Harold Bindloss - The Ghost of Hemlock Canyon

Yet when she pictured the generous, careless Englishman, she admitted the feeling was ridiculous. There was not a mean streak in Aylward, and when he and Jake put up their sign at the springing mining town the realtor business grew. Aylward talked and joked; the money was his and he was the customers’ favorite, but the labor and plans were Jake’s. When they had closed a big deal they went off to the mountains for a hunting, prospecting trip. In those strenuous times, a business man apologized for a holiday, and one might yet find a mineral vein or a placer of alluvial gold. Marvin, in fact, found twelve ounces, but he came back alone.

Then the trouble began. The magistrate was a rude storekeeper and magnified the importance his office gave him; Marvin’s chief competitor, Snedden, was spiteful and unscrupulous. Although Marvin’s tale was frank and circumstantial, doubts and ominous whispers spread: the town was a sober town, in which theatrical frontiersmen could not live. For the most part, the miners were Methodists from Cornwall and Wales; they had put out the red lights and sternly banished the tinhorns and clairvoyants. Mrs. Marvin had thought their wives her friends, but when her husband’s business melted she hated the gang.

Marvin’s pluck was stubborn and for a time he kept up his sign. In fact, Mrs. Marvin’s persuasion at length accounted for his pulling out for Vancouver. At the coast city, his luck, in some respects, was good, since his arrival synchronized with an expansion of trade and industry. His customers were strangers, keen to buy building lots, milling timber, and mineral claims, and Marvin knew his job. He began to get rich, but the tragic tale about his lost partner followed him to the coast, and although his business talent was acknowledged, he was not asked to join the older citizens’ clubs. Until his bank-roll was large he grimly carried on; and then, for he was by inheritance a pioneer, bought the ranch in the woods.

Sometimes Mrs. Marvin thought Jake’s obstinate pride accounted for much. He was not a good mixer and had no use for fools. In fact, all he did was marked by stern efficiency, and he would sooner fight than conciliate his antagonist. Perhaps there was the trouble, for Marvin’s habit was to win. When he thought himself injured, he was ruthless, and men he broke frankly hated him.

Anyhow, Mrs. Marvin was glad she had let Kate go to England before the girl understood why her father was left alone, and on the whole she thought Jake was happier in the woods. Hannah herself was satisfied. She was very stanch and, like her husband, she sprang from frontier stock. The big ranch prospered, and when one was strenuously occupied one forgot— Then Kate was coming home to banish the loneliness.

For all that, the Aylward boy’s letter was disturbing, and for Jake’s sake she would sooner Denis had stopped in the Old Country. Somehow it did look as if Tom Aylward had not yet done with them.

Mrs. Marvin resolved she would not allow it to bother her. Her bent was practical, and since the hired men were going down the lake for some sheep at daybreak, she must put up their food. She glanced at Marvin, sitting by the window; and then, lest her sympathy might jar, stole away.

II

IN THE LOOKING-GLASS

Marvin, by the ranch-house window, forgot his daughter would soon be home. Denis Aylward’s letter was crumpled in his muscular fist, and he heard the river in the dusk. Somehow its broken throb was like the beat of hurrying feet, and Marvin set his mouth. He was not at all romantic and his imagination was in firm control, but the footsteps he had heard long since by a flooded river haunted him. Now the sunset melted from the snow and the light in the big room was fading, they seemed to get distinct—

A branch cracked in the slashing; leaves gently shook, as if somebody crept along the uneven trail. Marvin knew the branch had borne the fierce sun’s heat and a light wind blew down the valley and moved the broad maple-leaves. A few maples grew near the water-front, and maples love good soil. That was all, but Marvin turned from the window and frowned.

Although the light was nearly gone, the mirror by the fireplace shone with reflections from the sky. Mrs. Marvin’s taste was not cultivated and the glass had attracted her at a Vancouver furnishing-sale. The frame was rudely carved, but it enclosed a noble picture.

Crossed by the window-bars’ thin shadows, pines and rocks rolled up the slopes. Where they stopped, glimmering snow began, and in the far background, touched the sky. By contrast with the dusky room, the bright belt at the picture’s top was conspicuous, and Marvin’s glance got fixed. Perhaps Denis Aylward’s letter had something to do with it and perhaps Marvin’s concentration helped; but the dark pines slowly melted and reappeared, as if a fresh landscape occupied the frame. Marvin angrily jerked his head, for he knew the spot, but he did not turn his glance. His habit was to front things, and although he set his mouth he studied the growing picture.

A camp-fire burned by a big hemlock’s roots, and, a hundred feet below, an angry green river brawled in a canyon. The green was the stain of the glaciers’ clay; Marvin knew the snow on the peaks melted in the hot sun. The bent figure by the parallel hearth logs was his; the other was Aylward’s. Tom smoked his pipe and bantered Marvin about his industry. Marvin rejoined that one must cook supper, although Tom would sooner loaf. He recaptured the words he used, almost as if he heard his scornful voice, and he frowned impatiently.

In Western cities, clairvoyants, diviners, and fakirs of sorts, yet use their arts for gain. Marvin knew nothing about hypnotism, crystal-gazing, and telepathy. The fakirs’ business was to plunder trustful fools, but he hated their experiments, particularly when men he knew declared some were not altogether bunk. Marvin had inherited a superstitious vein from his pioneering ancestors. His stock was Puritan; the type that burned the Salem witches.

Turning from the mirror, he lighted his pipe. The stinking sulphur match’s flame dimmed the reflection in the glass; but when his pipe was going and he looked back, the picture of the camp in the rocks had not disappeared. In fact, Aylward’s careless pose and smile were plainer than before. Marvin clenched his fist, and, as if driven by a force his brain rebelled against, reviewed the last holiday he and the other took.

The excursion did not begin fortunately. Marvin for some time had borne a heavy strain and was yet highly strung. He felt he had not got much help from Tom. Aylward talked persuasively and his cheerful confidence encouraged customers; but when they were satisfied he allowed his partner to work out the plans and remove the obstacles. As a rule Marvin did not grumble. Aylward was a white man and the money was his.

They had risked much in a mining speculation; Marvin had thought all they had might go, but he held on and the company was floated. Then when they started on their holiday Aylward packed .38 cartridges for their .44 rifle, and forgot the compass. In a way, it was not important, but Marvin had carried a heavy load and his nerves were raw. He reflected, with a sense of grievance, that Tom was like that.

Although they were friends and partners, their temperaments jarred. Marvin was sternly frugal, willing to use the utmost effort of brain and body, and logical as far as he knew. His philosophy was utilitarian; he hated fools and slobs. Sometimes he hated Aylward’s polite carelessness. Tom refused to bother; when Marvin swore he smiled.

They had supposititiously gone prospecting and they found a pocket of alluvial gold. Aylward talked at large about floating a hydraulic company; Marvin labored for some days in melted snow, and then remarked that the pocket was cleaned up and they might not find another for twelve months. When they camped by the river, the gold, and most of their food, was on board the canoe. Aylward’s job was to pull her up and carry the stuff to camp, but he declared he would first get supper—