The Long Portage Part 8

"We're in accord on that point," he a.s.sured her. "It's a pity the land pa.s.sed out of your hands. However, as there's no male succession, it might, after all, come back to you."

She bore it very calmly.

"You wouldn't have me speculate on such a thing?"

Then as if to find a safer topic she went on with a thrill of anger in her tone:

"I'll tell you of an incident I witnessed two or three days ago, which annoyed me seriously. I'd just met old Bell--you know how lame he is--driving some sheep along the road. It has been a wet, cold year; Bell lost his hay, the oats are dreadfully poor, and his buildings are in very bad repair."

"They were a disgrace to any estate when I last saw them," Nasmyth broke in. "Besides, the sour land near the river should have been tile-drained long ago."

"So Bell has urged; but he can't get Marple to spend a penny--I'm glad that man's new to this part of the country and doesn't belong to us.

Well, just after I met Bell, Marple's big motor came along. He had Batley with him and the Crestwicks, who were down before. I think you met them?"

"I did," a.s.sented Nasmyth. "In Canada they'd call them a mighty tough crowd; they're about the limit here."

"I turned round after the car had pa.s.sed," Millicent went on. "Marple was driving, as fast as usual, and he made no attempt to pull up. Bell, who didn't hear, tried to jump and fell into the ditch; most of the sheep were scattered across the moor, but two or three got right in front of the car and at the last moment Marple had to stop. One of the women laughed, she had a very shrill voice and she explained that the old man looked so funny in the ditch; Marple shouted to Bell--something about the damage to his tires--and I could see the others smiling at what he said.

That was worse than the words he used. Then they went on, leaving the old man to gather up his sheep; he hadn't a dog with him. That kind of thing leaves its mark!"

"Distinctly so," Nasmyth agreed. "Still, Marple and his lot are exceptions. Wasn't Clarence rather thick with them?"

"Yes," she answered. "I've been rather disturbed about him."

Nasmyth did not know what this meant. He thought she would hardly have made such an admission had she contemplated marrying the man; and, if not, it was somewhat difficult to see why he should cause her serious concern. He knew, however, that Millicent could not look on unmoved when her friends left the right path; he could think of two or three whom she had helped and gently checked from further straying. This reflection was a relief to him, because he was determined that she should not marry Clarence if he could prevent it. If necessary, he would tell her the part the man had played in Canada, though he shrank from doing so.

"Marple and his acquaintances are not the people one would have expected Clarence to a.s.sociate with," he continued. "Still, in my opinion, he's doing worse in making a friend of that fellow Batley. I could never understand the connection--the man strikes me as an adventurer. Has he spent much time here since I've been away?"

"A good deal, off and on. But it's getting chilly and I half expect a reproving lecture from Miss Hume when I go in. First, though, tell me a little more about the young Canadian you had with you."

"I don't know much. I met him by accident--he has an interest in some mines, I believe, but he struck me as a remarkably fine type. Clever at woodcraft, as handy with the ax and paddle as our professional guide, but when he talked about other things he seemed to know a good deal more than I do." He smiled. "After all, that's not surprising. But what I liked most was the earnestness of the fellow; he had a downright way of grappling with things, or explaining them to you. Sensible, but direct, not subtle."

"I've met men of that description, and I'm rather prejudiced in their favor," declared Millicent, smiling. "But what was he like in person--slightly rugged?"

"No; that's where you and others sometimes go wrong. There's nothing of the barbarian about these bushmen. Physically, they're as fine a type as we are--I might go farther--straight in the limb, clean-lined every way, square in the shoulder. They'd make an impression at any London gathering."

"So long as they didn't speak?"

"It wouldn't matter. Allowing for a few colloquialisms, they're worth listening to; which is more than I'd care to say for a number of the people one meets in this country."

Millicent laughed.

"Well, I'll be glad to see him when he comes." Her voice grew graver. "I feel grateful to him already for what he told you about George."

They went in together and half an hour later Nasmyth walked home across the moor. He had never thought more highly of Millicent, but somehow he now felt sorry for her. It scarcely seemed fitting that she should live in that lonely spot with only the company of an elderly and staid companion, though he hardly thought she would be happier if she plunged into a round of purposeless amus.e.m.e.nts in the cities. Still, she was young and very attractive; he felt that she should have more than the thinly-peopled countryside had to offer.

