Читать книгу Alton of Somasco - Harold Bindloss - Страница 9

The Homeric supper was over, and Miss Deringham, who, sitting next to Alton at the head of the long table, had watched the stalwart axeman feed with sensations divided between disgust and wonder, was talking to Seaforth on the verandah, when her father sat by a window of the room his kinsman called his own. There were survey maps, tassels of oats, and a great Wapiti head upon the wall, while Alton himself lay almost full length in a deerhide chair. The window was open wide, and the vista of lake, pine-shrouded hillside, and snow, framed by its log casing, steeped in nocturnal harmonies of silver and blue. Out of the stillness came the scent of balsam, and the sighing of a little breeze amidst the pines.

Deringham held a good cigar, and there was a cup of coffee beside him, while he was not wholly sorry that they sat in darkness. He had realized that Alton of Somasco was by no means a fool, and waited his questions with some anxiety. The rancher, however, had apparently no present intention of asking any.

“So they’ve been wondering when I am coming over,” he said reflectively. “I don’t know that I’ll come at all.” Deringham looked down at his cigar to cover his astonishment. “But you are an Alton of Carnaby,” he said.

“Yes,” said Alton slowly. “But that is one of the things I want to forget. You see they drove my father out because he had the grit to marry the woman who loved him instead of another one who had the money, but you know all that?”

Deringham nodded, and Alton’s face showed grim in the moonlight as he continued: “But what you don’t know is how he fought his way uphill in this country, and what my mother suffered helping him. Oh, yes, I can remember her well, gentle, brave, and patient as she was, and know what it must have cost her to camp down alone in the bush, and fight through the hard winter in the ice and snow. Well, she was too good for this world, and she just faded out of it before the good time came. I think they must have a special place for women of her kind in the other one.”

Deringham only nodded again, because this type of man was new to him, and he had learned to keep silent when in doubt; but Alton’s big right hand closed into a fist.

“And now, when I have Somasco, the man who had not a dollar for his only son leaves me Carnaby,” he said. “There. Look out and see. Timber, lake and clearing, cattle, mills, and crops, the finest ranch in the district. My father commenced it, and I have finished. The Almighty made him a man, and he wouldn’t sell his birthright to loaf his days away, overfed, at Carnaby.”

Alton dropped his cigar, and laughed a little. “Well, I’m talking like a fool again. There are times when I can’t help it. It’s a way of mine.”

Deringham sat still smoking, and thinking rapidly. He had never had dealings with a man of this description before, but while he surmised that Alton of Somasco might under some conditions prove himself a headstrong fool, it was evident that there were limits to his folly. The man’s handiwork spoke for him, and his energy and intentness had not escaped Deringham’s attentions, while the occasional utterances that might have appeared bombastic coming from other men were redeemed in his case by the tone of naive sincerity and imperious ring. Deringham was becoming conscious of a vague respect for and fear of his companion.

“We are apparently no nearer the answer to my question,” he said at length.

“No,” said Alton, smiling. “This thing will take some thinking over. Carnaby isn’t exactly what you call a rich property?”

“It is heavily encumbered,” said Deringham, almost too eagerly.

Alton nodded, “Still, it must be worth a little, and would give the folks who lived there a standing in the old country?”

“Yes,” said Deringham thoughtfully, and was once more astonished by his companion’s answer.

“Well,” he said slowly. “I was thinking about your daughter. All this, it seems to me, is mighty rough on her. It would hurt her to be turned out of Carnaby?”

“Isn’t that beside the question?” said Deringham with a trace of stiffness.

Alton took up another cigar and lighted it. “I don’t quite know that it is,” he said. “You see, I remember a good deal what my mother had to put up with, and it has made me kind of sorry for women who have to do without the things they have been used to. Now Miss Deringham has had a pretty good time in the old country?”

Deringham moved his head very slightly. “I scarcely think we need go into that, but it is incontrovertible that the loss of Carnaby would make a difference to her,” he said.

