Partners of the Out-Trail

"Come down and get your backs under the axle," he said.

They obeyed and, standing in the water, tried to lift the car. For a few moments it looked impossible, because the weight above forced their feet into the mud; then, while they gasped and strained, the wheel rose an inch or two from Jim's chest.

"Lift him, Carrie! Lift him now!" Jake shouted in a breathless voice.

Carrie seized Jim's coat and tried to drag him up. He was heavy; she choked with the tense effort and did not know afterwards how it was made. For all that, she dragged him up a foot and then to one side. The strain was horrible, but she held on and thought she saw the car tilt and the back wheel tear the peaty soil from the top of the bank.

Jake shouted something, Dick fell back, and she saw that Jim was clear of the wheel. For a moment, Mordaunt's face stood out against the gloom. It was dark with blood, his teeth shone between his drawn-back lips, and the veins on his forehead were horribly swollen. Then there was a crash among the thorns, and the car seemed to go right over. Mordaunt staggered and fell, and somebody helped her to drag Jim up; Carrie did not know if it was Dick or Jake. Next moment Mordaunt crawled out of the ditch and joined them. He gasped and the water ran from his clothes.

"Are you hurt?" Carrie asked. "You got all the weight at the last."

Mordaunt smiled. It looked as if he could not speak, and while Carrie wiped Jim's face Jake beckoned Dick.

"Bring your car. We must get him home."

Dick turned the car and they put Jim on the floor with his head against Carrie's knee. When they started she bent and held his shoulders, and in a few minutes they rolled up the drive. Then Carrie pulled herself together, gave orders, and took control; and when they had carried Jim to his room gave Mordaunt her hand.

"You saved him," she said. "We won't forget!"

"I happened to see a plan before the others; that's all," Mordaunt replied. "I'll get off now and send a doctor."

He ran downstairs and Carrie heard his car start while she stood with her mother by Jim's bed. Her face was white, but it flushed when Jim opened his eyes.

"What's the matter? Where am I?" he asked.

"You're at home," said Carrie. "You mustn't talk."

"I don't want to talk. Things are all going round," Jim rejoined and shut his eyes.

After a time he began to breathe regularly and Mrs. Winter bent over him.

"He's stunned; something hit his head. I don't think it's worse than that," she remarked. "I guess we can't do much until the doctor comes."

Mordaunt sent a doctor from the town and when he had seen him start went with Dick into the smoking-room at a quiet hotel. There was nobody else about until a waiter came, and Mordaunt sat down by the fire.

"I feel we need a drink," he said. "It was a near thing when the car went over. I can hardly bend my back, and it will, no doubt, be worse in the morning."

"You held her long enough for Miss Winter to pull Jim out," Dick replied. "It's lucky you were able. My feet slipped, and although Winter is pretty strong I imagine he was beaten. All the weight came on you; I don't understand how you held on."

"One can sometimes borrow a little extra strength from keen excitement and I remembered that if I let go the wheel would come down again on Jim's chest. He might not have stood another shock."

"He was badly knocked out," Dick agreed. "I expect you saved his life."

Mordaunt smiled. "Now I'm cool, I begin to think I was rash."

"Rot!" Dick exclaimed. "You don't mean this and it's a bad joke!"

"We don't owe Jim much; if he had stopped in Canada, Langrigg would have been yours and mine. Then it begins to look as if Bernard approved the fellow, and I'm willing to admit I had rather counted on getting a good share of his money. You and Evelyn would have got the rest."

"After all, Bernard's money is his. He's just, and I don't imagine he'll leave us out. We're not rich, but if he does give Jim some of my share, I won't miss it very much."

"I shall miss mine," Mordaunt rejoined.

Dick was quiet for a minute or two, and then looked up. "You remember reading the French romance the night we reached the telegraph shack! Did you see Franklin Dearham's name in the book?"

"Yes," said Mordaunt very coolly, "I did see it." He paused, looking hard at Dick, and went on: "Of course, I know what this implies. There was some doubt, but the probability was the telegraph linesman was our relation and the owner of Langrigg. Well, I thought he was not the man to have the estate, and might be happier if we left him in the woods. It was not altogether because I wanted my share of what was his."

Dick did not doubt Lance's sincerity, but he had got a jar. In a way, Lance had tried to rob Jim.

