Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 by Harold Bindloss (chrome ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Or Not, Because If She Went To Egypt He Would Remain In Canada.  But

She Was Not Quite Ready To Give Her Companion An Answer.

"Did I Tell You That I Met Singleton A Little While Ago?" She Said.  "I

Think He Wished To Speak, But I Merely Bowed.  I Was In A Hurry, For

One Thing."

"It's The First I've Heard Of It, But You Did Quite Right.  Since He

Was Here, One Or Two Of The Other Directors Who Tried To Give Me Some

Trouble Have Got Hold Of Him.  They Have Sent Him Out To See What Can

Be Done With The Rubber Property."

"Was That Worth While?"

"I Shouldn't Think So.  It Strikes Me They're Wasting Their Money."

This Was Herbert's Firm Belief, But His Judgment While Generally

Accurate, Had, In This Instance, Proved Defective.  He Had Failed

Properly To Estimate Singleton's Capabilities.  It Was, However,

Obvious To Sylvia That He Had Had No Part In The Undertaking, And Had

Abandoned His Rubber Schemes, Which Implied That George's Loss Would Be

Serious.  There Was No Doubt That It Would Suit Both Herbert And

Herself Better If George Did Not Come Back Too Soon.

"Well," She Said, "That Is Not A Matter Of Any Consequence To Me.

After All, I Think I'll Go South With You And Muriel."

Herbert Had Foreseen This Decision.

"It's The Most Suitable Arrangement," He Responded.  "When I Write,

I'll Mention It To George."

Sylvia Went Out A Little Later With A Sense Of Guilt; She Felt That In

Removing The Strongest Inducement For George's Visit She Had Betrayed

Him.  She Was Sorry For George, But She Could Not Allow Any

Consideration For Him To Interfere With Her Ambitions.  Then She

Resolutely Drove These Thoughts Away.  The Matter Could Be Looked At In

A More Pleasant Light, And There Were Several Good Reasons For The

Course She Had Adopted.

Entering The Library, She Carefully Wrote A Little Note To Captain

Bland, And Then Went In Search Of Mrs. Lansing.

"I Think I'll Go Over To Susan's For The Week-End," She Announced.  "I

Promised Her Another Visit, And Now I Can Explain That I'm Going Away

With You."

Mrs. Lansing Made No Objection, And Three Or Four Days Afterward Sylvia

Met Bland At Mrs. Kettering's House.  He Arrived After Her, And As

There Were Other Guests, She Had To Wait A Little While Before She

Could Get A Word With Him Alone.  She Was Standing In The Big Hall,

Which Was Unoccupied, Rather Late In The Evening, When He Came Toward

Her.

"I Thought I Should Never Escape From Kettering; But He's Safe For A

While, Talking Guns In The Smoking-Room," He Said.

Sylvia Thought That They Would Be Safe From Interruption For A Few

Minutes, Which Would Serve Her Purpose.

"So You Have Managed To Get Here," She Said.

"Had You Any Doubt Of My Succeeding?" Bland Asked Reproachfully.

"Kettering Once Gave Me A Standing Invitation, And, As It Happens,

There's A Famous Horse Dealer In This Neighborhood With Whom I've Had

Some Business.  That And The Few Sunday Trains Formed A Good Excuse.

I, However, Don't Mind In The Least If Mrs. Kettering Attaches Any

Significance To The Visit."

Sylvia Did Not Wish To Arouse The Suspicions Of Her Hostess, But She

Smiled.

"I Expected You, And I'm Glad You Came," She Said.

"That's Very Nice To Hear."

"Don't Take Too Much For Granted.  Still, I Thought I'd Like To See

You, Because I'm Going To Egypt With Muriel For Some Time.  Indeed, I

Shall Not Be Back Until The Spring."

The Man Displayed Dismayed Surprise, And Sylvia Waited For His Answer

With Some Eagerness.  She Did Not Wish To Enter Into A Formal

Engagement--It Was A Little Too Early To Make An Announcement Yet--But

She Thought It Wise To Bind Him In Some Degree Before She Left.

"Until The Spring?" He Broke Out.  "You Expect Me To Let You Go?"

"You Must," Said Sylvia Firmly, And Added In A Softer Voice, "I'm

Rather Sorry."

He Saw That He Could Not Shake Her Decision.

"Then We Must Have A Clear Understanding," He Rejoined Hotly.  "You

Know I Want You--When Is This Waiting To End?  Tell Me Now, And Let Me

Tell All Who Care To Hear, That You Belong To Me."

Sylvia Made A Gesture Of Protest And Coquettishly Looked Down.

"You Must Still Have Patience," She Murmured; "The Time Will Soon Pass."

"And Then?" He Asked With Eagerness.

She Glanced Up At Him Shyly.

"If You Will Ask Me Again When I Come Back, I Will Give You Your

Answer."