Alton sat silent a space, and then while Deringham wondered, smiled a little. “And she might have kept it but for a very little thing that happened a month or two ago,” he said. “If the juniper-twigs had broken it would have saved considerable trouble to everybody. I was back there in the mountains looking for a silver lead, you see.”

“Silver mines are, I understand, not always profitable to the man who finds them, and I should have fancied you had already sufficient scope for your energies,” said Deringham dryly.

Alton laughed, but there was a trace of grimness in his voice. “If I once get my stakes in on the lead this one’s going to be, and if I could get the dollars I could do a good deal for Somasco,” he said. “We want roads and mills, the biggest orchard in the province, and a fruit cannery, and we’re going to have them presently. That’s why I wanted the silver.”

“You did not find it then?” said Deringham, who was not unwilling to follow his companion from the former topic.

“No,” said Alton, “not that time, but I will by and by. Well, there was a good deal of snow up in the ranges, and my feet got away from me one evening when we were crawling along the edge of a gully. There was a river and big boulders some five hundred feet below, and I slipped down, clawing at the snow, until I grabbed a little bunch of juniper just on the edge. Part of it tore up, but I got a grip of a better handful, and hung on to it, with most of me swinging over the gully. Charley was stripping off the pack-rope on the slope above, and he was mighty quick, but I knew that bush was coming away with me, and didn’t think he could be fast enough. I didn’t feel exactly happy, but while I’ve read that folks think of some astonishing things when they’re starting out on the long trail, it wasn’t that way with me. I could only remember there was a man I’d never got even with who’d badly cheated me.”

Deringham felt a little shiver run through him, for there was a grim vindictiveness in the speaker’s tone, and he felt that Alton of Somasco would not lightly forgive an injury.

“You managed to crawl up?” he said.

“No,” said Alton simply, “I didn’t. I lay there watching Charley, and felt the bush drawing out, until the rope came down and Charley hauled me up. It would have made a big difference to Miss Deringham if he’d been a second or two longer. Well, we’ll have lots of time for talking, because you’re out for your health, and we’ll keep you right here until we see what Somasco can do for you, and just now I see Miss Deringham alone on the verandah.”

He rose, and left Deringham sitting by the window. The moon had swung higher now, and the lake was a blaze of silver, but Deringham scarcely noticed it or the ethereal line of snow. In place of it he saw a shadowy figure hanging between earth and heaven with tense fingers gripping a little bush, while a river frothed down the black hollow five hundred feet below, and remembered that even in that moment the man who hung there regretted he could not repay somebody who had cheated him. Then he rose and moved once or twice up and down the room, his fancy still dwelling upon the picture. If the juniper-twigs had yielded it would have made a great difference to him as well as his daughter. He sat down again presently and stared at the valley, seeing nothing as he remembered that Alton of Somasco might go back to the ranges again, and then with an effort shook the fancies from him. They were not wholesome for a man hemmed in by difficulties as he was then.

In the meanwhile his daughter stood with one hand on the verandah balustrade, listening to the song of the river which came sonorously through the shadows of the bush. She also breathed in the scent of the firs, and found it pleasant, but it was instinctively she did so, for her thoughts were also busy. Alice Deringham had noticed her father’s fits of abstraction as well as the anxiety in his face, and had no great difficulty in connecting them with the loss of Carnaby. She was also fond of him, for Deringham had shown only his better side to her, and sensible of a very bitter feeling towards the man who had supplanted him. In addition to this, she remembered the faint amusement in his eyes when he noticed the glint of a silver coin she held half-covered in her hand, and her pulses throbbed a little faster. The man had placed her in a ridiculous position, and had he guessed her feelings towards him he would probably not have made his appearance as he did just then.

