Delilah of the Snows

"So you told him who you really were?" she asked.

Sewell, for no very evident reason, stooped and flicked a little dust off one of his boots, and it was a few moments later when he looked up with a smile.

"I think you heard me mention it," he said. "You are ready, Ingleby?"

Ingleby stood up, with a somewhat rueful glance, not altogether unwarranted, at his attire. He did not know what Hetty meant, and felt no great interest in the question, for he had a supreme faith in one man and one woman, and if he had discovered that Sewell had been charged with felony it would not have concerned him greatly. He would have believed in him, almost in spite of the evidences of his senses.

Coulthurst received them cordially when they reached his little log-built dwelling, which stood not far from the police outpost beyond the cañon where a tremendous wall of hillside shut in the adjacent valley. That region, while unpleasantly remote from civilization, was still accessible, and the Gold Commissioners' quarters were, considering their situation, far from uncomfortable. There was even a very artistic set of chessmen at which Coulthurst glanced during a pause in the conversation.

"I was once in a native Indian state, and those pieces are a little memento," he said. "They played the game rather well there, and I've had a liking for it ever since."

Now Ingleby's father had also played chess well, and he knew a little of the game; but he was accustomed to yield his comrade priority and was more than usually content to do so that evening. Sewell, who seemed to understand this, smiled.

"I'm afraid I should make a very indifferent opponent, sir, but that is your affair," he said.

Coulthurst drew out a little table with some alacrity, and Grace and Ingleby found a place apart from them. The latter made no great attempt at conversation, for he was worn-out by a long day's toil and quite content to be there and listen to his companion. Ingleby could talk when he felt prompted to; but, like other men with the capacity for strenuous effort, he could be silent without embarrassing himself or those about him.

In the meanwhile the surroundings had their effect on him. The soft light of the big shaded lamp was pleasant after the glare of the crackling fire; the hangings that hid door and windows conveyed to one who had lived as he had done a suggestion of comfort and luxury; and his eyes did not miss the fashion in which each trifle brought up through long leagues of forest on the pack-saddle had been arranged. Grace Coulthurst had artistic tastes, and she had also, to some extent, the means of indulging them.

It was, however, her propinquity that most affected him. Her daintiness appealed to his senses, and the faint perfume that hung about her and the touch of her gown when it brushed against him sent a little thrill through him. Miss Coulthurst was possibly not unaware of this, but she was none the less gracious to him. Ingleby was a well-favoured man, and physical effort and endurance with a wholesome singleness of purpose had set a stamp on him that almost amounted to distinction. Athletic toil and plain living, with the moral discipline which binds the worn-out flesh in obedience to the will, have a refining influence on most men, and there was in Ingleby's gaunt face, steady eyes, and clear, bronzed skin the faint suggestion of spirituality which in that country, at least, not infrequently characterizes even the placer miner of low degree. Grace Coulthurst, who had quick perceptions, recognized it, but naturally kept her impressions to herself.

"Mr. Sewell plays chess very well," she said. "In fact, he made what seemed to me a really brilliant opening."

"He is one of the men who do everything that is worth while well," said Ingleby. "That sounds a little comprehensive, but I almost think it's no more than the fact."

Grace asked no very pertinent question that Ingleby could remember; but she nevertheless induced him to speak of his comrade, which, being simple of mind in some respects, he had evident pleasure in doing. In the meanwhile she watched the man at the chess-table, and it seemed to her that part, at least, of his friend's belief in him was justified. Sewell's face was expressive and mobile as well as forceful, and there was a subtle suggestive gracefulness in his speech and gesture which was not to be found in Ingleby's. Then she smiled, and changed the subject.

"I wonder," she said, "why he sacrificed the castle?"

"The knight," said Ingleby gravely, "was certainly not a very good exchange."

Grace laughed. "I scarcely think you would ever, as they say in this country, go back on a friend. My father, as he said, is fond of the game, but that doesn't go very far, after all."

"He plays it creditably."

"And Mr. Sewell, as you are quite aware, plays it exceptionally well. I wonder if he realizes that the major is not fond of losing."

