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 A man in the open 
 
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 3 1924 021 659 176 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021659176 
 
A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
A MAN 
 IN THE OPEN 
 
 By 
 ROGER POCOCK 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 f 
 
Copyright 1912 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company 
 
 ^.'3o\^H- 
 
 1 
 
 PRESS OP 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I On the Labrador 1 
 
 II The Happy Ship 18 
 
 III Youth 36 
 
 IV The. Ordeal by Torture 47 
 
 V The Burning Bush 67 
 
 
 PART II 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 Two Ships at Anchor 75 
 
 II 
 
 The Trevor Accident . 
 
 
 
 
 90 
 
 III 
 
 Love 
 
 
 
 
 107 
 
 IV 
 
 The Landlord 
 
 
 
 
 118 
 
 V 
 
 The Illustrious Salvator . 
 
 
 
 
 130 
 
 VI 
 
 Robber y-Under- Arms . 
 
 
 
 
 144 
 
 VII 
 
 The Round-Up . 
 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 VIII 
 
 The Stampede . 
 
 
 
 
 165 
 
 IX 
 
 The Untruthful Prisoner 
 
 
 
 
 178 
 
 X 
 
 Breaking the Statutes 
 
 
 
 
 190 
 
 XI 
 
 Billy O'Flynn . 
 
 
 
 
 203 
 
 XII 
 
 Expounding the Scriptures 
 
 
 
 
 210 
 
 XIII 
 
 Nativity ..... 
 
 
 
 
 225 
 
 XIV 
 
 The Locked House ... 
 
 
 
 
 236 
 
 PART III 
 
 I Spite House 253 
 
 II The Impatient Chapter 277 
 
 III Rescue 290 
 
 IV At Hundred Mile House 298 
 
 V The Cargador 316 
 
 VI The Black Night 334 
 
 Epilogue 349 
 
TO PERSONS WHO HAVE NAMESAKES IN 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, 
 
 Except the Bear, who is no more, the characters ap- 
 pearing in this volume wish me to say that their 
 breaches of etiquette, homicides, etc., are all original 
 sins. Their infirmities of body, soul, and spirit are their 
 own, not mimicry of yours, not a caricature of your 
 friend, your acquaintance, of your second-hand ac- 
 quaintance, or anybody you have heard about, or even 
 of some mere celebrity. If we hold up a mirror, it is 
 to human nature, not to you. 
 
 The characters wish me to tell you that they are 
 all Imaginary Persons, and therefore very sensitive. 
 The persons of a drama are protected by footlights, by 
 the stage doorkeeper, not to mention grease paint and 
 scalps by an eminent artiste; but the characters in a 
 novel are thrust defenseless into a rude world, with 
 many reporters about. In a page fright, worse even 
 than stage fright, their only comfort is that absence of 
 body which is their alternative to your great gift, — 
 presence of mind. 
 
 So they make their bow under assumed names. 
 There we come to the point. The proper names were 
 all dealt out to worldly grasping persons, and not one 
 was left unclaimed. The name department is like a 
 cloak-room when the guests have departed, a train from 
 which all passengers have alighted, an office on Christ- 
 mas day. Can you blame the characters in fiction who 
 come after you, if they assume the noblest names, such 
 as Smith, and try to be worthy of their borrowed 
 
pliimes? Surely you would not have them wear a 
 numeral such as the number of your bouse, or tele- 
 phone. 
 
 The chances are that they give you no offense. Sup- 
 pose that gentlemen named Jesse Smith number one 
 in each miUion of English-speaking people, there 
 would be one hundred in North America, half of them 
 adults, with a moiety in wedlock, and, of these twenty- 
 five, a hundredth part may be stockmen, of whom say 
 one per cent, have a flaw in their claim to wedlock. 
 To this residuum, the .0025 part of a perfect gentle- 
 man, whom he has not the honor to know personally, 
 our Mr. Smith tenders profound apologies. 
 
 But the Persons of the book, dear friends, who have 
 filled two years of my life with happiness, are not only 
 Imaginary People with assumed names, but they in- 
 habit a district at variance with the maps, at a period 
 not shown in earttily calendars. So far aloof from the 
 world where they might give offense to earthly read- 
 ers, they are outside the bounds of space and time, and 
 belong to that realm of Art where there is but one law, 
 whereby they stand or fall, must live or die — fidelity to 
 Life. 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
PART I 
 
A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 V ON THE LABRADOR 
 
 Dictated by Mr. Jesse Smith 
 
 ON'T you write anything down yet, 'cause I 
 
 D 
 
 ain't ready. 
 
 If I 'wrote this yarn myself, I'd make it good and 
 red from tip to tip, claws out, teeth bare, fur crawl- 
 ing with emotions. It wouldn't be dull, no, or evi- 
 dence. 
 
 But then it's to please you, and that's what I'm for. 
 
 So I proceeds to stroke the fur smooth, lay the 
 paws down soft, fold up the smile, and purr. A sort 
 of truthfulness steals over me. Goin' to be dull, too. 
 
 No, I dunno how to begin. If this yarn was a 
 rope, I'd coil it down before I begun to pay out. 
 You lays the end, so, and flemish down, ring by ring 
 until the bight's coiled, smooth, ready to flake off as 
 it runs. I delayed a lynching once to do just that, 
 
 I 
 
2 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 and relieve the patient's mind. It all went off so 
 well! 
 
 When we kids were good, mother she used to own 
 we came of pedigree stock; but when we're bad, 
 seems we took after father. You see mother's folk 
 was the elect, sort of born saved. They allowed 
 there'd be room in Heaven for one hundred and 
 forty-four thousand just persons, mostly from Nova 
 Scotia, but when they took to sorting the neighbors, 
 they'd get exclusive. The McGees were all right 
 until Aunt Jane McGee up and married a venerable 
 archdeacon, due to burn sure as a bishop. Thie 
 Todds were through to glory, with doubts on Uncle 
 Simon, who'd been a whaler captain until he found 
 grace and opened a dry-goods store. Seeing he died 
 in grace, worth all of ten thousand dollars, the heirs 
 concluded the Lord should act reasonable, until they 
 found uncle had left his wealth to charities. Then 
 they put a text on his tomb — "For he had great pos- 
 sessions." 
 
 The McAndrewses has corner lots in the New 
 Jerusalem, and is surely the standard of morals until 
 Cousin Abner went shiftless and wrote poems. 
 They'd alius been so durned respectable, too. 
 
ON THE LABRADOR 3 
 
 Anyway, mother's folk as a tribe, is millionaires 
 in grace and pretty well fixed in Nova Scotia. She'd 
 talk like a book, too. You'd never suspect mother, 
 playing the harmonium in church, with a tuning- 
 fork to sharpen the preacher's voice, black boots, 
 white socks, box-plaited crinoline, touch-me-not 
 frills, poke bonnet, served all round with scratch- 
 the-kisser roses. Yes, I seen the daguerreotype, work 
 of a converted photographer — nothing to pay. 
 Thar's mother — full suit of sail, rated a hundred 
 A-one at Lloyd's, the most important sheep in the 
 Lord's flock. Then she's found out, secretly married 
 among the goats. Her name's scratched out of the 
 family Bible, with a strong hint to the Lord to 
 scratch her entry from the Book of Life. She's mar- 
 ried a sailorman before the mast, a Liveyere from 
 the Labrador, a man without a dollar, suspected of 
 being Episcopalian. Why, she'd been engaged to the 
 leading grocery in Pugwash. Oh, great is the fall 
 thereof, and her name ain't alluded to no more. 
 "The ways of the Lord," says she, "is surely won- 
 derful." 
 
 In them days the Labrador ain't laid out exactly 
 to suit mother. She's used to luxury — coal in the 
 lean-to, taties in the cellar, cows in the barn, barter 
 
4 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 store round the corner, mails, church, school, and a 
 jail right handy, so she can enjoy the ungodly get- 
 ting their just deserts. But in our time the Labrador 
 was just God's country, all rocks, ice, and sea, to put 
 the fear into proud hearts — no need of teachers. It 
 kills off the weaklings — ^no need of doctors. A 
 school to raise men — no need of preachers. The law 
 was "work or starve" — no place for lawyers. It's 
 police, and court, and hangman all complete, fire 
 and hail, snow and vapors, wind and storm fulfill- 
 ing His word. Nowadays I reckon there'd be a cin- 
 ematograph theater down street to distract your at- 
 tention from facts, and you'd order molasses by wire- 
 less, invoiced C. O. D. to Torngak, Lab. Can't I 
 hear mother's voice acrost the years, and the conti- 
 nents, as she reads the lesson : " 'He casteth forth His 
 ice like morsels : who can stand before His cold?' " 
 
 Father's home was an overturned schooner, turfed 
 in, and he was surely proud of having a bigger place 
 than any other Liveyere on the coast. There was the 
 hold overhead for stowing winter fish, and room 
 down-stairs for the family, the team of seven husky 
 dogs, and even a cord or two of fire-wood. We kids 
 used to play at Newf'nlanders up in the hold, when 
 
ON THE LABRADOR 5 
 
 the winter storms were tearing the tops off the hills, 
 and the Eskimo devil howled blue shrieks outside. 
 The huskies makes wolf songs all about the fewness 
 of fish, and we'd hear mother give father a piece of 
 her mind. That's about the first I remember, but all 
 what mother thought about poor father took years 
 and years to say. 
 
 I used to be kind of sorry for father. You see he 
 worked the bones through his hide, furring all win- 
 ter and fishing summers, and what he earned he'd 
 get in truck from the company. All us Liveyeres 
 owed to the Hudson Bay, but father worked hardest, 
 and he owed most, hundreds and hundreds of skins. 
 The company trusted him. There wasn't a man on 
 the coast more trusted than he was, with mother to 
 feed, and six kids, besides seven huskies, and father's 
 aunt, Thessalonika, a widow with four children and 
 a tumor, living down to Last Hope beyond the 
 Rocks. Father's always in the wrong, and chews 
 black plug baccy to keep his mouth from defending 
 his errors. "B'y," he said once, when mother went 
 out to say a few words to the huskies; "I'd a kettle 
 once as couldn't let out steam — went off and broke 
 my arm. If yore mother ever gets silent, run, b'y, 
 run !" 
 