The boards creaked behind her, and turning partly round she straightened herself with a slow sinuous gracefulness, and stood drawn up to her full height looking at the newcomer. He stood still a moment with veiled admiration in his eyes, and this was not altogether surprising in one who had dwelt for the most part far remote from civilization in the lonely bush. Alice Deringham had been considered somewhat of a beauty in London, and it was possible that she knew the pale moonlight and the harmonies of blue and silver she stood out against enhanced the symmetry of her outline. The man stood watching her with his head bent a trifle, but Miss Deringham evinced a fine indifference. She had formed a somewhat mistaken estimate of him already.

“I want to tell you that I’m sorry,” he said.

The girl fancied she understood him, and it increased her anger, for the fact that this barbarian of the bush should venture to express pity for her was galling. Still, she had no intention of admitting it, and regarded him inquiringly with a half-contemptuous indifference which she had found especially effective with presumptuous young men in England. Somewhat to her astonishment it apparently had no result at all, for Alton returned her gaze gravely and without embarrassment.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I was hoping you would, because I felt I must tell you, and I’m not good at talking,” said the man. “I can’t help seeing that you are vexed with me.”

If Alton had intended to be conciliatory he had signally failed, because Miss Deringham had no intention of admitting that anything he could do would cause her anger.

“I am afraid you are taking things for granted,” she said.

Alton smiled gravely, and the girl noticed that he accepted the onus of the explanation she had forced upon him.

“I really don’t think you should be,” he said. “I can’t help being Tristan Alton’s grandson, you see, and we are some kind of relations and ought to be friendly.”

Miss Deringham laughed a little. “Relations do not always love each other very much,” said she.

“No,” said Alton. “Still, I think they should, and, even if it hurts, I feel I’ve got to tell you I’m sorry. If you would only take it, it would please me to give you back Carnaby.”

The girl almost gasped with astonishment and indignation. “That is a trifle unnecessary, since you know it is perfectly impossible,” she said.

She had at last roused the man, for the moonlight showed a darker colour creeping into his tan. “I don’t usually say more than I mean,” he said. “Now we shall never understand each other unless you will talk quite straight with me.”

Alice Deringham had not lost her discretion in her anger, and, since there was no avoiding the issue, decided it would be preferable to blame him for the lesser of his offences.

“Then,” she said coldly, “it was somewhat difficult to appreciate the humour of the trick you played upon us. You may, however, have different notions as to what is tasteful in the Colonies.”

Again the darker colour showed in Alton’s bronzed forehead, but he spoke gravely. “I don’t think that’s quite fair,” he said. “I am what the Almighty made me, a plain bushman who has had to work too hard for his living to learn to put things nicely, but I never came down to any meanness that would hurt a woman, and there isn’t any need for a dainty English lady to point out the difference between herself and me.”

“There may be less difference than you seem to fancy,” said the girl a trifle maliciously. “You are Alton of Carnaby.”

“Pshaw!” said the man with a little gesture of pride and impatience, which Miss Deringham was forced to admit became him. “I’m Alton of Somasco, and nobody gave it me. I won it from the lake and the forest that comes crawling in again—but I’m getting off the trail. I didn’t know your father was coming here, and hadn’t any notion who you were.”

“That’s curious, because he wrote to tell you,” said the girl.

Alton flushed a little, for he was somewhat quick-tempered, and too proud to be otherwise than a veracious man. “Well,” he said slowly, “I have the honour of telling you I didn’t get the letter. There’s a place called Somasco down in Vancouver.”

Miss Deringham decided that she had ventured sufficiently far. Indeed, on subsequent reflection she was forced to admit that she had gone farther than was quite seemly, which somewhat naturally increased her displeasure against the man. In the meanwhile she, however, made a little gracious gesture. “Then I don’t think the explanation was necessary,” she said.

Alton laughed a little, and held out his hand. “Do you know I’m thankful that’s over once for all, and now we can be friends,” he said. “There are lots of things I can show you in the valley, and a good deal more that you can teach me.”

Alice Deringham could not afterwards quite decide why she shook hands with him, for she had no intention of teaching him anything, just then; but she did, and felt as the hard brown fingers closed upon her own that the friendship of this curious man could in time of necessity be relied upon. In any case, and obeying some impulse, she shook off her chilliness, and asking questions about the district evinced a gracious interest in all he had to tell her, while presently induced by his naive frankness she smiled at him as she noticed him regarding her gravely.