Ingleby smiled as he again glanced round the room. Then he turned to her, the origin and complement of its refinement, and she read his thoughts without difficulty.

"I scarcely think that anybody who knows how we live would blame him," he said.

Grace laughed. "Then," she said, "as I'm not quite sure that I know, suppose you tell me."

Ingleby did so in simple fashion, and it is probable that most young women would not have found his story entertaining. Grace Coulthurst, who had lived in the bush, however, had comprehension and could fill in a good deal that he did not supply. It was also, in its own way, to one who knew that country, an epic, a recital of man's high endeavour and herculean grapple with untrammelled nature, for in the struggle for the subjugation of the wilderness the placer miner leads the van. The smothering rush of slipping gravel, the crash of shattered props as the little shaft closed up, and the unexpected fall of half-charred trees had a place in it, as well as the monotony of toil, and the girl listened gravely.

"And you have found the gold?" she said.

"A little," said Ingleby, "but not half enough. We have failed to bottom quite on the old creek bed, and are going to sink again or drive an adit."

The mention of insufficiency was in itself significant, for though he had spoken no word in Canada that could afford the slightest hint of the aspirations that had animated him Grace was quite aware of them. There are not many women who do not know when a man is in love with them.

"But there are only two of you, and it will take you ever so long," she said.

"Still, we will get it done," and there was a curious brightness in Ingleby's eyes.

Grace noticed the hollowness of his quiet face and the leanness of his hard, scarred hands, and her heart grew soft towards him. The sign of the strain was plain upon him, though the breaking point had not yet been reached, and it was for her that he had done so much.

"And you expect the effort will be warranted?" she said.

Ingleby turned and looked at her gravely.

"Men get rich placer mining now and then, and it might happen to me," he said. "In fact, I almost think from what one or two of the old prospectors tell me that I am going to be successful. I don't know if you will understand me, but after a life like mine the probability of being so is a little overwhelming."

There was a tension in his voice which had its effect upon the girl, and she sat silent for a moment or two until the major's voice broke sharply in on them.

"Check! I fancied at one time the game was in your hands, but there's seldom much use in anticipating when there are points you can't foresee," he said.

Grace glanced at Ingleby, who smiled.

"I'm afraid Major Coulthurst is right. One can only wait," he said.

Just then there was a tapping at the door, and Ingleby moved abruptly when Esmond came in. The officer, however, showed no sign of astonishment when he saw who was there, but smiled as he looked at Grace, and turned to the major.

"I have just come across for a few minutes, and will not disturb you, sir," he said. "I don't suppose you have any objections to my looking over your register?"

"No," said Coulthurst. "It's yonder. Has anything gone wrong?"

Esmond's eyes rested for just a moment on Sewell. "Only two or three of the men talking rather wildly, sir. Somebody has been putting notions into their heads. It occurred to me I might as well make sure they all had certificates."

"Quite right!" said Coulthurst appreciatively. "I have decided objections to their doing me out of my money."

Esmond took down the register, which was not remarkably well kept, and had some little trouble in tracing out the information he desired. At last, however, he read, "Thomas Leger, Free miner's certificate, Five dollars; also Five dollars, Walter Ingleby."

He made a careful note of the date, and then turned over the pages systematically. Later on he found, "Walter Ingleby, Five dollars," but there was no further entry for Leger. Then he put the book back, and the major glanced at him.

"Check!" he said. "I almost think I've got you, Mr. Sewell. You found what you wanted, Reggie?"

"Yes, sir," said Esmond, whose eyes now rested on Grace and Ingleby. "I fancy I have."

He crossed the room in a leisurely fashion, and Ingleby rose when Grace turned to him.

"You have no doubt come across Mr. Ingleby in the course of your duties, Reggie, but I should like to present him formally as one of my friends," she said.

Esmond made Ingleby, who responded as briefly, a little curt inclination.

"I have," he said, "certainly met Mr. Ingleby at least twice already."

"I believe I remember one occasion," said Grace, with a little twinkle in her eyes. She had naturally not heard of the second encounter. "I'm not sure you were in quite as good a temper as usual that night. Still, you see, circumstances are very different now."

