The Bail Jumper Part 1

The Bail Jumper.

by Robert J. C. Stead.

CHAPTER I-A FRIEND AND AN ENEMY

"We have felt the cold of winter-cursed by those who know it not- We have braved the blizzard's vengeance, dared its most deceptive plot; We have learned that hardy races grow from hardy circ.u.mstance, And we face a dozen dangers to attend a country dance; Though our means are nothing lavish we have always time for play, And our social life commences at the closing of the day; We have time for thought and culture, time for friendliness and friend, And we catch a broader vision as our aspirations blend."

_Prairie Born._

The short winter day was at an end. The gloom of five-o'clock twilight gathered about the frost-shrouded team and the farm sleigh which crunched complainingly behind. For twenty miles the team had plodded, steadily, laboriously-their great heads undulating with their gait, through the snow-blocked roads. The two fur-clad men had long ago dropped all attempt at conversation, and an occasional swing of their arms, in an effort to revive the chilled circulation, was the only evidence that the vital spark still burned in their deep-bosomed bodies.

Suddenly a shape loomed through the grey mist of the night. The horses lurched back upon the double trees, their trace-chains clattering with the slack. The shape took form; a frightened team were seen plunging in the deep snow by the roadside; the vehicles interlocked.

"What d'ye mean by crowdin' me off the road like that?" cried an angry voice, as a man's form rose in the opposing cutter.

"I didn't crowd you off," returned the driver of the sleigh. "It was your own reckless speed that got you into trouble. See, man, your nigh horse is down; I'm thinkin' he needs your attention more than me."

"But it's you will have it first," came the savage reply, as the speaker sprang from the cutter on to the side of the sleigh. But almost before he landed a great bear-like arm shot out, and the a.s.sailant would have fallen in a crumpled ma.s.s beside his struggling horses, had not the same arm jerked him forward into the sleigh.

In the deep gloom the two men thrust their faces close, then drew suddenly back.

"And what way is this to greet a neighbour on the public road, Hiram Riles?" demanded the driver of the sleigh. "Ye'll have strange tales for the wife to-night, I'm thinkin', by the breath o' you. Away home with ye, and mind the road. It's no fit night for a man in your shape, Hiram."

The other murmured thickly, "I'm all right," but showed no further belligerent tendencies; and when the team had been extricated from their entanglement and set upon the road again, the two old-timers parted in their opposite directions.

"It's a sore temptin' o' Providence for a man to venture on the country roads a winter's night without all his senses, Raymond," said the elder man, as they drove on. "See ye're no guilty of it. There's many a tragedy blamed to the climate that's begun in the gin-shop."

Already the town lights were peering mistily through the haze, and in a few minutes the sleigh drew up at the door of Gardiner's general store.

The two men got out and lifted a trunk to the sidewalk, when the elder resumed his seat in the sleigh.

"Hadn't you better put in the team and stay all night, father? The horses are dog-tired, and it'll be better driving in the morning."

"No, Raymond. I'll push back as far as Mathesons', and spend the night there. I'm no hand for stayin' in town. I'll be leavin' now, and mind, boy, we're expectin' you to make good."

The two men grasped hands in a moment's clasp; the next, sleigh and driver had disappeared in the night.

The young man stood on the sidewalk, in the momentary irresolution of the stranger. He had been in Plainville before, and knew Mr. Gardiner by sight; but then, he met him as a customer, and now it was to be as employee. Overcoming his bashfulness, he pushed open the store door and entered. The white glare of the gasoline lights revealed a boy of twenty-one, st.u.r.dy and well set up, although of somewhat smaller stature than the average in the country; with clean, weather-beaten face and eyes accustomed to look squarely before them. The nose rose strong and resolute from the cheeks, but in the quiet mouth there was a lurking sadness suggestive of melancholy.

Raymond Burton unb.u.t.toned his coat and threw back the collar, when a cheery voice said, "h.e.l.lo, Burton, you got in? Hardly expected you to-night, the roads are so full. Throw off your coat and warm yourself, and then go up to Mrs. Goode's boarding-house and make yourself at home.

I have arranged accommodation for you there. She is one of our best customers, and she runs a good house."

There was nothing stand-offish about Gardiner. He met his employees on a basis of friendship and equality, and had a ready way with him that was continually swelling his list of customers, notwithstanding the compet.i.tion of the Sempter Trading Co., the oldest and strongest mercantile firm in the town. Indeed, Gardiner was little more than a boy himself, who, a few years before, had come up from one of the Eastern Provinces to engage in business in the West.

Gardiner walked around to the boarding-house with Burton, after giving a boy a quarter to deliver the trunk. Mrs. Goode, herself, answered the bell. She was a sprightly, motherly woman, with a quick step, a ready tongue, and a hearty laugh; hair that hinted of fifty, but a smile that said she was twenty-five; and, withal, not entirely blind to her own accomplishments.

"This is my new clerk, Mr. Burton, Mrs. Goode," said Gardiner. "I brought him here because I knew the house you run. He has driven most of the day, and just needs one of your hot suppers to make him feel the luck he has in being one of Mrs. Goode's boarders."

"Well, I do give a good supper, if I say it myself," said Mrs. Goode.

"No hungry people in my house, if I know it. But you want to go to your room. Alice, show Mr. Butler to room sixteen. Sweet sixteen, I call it, and I always save it for the young men," she added, with a coquettish glance at her new customer.

