Prescott of Saskatchewan Part 12

He was irritatingly formal, his tone was precise, but it changed as he added:

"So you knew Cyril!"

"Yes," Prescott said gravely. "I was fond of him."

Jernyngham seemed to be struggling with some stirring of his deeper nature beneath the crust of mannerisms.

"Mr. Prescott," he said, "I may tell you that I now fear I treated the lad injudiciously, and perhaps with needless harshness. I looked upon extravagance and eccentricity as signs of depravity. It was a vast relief when I heard from Colston, whom you may have met; that Cyril had prospered and was leading an exemplary life in Canada."

The blood crept into Prescott's face, and Jernyngham glanced at him curiously before he proceeded.

"We were somewhat hurt that he would not come home; but after past mistakes I could not urge him, and it seemed possible that he might change his mind later. Then the dreadful blow fell--crushing and filling me with all the bitterness of useless regret. I had spoken too late; the opportunity I would not use in time had gone."

He broke off, and his face had grown white and stern when he went on again:

"There is only one thing I can do, but if needful, I will devote the rest of my life to it--that is, to track down the man who killed my son!"

He was silent for the next few minutes, and then, after a few words on indifferent subjects, intended, Prescott thought, to cover his display of feeling, he turned away, leaving the rancher smoking thoughtfully.

CHAPTER VIII

A DAY ON THE PRAIRIE

A week after Jernyngham's arrival at the homestead he sat among the sheaves in the harvest field late one afternoon studying a letter which the mail-carrier had just brought him. His daughter, sheltered from the strong sunlight by the tall stocked sheaves, was reading an elegantly bound book of philosophy. Gertrude Jernyngham had strict rules of life and spent an hour or two of every day in improving her mind, without, so far as her friends had discovered, any enlargement of her outlook. Among her numerous virtues was an affectionate solicitude about her father's health, which was variable. Though still muscularly vigorous, Jernyngham was getting an old man, and he had been out of sorts of late.

"I'm glad you are looking much better than you did this morning," she said, glancing at him after a while.

"Thank you," Jernyngham rejoined punctiliously. "I suppose it was the strain of the past few weeks that tried me, and perhaps I have been doing too much, traveling backward and forward between here and the muskeg."

Then with an effort he banished his painful thoughts and smiled. "I wonder how many years it is since I spent an afternoon in a harvest field! I'll confess that I find much to interest me."

Gertrude laid down her book and glanced about. She was of a practical disposition and almost devoid of artistic susceptibilities, but the richness and color of the scene impressed her. Far away in front ran the long ranks of sheaves, gleaming in the sunshine amid the golden stubble which was flecked by their deep-blue shadows. The air was cooling, but the light was brilliant and the standing wheat was picked out with tints of burnished copper. By comparison with it, the oat stocks shone pale and silvery. Round the edge of the grain moved the binders, clashing and tinkling musically, while their whirling arms flashed in the sunlight.

Prescott, lightly clad, drove the foremost machine. The fine modeling of his lean, muscular figure was effectively displayed; his uncovered arms and face were the color of the soil. Seated behind the big horses, he looked wonderfully virile. The man seemed filled with primitive vigor; he was a type that was new to Gertrude Jernyngham.

"Our host," remarked her father, "strikes one as tireless; though I'm inclined to think that during harvest everybody here works at a higher tension than would be borne at home. Their methods are rather wasteful--this tall stubble, for instance, continuous cereal crops, except for the short summer fallow--but they're no doubt adapted to the needs of the country. Having some experience in these matters, I should say this farm was excellently managed."

In place of answering, Gertrude watched the rancher. The physical perfection of the man had an effect on her, though she was essentially prudish.

"I ought to drive in to the settlement and send off a cablegram, though I expect it will be difficult to get a team," Jernyngham resumed, returning to his letter. "Cranford wants instructions about a matter of importance that has cropped up since we left."

"It wouldn't be wise for you to drive so far," Gertrude said firmly. "I might go instead; we'll speak to Mr. Prescott about it this evening."

Shortly afterward there was a harsh clanking sound and Prescott, pulling up his team, sprang down from the binder. He became busy with hammer and spanner, and in a few minutes the stubble was strewn with pinion wheels, little shafts, and driving-chains. Then, while his guests watched him with growing interest, he put the machine together, started his team and stopped it, and again dismembered the complicated gear. This, as Gertrude realized, was work that needed a certain amount of skill. Finally, when the overtaking binders had stopped near-by, he took out a small shaft and held it up so that the harvesters could see it.

"Journal's bent; I'll have to go get a new piece," he said. "Go ahead with your teams."

After that he unhitched his horses and was leading them past the place where the Jernynghams sat, when Gertrude spoke to him.

"I'm sorry you had an accident, and I suppose you will have to send the broken part to Sebastian. May I go with the team?"