Esmond laughed, but there was a dryness in his tone which Ingleby afterwards remembered.

"Circumstances have a trick of changing somewhat rapidly in this country," he said. "You have, I believe, bottomed on gold, Mr. Ingleby?"

"Yes," said Ingleby.

"You struck it rich?"

"No," said Ingleby. "Still, the signs are promising. We hope to be more fortunate when we have driven our adit."

"How long do you expect to be over it?"

"It is a little difficult to tell."

Esmond appeared to reflect, and Grace, who watched him, did not quite understand his face.

"Well," he said, "I suppose placer mining is always a trifle uncertain. One would almost fancy that baking was more profitable. Your friend Miss Leger seems to be doing well, or is it your venture?"

Ingleby wondered if this was meant for Miss Coulthurst's enlightenment; but he could not very well permit his dislike of the man, who would seize such an opportunity, to become apparent then, and there was also something in Esmond's tone which suggested that he might, after all, have a different purpose. Unfortunately, he had no notion of what that purpose was.

"She is," he said quietly, "selling a good deal of bread."

"At excellent prices! Still, she probably deserves all she gains. It would cost a good deal to bring flour up. How did she get it?"

Ingleby was a little astonished at the man's persistence, and Grace noticed it.

"Are you going to turn baker, too?" she asked.

Esmond laughed in a fashion which brought the blood to Ingleby's face. Still, he answered the man's question.

"I went down for it," he said.

Just then the major's voice broke in again. "A very good fight, Mr. Sewell. I scarcely think I could have beaten you if you hadn't let me see your game. However strong your position is, that is very seldom wise."

"Major Coulthurst," said Esmond, "is now and then astonishingly accurate. One could generalize from such a speech as that. But to resume the topic, wasn't it a little careless of you, Ingleby? You invalidate your record when you leave a placer claim."

Ingleby, secure, as he fancied, smiled. "Leger," he said, "holds a share with me."

"Of course!" said Esmond, as though the subject had no longer any interest to him. "So you left Leger! Well, I must get back to the outpost now. Grace, you will excuse me."

He went out, and while Grace entertained Ingleby the major and Sewell, who lost again, played another game. Then she made and served them coffee with her own hands, and Ingleby, at least, went back to his tent filled with the memory of how she did it.

In the meanwhile Grace, sitting by the fire when he had gone away, glanced at her father.

"I wonder," she said, "what you think of Mr. Sewell?"

"The man," said Coulthurst, "is, in spite of the opinions he seems to hold, evidently a gentleman; I can't think of a more appropriate word for it. There is also, I fancy, a good deal more in him than any one who was not good at reading character might suppose. He plays chess exceptionally well. In fact, almost as well as I do."

Grace smiled a little. "I fancied he did," she said. "Were you equally pleased with his companion?"

"Yes," said the major reflectively. "He strikes me as sensible and solid – and one has a fancy that there's often a screw loose somewhere about brilliant men. They are apt to – double up unexpectedly – when the strain comes. The other kind I always find are more likely to wear well."

Grace laughed, but made no observation. Major Coulthurst, as she was quite aware, was almost painfully solid himself, but he had, at least, stood the rough usage of a hard world remarkably well, and she was disposed to admit the correctness of his opinion. Still, there was, in spite of his name, something about Sewell that Ingleby did not possess which appealed to her.

XIV

THE NECESSARY INCENTIVE

While Ingleby and Sewell made their way back to their tent Esmond sat thoughtfully in his comfortless room at the outpost, cigar in hand. He felt distinctly pleased with his astuteness, but he was by no means sure what use he would make of the information Ingleby had somewhat unwisely supplied him. Esmond was merely a capable police officer with certain defects in his character, and not a clever scoundrel. In fact, he had his good points, or he would not have retrieved his credit, in a service which demands a good deal from those who would rise in it, after becoming involved in difficulties in England; but he was arrogant, vindictive, and apt to be carried away by his passions.