She Left Him No Reason For Doubting What That Answer Would Be; And,

Stretching Out His Arms, He Drew Her Strongly To Him.  In A Minute Or

Two, However, Sylvia Insisted On His Returning To His Host, And Soon

Afterward Mrs. Kettering Came In To Look For Her.

A Bitter Wind Searched The Poplar Bluff Where George And His Hired Man,

Grierson, Were Cutting Fuel.  Except In The River Valleys, Trees Of Any

Size Are Scarce On The Prairie, But The Slender Trunks And Leafless

Branches Were Closely Massed And Afforded A Little Shelter.  Outside On

The Open Waste, The Cold Was Almost Too Severe To Face, And George Once

Or Twice Glanced Anxiously Across The Snowy Levels, Looking For Some

Sign Of Edgar, Who Should Have Joined Them With The Team And Sledge.

It Was, However, Difficult To See Far, Because A Gray Dimness Narrowed

In The Horizon.  George Stood, Dressed In Snow-Flecked Furs, In The

Center Of A Little Clearing Strewn With Rows Of Fallen Trunks From

Which He Was Hewing Off The Branches.  The Work Was Hard; His Whole

Body Strained With Each Stroke Of The Heavy Ax, But It Failed To Keep

Him Warm, And The Wind Was Growing More Bitter With The Approach Of

Night.

"I Don't Know What Can Be Keeping West," He Said After A While.  "We

Haven't Seen The Mail-Carrier Either, And He's Two Hours Late; But He

Must Have Had A Heavy Trail All The Way From The Settlement.  I Expect

He'll Cut Out Our Place And Make Straight For Grant's.  We'll Have Snow

Before Long."

There Was An Empty Shack Not Far Away Where, By George's Consent, The

Mail-Carrier Left Letters When Bad Weather Made It Desirable To Shorten

His Round.

Grierson Nodded As He Glanced About.  The Stretch Of Desolate White

Prairie Had Contracted Since He Had Last Noticed It, The Surrounding

Dimness Was Creeping Nearer In, And The Ranks Of Poplar Trunks Were

Losing Their Sharpness Of Form.  Now That The Men Had Ceased Chopping,

They Could Hear The Eerie Moaning Of The Wind And The Sharp Patter Of

Icy Snow-Dust Among The Withered Brush.

"It Will Take Him All His Time To Fetch Grant's; I Wish Mr. West Would

Come Before It Gets Dark," Grierson Said With A Shiver, And Fell To

Work Again.

Several Minutes Passed.  George Was Thinking More About The

Mail-Carrier's Movements Than About Edgar's.  The English Letters

Should Have Arrived, And He Was Anxiously Wondering If There Were Any

For Him.  Then, As He Stopped For Breath, A Dim Moving Blur Grew Out Of

The Prairie, And He Flung Down His Ax.

"Here's West; We'll Have Light Enough To Put Up The Load," He Said.

A Little Later Edgar Led Two Powerful Horses Up The Narrow Trail, And

For A While The Men Worked Hard, Stacking The Logs Upon The Sledge.

Then They Set Off At The Best Pace The Team Could Make, And The Cold

Struck Through Them When They Left The Bluff.

"Stinging, Isn't It?" Edgar Remarked.  "I Couldn't Get Over Earlier;

Flett Turned Up, Half Frozen, And He Kept Me.  Seems To Have Some

Business In This Neighborhood, Though He Didn't Say What It Is."

George, Walking Through The Snow To Leeward Of The Loaded Sledge, Where

It Was A Little Warmer, Betrayed No Interest In The News.  Temperance

Reform Was Languishing At Sage Butte And Its Leaders Had Received A

Severe Rebuff From The Authorities.  The Police, Who Had Arrested An

Indian Suspected Of Conveying Liquor To The Reservation, Had Been No

More Successful, For The Man Had Been Promptly Acquitted.  They Had

Afterward Been Kept Busy Investigating The Matter Of The Shooting Of

George's Bull, Which Had Recovered; But They Had Found No Clue To The

Offender, And Nothing Of Importance Had Happened For Some Time.

It Had Grown Dark And The Wind Was Rapidly Increasing.  Powdery Snow

Drove Along Before It, Obscuring The Men's Sight And Lashing Their

Tingling Faces.  At Times The Icy White Haze Whirled About Them So

Thick That They Could Scarcely See The Blurred Dark Shape Of The

Sledge, But As They Had Hauled A Good Many Loads Of Stovewood Home, The

Trail Was Plainly Marked.  It Would Be Difficult To Lose It Unless Deep

Snow Fell.  With Lowered Heads And Fur Caps Pulled Well Down, They

Plodded On, Until At Length George Stopped Where The Shadowy Mass Of A

Bluff Loomed Up Close In Front Of Them.

"I'll Leave You Here And Make For The Shack," He Said.  "I Want To See

If There Are Any Letters."

"It's Far Too Risky," Edgar Pointed Out.  "You'll Get Lost As Soon As

You Leave The Beaten Trail."

"I'll Have The Bluff For A Guide, And It Isn't Far From The End Of It

To The Small Ravine.  After That I