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

Blamed Percy Sticking His Elbow Into Me?"

Edgar Glanced At The Big And Brawny Man, With A Twinge Of Somewhat

Natural Uneasiness; But He Was Not Greatly Daunted.

"Oh, Well," He Retorted Coolly, "If That's The Way You Look At It!  But

If You're Not In A Desperate Hurry, I'll Take Off My Jacket."

"What Did You Prod Him For, Anyway?" Another Asked.

"I'm Sorry I Didn't Jab Him Twice As Hard; Though I'd Have Wasted My

Energy," Edgar Explained.  "The Fellow Has No Sense, But That's No

Reason Why He Should Be Allowed To Frighten A Pretty Girl."

His Antagonist Looked As If A Light Had Suddenly Dawned On Him.

"Is That Why You Did It?"

"Of Course!  Do You Think I'd Attack A Man Of Nearly Twice My Weight

Without Some Reason?"

The Fellow Laughed.

"We'll Let It Go At That.  You're All Right, Percy.  We Like You."

"Thanks," Said Edgar; "But My Name Isn't Percy.  Couldn't You Think Of

Something More Stylish For A Change?"

They Greeted This With Hoarse Laughter; And George, Arriving On The

Scene, Scrambled Down Into The Pit With Them To Help The Men Below.  It

Was Some Time Later When He Rejoined The Girl, Who Was Then Gathering

Berries In The Wood.  She Saw That His Face And Hands Were Grimy And

His Clothes Were Soiled.

"I Heard That You Found The Unfortunate Man.  It Was Very Sad," She

Said.  "But What Have You Been Doing Since?"

"Shoveling A Ton Or Two Of Gravel.  Then I Assisted In Jacking Up One

Side Of The Engine."

"Why?  Did You Enjoy It?"

George Laughed; He Had, As It Happened, Experienced A Curious Pleasure

In The Work.  He Was Accustomed To The More Vigorous Sports; But, After

All, They Led To No Tangible Results, And In This Respect His Recent

Task Was Different--One, As He Thought Of It, Could See What One Had

Done.  He Had Been Endowed With Some Ability Of Strictly Practical

Description, Though It Had So Far Escaped Development.

"Yes," He Responded.  "I Enjoyed It Very Much."

The Girl Regarded Him With A Trace Of Curiosity.

"Was That Because Work Of The Kind Is New To You?"

"No," George Answered.  "It Isn't Altogether A Novelty.  I Once Spent

Three Years In Manual Labor; And Now When I Look Back At Them, I

Believe I Was Happy Then."

She Nodded As If She Understood.

"Shall We Walk Back?" She Suggested.

They Went On Together, And Though The Sun Was Now Fiercely Hot And The

Distance Long, George Enjoyed The Walk.  Once They Met A Ballast Train,

With A Steam Plow Mounted At One End Of It, And A Crowd Of Men Riding

On The Open Cars; But When It Had Passed There Was Nothing To Break The

Deep Silence Of The Woods.  The Dark Firs Shut In The Narrow Track

Except When Here And There A Winding Lake Or Frothing River Filled A

Sunny Opening.

Soon After George And His Companion Reached The Train, The Engine Came

Back With A Row Of Freightcars, And During The Afternoon The Western

Express Pulled Out Again, And Sped Furiously Through The Shadowy Bush.

It Was Nearing Midnight When George Walked Impatiently Up And Down The

Waiting-Room In Winnipeg Station, For The Western Express Was Very

Late, And Nobody Seemed To Know When It Would Start.  George Was

Nevertheless Interested In His Surroundings, And With Some Reason.  The

Great Room Was Built In Palatial Style, With Domed Roof, Tessellated

Marble Floor, And Stately Pillars: It Was Brilliantly Lighted; And

Massively-Framed Paintings Of Snow-Capped Peaks And River Gorges

Adorned The Walls.  An Excursion-Train From Winnipeg Beach Had Just

Come In, And Streams Of Young Men And Women In Summer Attire Were

Passing Through The Room.  They All Looked Happy And Prosperous: He

Thought The Girls' Light Dresses Were Gayer And Smarter Than Those

Usually Seen Among A Crowd Of English Passengers; But There Was Another

Side To The Picture.

Rows Of Artistic Seats Ran Here And There, And Each Was Occupied By

Jaded Immigrants, Worn Out By Their Journey In The Sweltering Colonist

Cars.  Piles Of Dilapidated Baggage Surrounded Them, And Among It

Exhausted Children Lay Asleep.  Drowsy, Dusty Women, With Careworn

Faces, Were Huddled Beside Them; Men Bearing The Stamp Of Ill-Paid Toil

Sat In Dejected Apathy; And All About Each Group The Floor, Which Was

Wet With Drippings From The Roof, Was Strewn With Banana Skins, Crumbs,

And Scraps Of Food.  There Had Been Heavy Rains, And The Atmosphere Was

Hot And Humid.  It Was, However, The Silence Of These Newcomers That

Struck George Most.  There Was No Grumbling Among Them--They Scarcely

Seemed Vigorous Enough For That--But As He Passed One Row He Heard A

Woman's Low Sobbing And The Wail Of A Fretful Child.