He disliked Ingleby, and would in any circumstances have found it difficult to forgive the miner for having twice caused him to appear at a disadvantage, while the fact that Grace Coulthurst had shown Ingleby some degree of favour was an almost worse offence. Esmond had the prejudices that occasionally characterize men of his station, and it seemed to him distinctly unfitting that the Gold Commissioner's daughter should patronize, as he expressed it, a placer miner. He was not exactly in love with her, though he had once come near being so, but he cherished a tenderness for her which might in favourable circumstances have ripened. The circumstances were not, however, favourable, for there was a certain stain on his reputation which he fancied Major Coulthurst, at least, remembered.

It was therefore pleasant to feel that he held the whip over the presumptuous miner, and could apply it when advisable, though he had in the meanwhile no very definite purpose of doing so. It was not his business to see that Major Coulthurst carried out the mining laws, and, in any case, Ingleby had found no gold that would render the sequestration of his claim a matter of very much moment; besides which Esmond reflected that it would be considerably more congenial to humiliate him openly in person instead of inflicting a malicious injury on him by the hand of another man. An opportunity would no doubt be forthcoming, and he could afford to wait. With this commendable decision he flung his cigar away, and went to bed.

However, he became a little less sure that reticence was advisable when he saw that Ingleby and Sewell visited the Gold Commissioner every now and then; and it happened, somewhat unfortunately, that he dismounted to take up a stirrup leather when riding back to his outpost through the cañon one evening. Save for the hoarse roar of the river the tremendous hollow was very still, and the sound of voices came faintly up to him. Turning sharply, he made out two figures among the pines, and an expletive rose to his lips as he recognized them. One was a miner in miry long boots and soil-stained jean, the other a girl in a light dress.

Esmond's eyes grew a trifle vindictive as he watched them, and though he had one foot in the stirrup he did not obey the impulse that prompted him to swing himself to the saddle and ride away. Instead he led the horse behind a wide-girthed cedar and stood still, with a trace of darker colour in his face. It was unfortunate that he did not know Grace had met Ingleby by accident and that he could not hear their conversation when they stopped for a few minutes by the edge of the river.

"You have not been near us for awhile," said the girl.

"I have been busy, though I am not sure that is a very good excuse," said Ingleby. "Besides, one feels a little diffident – in the circumstances – about presuming too much on Major Coulthurst's kindness."

Grace laughed, though she understood the qualification. "I am, of course, not going to press you, but come when you wish. The major, if one might mention it, rather approves of you, and when he and Mr. Sewell play chess there is nobody to talk to me."

Ingleby, who had sense enough to take this admission for what it was worth, looked thoughtful.

"Sewell," he asked, "has been there without me?"

"Once or twice."

"Then he certainly never mentioned it to me."

"Does he give you an account of everything he does?" and Grace laughed. "How is your work at the mine progressing?"

"Slowly. In fact, considering our appliances, we have had almost overwhelming difficulties to contend with. Still, one could scarcely expect you to be interested in them."

"I am, however," and there was a faint but subtle suggestion of sympathy in the girl's voice that sent a thrill through him.

It cost him an effort to hold himself in hand; but Ingleby had been taught restraint in Canada, one sign of which was that he seldom inflicted his opinions on other people. He had decided that it would be time to let his aspirations become apparent when he had found the gold and made himself a position; it never occurred to him that the girl was probably quite aware of them already. It was not an easy thing to hide them, and, though he was growing accustomed to the discipline, the topic she had suggested was a safe one.

"Well," he said, "the gold we expect to strike lies in what was presumably an ancient river bed, though there is, strange to say, very little of it in the Green River now. It was probably deposited there thousands of years ago, and it is evident that we have struck only the outer edge of the patch of sand and gravel containing it. We tried tunnelling, but twice the soil came in and nearly buried Leger, and at Tomlinson's advice we sank another shaft. All the work had to be done again, and we often go on half the night now. It is, I think, only a question if we can hold out long enough, for winter is coming. Still, it – must – be done."