“I presume a dress of this kind is scarcely suitable for the bush,” she said.

Alton laughed. “I wasn’t looking at the dress, though it’s a very pretty one,” he said. “You see, except my mother and Miss Townshead, I have never spoken to an English lady.”

“But you must have been very young when you lost her,” said the girl.

Alton took off his hat, and pointed to a hillside shrouded with sombre firs. “Yes,” he said quietly. “She sleeps up there, and in a little while my father followed her. He was lonely without her, and because of what she had done for him, proud of his countrywomen. He often used to talk about them.”

“And,” said Alice Deringham, “you wondered if he was mistaken?”

Alton made a little gesture that in a curious fashion implied a wide chivalric faith. “No,” he said gravely, “I believe he was right.”

Miss Deringham felt a faint warmth creep into her cheek, and it was not because the speech might have been deemed a personal compliment. She saw a little deeper into the man’s nature than that, and, if she had not, the tone of grave respect would have enlightened her. Then she turned with a little sense of relief as Deringham came out upon the verandah.

“I am pleased to see you and Mr. Alton have made friends,” he said, and the girl, who noticed a faint twinkle in his eyes, turned quietly and looked down the valley as she remembered one odious clause in the will.

She rose early next morning, and flinging the window open to let in the glorious freshness heard a commotion below, while as she wondered as to the cause of it several pairs of old boots went gyrating over the balustrade of the verandah. A dilapidated saddle followed them, and then a cloud of dust rolled up, while she saw the new owner of Carnaby appear somewhat scantily attired out of the midst of it. He had a brush in one hand and seemed disturbed about something.

“Where the brimstone does Mrs. Margery keep the scrubbing soap?” he said.

Nobody answered him, and he moved back into the dust, while Seaforth was coming up the stairway carrying a mop and pail when a big empty oilcan smote him upon the chest. He dropped the pail and leaned a moment, gasping and dripping, against the balustrade.

“You might notice where you’re throwing things,” he said.

The dust rolled more thickly, and Alton’s voice came out of it. “I hadn’t time to be particular, and a sensible man would have got out of the way of it. Don’t stand there, anyway, but help me fix this place fit for a lady before Miss Deringham gets up. Then you’re going through to the railroad with the new pack-horse to wire for Mrs. Margery after breakfast.”

“I don’t think I am,” said Seaforth. “Not on Julius Caesar, anyway. He will need a little more taming before I’m fit to ride him.”

“Then,” said Alton, laughing, “I guess you can shove him, because you’ll want a horse to bring up the things you’re going to wire Vancouver for, and Tom’s off with the teams up the valley. Fetch some more water, and start in with the scrubbing. I don’t want Miss Deringham to guess we’ve been doing anything unusual.”

“If she doesn’t hear you,” said Seaforth, “she must be very deaf.”

“Now,” said Alton regretfully, “I never thought of that. Sit right down, Charley, and take your boots off.”

“I am going to the well first,” said Seaforth, who retired grinning, and Miss Deringham laughed softly as she heard the cautious movements of a big barefooted man floundering about clumsily with a brush or mop.

When she came down to breakfast, however, she was a little astonished. The room was swept, and garnished with cedar sprays, while though it smelled of some crude soap the aromatic sweetness of balsam was present too, and there were signs of taste in its decoration and the disposition of the splendid fruit upon the table. Alton had not plucked it all, and the golden apples and velvety peaches lay with their soft tinting enhanced amidst the leaves. When he came in, bright of eye and apparently glowing from a plunge in the river, she glanced at him with quiet amusement.

“You have been improving the place wonderfully,” she said.

“You are pleased with it?” said the rancher, and the girl noticed the contentment in his eyes when she smiled approvingly.

“I think,” she said, “it is very pretty.”