"What do you think about him now?" he asked with some awkwardness.

"What I thought then; he is not the man to own Langrigg and ought to have stayed in Canada. I'd have been resigned, had you got the estate, but this fellow will make us a joke. He has the utilitarian ideals of a Western lumberman."

"Bernard is the head of the house and I doubt if he'd agree. You admitted he approved Jim."

"I did; I don't like his approving."

"Oh, well," said Dick. "Since you held up the car, I suppose you're entitled to criticize Jim. If you hadn't made an effort, he would probably have been killed. You can grumble about him as much as you like; we'll remember what you did!"

Mordaunt smiled rather curiously and drained his glass.

"We are late for dinner and my clothes are wet," he remarked.

They went out; and both were quiet as they drove to Whitelees.

CHAPTER VII

THE FENCING WIRE

Next morning Carrie, getting up early because she had not slept much, heard Jim's step in the passage outside her room. He went rather unsteadily downstairs and a few minutes afterwards she found him sitting on the terrace wall. He was pale and his face was cut; but he had taken off the bandage.

"You oughtn't to be out," she said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"You were badly shaken. The doctor said we must keep you quiet."

"He probably didn't state how long, and I've been quiet all night. I certainly got a knock; imagine my head went through the glass, but I feel my proper self again, and don't see any reason for staying in bed."

Carrie gave it up. She knew Jim pretty well and asked where he was going.

"I want to look at the car," he said. "I don't know why she left the road. But how did you find me and bring me home?"

Carrie told him, and he looked thoughtful.

"I was in the ditch with the wheel on me? This accounts for my side's feeling sore. How did you lift the car?"

"The others got into the ditch. A wheel began to slip and I thought the weight would overpower them; but Lance Mordaunt made a tremendous effort and held up the axle until we pulled you out."

Jim knitted his brows and looked across the lawn while he mechanically felt for his pipe. The morning was clear with scattered clouds and the grass was silvered by dew. The hills were sharp and belts of light and shadow checkered the marsh. In the distance, the sea sparkled.

"If Jake or Dick had held her up, I could have understood," he said.

"It was Lance," Carrie insisted. "Why are you puzzled?"

"For one thing, I imagine he doesn't like me," Jim replied and indicated by a gesture the old house, and the sweep of smooth pasture and yellow stubble that rolled down the hill. "Perhaps it's not strange. I have taken all this from him!"

"But you took it as much from Dick."

"That is so," Jim agreed. "Dick's different. He's careless; I don't think he feels things. However, I must thank Lance." He paused and resumed: "The boys were in the ditch and I was under the car. Who pulled me out?"

"I did," said Carrie, blushing. "There was nobody else."

Jim took her hand. "My dear! When I needed help before, you were about. But that ditch is four feet deep and I'm heavy."

Carrie pulled her hand from his and smiled. "You are heavy, Jim, and it was something of a strain. However, I'll come with you, if you are going down the hill."

"To take care of me?" said Jim, with a twinkle. "If you don't mind, I'd sooner go alone."

He got up, and seeing that his step was firm, she let him go. It was not a caprice that he would not take her, but when she returned to the house she sent Jake after him.

As he went down the hill Jim thought about Mordaunt. The man was something of a puzzle, and Jim admitted that he had, perhaps, not been just when he accounted for his antagonism. Lance, no doubt, felt that he ought to have got Langrigg, but he was not altogether moved by disappointed greed. Their antagonism went deeper than that. Lance was a conventionalist; he clung instinctively to traditions that were getting out of date. In fact, Jim thought he would have been a very fine country gentleman had he inherited Langrigg sixty years since. Lance was what horse-ranchers called a throw-back; in a sense, he belonged to an older generation.

There was another thing. Jim imagined Lance felt Evelyn's charm, and although they were cousins, he understood cousins sometimes married, with their relatives' approval, when the marriage would advance the interests of the family. It was possible that he might hurt Lance worse than by robbing him of Langrigg.

Yet Lance had held up the car for him and run some risk of being killed. After all, this did not clash with Jim's notion of his character. Lance might dislike the man he rescued, but he had the instincts of an English gentleman. Then Jim stopped and looked about, for he had reached the thorn hedge.