He had not purposed to indulge in more than a very matter-of-fact narration, and had, in one respect, certainly not exceeded this; but there was a curious ring in his voice; and Grace understood his thoughts as she flashed a swift glance at him. His face, which was a trifle haggard, had grown intent, and the little glint in his eyes had its meaning. Grace Coulthurst recognized, as Hetty Leger had done some time earlier, that Ingleby was toiling harder than was wise. She also knew as well as if he had told her what purpose animated him. Still, she had no intention of admitting it just then.

"I think," she said, "you should be careful not to do too much, and if you are going back to work to-night you must come no farther."

Ingleby protested, but Grace was resolute, and, turning, left him standing in the trail. She walked homewards thoughtfully with a faint trace of colour in her face, for the man's unexpressed devotion had stirred her. Then, in a somewhat unfortunate moment, she looked up and saw Esmond waiting beside the trail for her. A glance at his face sufficed to show her that he was quite aware she had not come there alone, and roused in her a curious sense of antagonism. It had become evident to her already that he bore no particular good will toward Ingleby.

"The view is really worth even your attention," she said.

Esmond knew what the suggestion of hardness in her tone meant, and smiled as he glanced, down the froth-smeared river towards the tremendous rift in the rocks through which it thundered. Beyond it the mists were streaming across the deep valley and crawling filmily athwart the pines that climbed in serried battalions towards the gleaming snow.

"It is. In fact, I scarcely think I could improve on it; but it was not the view that kept me here," he said.

"No?" and Grace's voice was a trifle harder still.

Esmond looked at her steadily. "I had," he said, "the pleasure of seeing you coming down the cañon – a little while ago."

His meaning was very plain, but he had given her an opportunity, for Grace had noticed that the cedar he stood near was great of girth and the undergrowth was trampled at one side of it. The man winced as she moved forward a little and glanced at it.

"I suppose," she asked, with quiet contempt, "that was why you thought it necessary to lead your horse out of the trail?"

Esmond, who had not expected affairs to take this turn, fumed inwardly. He was not quite sure why he had stayed there at all, but in his indignation he had become possessed by a vague and very senseless notion that a friendly remonstrance might be admissible, and, at least, afford him an opportunity for expressing his opinion of Ingleby. He was, of course, by no means a clever man, and angry at the time, or he would never have made that mistake; but his purpose was not altogether a base or selfish one. Grace Coulthurst, who was of his own station, must, he felt, be guarded against herself, and, since there was apparently nobody else available, he undertook the task. He became vindictive, however, when he realized that it would be difficult to carry out his commendable purpose.

"I think we need not go into that," he said. "Perhaps I did wrong, but it would only lead us away from the topic I want to talk about. Has it occurred to you that unless you put a stop to his presumption that miner fellow might get ideas into his head?"

Grace appreciated his courage in persisting, especially in view of the result of her previous thrust; but while she was not exactly sure of her sentiments towards Ingleby, he was, at least, the man who loved her, which counted a good deal in his favour. Esmond, she was quite aware, chiefly loved himself.

"Isn't that a trifle vague? What ideas do you mean?" she asked.

Esmond stood silent a moment or two, for his task was becoming unpleasantly difficult; but his bitterness against Ingleby rashly determined him to go on.

"I should prefer not to be more definite – and I'm not sure that it is necessary," he said. "Still, one might, perhaps, venture to warn you that the miners and my troopers, who, of course, have eyes, have already found an entertaining topic."

Grace Coulthurst's face grew a trifle colourless with anger, though she did not quite believe him.

"So you can listen while your policemen discuss – me?" she said.

"No," said Esmond unguardedly. "I would have risked my commission by thrashing the man I heard mention you."

A sardonic gleam crept into Grace's eyes. "Then, since you haven't done it, it is a little difficult to understand how you could be aware of what they are saying."

The man's embarrassment was evident, but it lasted only a moment, and he made a little abrupt gesture.

"I'm no match for you at this game, Grace," he said. "Of course, I'm taking a great liberty, but if you think a little you might find some excuse for me."

"For playing the spy on me?"

Esmond's lips set tight, and the bronze in his cheeks took on a still deeper tinge; but there was, as is usually the case, good as well as evil in him, and he was to some extent endeavouring just then to discharge what he considered a duty.