6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 I whispered to him, "You don't mind?" 
 
 He grinned. "It's sort of comforting outside. We 
 don't know what the winds and the waves is saying. 
 If they talked English, I'd — I'd turn pitman and 
 hew coal, b'y, as they does down Nova Scotia way — 
 where yore mother come from." 
 
 There was secrets about father, and if she ever 
 found out! You see, he looked like a white man, 
 curly yaller hair same as me, and he was fearful 
 strong. But in his inside — don't ever tell! — ^he was 
 partly small boy same's me, and the other half of 
 him — don't ever let on! — was mountaineer injun. I 
 seen his three brothers, the finest fellers you ever — 
 yes, Scotch half-breeds — and mother never knew. 
 "Jesse," he'd whisper, "swear you'll never tell?" 
 
 "S'elp me Bob." 
 
 "It would be hell, b'y." 
 
 "What's hell like?" 
 
 "Prayers and bein' scrubbed, forever an' ever." 
 
 "But mother won't be there?" 
 
 "Why, no. It hain't so bad as all that. She'll be 
 in Heaven, making them angels respectable, and 
 cleaning apostles. They was fishermen, too. They'll 
 catch it!" 
 
 Thar's me on father's knee, with my nose in his 
 
ON THE LABRADOR 7 
 
 buckskin shirt, and even to this day the wood smoke 
 in camp brings back that wuff, whereas summers his 
 boots smelt fishy. What happened first or after- 
 wards is all mixed up, but there's the smoke smell 
 and sister Maggie lying in the bunk, all white and 
 froze. 
 
 There's fish smell, and Polly who used to wallop 
 me with a slipper, lying white and froze. And yet 
 I knew she couldn't get froze in summer. 
 
 Then there's smoke smell, and big Tommy, bigger 
 nor father, throwing up blood. I said he'd catch it 
 from mother for messing the floor, but father just 
 hugged me, telling me to shut up. I axed him if 
 Tommy was going to get froze, too. Then father 
 told me that Tommy was going away to where 
 the milk came out of a cow. You just shove 
 the can opener into the cow so — and the milk 
 pours out, whole candy pails of milk. Then 
 there's great big bird rocks where the hens 
 come to breed, and they lays fresh eggs, real 
 fresh hen's eggs — rocks all white with eggs. And 
 there's vegi tables, which is green things to eat. 
 First time you swell up and pretty nigh bust, but you 
 soon get used to greens. Tommy is going to Civili 
 Zation. It's months and months off, and when you 
 
8 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 get there, the people is so awful mean they'd let a 
 stranger starve to death without so much as "Come 
 in." The men wear pants right down to their heels, 
 and as to the women — 
 
 Mother comes in and looks at father, so he forgets 
 to say about the women at Civili Zation, but other 
 times he'd tell, oh, lots of stories. He said it was 
 worse for the likes of us than New Jerusalem. 
 
 I reckon Tommy died, and Joan, too, and mother 
 would get gaunt and dry, rocking herself. " 'The 
 Lord gave,' " she'd say, " 'and the Lord hath taken 
 away ; blessed be the name of the Lord.' " 
 
 There was only Pete and me left, and father wag- 
 ging his pipe acrost the stove at mother. "They'll 
 die, ma'am," I heard him say, and she just sniffed. 
 "If I hadn't taken 'em out doors they'd be dead 
 now, ma'am." 
 
 She called him an injun. She called him — I dun- 
 no what she didn't call him. I'd been asleep, and 
 when I woke up she was cooking breakfast while she 
 called him a lot more things she must have forgot to 
 say. But he carried me in his arms out through the 
 little low door, and it was stabbing cold with a blaze 
 of northern lights. 
 
 He tucked me up warm on the komatik, he hitched 
 
ON THE LABRADOR 9 
 
 up the huskies, and mushed, way up the tickle, and 
 through the soft bush snow, and at sunup we made 
 his winter tilt on Torngak Creek. We put in the win- 
 ter there, furring, and every time he came home from 
 the round of traps, he'd sell me all the pelts. I was 
 the company, so he ran up a heap of debt. Then he 
 made me little small snow-shoes and skin clothes like 
 his, and a real beaver cap with a tail. I was surely 
 proud when he took me hunting fur and partridges. 
 I was with him to the fishing, in the fall we'd hunt, 
 all winter we'd trap till it was time for the sealing, 
 and only two or three times in a year we'd be back to 
 mother. We'd build her a stand-up wigwam of fire- 
 wood, so it wouldn't be lost in the snow, we'd tote 
 her grub from the fort, the loads of fish, and the fall 
 salmon. 
 
 Then I'd see Pete, too, who'd got pink, with a 
 spitting cough. He wanted to play with me, but I 
 wouldn't. I just couldn't I hated to be anywheres 
 near him. 
 
 "Didn't I tell yez?" father would point at Pete 
 coughing. "Didn't I warn yez?" 
 
 But mother set her mouth in a thin line. 
 
 "Pete," said she, "is saved." 
 
 Next time we come mother was all alone. 
 
lo A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 " 'The Lord gave,' " she says, " 'and the Lord 
 hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord,' 
 but it's getting kind of monotonous." 
 
 She hadn't much to say then, she didn't seem to 
 care, but was just numb. He wrapped her up warm 
 on the komatik, with just a sack of clothes, her Bible, 
 and the album of photos from Nova Scotia, yes, and 
 the china dogs she carried in her arms. Father broke 
 the trail ahead, I took the gee pole, and when day 
 came, we made the winter tilt. There mother kep' 
 house just as she would at home, so clean we was al- 
 most scared to step indoors. We never had such 
 grub, but she wouldn't put us in the wrong or set up 
 nights confessing father's sins. She didn't care any 
 more. 
 
 It was along in March or maybe April that father 
 was away in coarse weather, making the round of 
 his traps. He didn't come back. There'd been a bliz- 
 zard, a wolf-howling hurricane, blowing out a lane 
 of bare ground round the back of the cabin, while 
 the big drift piled higher and packed harder, until 
 the comb of it grew out above our roof like a sea 
 breaker, froze so you could walk on the overhang. 
 And just between dark and duckish father's husky 
 team came back without him. 
 
ON THE LABRADOR ii 
 
 I don't reckon I was more'n ten or eleven years 
 old, but you see, this Labrador is kind of serious 
 with us, and makes even kids act responsible. Go 
 easy, and there's famine, freezing, blackleg, all sorts 
 of reasons against laziness. It sort of educates. 
 
 Mother was worse than silent. There was some- 
 thing about her that scared me more than anything 
 outdoors. In the morning her eye kep' following 
 me as if to say, "Go find your father." Surely it was 
 up to me, and if I wasn't big enough to drive the 
 huskies or pack father's gun, I thought I could man- 
 age afoot to tote his four-pound ax. She beckoned 
 me to her and kissed me — ^just that once in ten years, 
 and I was quick through the door, out of reach, lest 
 she should see me mighty near to cryin'. 
 
 It was all very well showing off brave before 
 mother, but when I got outside, any excuse would 
 have been enough for going back. I wished I'd left 
 the matches behind, but I hadn't. I wished the snow 
 would be too soft, but it was hard as sand. I vvished 
 I wasn't a coward, and the bush didn't look so wolfy, 
 and what if I met up with the Eskimo devil ! Oh, I 
 was surely the scaredest lil' boy, and dead certain 
 I'd get lost. There was nobody to see if I sat down 
 and cried under father's lob-stick, but I was too 
 
12 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 durned frightened, because the upper branches 
 looked like arms with claws. Then I went on because 
 I was going, and there was father's trail blazed on 
 past Bake-apple Marsh. The little trees, a cut here, 
 a slash there, the top of a tree lopped and hanging, 
 then Big Boulder, Johnny Boulder, Small Boulder, 
 cross the crick, first deadfall, more lops, a number- 
 one trap empty — how well I remember even now. 
 The way was as plain as streets, and the sun shin- 
 ing warm as he looked over into the valley. 
 
 Then I saw a man's mitt, an old buckskin mitt 
 sticking up out of the snow. Father had dropped 
 his mitt, and without that his hand would be froze. 
 When I found him, how glad he'd be to get it ! 
 
 But when I tried to pick it up, it was heav)'. Then 
 it came away, and there was father's hand sticking 
 up. It was dead. 
 
 Of course I know I'd ought to have dug down 
 through the snow, but I didn't. I ran for all I was 
 worth. Then I got out of breath and come hack 
 shamed. 
 
 It wasn't for love of father. No. I hated to touch 
 that hand, and when I did I was sick. Still that was 
 better than being scared to touch. It's not so bad 
 when you dare. 
 
ON THE LABRADOR 13 
 
 I dug, with a snow-shoe for a shovel. There was 
 the buckskin shirt smelling good, and the long 
 fringes I'd used to tickle his nose with — then I found 
 his face. I just couldn't bear that, but turned my 
 back and dug until I came to the great, big, number- 
 four trap he used for wolf and beaver. He must 
 have stepped without seeing it under the snow, and 
 it broke his leg. Then he'd tried to drag himself 
 back home. 
 
