The Girl from Keller's Part 50

Charnock ate a very good breakfast in Kerr's shack, but his face was grave when he began his work. Luck had put upon him a heavy responsibility, but he must shoulder the load. Sadie and Helen and Festing had given him much, and now the time had come to pay them back.

Moreover, with the responsibility had come a chance of proving and, so to speak reinstating, himself. He was entangled in a coil from which there was but one way out; he must stand by his comrade and finish the contract, or own himself a wastrel. The difficulties were obvious, but there was some encouragement. Perhaps the hardest battle had been fought, for he had grappled with his craving for liquor and thought he had won. Then the pain had not troubled him for some time.

The men gave him no trouble, and he imagined they worked with more energy than usual. Now and then one or another stopped to ask, with obvious sincerity, how the boss was getting on; men from the railroad gangs, some of whom he scarcely knew, made inquiries, and Charnock felt moved. His partner's justice had won him respect, but he saw that some of the sympathy was meant for himself.

Two days later he heard the rumble of an approaching supply train and walked up the track to meet it. The locomotive stopped farther off than he expected, and a woman got down. Running forward, he saw that it was Helen.

"Stephen's doing well; that's the first thing you'll want to know," he said when they met.

"I know it already. A man told me as soon as the train stopped; he seemed to guess who I am."

"Ah!" said Charnock; "the boys are very good! It makes me proud to feel they all like Stephen. But why didn't you telegraph us? The Company would have sent on the message."

Helen smiled. "I didn't see much use in doing so. You knew when your letter would arrive and how long it would take me to come. It's significant that you came to meet the train."

"Perhaps it's characteristic that I came too late to help you down! But the engineer stopped short of the usual place, and I really have much to do just now."

Helen gave him a quick glance. Bob had not lost his humor, but had gained something else. He was thin and haggard, but looked determined.

Although his smile was frank, his mouth was firm and his eyes were steady.

"I know!" she answered quickly; "I know what you have done for Stephen and what you mean to do. There is n.o.body else who can help him and if there was, the help would not be like yours."

"Thank you," said Charnock. "I'm afraid you're mistaken about one point, but I have an extra reason for doing the best I can." Then he paused and smiled. "We tried to make the place comfortable, but you'll find things rough. One lives in a rather primitive way at a construction camp."

"Perhaps, so far, I have found things too smooth."

Then Helen asked him about the accident and he told her as much as he thought advisable, until they reached the shack, where the doctor met them at the door.

"I expect you're Mrs. Festing," he said. "You'll find your husband able to talk, but remember that he must be kept calm. I'm going out, but will be back soon, and we'll see about getting you some food."

He took Charnock away, and Festing looked up with a strained expression as Helen crossed the floor. Her eyes were wonderfully gentle, and stooping beside the bunk she kissed him and put her arm round his neck.

"My dear!" she said softly. "My poor hurt dear! I have come to take care of you until you get well."

"I imagine I'll need to be taken care of afterwards," Festing answered, with a forced smile. "It looks as if I hadn't much ground for self-confidence."

Helen pressed his arm. "We have both made mistakes; but we won't talk about that now. Do you really feel you're getting better?"

"Of course," said Festing, smiling. "Very much better! I'll get well remarkably fast now you have come."

Helen brought a chair and for a time they engaged in happy but careless talk. Both knew there was much to be said, but Helen skilfully avoided striking a serious note. The time for that had not arrived yet.

When it got dark the doctor came in and joined them at a meal.

"The engineers have promised to put me up to-night, and I must leave to-morrow when the train goes out," he said. "I'll try to get back, but Musgrave knows what to do and will send for me if necessary. The most important thing is to keep Mr. Festing quiet."

"I'm afraid it will be difficult," Helen answered.

The doctor's eyes twinkled. "So I imagine, but it's your job. If you find it too hard, Musgrave will put your husband in plaster."

He went East next morning with the supply train, and Helen was sorry to see him go. He had done what was needed with quiet efficiency, but she knew he had other patients scattered about a wide district.

Charnock came in for a few minutes now and then during the day, and Musgrave was often about, but Helen was content to be left alone with her husband. His helplessness moved her; he had been marked by such vigor and energy, and it was strange to see him unable to move. Yet, while very pitiful, she felt a vague satisfaction because she could help him and he needed her.