A belt of peat, checkered by white tufts of wild cotton, ran back from the road, and a wire fence joined the hedge at a right angle. Some of the posts had fallen and lengths of wire lay about. Jim looked at the wire thoughtfully, and then went on to the spot where broken glass and torn up soil marked the scene of the accident. Then he stopped again and lighted his pipe. In the Canadian woods he had now and then trusted to his rifle to supply his food, and tracking large game trains one's observation. One must guess an animal's movements by very small signs. A broken twig or a disturbed stone tells one much. Jim looked for some such clew that might help him, so to speak, to reconstruct the accident.

He remembered a sudden jolt and the front wheels skidding. They had obviously struck something, and when he got the car straight had skidded again the other way. The marks the tires had made indicated this, and he examined the neighboring ground. The silverweed that covered the peaty soil between the road and ditch was not much crushed. He had, as he remembered, not gone far on that side before he, for a moment, recovered control of the car. The real trouble began when it swerved again and ran across the road. Something had caught the wheels and interfered with the steering.

Jim looked for a big stone, but could find none; besides, it was improbable that he had hit the stone twice, and sitting down by the overturned car he thoughtfully finished his pipe. The car must be got out of the ditch, but this was not important, and he dwelt upon the fencing wire; he had a hazy notion that the obstacle he had struck was flexible. By and by he heard a step, and Jake came up.

"I don't know if you ought to be about," the latter said. "It will be an awkward job to get the car into the road."

"I'm not bothering about the car," Jim replied. "I want to find out why she ran into the ditch."

"You don't know, then?"

Jim indicated the wheel-marks and told Jake about the skidding. "She went off at an angle and I couldn't pull her round," he concluded.

"Do you expect to find the steering-gear broken?"

"Not unless it broke after she skidded."

Jake gave him a keen glance. "I begin to see! Well, people sometimes find trouble coming to them when they won't leave things alone. But what kind of a clew do you expect to get?"

"A mark on a thorn trunk; we'll look for one," said Jim. "Suppose you take the other side!"

He walked a few yards along the ditch, examining the bottom of the trunks, and presently stopped and put his foot on the other bank. Then he beckoned Jake and indicated a few scratches on the bark of a thorn. The rough stem was tufted with dry moss and for an inch or two this was crushed.

"I reckon something has been fastened to this tree," he said. "If we can find another mark on the opposite row, I'll be satisfied."

They went across and after a few moments Jake said, "Here it is!"

Jim studied the mark and nodded. "Very well! I think we'll get into the field and look at the old fence wire. I want a piece seven or eight yards long."

After pulling about the wire that lay in the grass, they found a piece. One end was bent into a rough hook, and although the other was nearly straight Jim noted a spot where the galvanizing was cracked.

"It has been bent here twice," he said. "Pulled over into a hook and then pulled back. You can see how the zinc has flaked."

They sat down on a bank and Jake remarked: "I think you ought to be satisfied. But what are you going to do about it?"

"Lie low and watch out. That's all in the meantime. I want the man who fixed the wire across the road to give himself away."

"Don't you know who he is?"

"I think I know. It's not quite enough."

"Perhaps it's not," Jake agreed. "You want to be able to show other folks he did the thing? The trouble is, he may try again!"

"Then it will be my fault if he gets me. I've had fair warning."

"Your nerve is pretty good; I knew this before," Jake remarked. "Well, I suppose nothing's to be said about it until you have some proof? Now we'll go back to breakfast."

They returned to Langrigg, and after breakfast Jim went to the marsh, where the men he had engaged were at work. Soon after he had gone, a car from Dryholm came up the drive and Carrie met Bernard Dearham on the steps.

"I came to ask how Jim is. Lance told me about the accident," he said. "I expect you won't let me see him yet?"

"You might see him if you crossed the marsh. He is getting busy there," Carrie replied.

"But he was unconscious when Lance left."

Carrie smiled. "Yes. He got up at seven o'clock this morning and went out. That's the kind of man he is!"

"Then we needn't be disturbed about him," Bernard replied and indicated a stone bench in the sun. "I cannot walk far and there is no road across the marsh. Can you spare a few minutes to talk to me?"