"Why, of course," he said. "I'll drive you in to-morrow. As it's a pretty long way, I'll try to borrow a comfortable rig."

He went on with the horses and she saw no more of him that day, but early the next morning he brought up a light, four-wheeled vehicle, which would carry two people and had a hood that could be drawn up. Gertrude thought it a great improvement on the prairie wagon, and she admired the restive team which he had some trouble in holding. When she got in, he sprang to the seat beside her, the horses bounded forward, and they sped out through a gap in the fence, the vehicle lurching wildly among the ruts.

For a while Gertrude was occupied, to the exclusion of everything else, in trying to keep her place, but when Prescott turned the team on to a stretch of smooth short gra.s.s she began to look about. It was a clear, cool morning, the sky was a wonderful blue, and bluffs miles away showed up with sharp distinctness. In the foreground the gray gra.s.s was bathed in a soft light which was restful to the eyes. Then Gertrude examined the rig, as the man had called it, which struck her as remarkably light and fragile; and the same thing was noticeable about the harness. The horses moved as if they were drawing no load, swinging along at a fast and springy trot, while the vehicle ran lightly up and down the slight undulations, the wheels jarring now and then into a hollow or smashing through dwarf scrub. The pace was exhilarating, the fine air invigorated the girl, and her usual prim reserve melted away.

"I am fortunate in getting in to Sebastian," she said. "There's a cablegram it's necessary that my father should send."

"Glad to take you," Prescott rejoined. "Is Mr. Jernyngham in business?"

"Oh, no; not as you would understand it. We spend most of our time in the country, where he manages the estate. It's small, but there are two quarries which need looking after. Then he's director of a company. He doesn't believe that a man should be idle."

Prescott smiled. He had read a good deal about England, and he could imagine Jernyngham's firm control of his property. His rule would, no doubt, be just, but it would be enforced on autocratic and highly conventional lines. His daughter, the rancher thought, resembled him in some respects. She was handsome and dignified in a colorless way; she might have been charming if she were only a trifle less correct in manner and there were more life in her.

"Well," he said, in answer to her last remark, "that's a notion you'll find lived up to here. The man who won't work mighty hard very soon goes broke. It's a truth you in the old country ought to impress on the men you're sending out to us."

She liked his easy phraseology; which she supposed was western, and there was nothing harsh in his intonation. It was that of a well-educated man, and the Jernynghams were exacting in such matters.

"I think there must be something in the air which makes toil less arduous," she said. "The people I've met have a cheerful, optimistic look." She hesitated, and added in a confidential tone: "I like to imagine that my brother wore the same expression, though he was always carelessly gay. He seems to have made a capable rancher. It was a great relief to us when we were told of it."

Prescott grew hot and embarra.s.sed, but he thought he could understand how Cyril Jernyngham had entered on a course of recklessness. It was a reaction against the overwhelming propriety of his father and sister.

"I don't think you need grieve for your brother yet," he said gravely.

"Although n.o.body here seems to agree with me, I find it impossible to believe that he is dead."

Gertrude gave him a grateful look.

"I'm glad to hear you say so--there is at least a doubt, and that is comforting; though I'm afraid my father can't be made to realize it."

"Can't you persuade him not to take too much for granted?"

"I wish I could." Gertrude's tone was sad. "He has been brooding over the dreadful news ever since it reached us. It has possessed him absolutely; he can think of nothing else, and there will be no relief for him until he finds the guilty person, or it is proved beyond all doubt that the police are mistaken." She paused before she went on. "If they're right, I think I should feel as merciless as he does. Cyril was my only brother; I was very fond of him."

Her voice trembled a little, though her eyes were hard, and Prescott felt sorry for her. She was not of emotional nature; he could imagine her shrinking from any display of tenderness. Nevertheless, it was obvious that she was a prey to fear and grief.

"So was I," he said. "I wonder if I may point out that he struck me as being different from you and your father?"

"I think I know what you mean. Cyril was like my mother--she died a long while ago, but I remember her as gentle, sympathetic, and perhaps more variable than I am. Cyril was swayed by feeling rather than by judgment."

Prescott knew this was correct, but he found his companion an interesting study. She was wrapped up in cold propriety; she must have led an uneventful life, looked up to and obeyed by the small community that owned her father's rule. Romance could not have touched her; she was not imaginative; but he thought there were warmth and pa.s.sion lying dormant somewhere in her nature. She could not have wholly escaped the consequences of being Cyril Jernyngham's sister.

Nothing further was said for a while, and presently the team toiled through a belt of sandy ridges, furrowed by the wind, where the summits were crested here and there by small jack-pines. Looking up as they crossed one elevation, Gertrude noticed a wedge of small dark bodies outlined against the soft blue sky.

"What are those?" she asked.