Supper was over at the Farnam homestead
and Agatha enjoyed the cool of the evening on the
veranda with her hosts and George. The school
had closed for the holidays, and George had arrived
as the meal from which they had just got up was served.
Although he had not stated his object yet, Agatha
knew why he had come and shrank from the vigorous protest
she expected him to make. In the meantime, she
had something else to think about and listened for
the noise of wheels.
Farnam’s hired man had driven
across to the settlement in the afternoon and she
wondered, rather anxiously, whether he would bring
her a telegram. She had written to Thirlwell,
telling him when she would be ready to begin her search
for the ore, and now waited his reply. Her letter
might take some time to reach him, and she must allow
for his messenger’s journey to the railroad
from the mine; but she knew she would feel restless
until the answer came.
The evening was calm, the air was
fresher than in the city, and she found the quiet
soothing. A field of timothy grass near the house
rippled languidly, the dark heads rising stiffly upright
when the faint breeze dropped. Sometimes there
was a movement among the tall blades and feathery
plumes of the Indian corn, and then the rustle stopped
and everything was still. Beyond the zig-zag
fence, the fruit trees ran back in rows that converged
and melted into a blurred mass at the edge of the
bush. The narrow landscape had no prominent feature.
It was smooth and calm, and Agatha found it rested
her eyes and brain. She wanted to be tranquil,
but must shortly rouse herself when Mrs. Farnam and
George began their joint attack. George had an
ominously determined look, and she knew Mabel would
give him her support.
“Why didn’t you come and
stop with us? Florence expected you,” he
said by and by.
Agatha saw he was feeling for an opening,
and since it was hard to put him off, answered with
a smile: “You are a persistent fellow, and
I’m not fond of argument. I wanted to be
quiet.”
“You mean you were afraid I’d
get after you about your crank notion of finding the
old man’s lode? As you haven’t talked
about it for some time, I’d begun to hope you
had given that folly up. Are you going?”
“Some time; I may go very soon.
Perhaps I shall know to-night.”
“Then I’ll wait,”
George said grimly. “If you get a message
from the miner fellow, I may have some remarks to
make!”
Farnam began to talk about the fruit
crop, and it was half an hour later when Agatha heard
a rattle of wheels. Then a rig lurched along the
uneven road in a cloud of dust and soon after it vanished
among the trees Farnam’s hired man walked up
to the veranda.
“A wire for Miss Strange! There was no
mail,” he said.
Agatha’s nerve tingled as she
opened the envelope, and then the restless feeling
left her and she felt very calm. The telegram
was from Thirlwell, who stated where he would meet
her and that the sum she named would be enough.
This was a relief, because she had insisted that the
journey should be made at her cost and traveling is
expensive in the wilds.
One needed tents, clothes, and prospecting
tools; canoes must be bought and experienced voyageurs
engaged, since the craft and stores would have to
be carried across rugged divides. Agatha had for
a long time practised stern economy, doubting if her
savings would cover the expense, and now when she
had met all demands she would have very few dollars
left. This did not matter; the money would go
round, and she felt recklessly satisfied. After
a moment or two she gave the telegram to George.
“I start in three days!”
George said nothing, although his
face got red, and Agatha studied him with sympathetic
amusement. It was obvious that he was using some
self-control while he mustered his forces for an attack.
He had begun to get fat and looked rather aggressively
prosperous. In fact, George was a typical business
man and it was ridiculous to think he could understand.
“But what about your clothes?”
Mrs. Farnam asked. “You must have a special
outfit for the bush.”
“They’re all bought!
Before I left Toronto I ordered what I would need
to be got ready and properly packed. The things
will be sent as soon as the people get my telegram.
You see, I’ve been thinking about my outfit.
One can’t take much when it must be carried across
the portages.”
George frowned savagely. “You
ought to know my sister, Mrs. Farnam! When she
undertakes a job she leaves nothing to chance, and
I guess she’s had it all fixed some time since.”
He turned to Agatha. “I’ve got to
relieve my feelings, if I do nothing else! Well,
I suppose you understand what this adventure means?
