Harold Bindloss - Alton of Somasco

Suddenly, however, there was a trampling in the snow and a sound of voices, followed after, an interval by a knocking at the door. It swung open, and two whitened objects loaded with bags and packages strode into the room. The blast that came in with them set the lamp flickering, and sent a chill through the girl, but she rose with a smile when rancher Alton stood, a shapeless figure, with the moisture on his bronzed face, beside the stove.

“Take those things through into the kitchen, Charley,” he said. “I think we’ve got them all, Miss Townshead. I hope, sir, you are feeling pretty well.”

Townshead made some answer with a slight bend of his head, but Alton appeared a trifle dubious when the girl offered him hospitality.

“I’m afraid the beasts are used up, or I wouldn’t think of it,” he said.

Nellie Townshead’s eyes twinkled as she glanced at him. “Could you not have put it in another way?” she said.

Alton laughed, and brushed his fingers across the top of the stove. “Well, it doesn’t sound quite right, but after all the meaning’s the great thing,” he said. “This place isn’t warm enough for you, Miss Nellie.”

He turned and walked to the wood-box, and after glancing into it carefully straightened out its covering. Then he strode towards the door, and stopped a moment before he opened it. “Excuse!” he said simply. “No, don’t you worry; I know just where the saw and lantern are, and Charley, who comes from the old country, can talk to you for me.”

He went out in another moment, but the fact that he was very weary did not escape the attention of the girl, who also noticed the absence of any unnecessary questions or explanations. Alton was, she knew already, one who did things the better because he did them silently. Still, it was Seaforth whom, when nobody observed her, her eyes rested most upon.

It was half an hour before the former returned with a load of scented firewood upon his back, and, saying nothing, filled the box with it, packing each piece where it best fitted deliberately but swiftly; then he passed through the room into an adjoining one, and returned attired picturesquely in Jack Townshead’s overalls, which were distinctly too small for him. By this time supper was ready, and Seaforth, also dressed in borrowed garments, seated at the table, but though Miss Townshead had not lost the stamp of refinement she brought with her from England. and her father was dignified and precise, Alton showed no embarrassment. He also listened patiently to Townshead’s views on ranching and the mining prospects of that region, though he was already looked up to as a master of the former industry, and contrived meanwhile that the girl made a good meal instead of attending to him. When it was finished he unfolded a carefully wrapped up packet, and took an envelope out of it, though Miss Townshead noticed that several others he laid down were crumpled and wet.

“Here is a letter for you,” he said.

He glanced at the girl questioningly as she took it up, and fingered one of the envelopes upon the table. “Excuse?” he said.

Nellie Townshead smiled and nodded, and then, knowing that the communication handed her was of no importance, watched him covertly as he tore open a long blue envelope. There were documents inside it, and the man’s fingers shook a little as he spread out one of them. Then bewildered astonishment crept into his eyes, and was replaced by a flash of something very like anger, after which his face grew suddenly impassive, and he thrust the documents all together into his pocket.

“Get up, Charley, and bring the tray along,” he said.

Miss Townshead glanced at him sharply. “What do you wish to do?” she said.

“Wash up,” said Alton simply. “I don’t know how you fix these things in England, but this is a good Canadian custom. Stir around, Charley.”

“But,” said the girl, “you don’t know where the things are.”

“Well,” said Alton, smiling, “I figure I can find them.”

He laid the cups and dishes on the tray, gave it to Seaforth, and disappeared down a passage carrying the kettle, but not before Miss Townshead had noticed that while his comrade, who had apparently been used to the smoother side of life in England, displayed some awkwardness, everything the big rancher did seemed appropriate, and, because removing plates is not a man’s task, she wondered at it. They came back presently, and by that time the girl, who had opened some of the packages, held a roll of fabric upon her knee.

“If you can find a splash anywhere I’ll forfeit a dollar. Charley’s good at mopping up,” said Alton gravely. “I’m afraid that stuff’s a little wet, but it was the Cayuse’s fault. He started in kicking and burst the rope, you see.”

“It would have been wetter if it had gone into the lake,” said Seaforth.

“The lake?” said the girl.

Seaforth nodded. “Yes,” he said. “It was on the Tyee trail the pony commenced kicking.”

The girl looked up sharply, and there was a subdued brightness in her eyes, for she had more than once shivered when leading her horse along that perilous trail. Alton felt for his comrade’s leg under the table and kicked it grievously.

“There wasn’t any trouble, and the snow was soft,” said he. “You’re going to make a dress of that stuff, Miss Nellie?”

“Yes,” said the girl. “I could, however, wish the stuff was better.”

Alton smiled gravely. “Of course!” he said. “Still, it don’t count for much. You would look like a picture in anything.”

Nellie Townshead glanced at him sharply, and for a moment there was a faint sparkle in her eyes, for she had a trace of temper.

“Whatever made you say that?” said she.

Alton laughed. “I really don’t quite know. I just felt I had to,” he said with a naive simplicity. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had thought it would vex you.”

After this he listened while his comrade talked—and Seaforth on occasion could talk gracefully—until at last he said, “England’s not so very big, Miss Nellie. I wonder if you know a place called Carnaby.”

“Yes,” said the girl. “I once went to see rather a fine old hall there.”

“Carnaby Grange?” said Alton quietly.

“Yes,” said the girl with a trace of curiosity. “We spent some little time in the grounds. They lie deep in the woods, and there is a famous rose garden.”

“Yes,” said Alton. “All kinds of roses. And the old place? Tell me about it!”

“Is very picturesque,” said the girl. “It looked quiet and grey, and almost stately under its ivy that autumn day, but I could scarcely describe it you. You have nothing like it in Canada.”

“No,” said Alton gravely. “I have seen nothing like it in Canada. But wasn’t there a lake?”

The girl glanced at him curiously. “There was,” she said. “I remember it lay shining before us between the woods. It was very beautiful, quieter and calmer than our lakes in Canada.”

A slight flush crept through the bronze in Alton’s face, which grew a trifle grim, and a light into his eyes. “There is a lake at Somasco where you can see the white peaks lie shining, and the big Wapiti come down to drink,” he said. “There are cedars and redwoods about it which except for a few in California, haven’t their equal in the world, but there’s nothing about that lake or valley that’s quiet or calm. It’s wild and great and grand. No. They’ve nothing of that kind in the old country. Are not Abana and Pharfar better than all the waters of Israel?”

“Apposite!” said Townshead. “You apparently read the Scriptures?”

“Sometimes,” said Alton simply. “They get hold of me. Those old fellows went right down to the bed rock of human nature back there in Palestine, and it strikes me there’s no great difference in that between now and then.”