A Man of Two Countries Part 11

As the road dipped over the bench and led into town he saw, riding to meet him--was it his sister?--and with her, Robert Burroughs!

But Danvers was on his feet, and as he a.s.sisted the girl to dismount she slid into his arms and put up her lips for a kiss.

When something like coherence was evolved from the rush of questions and answers, Kate turned shyly toward Burroughs, who still sat upon his horse.

She took her brother by the hand.

"Phil, dear, you have not spoken to Mr. Burroughs. He has told me so much of your life together in the Whoop Up Country, and what friends you are. He has been most kind to me. When I learned that you were ill, I was so alarmed--alone! But he--that is--I----"

"Why, it's this way, Danvers," interrupted Burroughs, speaking with more correctness than Phil had before heard him, and willingly taking the onus of explanation--his hour had come. "Your sister couldn't go to Macleod, of course. She couldn't stay here, alone. You'll stay with the Police, no doubt; and, as Latimer and his wife are away, it fitted right in with my plans"--he paused to enjoy the dismay on Danvers' face--"to ask Kate to do me the honor of marrying me. You remember," he hastened to add, "don't you, that I once told you that you'd not only never marry Eva Thornhill, but that I'd marry your sister?"

The dark, exultant face flashed the same look of hate that greeted Philip on the _Far West_, and later gloomed through the dimly lighted trading-post on the night of the dance! With a groan Danvers realized, as he looked at his suddenly shrinking sister, that the sacrifice of his life's ambition had been in vain.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

BOOK III

_THE STATE_

"_What const.i.tutes a state?_

_Men who their duty know._"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Chapter I

Visitors from Helena

Philip Danvers, cattleman, nearing Fort Benton on his return from a round-up, found his thoughts reverting to the past. The spring day was like another that he remembered when he first caught sight of the frontier town more than a dozen years before. He noted the smoke of a railroad locomotive as it trailed into nothingness, and involuntarily he looked toward the Missouri River; but there was no boat steaming up the river, and the unfurrowed water brought a sadness to his face.

He recalled the doctor's vigorous opposition a few years previous, when the question of a railroad came before the residents of Fort Benton.

Perhaps the doctor had been right in thinking that the river traffic would be destroyed, and with it the future of the town. Certainly his derided prophecy had been most literally fulfilled. Instead of becoming a second St. Louis, the village lay in undisturbed tranquillity, but little larger than when the _Far West_ had brought the first recruits of the North West Mounted Police to its levees. To those who loved the place, who believed in it, the result caused by the changing conditions of Western life was well-nigh heartbreaking.

Instead of the terminus of a great waterway--the port where gold was brought by the ton to be shipped East from the territorial diggings; the stage where moved explorer, trader, miner and soldier--instead of being the logical metropolis of the entire Northwest, Fort Benton lay a drowsy little village, embowered in cottonwoods and dependent upon the cattlemen who made it their headquarters for shipping.

The l.u.s.ty bull-whacker's yell, the mule-skinner's cry and the pop of long, biting whips were heard no more in the broad, sweeping curve of the Missouri. The levees were no longer crowded with bales of merchandise, piles of buffalo hides and boxes of gold. No steamers tied up to the rotting snubbing-posts; the bustle of the roustabouts, the oaths of the mates, the trader's activity had vanished forever, as irrevocably as the buffalo on the plains. Nothing in the prospect before him suggested to Danvers the well-remembered past except the old adobe fort on the water's edge. One bastion and a part of a wall recalled to the Anglo-American his first homesick night in the Northwest. Even the trading-posts on the river between Bismarck and Fort Benton were abandoned.

The man had altered as well. It was evident that the shy reserve of the Kentish youth had changed to the dignity of the reticent man. The military bearing remained; the eyes were steady and observant, as of old; but the youthful red and white of his face had been replaced by a clear tan, marked by lines of thought. In a country of bearded and seldom-shaved men, Philip's clean face added not a little to that look of distinction which had impressed the pa.s.sengers on the _Far West_ and gained the first enmity of Robert Burroughs.