 It was when I stood up to get breath and cool off 
 that I first seen the wolf, setting peaceful, waggin' 
 his taiL First I thought he was one of our own hus- 
 kies, but when he didn't know his name I saw for 
 sure he must be the wolf who lived up Two Mile 
 Crick. Wolves know they're scarce, with expensive 
 pelts, so neither father nor me had seen more'n this 
 person's tracks. He'd got poor inspecting father's 
 business instead of minding his own. That's why he 
 was called the Inspector. It was March, too, the 
 moon of famine. Of course I threw my ax and 
 missed. His hungry smile's still thar behind a bush, 
 and me wondering whether his business is with me 
 or father. That's why I stepped on the snow-shoes, 
 and went right past where he was, not daring to get 
 my ax. Yes, it was me he wanted to see — first, but of 
 
14 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 course I wasn't going to encourage any animal into 
 thinking he'd scared a man. Why, he'd scarce have 
 let father even see his tracks for fear they'd be 
 trapped or shot. So I walked slow and proud, lead- 
 in' him off from father — at least I played that, wish- 
 ing all the time that mother's lil' boy was to home. 
 After a while I grabbed down a lopped stick where 
 father'd blazed, not as fierce as an ax, but enough to 
 make me more or less respected. 
 
 Sometimes the Inspector was down wind 'specting 
 my smell, times he was up wind for a bird's-eye 
 view, or again on my tracks to see how small they 
 looked — and oh, they did feel small ! 
 
 From what I've learned among these people, 
 wolves is kind to man cubs, gentle and friendly even 
 when pinched with hunger, just loving to watch a 
 child and its queer ways. They're shy of man be- 
 cause his will is strong compelling them, and his 
 weapons magic. So they respects his traps, his kids, 
 an' all belonging to him. Only dying of hunger, 
 they'll snatch his dogs and cats, and little pigs, but 
 they ain't known to hurt man or his young. 
 
 The Inspector was bigger than me, stronger 'n any 
 man, swifter 'n any horse. I tell yer the maned 
 
ON THE LABRADOR 15 
 
 white wolf is wiser'n most people, and but for eating 
 his cubs, he's nature's gentleman. 
 
 The trouble was not him hunting, but me scared. 
 Why, if he'd wanted me, one flash, one bite, and I'm 
 breakfast. It was just curiosity made him so close 
 behind like a stealthy ghost. When I'd turn to show 
 fight, he'd seem to apologize, and then I'd go on 
 whistling a hymn. 
 
 Thar he was cached right ahead in the deadfall, 
 for a front view, if I'd known. But I thrashed with 
 my stick in a panic, hitting his snout, so he yelped. 
 Then he lost his temper. He'd a "sorry, but-busi- 
 ness-is-business" expression on him. I ran at him, 
 tripped on a stump, let out a yell, and he lep' straight 
 at my throat. 
 
 And in the middle of that came a gunshot, a bullet 
 grazed my arm, and went on whining. Another 
 shot, and the Inspector ran. Then I was rubbing 
 whar the bullet hurt, sort of sulky, too, with a griev- 
 ance, when I was suddenly grabbed and nigh smoth- 
 ered in mother's arms. She'd come with the team of 
 huskies followin' me; she'd been gunning, too, and I 
 sure had a mighty close call. 
 
 She'd no tears left for father, so when I got 
 through sobbin' we went to the body, and loaded it 
 
i6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 in the komatik for home. Thar's things I don't like 
 to tell you. 
 
 It wasn't a nice trip exactly, with the Inspector 
 superintending around. When we got back to the 
 tilt, we daresn't take out the huskies, or unload, or 
 even stop for grub. We had to drive straight on, 
 mother and me, down the tickle, past our old empty 
 home, then up the Baccalieu all night. 
 
 The sun was just clear of the ice when we made 
 the Post, and we saw a little ball jerk up the flag 
 halyards, then break to a great red flag with the let- 
 ters H. B. C. It means Here Before Christ. 
 
 The air was full of a big noise, like the skirl of 
 sea-gulls screaming in a gale, and there was Mr. Mc- 
 Tavish on the sidewalk, marching with his bagpipes 
 to wake the folk out of their Sunday beds. He'd 
 pants down to his heels, just as father said, and fat 
 bacon to eat every day of his life. He was strong as 
 a team of bullocks, a big, bonny, red man, with 
 white teeth when he turned, smiling, in a sudden 
 silence of the pipes. Then he saw father's body, with 
 legs and arms stiffened all ways, and the number- 
 four trap still gripped on broken bones. Off came 
 his fur cap. 
 
 Mother stood, iron-hard, beside the komatik. 
 
ON THE LABRADOR if 
 
 "Factor," says she, "I've come to pay his debt." 
 
 "Nay, it's the Sabbath, ma'am. Ye'll pay no debts 
 till Monday. Come in and have some tea — ye puir 
 thing." 
 
 "You starved his soul to death, and now I've 
 brought his body to square his debts. Will you leave 
 that here till Monday ?" 
 
 Mr. McTavish looked at her, then whispered to 
 me. "B'y," said he, "we must make her cry or she'll 
 be raving mad. Greet, woman, greet. By God, I'll 
 make ye greet!" 
 
 He marched up and down the sidewalk, and 
 through the skirl of gulls in a storm, swept a tune 
 that made the meat shake on my bones. 
 
 Once mother shrieked out, trying to make him 
 stop, but he went on pacing in front of her, to and 
 fro, with his eyes on her all the time, peering straight 
 through her, and all the grief of all the world in the 
 skirl and the wail, and that hopeless awful tune. She 
 covered her face with her hands, trying to hold while 
 the great sobs shook her, and she reeled like a tree 
 in a gale, until she fell on her knees, until she threw 
 herself on the corpse, and cried, and cried. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE HAPPY SHIP 
 
 GAP'N MOSE of the Zedekiah W. Baggs 'e was 
 a Sunday Christian. All up along 'e'd wear a 
 silk hat, the only one on the Labrador. Yes. Sun- 
 days 'e'd be ashore talkin' predestination an' grace 
 out of a book 'e kep' in 'is berth, but never a word 
 about fish or the state of the ice. Mother'd been 
 raised to a belief in Christians, so when Mose 
 dropped in at her shack, admirin' how she cooked, 
 she'd be pleased all up the back, and have him right 
 in to dinner. He'd kiss me, talkin' soft about little 
 children. Yes. That's how 'e got me away to sea as 
 boy on a sealin' voyage, without paying me any 
 wages. 
 
 Mother never knew what Cap'n Mose was like on 
 week-days, and Sunday didn't happen aboard of the 
 Zedekiah. I remember hidin' away at the back of 
 Ole Oleson's bunk, axing God please to turn me into 
 an animal. Any sort would do, because I seen men 
 kind to animals. You know an animal mostly con- 
 
 iS 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 19 
 
 sists of a pure heart, and four legs, which is a great 
 advantage. Queer world though, if all our prayers 
 was granted. 
 
 Belay than A man sets out to tell adventures, 
 and if his victims don't find some excuse for getting 
 absent, he owes them all the happiness he's got. It's 
 mean to hand out sorrow to persons bearing their 
 full share already. So we proceeds to the night when 
 I ran from the Zedekiah, and joined the Happy 
 Ship. 
 
 We lay in the big ice pack off Cape Breton, get- 
 ting a load of seal pelts. All hands was out on the 
 ice while daylight lasted, clubbing seals, gathering 
 the carcasses into pans, sculping, then towing the 
 hides aboard to salt 'em down. 
 
 We got our supper, then turned in, bone-weary, 
 but the ship groaned so that I daresn't sleep. A ship 
 ain't got no mouth to give her age away, and yet 
 with ships and women it's pretty much the same, for 
 the younger they are the less they need to be painted. 
 The Zedekiah was old, just paint an' punk, and she 
 did surely groan to the thrust of the pack. I was too 
 scared to sleep, so I went up on deck. 
 
 I'd alius watched for a chance to run away, and 
 thar was Jim, the anchor-watch, squatting on the 
 
20 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 bitts dead asleep. He used to be that way when no- 
 body chased him. 
 
 I daresn't make for the coast. You see I'd heard 
 tell of niggers ashore which eat boys who run away. 
 But I seen the lights of the three-masted schooner a 
 couple of miles to windward. I grabbed a sealing 
 gaff and slid down on to the ice. 
 
 First, as the pans rocked under me, I was scary, 
 next I warmed up, gettin' venturesome, until I came 
 near sliding into the wet, and after that I'd look be- 
 fore I lep'. There'd been a tops'l breeze from the 
 norrard, blowin' up since nightfall to a hurricane, 
 and then it blew some more, until I couldn't pole- 
 jump for fear of being blowed away. With any 
 other ship, I'd have wished myself back on board. 
 
 You know how the grinding piles an edge around 
 each pan, of broken splinters? That edge shone 
 white agin the black of the water, all the guide I 
 had. But times the squalls of wind was like scythes 
 edged with sleet, so I was blinded, waiting, freezing 
 until a lull came, and I'd get on. It was broad day, 
 and I reckon each step weighed a ton before I made 
 that schooner. 
 
 A gray man, fat, with a chin whisker, lifted me in 
 overside, "Come far?" says he, and I turned round 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 21 
 
 to show him the Zedekiah. She wasn't there. She 
 was gone — foundered. 
 
 So that's how I came aboard of the Happy Ship, 
 just like a HI' lost dog, with no room in my skin for 
 more'n bones and famine. Captain Smith used to say 
 he'd signed me on as family ghost; but he paid me 
 honest wages, fed me honest grub, while as to clothes 
 and bed, I was snug as a little rabbit. He taught me 
 reading and writing, and punctuation with his belt, 
 sums, hand, reef, and steer, catechism, knots and 
 splices, sewing, squeegee, rule of the road, soojie 
 moojie, psalms of David, constitution of the United 
 States, and playing the trombone, with three pills 
 and a good licking regular Saturday nights. Moth- 
 er's little boy began to set up and take notice. 
 