When it was getting dark she went to the door and looked out. The evening was calm and belts of pale-yellow broke the soft gray clouds.

The eastern peaks were touched with an orange glow, but the snow lower down faded through shades of blue and purple into gloom. To the west, the pines were black and sharp, with white smears on their lower branches, and a thin haze rose from the river. The coloring of the landscape was harmoniously subdued, but its rugged grandeur of outline caught Helen's eye, and she stood for a few minutes, looking about with half-awed admiration.

"Do you feel the cold, Stephen?" she asked.

"No," said Festing. "Wonderful view, isn't it? But what's it like outside?"

"Very still. Everything has a soft look; the harsh glitter's gone and the air has not the sting it had. Somehow the calm's majestic. The pictures one sees of the mountains hardly give a hint; one feels this is the grandest country in the world, but it looks strangely unfinished."

Festing laughed. "A few ranches, roads, and cornfields would make a difference? Well, they follow the Steel in Canada and it's my job to clear the way. But the soft look promises warmer weather, and Bob will get ahead if a Chinook wind begins to blow. I imagine he hasn't done very much the last few days."

"You mustn't bother about what Bob is doing," Helen said firmly.

"Very well. Light the lamp and sit where I can see you. There's something I want to say."

Helen did so and waited until Festing resumed: "To begin with, I've been a short-sighted, censorious fool about Bob. I'm ashamed to remember that I said he was a shiftless wastrel. The worst is I can't apologize; it wouldn't make things better to tell him what I thought."

"That's obvious," said Helen, with a smile. "Still, in a way perhaps, you were not so very wrong. Bob was something of a wastrel; his wife has made him a useful man."

"Another thing I was mistaken about! I rather despised Sadie. Now I want to take off my hat when I think of her. But it's puzzling. A girl without polish, taste, or accomplishments marries a man who has them all. She has no particular talents; nothing, in fact, except some beauty, rude integrity, and native shrewdness. Yet she, so to speak, works wonders. Puts Bob on his feet and leads him on, when n.o.body else could have pulled him out of the mire!"

"She loved him," said Helen softly. "Love gave her patience and cleverness. However, I think Sadie did not always lead Bob. She knew when to drive."

Festing was silent for a few moments and then went on: "Well, I have confessed two blunders and think it has done me good; but I'm getting nearer what I want to say. Bob's something of a philosopher and once remarked that events and people seldom force us into coils; our pa.s.sions and characters entangle us. He was scoffing at the power of the theatrical villain and used Wilkinson for an example."

"But Wilkinson had something to do with our troubles."

"Not very much, after all. Perhaps he's accountable for my broken bones, but it was my obstinacy and ridiculous self-confidence that sent me here. That's what I really mean to talk about."

"Is it necessary?" Helen asked. "I was foolish to be jealous of the farm. Women have sometimes worse grounds for jealousy."

"That would have been impossible for us! n.o.body who knew you could be attracted by another woman."

"Bob was attracted," said Helen with a blush. "One must own that he was prudent. I haven't Sadie's courage and patience."

"In those days, Bob was a besotted whisky-tank; but we are not going to talk about him. I'm afraid I was forgetful and went my own way like an obstinate fool. It was wrong, ridiculously wrong; I'm not going to excuse myself, but I want you to understand."

He paused, for effort and emotion had tired him, but presently resumed: "I wouldn't use your money, but this wasn't altogether because I was too proud to let you help. I wanted to keep you safe; farming's a risky business, and I couldn't play a n.i.g.g.ardly, cautious game. There was the land, waiting to be worked; I couldn't spare labor or money. But since both might be lost, I was afraid to use your fortune as a stake."

"I understand," said Helen. "All the same, I would have been glad to take the risk. I don't think I'm very much afraid of hardship--"

Festing smiled. "You have pluck, but don't know the strain that the wives of the struggling farmers have to bear. My object is to see that you don't know. But there's another thing, harder to explain; you felt that I neglected you, and I fear I did!"

"You didn't mean to neglect me. Perhaps I was foolish, Stephen, but I felt you left me out. There were ways I could have helped."