he remembered. He was frantic to reach his destination and a.s.sume a brother's responsibility for the simple-hearted, yielding, young English girl, brought abruptly into the rough Western life.

As he drew near the growing town of Fort Benton he was astounded at the sight of what seemed quite a metropolis to his eyes, so long accustomed to the log buildings and the scant population of Fort Macleod.