Alice Goode, aged eighteen, emerged from the dining-room, and Burton having been introduced, as "Mr. Garden's new clerk," she demurely led the young man upstairs. "I hope you will like your room," she said, and, the business obligations of the situation discharged, continued, "Do you dance?"

"Why, a little," Burton admitted. "But I never learned, properly. Just country dances, you know."

"Gee, that's all is any good, anyway. None of your city camel-strides for me, but a good turkey-in-the-straw alamen-lefter an' you can count me in every trip. There's a hop on at Grant's to-night. Going?"

"I'm afraid I haven't an invitation, and I don't even know the people."

"That don't matter. There'll be some loads goin' out from town, an' you better just roll into one of them. It's about five miles, an' the ride will be dandy. Besides, Grant's are the best there is, an' you'll be as welcome as a rich sinner in church. The hoe-down is in honour of their niece, who has come out from the East, an's goin' to live with them.

They say she's pretty an' a swell singer. It'll be quite a show-ring affair, I expect, but all to the good."

"Al-i-c-e!" cried her mother. "Set them good silver knives an' forks, cause Mr. Burtle's here, an' get a two-step on yuh now or never a foot will yuh go to the dance to-night."

Alice disappeared, and Burton was left to examine his quarters. They were small and cheaply furnished, but comfortable enough. "At any rate,"

he soliloquised, "I shall not be very lonely, if Miss Alice is a sample of Plainville society."

The smell from Mrs. Goode's supper table justified that lady's high opinion of it. When Burton came in he was introduced to each boarder in turn. There were two lady school-teachers, two bank clerks, a couple of store employees, a young lawyer, and several who might be termed "not cla.s.sified." A spirit of good fellowship prevailed, and Burton was surprised at the point to which banter was carried. Alice waited on the table, while Mrs. Goode presided in the kitchen. Mr. Goode, a tall, cadaverous man, moved shyly about the house, in which he occupied a minor position. It was understood that Mrs. Goode held him in much disfavour on account of his emaciated appearance, which she felt to be a reflection upon her boarding-house.

"How can I expect to prosper when I have a walkin' sign-post like that?"

she lamented to her neighbour, Mrs. O'Brien.

"Fade him on breakfast food with a little 'barm' in til't," was that honest woman's advice.

After supper Burton was reading in his room, when a knock came at the door, and Gardiner burst in.

"Say, Burton, come with me to the dance at Grant's to-night," said the visitor. "I'm driving out in my cutter, and I want company. They're O.K.

people, and there's a new-comer out there we all want to see. As for an invitation-well, I have instructions to see that all the desirables are asked, and I figure you in that bunch. Come along. The sooner you get acquainted here the better, both for yourself and from a business point of view."

Burton surmised that the "business point of view" had a good deal to do with most of Gardiner's att.i.tudes, but he was glad enough to accept the invitation. The drive, in a top cutter, behind a spirited team, was so different from the dreary monotony of the afternoon that Raymond could scarce believe it was the same country. There were many rigs on the road, but the trail was banked so high (for in prairie countries the winter roads rise high above the surrounding snow) that it was impossible to pa.s.s, and before reaching Grant's the scattered rigs had gathered into a long procession.

The Grant boys, George and Harry, were at the stable with lanterns, and hurried about, exchanging greetings while they wrestled with frozen tugs, and directed drivers blinking in the light. The young ladies became the charge of Susy Grant, who bundled them in at the front door of the house, while her brothers herded the swains into the kitchen, for be it known, that while women may be ushered into parlour or bedroom, the kitchen is the proper reception place for men. There they sit on stools and wood-boxes, or crowd into corners, exchanging anecdotes or revelling in amus.e.m.e.nt furnished by the wits of the countryside. Burton was introduced by his employer to a few of the men and boys nearest by, but none Waited for an introduction when there was occasion to speak.

They were a mixed company, some from the town, and others from the country district in which the Grant homestead lay, but all were acquainted and most were friends. Presently the door opened and a new-comer ambled in; a strange human contrivance, half man, half boy, who tripped over his long coat on the doorstep and projected himself in a heap in the midst of the laughing crowd.

"h.e.l.lo, London, what flew up an' hit you?" said one, as the boy scrambled clumsily to his feet. "Been to town on your way over?"

"Hit's my bloomin' coat," explained London. "Hi fall w'en hever Hi try to stand hup."

"Take it 'hoff,'" shouted the crowd, as London proceeded to remove his outer garments. This operation revealed the fact that London, as the Barnardo lad was popularly called, although a boy in stature, aspired to the wearing of man's clothes, with the result that his trousers were turned up almost to his knees and his coat hung down below them, the two extremes meeting, as it were, about a foot from the floor. His commodious boots had been recently blacked, and a heavy bra.s.s chain stretched from pocket to pocket of his vest; but, most glorious of all, was the bright red tie speared with a pin in the form of a horseshoe and intended, doubtless, to indicate that its wearer was a sport of the first blood.

"How did you get away to-night, London? Couldn't Riles find anything for you to do?"

"'E could. 'E'll find work for them as comes to 'is funeral. But 'e's comin' 'imself, an' has Hi was specially named in Missus Grant's hinvitation"-this with an air of profound importance-"'e could 'ardly 'elp letting me come, 'specially has Hi said Hi would burn down the 'ouse hif they came with-hout me."

"Good boy, London," was the comment. "That's the way to bring him to time."

"Hi drownded a pig hin the well one day 'e went to town an' wouldn't take me," said London, proudly. "Hand another time--"