Unless you get back before the new term begins, you’ll
lose your post, and you take steep chances of ruining
your health. You’re not used to sleeping
on wet ground and going without food. Then you’ll
have to live with half-tamed voyageurs and
perhaps help them track the canoes. They’ll
upset you in the rapids and the bush will tear your
clothes. I hate to think of my sister going about,
draggled and ragged, with a bunch of strange men.
But that, while bad enough, is certainly not the worst!”
He stopped to get his breath and then
resumed: “You won’t find the lode,
and you’ll come back feeling sick and sore.
If they keep you on at the school, you won’t
want to teach; you’ll think of nothing but saving
all you can and pulling out again. You’re
like father, and when he took the lone trail the blamed
foolishness got such a grip of him that he never broke
loose. Well, you’ll lose your job and the
next you get; in fact, you’ll come to hate any
work that keeps you from the North. But a girl
can’t let herself down until she turns into a
hobo. It’s frankly unthinkable. Pull
up and cut out the crazy program before it ruins you!”
“It’s too late,”
said Agatha. “I knew what I might have to
pay when I resolved to go.”
“I wonder whether you do know.
There’s something George hasn’t mentioned,”
Mrs. Farnam remarked. “I don’t think
I’m prudish, but you can’t keep your adventure
secret, and school managers are censorious people.
Have you thought what it may mean if they hear about
your traveling through the woods with a man who’s
not a relative and a band of wild half-breeds?”
“Yes,” said Agatha, coloring, “I
have thought of that.”
“But it didn’t count?”
“It counted for much,” said Agatha, in
a rather strained voice.
George clenched his fist. “If
you’re turned out, people will talk. I’ll
engage to stop the men, but the women are dangerous
and I can’t get after them. For my sake,
drop your fool plan!”
“I can’t. I know the risks, but I
must go on.”
“Well,” said George with
a gesture of helpless indignation, “I allow I’m
beaten and there’s not much comfort in feeling
I’ve done my duty! I didn’t expect
you’d bother about my views when I began.
Looks as if we gave young women a dangerous freedom.”
“Women have won their freedom;
you didn’t give it,” Mrs. Farnam rejoined,
and then turned to Agatha. “After all, something
depends on the man’s character. You haven’t
told us much about Mr. Thirlwell!”
Agatha did not reply and George said
grudgingly: “In a sense, the fellow’s
all right. I made some inquiries and must admit
that I was satisfied with what I learned.”
“You both take it for granted
that Agatha will not locate the vein,” Farnam
interposed. “Since Thirlwell manages a mine,
he must know something about prospecting, and if he
reckons the chances are pretty good ”
“Mr. Thirlwell does not really
believe I will find the ore,” Agatha said with
incautious frankness.
George laughed ironically and Farnam
looked surprised, while his wife asked: “Then
why is he going?”
Agatha felt embarrassed. “I
don’t know He made me promise I would
let him come. I think prospecting has a charm
for miners ”
She stopped as she saw Mrs. Farnam’s
smile, but it was some relief to note that George
did not seem to remark her hesitation.
“Well,” he said, “your
statement’s, so to speak, the climax! The
only person who knows anything about the matter thinks
you won’t find the vein! The blamed proposition’s
ridiculous from the beginning.” He got up
and filled his pipe with an unsteady hand. “I’m
too mad to sit still. Guess I’ll walk round
the orchard and take a smoke.”
Farnam presently went after him, and
Mrs. Farnam put her hand on Agatha’s arm.
“My dear, you have pluck, but
you have chosen a hard road and given your friends
a jar. But we are your friends; don’t forget
that!”
Agatha smiled gratefully, though she
found it difficult. “I didn’t really
choose. Sometimes I was afraid; but I knew I had
to go.”
“Very well,” said Mrs.
Farnam. “We won’t talk about it.
Tell me about your clothes.”
Next day George left the homestead
and Agatha walked across the orchard with him while
Farnam harnessed his team. When a rattle of wheels
warned them that the rig was coming George stopped
and said, “This trip will cost you something
and your pay’s not high. How much do you
reckon to have left when you get back?”