"Why, of course," said Carrie, and Bernard waited until she sat down. Although he thought she knew his importance, she was not anxious to please him; but she did not assert her independence. The girl had an ease of manner he approved and, if she remained at Langrigg, would soon acquire the touch of polish she needed. But he pulled himself up. In the meantime, he was going too fast.

"I understand you nursed Jim once before," he said. "Did you not use your authority to keep him in the house this morning?"

"I did not," Carrie replied, with a twinkle. "Looks as if you didn't know Jim yet! Besides, if you have some authority, you don't want to strain it."

"That is no doubt true," Bernard agreed. None of his relations had so far disputed his firm rule, but he knew when it was prudent not to exercise his power. "You are a philosopher," he went on. "It is sometimes an advantage to use a light hand."

"Jim can be led."

Bernard bowed. "I imagine you have led him where he ought to go."

"I wonder!" said Carrie, with thoughtful frankness. "The trouble is, I don't know much and only understand simple things. Still, perhaps, I did lead him in the woods. The right way was generally plain there. But at Langrigg – "

"You're sometimes puzzled?" Bernard suggested. "Well, we are all puzzled now and then, and perhaps to trust your instincts is a good plan. This, however, is not advice I would give to everybody."

Carrie said nothing. She liked Bernard and was not afraid of him. He talked to her with the politeness of the old school and when he looked amused she thought his amusement was good-humored.

"Jim was under the car when you got to the spot, I think," he resumed. "You had some trouble to lift it."

"Lance really lifted the car at the dangerous moment, though the others helped. He saw the wheel was slipping; they were all in the ditch."

"Then who pulled Jim out?"

"I did," said Carrie, with a touch of embarrassment.

Bernard pondered. Lance had not told him about this and it was possible he had an object for not doing so.

"Well," he said, "I expect Jim has had other accidents; as you remarked, he is that kind of man. Did he get hurt when you were with him in the woods?"

"He took some chances now and then, but he did not get hurt much."

"Although he came near it? I heard something about your going to his rescue one night with a gun."

Carrie blushed and Bernard fixed his eyes on her face as he went on: "Did you mean to use the gun?"

She lifted her head, her mouth went hard, and her glance got steady. "Yes. If I'd thought the other fellow could reach Jim with his ax, I would have shot him!"

Bernard nodded. "Sometimes the primitive plan is the only plan. One can see that you have pluck enough to meet a crisis. But I have kept you and have some other calls."

He got up and when she went with him down the steps gave her his hand. "May I come back another day?"

"Of course, but unless he knows you're coming, Jim will be occupied at the marsh."

"I won't mind if Jim is occupied."

"Then come when you like," said Carrie, smiling. "I think you mean to be nice."

In the meantime, Jim had got to work and under his superintendence a gang of men piled barrowsful of peat soil on the wreck of the dabbin. By noon a bank had advanced across the piles of broken clay and a cut that was to make a new channel for the creek began to open. Once or twice Jake imagined an indistinct figure lurked among some clumps of gorse, as if watching the work, but he was not certain and said nothing.

Jim and he did not go home for lunch and when the men stopped at noon found a sheltered hollow and opened a basket of food Jim had sent for. The day was bright, but a cold wind flecked the advancing tide with foam and swept the empty flats. Dry reeds rustled in the creek and a flock of circling plover gleamed against a cloud that trailed its shadow across the marsh. For all that, the sun was warm in the corner where they ate their lunch.

"Did Shanks send you notice that he had gone to the cottage?" Jake asked presently.

"He told the teamster to come for his truck. I expect he thought this enough."

"Wouldn't own up that he'd given in!" Jake remarked. "The fellow's a blamed obstinate old tough. I wonder whether he felt curious if you were hurt."

"I reckon he knew," said Jim. "However, I thought this morning there was somebody about – "

He stopped abruptly, and Jake heard a step. They were quiet for a few moments, and then Tom Shanks came round a corner of the bank and stood looking at them. Jim's face was cut and rather white, but the stains on his clothes indicated that he had been working among wet soil. Jake gave Shanks a keen glance and thought he looked surprised, as if he had not expected to see Jim there.

"Do you want a job?" the latter asked.

"I want nowt fra you. You can give your job to them as will ca' you maister," Shanks rejoined and went off.

"A sullen hog!" Jake remarked. "I'd like to know when he or the old man moved the wire."