 Then five years in the Pawtucket all along, from 
 Montreal to Colon, from banjos plunking in them 
 portales of Vera Cruz, to bugles crying revally in 
 Quebec, and the oyster boats asleep by old Point 
 Comfort, and the Gloucester fleet a-storming home 
 past Sable, and dagos basking on Havana quays. 
 Suck oranges in the dinghy under the moonlight, 
 waiting to help the old man aboard when he's drunk ; 
 watch the niggers humping cotton into a tramp at 
 Norfolk; feel the tide-rip snoring up past Tantra- 
 
-22 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 mar; reef home trys'ls when she's coming on to 
 blow, with the Keys to lee'ard; can't I just feel the 
 old Pawnticket romping home to be in time for 
 Christmas ! 
 
 Did you hear tell that the sea has feelings — ^the 
 cryin', the laugh, dumb sorrow, blazin' wrath, the 
 peace, the weariness, the mother-kindness, the hush 
 like prayers of something which ain't brute, or hu- 
 man, but more'n human, so grand and awful you 
 hardly dare to breathe? 
 
 Words, only words which don't fit, the misfits 
 which make fun of serious thoughts. We men is 
 dumb beasts which can't say what we mean, whereas 
 I've alius reckoned persons like cats and wolves don't 
 feel so much emotions as they exudes in song. 
 
 Seafaring men is sea-wise, sea-kind, only land- 
 foolish, for there's things no sailorman knows how to 
 say, things even landsmen can't figure out in dollars 
 and cents. 
 
 Seems I'm a point off my course? I'm only say- 
 ing things the captain said, times on a serious night 
 when we'd be up some creek for fish, or layin' low 
 for ducks. If ever he went ashore without me, I'd be 
 like a lost dog, and he drunk before the sun was over 
 the yard-arm. But away together it wasn't master 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 23 
 
 and boy, but just father and son. He'd even named 
 me after himself, and that's why my name's Smith. 
 
 I disremember which port — somewheres up the St. 
 Lawrence where we loaded lumber for the Gulf o' 
 Mexico, but the captain and me was away fishing. 
 Mother had come from the Labrador to find me, old 
 gray mother. They dumped her seal-hide trunk on 
 our wharf, so one of the china dogs inside got split 
 from nose to tail; but mother just sat on a bollard, 
 and didn't give a damn. She put on her round horn 
 spectacles to smile at the mate aft, and the second 
 mate forward, the or'nary seaman painting in the 
 name board, and Bill in his bos'n's chair a-tarring 
 down the rigging, and the bumboat laundress who'd 
 been tearing the old man's shirt-fronts. Yes, she'd 
 a smile for every man jack that seemed to warm 
 their hearts, but nary a word to interfere with work, 
 for she just sat happy at the sight of the Pawnticket, 
 and she surely admired everything, from Old Glory 
 to Blue Peter — until our nigger cook came and 
 spilled slops overside. Seems he'd had news of the 
 lady, and came to grin, but he was back in his galley, 
 like a rabbit to his burrow, while she marched up the 
 gangway. "Can't abide dirt," says mother, and even 
 the new boy heard not a word else 'cept the splash. 
 
■24 A Man In the open 
 
 For mother just escorted that nigger right through 
 the galley, out at the other end, over the port rail, 
 and boosted him into the blue harbor, for the first 
 and only bath he'd ever had. Then she took off her 
 horn spectacles, her old buckskin gloves, and her 
 bonnet, and sot to cleaning a galley which hadn't 
 been washed since the days of President Lincoln. 
 Floor, range, walls, beams, pots, kettles, plates and 
 dishes, she washed and scrubbed and polished. She 
 hadn't time to listen to the wet nigger or the mate, 
 and narry a man on board could get more than yea 
 or nay out of mother. She cooked them a supper 
 too good to be eaten and spoilt, then set the dishes to 
 rights, got the lamp a-shining, and axed to be shown 
 round the ship. You should have seen the idlers aft 
 and the boys forrard, redding up as if all their 
 mothers was expected. As to the nigger, the fellers 
 made a habit of pitching him overboard until he got 
 tired of coming. 
 
 The cap'n and me comes back along with the 
 dinghy, makes fast, and climbs aboard. There's old 
 gray mother, with the horn specs, calm in her own 
 kitchen, just tellin' us to set right down to supper. 
 Cap'n lives aft, and I belongs up forrard, being ordi- 
 nary seaman, and less important aboard than the old 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 25 
 
 man's pig. Yet somehow mother knew, feeding us 
 both in the galley, and standing by while we fed. 
 Never a word, but mother had a light for Captain 
 Smith's cigar, and her eyes looking hungry at me for 
 fear she'd be sent ashore. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," says the captain, "sent your bag- 
 gage aft ? Oh, we'll soon get your baggage aboard." 
 
 Then I heard him on deck seeing mother's dun- 
 nage into the spare berth aft, and the nigger's turkey 
 thrown out on the wharf. 
 
 Sort of strange to me remembering mother, gaunt, 
 bitter-hard, always in the right, with lots to say. 
 And here was little mother sobbing her heart out on 
 the breast of my jersey. Just the same mother 
 changed. Said she was fed up with the Labrador, 
 coming away to see the world, meet folks, and have 
 a good time ; but would I be ashamed of having her 
 with me at sea? Surely that had been old mother 
 back there in the long ago time, and now it was 
 young mother laughing just because she'd cried. 
 
 Shamed? All the ways down from Joe Beef's 
 clear to Rimouski you'll hear that yarn to-day, of 
 how the old sea custom of winning a berth in fair 
 fight was practised by a lady, aboard of the Pawn- 
 ticket. 
 
26 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 You've heard of ship's husbands, but we'd the first 
 ship's mother. And the way she crep' in was surely 
 insidious. Good word that. Let her draw stores, 
 you find she's steward and purser, just surely poison 
 to the chandlers. Oh, she'll see to the washing, and 
 before you can turn around, she's nurse and doctor. 
 She's got to be queen, and the schooner's a sea pal- 
 ace, when we suddenly discovered she only signed as 
 cook. 
 
 Now we're asleep at eleven knots on a beam wind, 
 and Key West wide on the starboard bow, the same 
 being in the second dog-watch when I'm invited aft. 
 There's the old man setting in the captain's place, 
 there's mother at the head of the table sewing, and 
 she asks me to sit in the mate's seat as if I was chief 
 officer instead of master's dog. 
 
 "Son," says she — queer, little, soft chuckle, "son. 
 You'll never guess." 
 
 I'm sort of sulky at having riddles put 
 
 Then the old man gets red to the gills, giggling. 
 He slaps hisself on his fat knee and wriggles. Then 
 he up and kisses mother with a big smack right on 
 the lips. 
 
 "Can't guess?" says mother. 
 
 "I'm the old man," he giggles, "she's the old 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 27 
 
 woman." Then he reached out his paw. "Put her 
 there, son !" says he; "what's yer name, boy?" 
 
 He'd a hand like a bear trap. "Smith!" I 
 squealed. "Smith !" 
 
 "Fact," says he. "Fill yourself a goblet of that 
 'ere sherry wine, with some sugar. Drink, you cub, 
 to Captain and Mrs. Smith. Now off with ye, and 
 pass the bottle forrard." 
 
 There's me chuck-a-block with shyness, splutter- 
 ing wine, dumb as a fish 'cause I've only one mouth 
 to my face; then I'm to the foc'sle, tellin' the boys 
 there's mutiny on the high seas with the cook com- 
 manding, and we're flying the aurora borealis for a 
 flag, till we load a cargo of stars, and clears for par- 
 adise. 
 
 Next day^ or next week, or maybe the Monday 
 following, the ship's got a headache, with the sky 
 sitting down on the mastheads, the sea like oil, the 
 sheets slapping the shadows on the deck, where the 
 tar boils, and our feet is like overdone toast. 
 
 We sailors is off our feed, and Pierre Legrandeur 
 telling his beads till they get pitched overboard for 
 luck. Old man's in a stinking temper, mother abed 
 with sick headache, first mate like a wounded seal, 
 the second has a touch of the sun, and bo's'n got a 
 
28 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 water-pup on his neck. We stows every stitch of 
 canvas, sets a storm stays'l reefed to the size of a 
 towel, everything on deck's lashed solid, and the 
 glass is lookin' sicker'n ever. Then dad says we'd 
 best take precautions, so he tries to house the top- 
 masts, and sends down for a drum of oil. 
 
 The sky's like copper edged with sheet lightning, 
 then there's scud in a hurry overhead, the horizon 
 folding in, and a funnel-shaped cloud to the south- 
 ard wrapping up the sky. There's no air, and I no- 
 ticed the binnacle alight, so it must have been nigh 
 dark under that funnel cloud. Just as it struck, some 
 one called out "All aboard!" and I heard the mate 
 yell, "You mean, all overboard !" 
 
 Couldn't see much at first, as I was busy getting 
 mother out of the drowned cabin. When I'd passed 
 a halyard round her and the stump of the mizzen, 
 I'd just breathing time. The sea was flattened, white 
 under black sky, and what was left of us was mostly 
 blowing about. I felt sorry for Pierre — gone after 
 his rosary beads, and Mick, too — he'd owed me a 
 dollar. I missed the masts some, and the bow- 
 sprit. Galley gone, too, and the good old dinghy 
 staved to kindlings. The ship's cat was mewing 
 around with no curling-up corner left 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 29 
 
 Dad was just taking command again of what re- 
 mained. No use shouting either, so he hung on and 
 beckoned. The masts overside were battering holes 
 in us, until we cut adrift. Then to the pumps, but 
 that was sort of ex officio just to keep us warm. 
 Working's warmer than waiting. 
 
 Being timber-laden we couldn't sink, which was 
 convenient. But, as mother said, there wasn't any 
 grub on the roof, and we couldn't go down-stairs. 
 For instance, we wanted a drink of water. 
 