“About ten dollars,” Agatha answered with
a twinkle.
“I knew you had grit. But
I want you to understand! I wouldn’t give
you five cents to help you find the lode, but you’ll
go broke on ten dollars long before your next pay’s
due. Better take this; it may help you out.”
Agatha took the envelope, but as she
began to open it the rig stopped at the gate, and
George put his hand on her shoulder.
“We mustn’t keep Farnam;
wait until I’ve gone,” he said and kissed
her. “I’m not going to wish you good
luck, but if you have trouble with the school people
when you get back, come along and stop with Florence.
I’ll interview the managers, and, if needful,
find you another job.”
He hurried off, and when the rattle
of wheels died away Agatha opened the envelope and
found a check for a hundred dollars. She felt
moved, but smiled. The gift was generous, but
the way he had made it was very like George.
Three days afterwards, Farnam and
his wife drove her to the railroad and she felt a
pang at leaving them when the cars rolled in.
The excitement of starting, however, helped her over
an awkward few minutes, and she found a girl on the
train who wanted to talk. Besides, it was evening,
and after an hour or two the colored porter lighted
the lamps and told her her berth was ready. She
slept well, for it was too late to give way to misgivings
now, and soon after she rose next morning the train
stopped at the station where she must get down.
The conductor threw her baggage out
upon the line. The locomotive bell tolled, the
cars went on, and Agatha’s heart sank as she
glanced about. It was early morning and thin
mist drifted among the pines. There was no platform,
but a small wooden shack with an iron roof stood beside
the rails, which ran into the forest a hundred yards
off. The agent, after gruffly asking for her
checks, vanished into his office and banged the door.
There was nobody else about, and the place was very
quiet except for the murmur of running water.
A narrow clearing, strewn with ashes
and dotted by blackened stumps, ran along the track,
and at its end were three or four shabby frame houses.
A rudely painted board on one stated that the building
was the Strathcona Hotel. Agatha felt very forlorn.
Except for a week or two with Thirlwell, and once
with a band of merry companions at a summer camp she
had not seen the rugged bush, and now it daunted her.
She was not going on a pleasure excursion, from which
she could return when she liked, but to push far into
the lonely wilds. She had done with civilization
until she came back; it could not help her when she
left the railroad. She must live and struggle
with savage Nature as the prospectors and half-breeds
did. But this was not all; she had, perhaps,
cut herself off from other things than the comfort
and security that civilization offered.
Mabel Farnam’s warning was,
no doubt, justified. It was possible that the
school managers would dismiss her and she would be
unable to get another scholastic post. She might
have to give up her occupation and although she disliked
business earn a frugal living as a clerk. Her
face got hot as she remembered Mabel’s statement
that her rashness had given her friends a jar; but
in one sense Mabel was wrong. She had not been
rash; she knew she could trust Thirlwell and the men
he hired. There was nothing to fear from them.
Still she had made a bold plunge that might cost her
much, and now the reaction had begun she felt slack
and dispirited. The plunge, however, was made;
she must carry out what she had undertaken, and it
was foolish to indulge her doubts. She tried to
pull herself together and in a few minutes a man led
a team out of the hotel stable.
He leisurely harnessed the lean horses
to a very dirty wagon and then drove them across the
clearing to the track, where he stopped in front of
Agatha’s baggage. She noted that his skin
was very brown and he had coarse black hair.
The overalls he wore were very ragged.
“Mees Strange?” he said. “Dat
your truck?”
Agatha said it was, and jumping down
he threw her bag and some rough wooden boxes into
the wagon. Then he climbed back up the wheel and
held out his hand.
“Montez. Allons, en route!”
Agatha got up with some trouble and
when she sat down on a board that crossed the vehicle
he cracked his whip and the wagon, rocking wildly,
rolled away among the stumps and plunged into a narrow
trail chopped out of the bush.
“Eet is long way; we mak’
breakfast by and by,” he said. “Thirlwell
wait at portage. We arrive to-night, si tout
va bien.”
Agatha said nothing, but felt somewhat
comforted as they jolted along the uneven trail.