"So would I. It's rather important," said Jim. "If he was hanging about and came for the thing as soon as the car took the ditch, he probably saw me under the wheel and meant to leave me there. How long were you in making the spot after you heard the smash?"

"Perhaps five minutes. Mordaunt's car was at the steps and we jumped on board while he started her."

"If you had lost much time, I imagine you'd have found me dead."

"Then why did you offer Shanks a job?"

Jim smiled. "In order to have him where he could be watched. A fellow like that is dangerous when he's out of sight."

"Shanks and his son are bad men," Jake agreed. "We have sand-baggers and gun-men in Canada, but they get after you for money and their methods are up to date. Shanks' savageness is half-instinctive, like the Indian's. I can't, so to speak, locate him; he goes too far back."

Jim got up. "It's not important just now. Tell the teamster to bring his horses and we'll get busy."

CHAPTER VIII

JIM'S RELAPSE

Jim made progress at the dyke until it began to rain. For some weeks a strong west wind drove dark clouds across the sea, the hills were wrapped in mist, the creeks swelled and the tides rose high. Floods spread about the marsh and the floundering teams could hardly drag their loads through the bog. Sometimes Jim felt anxious, for the undertaking threatened to cost much more than he had thought.

Then came two fine days when, although the sun shone, heavy clouds rolled about the hills. Jim, knowing the fine weather would not last, drove his men hard, since there was work he must push forward before the next flood. The new bank had reached a creek where he must build a strong sluice-gate and hold back the water by a rude coffer-dam while he dug for the foundation.

He came up from the dam one afternoon and stood on the slope of the bank, looking down into the hole. His long boots, shirt, and trousers were stained by mud that had also splashed his face and hands; for since the work was risky he had helped the men. Now he was rather highly-strung. Below him, the water spirited [Transcriber's note: spurted?] through the joints in a wall of thick planks and ran into the excavation, where a few men, sunk nearly to the knees in mud, were working. A forge stood on the top of the bank and the smith leaned on the crank of the blower. He was a short, strongly-built man, and looked sulky.

"There's too much water blowing through; pressure's heavier than I reckoned and I don't like the way that brace sags," Jim remarked, as a shower of mud and water fell into the hole. Then he shouted to the men: "Get a thick plank across and wedge her up."

"Looks as if the fastenings of the brace had slipped," said Jake.

"They oughtn't to slip. The plate and nut on the iron were meant to keep the beam in place."

"I don't think I saw a nut when the boys fixed the thing."

Jim beckoned the smith. Although the fellow was a good workman, he was obstinate and Jim had not bothered him much until he needed some irons for the dam, when he made careful sketches and insisted on the other's working to his plans. This had caused some trouble and Jim now meant to be firm.

"I reckon I told you to screw the ends of the bar and make nuts to turn back against the plates," he said. "Did you screw the ends?"

"I did not," said the other. "There was nae use for nuts. I punched hole for pin that wad stop her pulling oot."

"Pulling out!" Jim exclaimed. "Did you imagine I wanted to hold the frames together?"

"If yon wasn't what you wanted, you should have said."

Jim had meant to be calm, but the men had run some risk from the fellow's obstinacy, and he lost his control.

"I told you to screw the ends. Confound you! The dam's in compression; there's no pull at all. Put a new bar in the vise and I'll stand by while you cut the thread."

"Stan', if you like. I'll not touch bar while you're aboot. Are you gan t' teach me my job?"

"It's plain you don't know your job. Get out of my way and I'll cut the thread myself."

The smith stood square in front with a frown on his face. "You'll not touch my tools. Vise and forge is yours; screwing stocks is mine."

"Oh, shucks!" said Jim. "Get out of the way. We want the bar right now."

The smith did not move, and although nobody afterwards remembered how the struggle began, Jake, interfering a moment too late, imagined Jim tried to get past the smith and jostled him. They grappled, and while they rocked to and fro the men in the pit stopped work. At first, Jim would have been satisfied to throw his antagonist back, but after a moment or two he doubted if this would be enough. The fellow had defied him, they had begun to fight, and in Canada a boss who could not enforce his authority lost his right to rule. Jim imagined it was so in England and did not mean to stop until the smith was ready to submit. Yet the fellow was powerful and fought with dogged pluck.