 Well, now, we been three days refreshing our 
 parched mouths with beer stories, when a fishing 
 vessel comes along smelling salvage. Happens he's 
 one of them felucca- rigged dago swine out of In- 
 victa, Texas. Daresn't tow a hair-brush across a 
 wash pail for fear of getting fouled in his own haw- 
 ser. But he's a champion artist at gesticulations, so 
 he'd like to get his picture in the papers for rescuing 
 shipwrecked mariners. His charges was quite mod- 
 erate, too, for a breaker of water and some fancy 
 grub — until we seen the bill. 
 
 I never knew till then that our old man was owner. 
 Of course that's all right, only he'd run astern with 
 his insurance. That's why he'd stay with the ship, 
 so it's no good talking. As to mother, she come 
 
30 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 aboard the feluccy, ship's cat in her arms, and a sort 
 of cold, dumb, going-to-be-good-and-it's-killin'-me 
 sort of smile. She bore up brave until she struck the 
 number-one smell in the dago's cabin. "It's too 
 much," she says, handing me the cat, "too much. 
 I'm goin' back to drown clean." 
 
 She kissed me, and went back aboard the wreck. 
 
 But I was to stay with our sailors aboard the dago, 
 to fetch Invicta quick, and bring a tug. Dad trusted 
 me, even to play the coward and quit him. I dread 
 to think back on that passage of four days to the port 
 of Invicta, 
 
 Now in them days I was fifteen, and considered 
 homely. The mouth I got would be large for a dog, 
 smile — ^six and three-quarters. Thar ashore at In- 
 victa, I'd still look sort of cheerful, so all them tug 
 skippers took me for a joke. It was four days and 
 three nights since I'd slept, so I suppose I'd look 
 funny wanting to hire a tug. 
 
 I showed power of attorney, wrote in indelible 
 pencil on dad's old dicky cravat, but the tugs ex- 
 pected cash, and the agents went back on me. 
 
 There was our sailors playing shipwrecked heroes, 
 which is invited to take refreshments, and tell how 
 brave they'd been, raising the quotations on tugs up 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 31 
 
 to ten thousand dollars. Better have a whisky to 
 lessen that smile before it takes cramp, they'd say. 
 And mother's voice seems to call out of the air. 
 
 Nothin' doing Saturday nights at the office, tug 
 crews all ashore, but the port will get a move on 
 Monday. Trust grown men to know more'n a mere 
 boy. Keep a sti£f upper lip, cheer up and have a 
 drink. The glass is down, the gulls is flying inland, 
 thar's weather brewing. I seen in my mind the 
 sprays lash over the wreck. 
 
 It was dark when I went to the wharves with Cap- 
 tain McGaw to see the Pluribus Unum. He'd show 
 me a tug cheap at ten thousand cash — stores all com- 
 plete, steam up, engineer on the premises, though 
 he'd stepped ashore for a drink. Cute cabin he'd got 
 on the bridge, cunning little glory-hole forrard. 
 Why, everything was real handy, so that I only had 
 to bat him behind the ear with a belaying-pin, and 
 he dropped right down the fore hatch. All I wanted 
 now was a navigating officer I could trust. 
 
 Which brings me to Mr. McMillan, our own sec- 
 ond mate, buying a dozen fried oysters in a card box 
 with a wire handle, all for twenty-five cents, though 
 the girl seemed expecting a kiss. 
 
 "Hello, Frankie," says I, slapping him on the 
 
32 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 back. A foremast hand can make his officer act real 
 dignified with less. "Say, Mac! D'ye know what 
 Greed done?" I grabbed his oysters. "Greed, he 
 choke puppy," says I, and in my mind I seen the 
 gulls wheel round the wreck, where something's ly- 
 ing huddled. "Come on, puppy!" says I, waving 
 Frankie down street with them oysters, so all the 
 traffic pauses to admire, and our second officer is 
 running good. More things I said, escorting him 
 maybe a mile aboard of the Pluribus Unum. And 
 there I ate them oysters while he was being coarse 
 and rude, but all the time I seen the wreck heave 
 sick and sodden on the swell of the gulf, the circling 
 gulls, and how they dove down, pecking at a huddle 
 of torn clothes beside the wheel. 
 
 Up thar on the tug's masthead I was owning to 
 being in the wrong, while Frankie Mac was prom- 
 ising faithful to tear my hide off over my ears when 
 I'm caught. 
 
 "Please, sir," says I, "it ain't so much the oysters 
 worries me. It's this yer Cap'n McGaw I done em- 
 bezzled. Cayn't call it kidnaped 'cause he's over 
 sixty, but I stunned him illegal with a belaying-pin, 
 and I hears him groaning — ^times when you stops to 
 pant." 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 33 
 
 But Frankie Mac wouldn't believe one word until 
 he went down in the fore peak to inquire, while I 
 applied the hatch, and battened down. 
 
 So you see I'd got a tug, and the crew aboard, so 
 the next thing was to take in the hawsers, shove off, 
 and let her drift on the ebb. 
 
 It's a caution to see how many taps and things be- 
 sets an engine-room, all of 'em heaps efficient. The 
 first thing I handled proved up plenty steam, for my 
 left arm was pink and blisters for a week. Next I 
 found a tap called bilge- valve injection, which lets 
 in the sea when you wants to sink the ship. I turned 
 him full, and went to sit on the fore hatch while I 
 sucked my arm, and had a chat with the crew. 
 
 They was talkative, and battering at the hatch 
 with an ax, so I'd hardly a word in edgeways. Then 
 they got scared we'd blow up before we drowned. 
 Alius in my mind I'd see them gulls squawkin' 
 around the wreck, and mother fighting them. That 
 heaped thing by the wheel was dad, for I seen the 
 whites of his eyes as the ship lurched him. An' the 
 gulls — 
 
 Cap'n McGaw was pleadin' with me, then Mr. 
 McMillan. They swore they'd take me to the wreck 
 for nothin', they'd give their Bible oath, they'd sign 
 
34 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 agreements. McGaw had a wife and family ashore. 
 McMillan was in love. 
 
 I turned off the bilge- valve injection, opened the 
 fore hatch, and set them two to work. They was 
 quite tame, and that night I slept — only to wake up 
 screechin' at the things I seen in dreams. 
 
 Seven days we searched for the wreck before we 
 gave up and quit, at least the captains did. Then 
 night come down black overhead, with the swell all 
 phosphorescent. I 'alius think of mother in a light 
 sea under a black sky, like it was that night, when 
 our tug run into the wreck by accident. 
 
 I jumped first on board. The poor hulk lay flush 
 with the swell, lifting and falling just enough to 
 roll the thin green water, all bright specks, across 
 and across the deck. Mother was there, her bare 
 arm reaching out, her left hand lifting her skirt, her 
 face looking up, dreaming as she turned, and turned, 
 and swayed, in a slow dance. It's what they calls a 
 waltz, and seems, as I stood watching, I'd almost see 
 the music swaying her as she wove circles, water of 
 stars pouring over her bare feet. Seems though the 
 music stopped, and she came straight to me. Speaks 
 like a lil' small girl. "Oh, mummy," she says, 
 "look," and draws her hands apart so, just as if she 
 
THE HAPPY SHIP 35 
 
 was showing a long ribbon, "watered silk," she mut- 
 ters, "only nine cents a yard. Oh, mayn't I, mayn't 
 I, mummy?" 
 
 And there was dad, with all that water of stars, 
 washing across and across him. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 YOUTH 
 
 ADOG sets down in his skin, tail handy for wag- 
 . ging — all his possessions right than 
 Same with me, setting on the beach, with a cap, 
 jersey, overalls, sea boots, paper bag of peanuts, 
 beached wreck of the old Pawnticket in front, and 
 them two graves astern. Got more'n a dog has to 
 think about, more to remember, nothin' to wag. 
 Two days I been there, and the peanuts is getting 
 few. Little gray mother, dad, the Happy Ship, just 
 dead, that's all, dead. The tide makes and ebbs, the 
 wind comes and goes, there's days, nights and the 
 little waves beating time — ^time — time, just as if they 
 cared, which they don't. 
 
 I didn't hear the two horses come, but there's a 
 young person behind me sort of attracting attention. 
 When he moves there's a tinkle of iron, creaking 
 leather, horsy smell, too, and presently he sets down 
 along of me, cross-legged. I shoved him the pea- 
 
 36 
 
YOUTH 37 
 
 nuts, but he lit a cigarette, offering me one. Though 
 he wasn't, he just felt same as a seafaring man, so I 
 didn't mind him being there. 
 
 "The ocean," says he, "is it alius like that?" 
 
 " 'Cept when there's Weather." 
 
 "That's a ship?" 
 
 "Was." 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 "Dead." 
 
 He wanted to look at my sheath knife, and when 
 I handed it he seen the lettering "Green River" on 
 the blade. He'd been along Green River and there's 
 no knives like that. 
 
 Then I'd got to know about them iron things on 
 his heels — spurs. We threw peanuts, my knife agin 
 his spurs, and he won easy. Queer how all the time 
 he's wanting to show himself off. He'd never seen 
 salt water before. The shipping, making the port, or 
 clearing, foreign or coastwise, the Hellafloat Yank, 
 the Skowogian Coffin, the family packet, liner, 
 tramp, fisher, lumberman, geordie and greaser was 
 all the same to him. "Sounds like injun languages," 
 says he, "can't you talk white?" So we went in 
 swimming, and afterward there's a lunch he'd got 
 with him — quart of pickled onions, and cigarettes. 
 
38 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Seems it's the vacuum in under which makes hearts 
 feel so heavy. 
 