Danvers was still unmarried. At rare intervals he read the old clipping of the two souls separated and seeking each other, but the legend had grown dim. The romantic dreams of boyhood were gone. He doubted that his heart would ever be roused again; that the phoenix flame of love would rise from the ashes of what he knew had been but the stirring of adolescent blood when he fancied that he loved Eva Thornhill. The home life of others had not impressed him as a dream fulfilled. The gradual disillusionment of the many was disheartening, and Latimer's worn, unhappy face was a constant reminder. Arthur Latimer! That blithe Southerner--believer in men--and women! Philip knew what had made him seek forgetfulness in the law and politics. The success of his friend, who had reached his goal, on the supreme bench, had gratified Danvers, and Latimer's enthusiasm and persistent belief in the ultimate good, when the builders and founders of the newly formed State should merge personal desires into one--one that had the best good of all for its incentive, tempered his dislike for American politics.

Not long after the round-up, Philip Danvers received a call from Wild Cat Bill, now known in Montana as the Honorable William Moore. His ability to promote big enterprises, whether floating a mining company or electing a friend to the legislature, was publicly known, and Danvers wondered silently what had brought the politician from Helena to the semi-deserted town of Fort Benton, and induced him to favor him with a call.

"Yes, Danvers," volunteered the affable Moore, "I just thought I'd take a few days off and see what the old place looked like."

Danvers noticed that he had dropped the vernacular, though his speech was characteristic of the West.

"It's always a pleasure to go back to the early days, when we roughed it together," Bill went on.

Philip doubted the pleasure. He recognized this sentiment as a very recent acquisition in the Honorable William Moore, and waited for further enlightenment as to the real purpose of the visit.

"The old bunch turned out pretty well, after all," Moore commented.

"Robert Burroughs is a millionaire! Your sister was in luck, all right!

And Bob was tickled to death when a baby came. A big girl by this time!"

A dangerous look--a look that made Wild Cat Bill remember the night of the dance at the trading-post--warned the Honorable William to drop personalities. The one fact that made the position of his sister tolerable to Danvers was the knowledge that Burroughs took pride in his wife and child and lavished his wealth upon them.

"And you and the doctor still cling to Fort Benton!" The next remark of the caller was spoken with commiseration. "Is the doctor still preaching its future?"

Danvers winced at what seemed a thrust at an old friend. "My cattle make it necessary for me to ship from Fort Benton and--I like the place," he acknowledged without apology.

"And Joe Hall--you recall Toe String Joe?"

There was ample reason why Philip Danvers should remember the disloyal trooper, dishonorably discharged.

"Queer idea of Joe's to enlist in the first place," continued Moore. "He made a much better miner. You're following his case in court, I suppose?"

A subtle change in expression made the cattleman aware that all his visitor's remarks had been preliminary to this one. It was, then, the famous case of Hall vs. Burroughs that for some reason Bill Moore thought worth a trip from Helena to discuss.

"Burroughs can't afford to lose that case," declared Moore.

"He'll lose it if Joe has fair play!" cried Danvers.

Philip felt no love for the recruit of early days, but his sense of justice a.s.serted itself when he recalled the years that Burroughs had made a tool of Toe String Joe at Fort Macleod, and later robbed him of his mining claim at Helena. Burroughs had grub-staked him and secured a half interest. At a time when Joe was down sick, and hard pressed with debts, Burroughs rushed a sale with Eastern capitalists and forced Joe Hall to relinquish the claim for $25,000. When Joe discovered that it had brought $125,000, and that Burroughs had pocketed the difference, he went to law and won his suit. Burroughs had appealed, and now the case was before the Supreme Court.

"There are politics in the Supreme Court as well as elsewhere," ventured Moore, with a meaning look.

"It is usually thought otherwise, I believe."

"I don't know what's usually thought. I know it's a fact."

"Perhaps corruption can be found----"

"Perhaps!" sneered the caller. "I tell you politics is a matter of a-gittin' plenty while you're gittin'."

"I was not speaking of politics, but of corruption."

"What's the difference?" cynically. "Now, I say that Judge Latimer can be influenced."