Read CHAPTER XX - THE PLUNGE of The Lure of the North, free online book, by Harold Bindloss, on ReadCentral.com.

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.