 This stranger begins to throw me horse talk and 
 cow stories. It seems cow-punchers is sort of sailors 
 of the plains, only it's different. Seafaring men gets 
 wet and cold, and wrecked, but cow-boys has ad- 
 ventures instead, excitement, red streaks of life. 
 Following the sea, I been missing life. Why, this 
 guy ain't more'n two years older'n me — say, seven- 
 teen, but he's had five, years ridin' for one man, four 
 years for another, six years in Arizona, then three 
 in Oregon, until he's added up about half a century. 
 He's more worldly, too, than me — ^been in a train on 
 the railroad. I'm surely humbled by four p. M., and 
 if he keeps goin', by four bells I'll be young enough 
 to set in mother's lap. 
 
 Says his name's Bull Durham. Surely I seen 
 that name on lil' sacks of tobacco. Bull owns up this 
 baccy's named after his father. And surely his old 
 man must be pretty well fixed. "That's so," says 
 Bull, blushing to show he's modest "Ye see, kid, 
 the old man's a bishop. Yes, Bishop of Durham, of 
 course. Lives over to London, England. Got a 
 palace thar, and a pew in the House of Lords. I'll 
 be a lord when he quits. I'm the Honorable Bull by 
 
YOUTH 39 
 
 rights, although I hate to have the boys in camp 
 know that — make 'em feel real mean when all of 'em 
 rides as well as me, or almost, and some can rope 
 even better." 
 
 "And you is the young of a real lord !" 
 
 "Sure. I'll have to be a bishop, too, when I comes 
 into the property. I'm a sort of vice-bishop, sonny. 
 D'ye see these yere gloves ? They got a string to tie 
 'em at the back, 'cause I been inducted. I got an 
 entail I'll show you in camp, and a pair of heredita- 
 ments." 
 
 "Vice-bishop," says I, "is that like bo's'n's mate? 
 I never hear tell of a bishop's mate." 
 
 "He mates in two moves," says Bull, "baptism and 
 conflamation." 
 
 "But," says I, so he just shuts me up, saying I 
 may be ignorant, but that ain't no excuse for being 
 untruthful. 
 
 Well, his talk made me small and mean as a 
 starved cat, but that was nothing to the emotions at 
 the other end of me when he got me on one of them 
 horses. I wanted to walk. Walk ! The most shame- 
 ful things he knew was walking and telling lies. If 
 I walked he'd have nothing more to do with me. I 
 rode till we got to the ferry. 
 
40 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 You know in books how there's a line of stars 
 acrost the page to show the author's grief. I got 'em 
 bad by the time we rode into Invicta City. Draw 
 the line right thar : 
 
 ^ :{c :(: ^ :(: :|: ^ 
 
 We're having supper at the Palladium, and I'm 
 pretty nigh scared. The goblets is all full of pink 
 and white serviettes, folded up into fancy designs, 
 which come undone if you touched. There's a menu 
 to say what's coming, in French so you don't know 
 what you're eating, and durned if I can find out 
 whether to tackle an a la mode with fingers or a 
 spoon. Bull says it's only French for puckeroo, a 
 sort of four-legged burrowing bird which inhabits 
 silver mines, but if I don't like that, the lady will 
 fetch me a foe par. Well, I orders one, and by the 
 lady's face I see I done wrong, even before she com- 
 plains to the manager. I'm surely miserable to think 
 I've insulted a lady. 
 
 The manager's suspicious of me, but Bull talks 
 French so rapid that even froggy can't keep up, al- 
 though he smiles and shrugs, and gives us sang- 
 fraws to drink. 
 
 This sort of cocktail I had, was the first liquor I'd 
 tasted. It's powerful as a harbor tug, dropping me 
 
YOUTH 41 
 
 out of the conversation, while the restaurant turns 
 slowly round with a list to starboard, and Bull deals 
 for a basket in the front window full of decorated 
 eggs. Says they're vintage eggs, all verd-antique 
 and bookay. For years the millionaires of Invicta 
 has shrunk from the expense. My job when we 
 leaves is to carry the basket, 'cause Bull's toting a 
 second-handed saddle. 
 
 Bull lets me have cocktails to keep me from get- 
 ting confused on the night of my day boo. I know I 
 behaves with 'strordinary dignity, and wants more 
 cocktails. 
 
 I dunno why Bull has to introduce me to the gen- 
 tleman who keeps the peanut store down street — 
 seeing I'd dealt there before. Anyway, I'm intro- 
 duced to Affable Jones, and I'm the Markis of 
 Worms — the same being a nom de plume. We pro- 
 ceeds to the opery-house, climbs in through a little 
 hind window, and finds a dressing-room. Affable 
 Jones dresses up as a monk. Bull Durham claims he's 
 rigged out already as a vice-bishop, and I'm to be a 
 chicken, 'cause I'm dealing vintage eggs in the co- 
 tillon. All the same, I'm left there alone for hours, 
 and it's only when they comes back with a cocktail 
 that I'll consent to dressing up as a chicken — which 
 
42 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 in passing out through that lil' window is some 
 crowded. We proceeds up street, me toting eggs, 
 and practising chicken-talk, and it seems the general 
 public is surprised. 
 
 So we comes to the Masonic Hall, which is all 
 lights, and band, and fashionable persons rigged out 
 in fancy dress, dancing the horse doover. I got the 
 name from Bull, who says that the next turn is my 
 day boo in the omlet cotillion. Seems it's all ar- 
 ranged, too. Affable Jones lines up the ladies on the 
 left, the dudes on the right, all the length of the hall. 
 Bull marches up the middle, spurs trailin' behind 
 him, and there's me dressed as a chicken, with a 
 basket of eggs, wondering whether this here cow-boy 
 is. the two persons I see, or only the one I can hear. 
 Band's playing soft, Affable serves out tin spoons to 
 the dudes, and I deals each a decorated egg, laying 
 it careful in the bowl of the spoon, till there's only a 
 few left over, and I'm safe along with Bull. 
 
 So far everybody seems pleased. Bull whispers 
 in my ear, "Make for the back door, you son of a 
 sea cook," which offends one, being true; waves an 
 &%g at the band for silence, and calls out, "Ladies 
 and gents." From the back door I seen how all the 
 
YOUTH 43 
 
 dudes has to stand dead still for fear of dropping an 
 
 egg- 
 
 "Ladies," says Bull, "has any of you seen a live 
 mouse? On the way up among you, seems I've 
 dropped my mouse, and it's climbing skirts for soli- 
 tude." 
 
 Then there's shrieks, screams, ladies throwing 
 themselves into the arms of them dudes, eggs drop- 
 ping squash, eggs going bang. Bull throwing eggs 
 at every man not otherwise engaged, and such a 
 stink that all the lights goes out. I'm grabbed by 
 the scruff of the chicken, run out through the back 
 door, and slung on the back of a horse. Bull's yell- 
 ing "Ride! Ride! Git a move on!" He's flogging 
 the horses with his quirt, he's yelling at me : "Ride, 
 or we'll be lynched !" 
 
 My mouth's full of feathers, chicken's coming all 
 to pieces — can't ride — daresn't fall off. So on the 
 whole I dug the chicken's spurs into Mr. Horse, and 
 rode like a hurricane in a panic. All of which re- 
 minds me that the hinder parts of an imitation bird 
 is comforting whar she bumps. Still, draw them 
 stars across. 
 
 * * * 1): * * * 
 
 I'm feeling better with twenty miles between m? 
 
44 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 and Invicta City. The sun transpires over the east- 
 ern sky-line, the horses is taking a roll, I'm seated 
 on the remnants of the chicken, and Bull Durham 
 says I'm his adopted orphan. "You rode," says he, 
 "like a pudding on a skewer, you've jolted yo' tail 
 through yo' hat, you looks like a half-skinned fool 
 hen, and you've torn that poor mare's mouth till she 
 smiles from ear to ear. Yet on the whole them pro- 
 ceedings is cheering you up, and that's more com- 
 ing." 
 
 Looking back it seems to me that the first night's 
 proceedings was calm. Thar was the fat German 
 fire brigade pursuing an annual banquet across lots 
 by moonlight, all on our way north, too, till the wag- 
 on capsized in a river. 
 
 Thar was the funeral obsequies of a pig, late de- 
 ceased, with municipal honors, until we got found 
 out. 
 
 Then we was an apparition of angels at a revival 
 camp, only Bull's wings caught fire, and spoiled the 
 whole allusion. 
 
 Yes, when I looks back on them radium nights 
 entertainments along with Bull Durham, I see now 
 what a success they was in learning me to ride. 
 "What you need," says he, "is confidence. Got to 
 
YOUTH 45 
 
 forget mere matters of habeas corpus, and how your 
 toes point, and whether you're looking pretty. Just 
 trust yo' horse to pull through, so that you ain't 
 caught in the flower of youthful innocence, and 
 hung on the nearest telegraph pole. You still needs 
 eclair as the French say, and you got no ung bong 
 pointj but your horse de combat is feeling encour- 
 aged to pack you seventy miles last night, and we'll 
 be in camp by sundown." 
 
 Once I been to a theater, and seen a play. Thar's 
 act one, with fifteen minutes hoping for act two. 
 Thar's act after act till you just has to fill up the 
 times between with injun war-whoops, until act five, 
 when all the ladies and gents is shot or married. It 
 just cayn't go on. So the aujience says "Let's go'n 
 have a drink," and the band goes off for a drink, and 
 the lady with the programs tells you to get to hell 
 out of that. 
 
 It's all over. The millionaire Lord Bishop of 
 Durham is only Bull's father-in-law. Bull's not ex- 
 actly a cow-boy yet — ^but assists his mother, Mrs. 
 Brooke, who is chef at a ranch. It's not exactly a 
 stock ranch, but they raise fine pedigree hogs. Bull 
 won't be quite popular with his mother for having 
 gorgeous celebrations with the hundred dollars she'd 
 
46 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 give him to pay off a little debt. I'd better not come 
 to the ranch after leading mummie's boy astray 
 from the paths of virtue. 
 