After A While The Girl He Had Met On The Train Appeared And Intimated

By A Smile That He Might Join Her.  They Found An Unoccupied Seat, And

A Smartly-Attired Young Man Who Was Approaching It Stopped When He Saw

Them.

"Well," He Said Coolly, "I Guess I Won't Intrude."

George Felt Seriously Annoyed With Him, But He Was Reassured When His

Companion Laughed With Candid Amusement.  Though There Was No Doubt Of

Her Prettiness, He Had Already Noticed That She Did Not Impress One

Most Forcibly With The Fact That She Was An Attractive Young Woman.  It

Seemed To Sink Into The Background When One Spoke To Her.

"It Was Rather Tedious Waiting In The Hotel," She Explained.  "There

Was Nobody I Could Talk To; My Father Is Busy With A Grain Broker."

"Then He Is A Farmer?"

"Yes," Said The Girl, "He Has A Farm."

"And You Live Out In The West With Him?"

"Of Course," She Said, Smiling.  "Still, I Have Been In Montreal, And

England."  Then She Turned And Glanced At The Jaded Immigrants.  "One

Feels Sorry For Them; They Have So Much To Bear."

George Felt That She Wished To Change The Subject, And He Followed Her

Lead.

"I Feel Inclined To Wonder Where They All Go To And How You Employ

Them.  Your People Still Seem Anxious To Bring Them In."

"Yes," She Replied Thoughtfully, "It's Rather A Difficult Question.  Of

Course, We Pay High Wages--People Who Say They Must Dispense With Help

And Can't Carry Out Useful Projects Would Like To See Them Lower--But

There's The Long Winter When, Out West At Least, Very Few Men Can Work.

Then What The Others Have Earned In Summer Rapidly Melts."

"But What Do The Canadian Farm-Hands And Mechanics Think?  It Wouldn't

Suit Them To Have Wages Broken Down."

West Had Come Up A Few Moments Earlier.

"It Doesn't Matter," He Laughed; "They Won't Be Consulted.  It's The

Other People Who Pull The Strings, And They're Adopting A Forward

Policy--Rush Them All In; It's Their Lookout When They Get Here.

That's My Opinion; Though I'll Own That I Know Remarkably Little About

Western Canada."

"You Won't Admit He's Right," George Said To The Girl.

She Looked Grave.

"Sometimes," She Answered, "I Wonder."

Then She Turned To West.

"You Don't Seem Impressed With The Country," She Said.

"As A Rule, I Try To Be Truthful.  The Country Strikes Me As Being

Pretty Mixed, Full Of Contrasts.  There's This Place, For Instance; One

Could Imagine They Had Meant To Build A Greek Temple, And Now It Looks

More Like A Swimming-Bath.  After Planning The Rest Magnificently, Why

Couldn't They Put On A Roof That Wouldn't Leak?"

"It Has Been An Exceptionally Heavy Rain," The Girl Reminded Him.

"Just So.  But Couldn't Somebody Get A Broom And Sweep The Water Out?

Our Unimaginative English Folk Could Rise As Far As That."

She Laughed Good-Humoredly, And Her Father Sauntered Up To Them.

"Any News Of The Train Yet?" He Asked.

"No, Sir," Said Edgar.  "In My Opinion, Any Attempt To Extract Reliable

Information From A Canadian Railroad-Hand Is A Waste Of Time.  No

Doubt, It's So Scarce That It Hurts Them To Part With It."

The Westerner Looked At Him With A Little Hard Smile.  He Was Tall And

Gaunt And Dressed In Baggy Clothes, But There Was A Hint Of Power In

His Face, Which Was Lined, And Deeply Bronzed By Exposure To The

Weather.

"Well," He Retorted, "What Do You Expect, Percy, If You Talk To Them

Like That?  But I Want To Thank You And Your Partner For Taking Care Of

My Girl When She Went To See The Wreck.  Fellow On The Cars Told

Me--Said You Were A Gritty Pup!"

Edgar Looked Confused, But The Man Drew An Old Skin Bag Out Of His

Pocket.

"It's Domestic Leaf; Take A Smoke."

"No, Thanks," Said Edgar Quickly.  "I've No Doubt It's Excellent, But I

Really Prefer The Common Virginia Stuff."

"Matter Of Habit," Replied The Other.  "I Don't Carry Cigars; They're

Expensive.  Going Far West?"

"We Get Off At Sage Butte."

"It's Called Butte.  I'm Located In That District."

"Then I Wonder If You Knew An Englishman Named Marston?" George

Interposed.

"I Certainly Did; He Died Last Winter.  Oughtn't To Have Come Out

Farming; He Hadn't The Grip."

George Felt Surprised.  He Had Always Admired Marston, Who Had Excelled

In Whatever He Took In Hand.  It Was Strange And Disconcerting To Hear

Him Disparaged.

"Will You Tell Me What You Mean By That?" He Asked.

"Why, Yes.  I've Nothing Against The Man.  I Liked Him--Guess Everybody

Did--But The Contract He Was Up Against Was Too Big For Him.  Had His

First Crop Frozen, And Lost His Nerve And Judgment After That--The Man

Who Gets Ahead Here Must Have The Grit To Stand Up Against A Few Bad

Seasons.  Marston Acted Foolishly; Wasted His Money Buying Machines And

Teams He Could