Harold Bindloss - The Ghost of Hemlock Canyon

Kate admitted that he was keener than she had thought; but she knew he was not playing up in order to be polite. Denis Aylward had some attractive qualities. Had he not been a good mixer, she doubted if he would have liked his hosts. If one refuses to meet the Western woodsman frankly, his remarks are rude.

“What did you talk about?” she asked.

“For the most part, ranching. I was interested and the information I got did not altogether support the statements in the guide-books printed for emigrants. One, of course, must make allowance for official hopefulness, but in France one began to think politicians and government departments had a talent for—”

“Optimistic exaggeration?” Kate suggested. “Perhaps ours are not very scrupulous. But were you disheartened?”

“There was not much use in being downhearted,” Denis rejoined. “The time to hesitate is before you start. When you have got going, you must go ahead. Rather like a copy-book motto, but I think it’s logical.”

“Then, you intend to buy a ranch?”

“To begin with, I am going to take a job. In the morning Mr. Marvin will look up your neighbor, Stoddart, and if he agrees, I’ll get to work.”

Kate thought it strange. His uncle was her father’s partner, he was rather an engaging young fellow, and for a time he might have stopped at the ranch. Denis saw she was puzzled, but he himself had speculated about the reception. Marvin certainly had not urged him to stop.

“Oh, well, I expect you will be happy at Stoddart’s. He is a fine old fellow,” Kate remarked.

“I suppose your Irish friends went on to Vancouver?” said Miss Staines.

“To Hope, not far from the city. Did you know they were Irish?”

“One carries a stamp; for example, we knew you were English,” said Rhoda, smiling. “That you were friends was obvious. When I went through the car one morning, the older girl gave you back your coat, which she had, no doubt, mended.”

Denis laughed, a frank boyish laugh.

“The implication is logical, but it’s not accurate. Although Miss Cullen is my friend, she did not mend my coat.”

Rhoda said nothing, and he turned to Kate.

“I suppose Mr. Marvin cleared the ranch. To think he did so is encouraging, because I understand he was not a rancher.”

“He had some advantages—his grandfather reached the province by the old Oregon Trail, and Father’s first home was a log shack in the rocks; but he was ambitious and engaged in business. I believe your uncle’s help was useful, and for a time the combine prospered—”

“I know,” said Denis quietly. “The flood at the canyon broke the partnership. My uncle was a very good sort, but I imagine the talent for business was Mr. Marvin’s. At all events, he carried on.”

“To carry on is Father’s habit. I think he did not stop until he had got all the career he chose could give. When Vancouver sprang like a mushroom the realtor house was famous, and I believe an agreement was Marvin’s stood for a safe deal. Then, when Father had conquered, he let all go and went back to the woods.”

Miss Staines got up and carelessly strolled across the corral to the lake. Denis noted her rather languid, graceful walk.

“Rhoda’s bored,” Kate remarked, with an indulgent glance.

“Anyhow, I am interested,” Denis declared. “To some extent, Mr. Marvin’s letting go was queer; but he had realized his ambition, and there was nothing more for him to get. In the old days, men who had had enough turned monks, and in modern India some take the road and carry the begging-bowl. Mr. Marvin, however, is not a contemplative—I believe it’s the proper word.”

“He certainly is not,” Kate agreed with a smile. “To give up all you have fought for is perhaps something of an exploit; but it is not Father’s plan. It’s possible he felt his business was to break fresh soil; you see, his folks were pioneers— But I don’t know, and he does not talk about it. Well, ranching is a man’s job. Do you think you’ll like it?”

“Oh, yes,” said Denis. “To make good is another thing, and I expect I have not inherited much that ought to help. My father was a lawyer at a quiet English town. Perhaps my best qualification is I carried a heavy load in France and could dig as well as another.”

“That is something, but I doubt if it is very important. As a rule, the old-type chopper is a splendid animal; but to use the ax is not enough. Agriculture is our least-studied industry, and when the dull and slack go broke people wonder why. On a forest ranch a man must use every talent he has. If he grows fruit he must fight mildews and insect pests; if he feeds stock, he must know the chemistry of the soil the pines have sterilized. The old rules are out of date, but to experiment without knowledge is rash. Well, have I daunted you?”

“On the whole, you’re not encouraging. I cannot chop, I am not rich, and my talents are not conspicuous. All the same, in the morning I hope to make a start.”

“Oh, well,” said Kate, with a smile, “the proper plan is to measure the obstacles, and then refuse to stop.”

She got up, for Mrs. Marvin called them to supper.

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