 No, I cayn't set a saddle without giving the horse 
 hysterics, and as for turning cow-boy, what's the 
 matter with my taking a job as a colonel? I'd best 
 climb oS that mare, and hunt a job afoot. So long, 
 Jesse. 
 
 There's the dust of Bull's horses way off along the 
 road, and me settin' down by the wayside. A dog 
 sets down in his skin, tail handy for wagging, all his 
 possessions around him. I ain't even got no tail. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 
 
 THE Labrador was good to me, the sea was bet- 
 ter, the stock range — wall, I'd four years 
 punching cows, and I'm most surely grateful. Thar's 
 plenty trades outside my scope of life, and thar's 
 ages and ages past which must have been plenty en- 
 joyable for a working-man. Thar's ages to come I'd 
 like to sample, too. But so far as I seen, up to whar 
 grass meets sky, this trade of punching cows appeals 
 to me most plentiful. In every other vocation the 
 job's just work, but all a cow-boy's paid for is forms 
 of joy — to ride, to rope, to cut out, to shoot, to study 
 tracks an' sign, read brands, learn cow. A bucking 
 horse, a range fire, a gun fight, a stampede, is maybe 
 acquired tastes, for I've known good men act bash- 
 ful. 
 
 There's drawbacks also — I'd never set up thirst 
 or sand-storms as being arranged to please, or claim 
 to cheerfulness with a lame horse, or in a sheep 
 
 47 
 
48 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 range, no. But then you don't know you're happy 
 till you been miserable, and you'd hate the sun him- 
 self if he never set. 
 
 I ain't proposin' to unfold a lot of adventures, the 
 same being mostly things I'd rather'd happened to 
 some one else. An adventure comes along, an' it's 
 "How d'ye do?" It's done gone, and "Adios!" 
 
 I was nigh killed in all the usual ways. 
 
 The sun would find us mounted, scattering for cat- 
 tle; he'd set, leaving us in the saddle with a night 
 herd still to ride. Hard fed, worked plenty, all out- 
 doors to live in, and bone-weary don't ax, "Whar's 
 my pillow?" No. The sun shines through us, and if 
 it's cold we'll shiver till we sweat. The rains, the 
 northers — oh, it was all so natural! Living with na- 
 ture makes men natural. 
 
 We didn't speak much — ^pride ain't talkative. 
 Riding or fighting we gave the foreman every ounce 
 we'd got, and more when needed. Persons would 
 come among us, mean, dirty, tough, or scared, sized- 
 up before they dismounted, apt to move on, too. 
 Them that stayed was brothers, and all our posses- 
 sions usually belonged to the guy who kep' the wood- 
 enest face at poker. 
 
 The world in them days was peopled with only 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 49 
 
 two species, puncher an' tenderfoot, the last bein' 
 made by mistake. Moreover, we cow-boys belonged 
 to two sects, our outfit, and others of no account. 
 And in our outfit, this Jesse person which is me, laid 
 claims on being best man, having a pair of gold 
 mounted spurs won at cyards from Pieface, our old 
 foreman. I'd a rolled cantle, double-rig Cheyenne 
 of carved leather, and silver horn — a dandy saddle 
 that, first prize for "rope and tie down" agin all 
 comers. 
 
 Gun, belt, quirt, bridle, hat, gloves, everything, 
 my whole kit was silver mounted and everything in 
 it a trophy of trading, poker, or fighting. Besides 
 my string of ponies I'd Tiger, an entire black colt 
 I'd broke — though I own he was far from convinced. 
 Add a good pay-day in my off hind pocket, and d'ye 
 think I'd own up to them twelve apostles for uncles? 
 D'ye know what glory is? Wall, I suppose it mostly 
 consists of being young. 
 
 In these days now, I've no youth left to boast of, 
 but it's sweet to look back, to remember Sailor Jesse 
 at nineteen, six foot one and filling out, full of orig- 
 inal sin, and nothin' copied, feelin' small, too, for so 
 much cubic contents of health, of growin' power, 
 and bubbling fun. Solemn as a prairie injun, too. 
 
so A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 knowing I was all comic inside, and mighty shy of 
 being found out for the three-year kid I was. 
 
 Lookin' back it seems to me that all them vanities 
 was only part of living natural, being natural. I 
 seen cock birds playing up much the same to the 
 hen birds — which made believe most solemn they 
 wasn't pleased. 
 
 Time I speak of, our outfit had turned over three 
 thousand head of long-horns to the Circle S and 
 rode right into Abilene. Thar we was to take th^ 
 train for our home ranch down south, and I hoped 
 to get back to my dog pup Rockyfeller. In my 
 bunk at the ram pasture, too, there was a china dog, . 
 split from nose to tip, but repaired. Yes, I keened 
 for home. And yet I'd never before been on a rail- 
 road, and dreaded the boys would find out how 
 scared I was of trains. 
 
 A sailorman feels queer, steppin' ashore on to 
 streets which seem to heave although you know they 
 don't — ^yes, that's what a puncher feels, too, alight- 
 ing in a town. Gives you a sort of bow-legged wad- 
 dle, and spurs on a sidewalk trail a lot too loud. I 
 lit in Abilene with a blush, and just stood rooted 
 while a guy selling gold watches reads my name 
 graved on the saddle, and then addresses me as 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE gi 
 
 Mister Smith. Old Pieface, scared for my morals, 
 did kick this person sudden and severe, but all the 
 same that Mister went to my head. 
 
 The smell of indoors made my stomach flop right 
 over while we ranged up brave at the bar for a first 
 drink. The raw rye felt like flames, though the pre- 
 served cherry afloat in it tasted familiar, like soap. 
 At the same time the sight of a gambling lay-out 
 made my pocket twitch, and I'd an inward convic- 
 tion telling me this place ain't good for kids. It's 
 the foreman sent me off with a message. 
 
 I rolled my tail, and curved off with Tiger to take 
 in the sights of the town. He shied heaps, and it's 
 curious to think why he objected to sign -boards, 
 awnings, lamp-posts, even to a harmless person lying 
 drunk. Then a railroad engine snorted in our face, 
 so Tiger and me was plumb stampeded up a little 
 side street. It's thar that he bucks for all he's worth, 
 because of a kneeling man with a straw hat and a 
 punctured soul, praying abundant. Of course this 
 penitent turned round to enjoy the bucking match — 
 and sure reveals the face of my ole friend, Bull Dur- 
 ham. We hadn't met for years, so as soon as Tiger 
 was tired, Bull owned to finding the Lord, and being 
 stony busted, ask if I was saved. I seen he'd got 
 
52 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 'em bad, and shared my wad of money level with' 
 him. So we had cigars, a pound of chocolate creams, 
 an oyster stew, and he bought a bottle of patent med- 
 icine for his liver. We shared that, and went on, he 
 walking by my stirrup to the revival meeting. 
 
 This revival was happening at a barn, so I rode 
 in. Tiger you see, needed religion bad, and when 
 people tried to turn him out, he kicked them. You 
 should just have heard what the preacher told the 
 Lord about me, and all the congregation groaned at 
 me being so young and fair, with silver harness, and 
 the hottest prospects — just as Pieface always said 
 when I was late for breakfast. 
 
 They had a great big wooden cross upon the dais, 
 and somehow, I dunno why, that made me feel 
 ashamed. A girl in a white dress was singing Rock 
 of Ages — oh, most beautiful, her arms thrown round 
 the cross, the sun-bright hair about her like a glory. 
 
 I could a' cried. Yes. For her great cat eyes were 
 set on me, while her voice went through an' through 
 me, an' — sudden a dumb yearning happened inside 
 my belt. Seems that half -bottle of liver dope had 
 scouted round, found all them chocolate creams, and 
 rared up for battle. But no, the whisky was still 
 calm, though I felt pale. 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 53 
 
 ■ Something was goin' wrong, for a most fright- 
 some panic clutched my throat. Suppose I'd caught 
 religion! Oh, it couldn't be so bad as all that. 
 Fancy being saved like them wormy railroad men, 
 and town scouts, took abject because the sky pilot 
 was explaining hell. Made in God's image? No. 
 That don't apply to cowards. 
 
 An' yet it's cows to sheep thar's something wrong 
 when tears runs down my face, because a girl — why 
 since fifteen I'd been in love with every girl I seen. 
 As a species they was scarce, some good, some even 
 better. The sight of girls went to my head like 
 liquor, and this one was surely good with her sun- 
 bright hair, her cheeks flushed 'cause I stared, her 
 sulky lips rebuking when I throw'd a kiss, her yel- 
 low-brown eyes — 
 
 Oh, had I really washed behind my ears? Sup- 
 pose I'd got high-water marks ! Was my hands — I 
 whipped off my gloves to inquire. That's what's the 
 matter, sure. Got to. make good before bein' intro- 
 duced. Got to get a move on Tiger. I swung, 
 spurred with one spring through the doors, yelled 
 "Injuns" and stampeded, scatterin' gravel and panic 
 through Abilene. I just went like one man for our 
 cook wagon down by the railroad corrals. 
 
54 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Now, for all the shaving-glass could see, I was 
 nice an' clean, but then that mirror has small views, 
 and I'm not taking risks, but stripped and scrubbed 
 all over. The place was so durned public I blushed 
 from nose to heels till I was dressed again, shining 
 my hair and boots. Then I procured an extra spe- 
 cial, cherry-red, silk scarf out of the wrangler's kit. 
 
 Some of our boys made friendly signs as I passed 
 on my way back, and fired a few shots after me for 
 luck, but I'd no time to play. I joined the revival 
 meeting just as the hat came round, so penitent sin- 
 ners making for the door, came back to stay and pay 
 because of Tiger. I give Bull ten dollars to hand to 
 the hat, only he passed it into his own pocket. He 
 seemed annoyed, too, saying, "Waste not, want not." 
 Then he explained how the fire-escape only paid 
 Miss Ellis fifty dollars a day, whereas he was mak- 
 ing hundreds. 
 