CHAPTER VII

ON THE MOORS

Nearly a year had pa.s.sed since Nasmyth's return when Lisle at length reached England. Soon after his arrival, he was, as Nasmyth's guest, invited to join a shooting party, and one bright afternoon he stood behind a bank of sods high on a grouse-moor overlooking the wastes of the Border. The heath was stained with the bell-heather's regal purple, interspersed with the vivid red of the more fragile ling, and where the uplands sloped away broad blotches of the same rich colors checkered the gra.s.s. In the foreground a river gleamed athwart the picture, and overhead there stretched an arch of cloudless blue. There was no wind; the day was still and hot.

A young lad whose sunburned face already bore the stamp of self-indulgence was stationed behind the b.u.t.t with Lisle, and the latter was not favorably impressed with his appearance or conversation.

"Look out," he cautioned by and by. "You were a little slow last time.

They travel pretty fast."

Lisle picked up his gun; he had used one in the West, though he was more accustomed to the rifle. Cutting clear against the dazzling sky, a straggling line of dark specks was moving toward him, and a series of sharp cracks broke out from the farther wing of the row of b.u.t.ts, which stretched across the moor. Lisle watched the birds, with fingers tightening on his gun; one cl.u.s.ter was coming his way, each flitting body growing in size and distinctness with marvelous rapidity. Then there was a flash beside him, and another crash as he pitched up his gun. Something struck the heather with a thud not far away, and swinging the muzzle a little, he pulled again. He was not surprised to hear a second thud, and laying down his gun he turned to his youthful companion, while a thin cloud of acrid vapor hung about him.

"Get anything?" he asked.

"I didn't," was the sullen answer. "Couldn't expect it with the second barrel, after you'd filled the place with smoke. Wonder why Gladwyne's man gave you the old black powder?"

As nearly everybody else used smokeless, this was a point that had aroused Lisle's curiosity, though it was not a matter of much importance.

Nasmyth had provided him with cartridges, but they had somehow been left behind, and on applying to Gladwyne's keeper he had been supplied with ammunition which, it seemed, was out of date.

"After all, you have done well enough," his companion resumed. "We'd better get on to our next station--it's right across the moor on the high ridge yonder. Don't bother about the birds."

"Shall I leave them there?"

"Certainly! Do you want to carry them all the afternoon? One of the keeper fellows will bring them along."

The lad's tone was half contemptuous; he had already shown that he considered the Canadian what he would have called an outsider; but he was willing to make use of him.

"You might look after Bella; she's alone in the next b.u.t.t--and I've something else to do," he said. "There's an awkward ghyll to cross and she won't carry anything lighter than a 14-gun. See she doesn't leave the cartridges in it."

He strode away across the heather, and Lisle turned toward the turf shelter indicated. As he approached it, a girl appeared and glanced at him with very obvious curiosity; but as he supposed that she was the sister of his late companion he did not expect any diffidence from her.

She was short in stature and slight in figure, and dressed in grayish brown; hat, coat, and remarkably short skirt all of the same material.

Her hair was of a copper color; her eyes, which were rather narrow, of a pale grayish-green. He would have called them hard, and there was a hint of arrogance in her expression. Yet she was piquantly pretty.

"I suppose you're Nasmyth's Canadian friend?" she began, and went on without waiting for an answer: "As we occupy adjoining b.u.t.ts on the next drive, you may take my gun. Teddy has deserted me."

"Teddy?" queried Lisle, who wondered if she were referring to her brother. "I thought his name was Jim."

"It's Marple's stout friend with the dyed hair I mean. I told him what would happen if he ate as he persisted in doing at lunch. It's too hot to gormandize; I wasn't astonished when he collapsed at the steep place on the last walk. Reflecting that it was his own fault, I left him."

Lisle was not charmed with the girl's manners, but he could not check a smile.

"Are you tired? You oughtn't to be," she continued with another bold glance at him.

"No," he replied; "if it's any consolation to you, I'm far from exhausted yet."

"That's rea.s.suring," she retorted. "You haven't taken my gun."

Having forgotten it for the moment, he flushed a little, and she watched him with unconcealed amus.e.m.e.nt while he opened the weapon and took out the cartridges.