 Just then she passed, and I got introduced. "Say, 
 Polly," says Bull, "here's Sailor Jesse wants to get 
 acquainted." 
 
 She stopped, sort of impatient for supper, and vel- 
 vet-soft her voice, full of contempt. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw !" 
 
 Hard gold-brown eyes all scorn, soft gold-brown 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE SS 
 
 hair, an' freckled neck, red lips, fierce, tiger fierce — 
 
 "Another damned suppliant?" she asked, and Bull 
 was holding a light for her cigarette. "Is it saved ?" 
 she added. 
 
 I couldn't speak. I wanted to tell her how I de- 
 spised all the religion I'd seen, the bigots it made, 
 an' the cowards. I'd rather burn with the goats than 
 bleat among sheep even now. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right, then," she said as though she 
 answered me, and frank as a man she gave her hand 
 to shake. "Good stunt of mine, eh? Although I 
 own I'd like to have that cross stage-managed." 
 
 She passed the weather, admired Tiger, talked 
 Browns and Joneses with Bull, turning her back on 
 me, asked him to supper, walked off with him, an' 
 that's all. Egg-shells throw'd in the ash-heap may- 
 feel like I did then. 
 
 Nobody loved me, 'cept our pony herd, inquirin' 
 piteous for food an' water. A widow O'Flynn fed 
 me supper, her grub bein' so scarce and bad, poor 
 soul, she had to charge a dollar to make it pay. She 
 kep' a wooden leg, and a small son. Our boys, of 
 course, was drunk by then, just sleepin' whar they'd 
 fell, so I was desolate as a moonlit dog-howl, ridin' 
 herd with my night horse whar Polly's little home 
 
56 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 glowed lights across the prairie. I seen Bull and the 
 preacher leave there on toward midnight, walkin' 
 sort of extravagant into town. The lights went out. 
 Then times I'd take some sleep, or times ride herd 
 guarding her little house, till the cold came, till the 
 dawn broke, till the sun came up. 
 
 It was half past breakfast when I seen Bull again, 
 on his knees like yesterday, a-puttin' up loud pray- 
 ers, which made me sick. "Rehearsin'," says he, 
 " 'cause Polly's struck, and I'm to be chief mourner." 
 
 He was my only chance of meetin' Miss Polly 
 agen, so I was leadin' the talk around, when a guy 
 comes butting into our conversation. He'd puffed 
 sleeves to his pants, and was all dressed saucy, stand- 
 ing straddle, aiming to impress. "Oh, whar's my 
 gun ?" says Bull. 
 
 This person owned to being a gentleman, with a 
 strong English accent. He'd 'undreds of 'orses at 
 'ome in 'Ammersmith, but wanted to own an 'ack 
 'ere, don'tcherknow. 
 
 So Bull lefts up his eyes to Heaven, praying, "Oh, 
 don't deliver us from temptation yet!" Whereas I 
 confided with this person about Bull being far gone 
 in religious mania. I owned Bull right though, 
 about my bein' a sailor, timid with 'orses; and he 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 57 
 
 seen for hisself the way I was riding my Sam 'orse 
 somethin' dreadful. Told me I'd ought to 'old my 
 'ed 'igh instead of 'umping. It's in toes, down 'eels, 
 young feller, an' don't be 'ard on the bally hanimal. 
 He'd gimme lessons only I was frightened, but out 
 aways from town the ground was softer for falling, 
 an' I gained courage. Happens Miss Polly's house 
 was opposite. I scrambled down ungainly, shoved 
 a pebble in along Sam's withers, and let this gent 
 explain just how to set an 'ard-mouthed 'unter. You 
 'olds 'is 'ed, placin' the 'and on the 'orn of the sad- 
 dle, so. Then hup ! That pebble done the rest. 
 
 They claim these flying men is safe while they 
 stays in the air, herding with cherubs. That's what's 
 the matter. It's only when this early aviator came 
 down — ^bang — that he lit on his temper, and sat de- 
 nouncing me. Yes, I'd been misunderstood, and 
 when I told him it was all for the best he got usin' 
 adjectives. He bet me his diamond ring to a dollar 
 he'd ride Sam, and I must own the little man had 
 grit. He'd have won, too — ^but for Sam. 
 
 Now, it's partly due to this 'ere entertainment, and 
 the diamond ring I gave her, that Miss Polly began 
 to perceive me with the naked eye, and said I might 
 come to supper. 
 
58 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 And that evening was most surely wonderful, in 
 a parlor all antimacassars and rocker chairs with 
 pink bows. She showed me plush photo albums, and 
 hand-painted pictures of ladies with no clothes on. 
 She played Abide with Me on the harmonium; she 
 made me write poetry in her birthday book. There 
 was champagne wine, the little cigarettes with 
 dreams inside, and a bottle no bigger'n my thumb 
 smellin' so fierce it well-nigh blew my head off. Oh, 
 it was all so elegant and high-toned that I got proud 
 of being allowed indoors. 
 
 Her people was real society, her poppa an army 
 general, ruined by the war, her mother prime Vir- 
 ginian. But then she'd gone on the stage, so there 
 was mean suspicions. 
 
 I hold suspicion to be a form of meanness when it 
 touches women. My mother would have shied at 
 naked ladies, and dad was powerful agin cigarettes. 
 As for the smell, so fierce it had to be bottled, I'll 
 own up I was shocked. But then you see mother, 
 and dad, an' me being working people, was not sup- 
 posed to feel the high-toned senses which belongs 
 with wealth. It's not for grade stock like me to set 
 up as judge on thoroughbreds, or call a lady im- 
 moral for using a spoon whar I should need a shovel. 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE sg 
 
 No, I was playing worldliness for fear this lady'd 
 think me ignorant. I was no more'n a little child 
 strayed among civilization, scared of being found 
 out childish. And I was surely panicky in a house 
 ' — ^belonged outdoors among horses. 
 
 So it happened that in them days, while I rode 
 guard upon Miss Polly, no man in Abilene could 
 speak to her, or mention her name to me until I give 
 him leave. She got to be known as Sailor Jesse's 
 kill, and any person touching on my kill was apt to 
 require a funeral. 
 
 It was the seventh day she married me. I know, 
 because Bull, acting as best man, claimed a kiss, 
 which she gave him. "Bull," says she, "didn't I bet 
 you I'd marry Sailor Jesse within a week? You 
 owe me twenty dollars." I saw the joke was on 
 me. 
 
 I'd been in a dream. Love had made the yellow 
 prairie shine like gold, that little prairie home a holy 
 place, the woman in it something I'd kneel and pray 
 to. There'd be HI' small children soon for me to 
 play with, pride in earning food, the great big honor 
 of guarding all of that from harm. 
 
 I came to marriage pure as any bear, or wolf, or 
 fox, expecting to find my mate the same as me, getter 
 
6o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 and giver of life, true to the earth, and fearless in 
 doin' right. 
 
 Folks said I was young to marry at nineteen, but 
 full nine years I'd earned my living, fought my way, 
 and done my share of making happiness. I'd been 
 served with a mouth full wide enough for laughin', 
 a face which made folks smile when I was sad, eyes 
 to see fun, the heart to take a joke if any offered, 
 and when things hurt, I wasn't first to squeal. No : 
 as long as the joke was on me I done my best to take 
 It like a man. 
 
 But suppose — ^Well, I'd best explain that the Eng- 
 lish tenderfoot was at our wedding breakfast, and 
 gettin' encouraged, he put up his best prize joke. 
 He was all hoo, hoo, hoo at first, so funny he couldn't 
 speak, the fellows waltin' each with his grin gettin' 
 stale, and Polly laughing just to encourage him on. 
 Then words got out which made the boys uneasy. 
 Jake Haffering the Bar T foreman, told the hog to 
 shut up, while others moved to get clear. I was sort 
 of stupid, wanting the point explained, couldn't be- 
 lieve it possible the joke was on my wife, although 
 I'd rose by then, with gun hand free. Then I saw, 
 but the room seemed dark, and the tenderfoot all in- 
 distinct, backing away, and reaching slovenly for 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 6i 
 
 weapons, while my bullet smashed in his shoulder. 
 It slued him around as he dropped. 
 
 I could hear the flies in the window buzzing as I 
 came to myself, seeing the hot street outside, the yel- 
 low plains beyond. 
 
 It was old Jake of the Bar T who spoke out then, 
 and spoke straight. 
 
 "My boy," says he, "put up your gun. That's 
 right. This here tenderfoot is bleedin' by spurts, 
 arterial. Bull, see if Doc Stuart is sober." Bull ran 
 for the doctor. "Only a tenderfoot," says Jake, "in- 
 sults a cow-boy's wife — which is death from natural 
 causes. Ma'am," he wagged his finger at Polly, 
 " 'tain't long since you come among us. 'Tain't 
 more'n a day since you told me and others present 
 that you was marryin' for fun. You laughed at 
 warnings, and this here Jesse would have shot the 
 man who warned him. You are a lady, and this boy 
 you married for fun, is goin' to see you treated as a 
 lady. I own he got rattled first shot, missing this 
 tenderfoot's heart, which ain't up to average prac- 
 tise ; but it's time you began to see the point of the 
 joke." 
 
 They took the tenderfoot away, and we were 
 alone, me watching the pool of red blood turning 
 
62 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 brown. Polly sat drumming tunes on the table, her 
 face turned white, staring out through the window at 
 the noon heat of the plains. I remember I took a 
 bottle of champagne wine, filled a big goblet, and 
 drank it off. The flies were buzzing still agin the 
 window. It made me laugh to think she'd taught 
 me drinking, so I had another, watching the flies 
 hold congress on the floor. "I see," says Polly, 
 "I understand now." At that she began to 
 scream. 
 
 I should have told you, that after our boys of the 
 Flying Zee quit Abilene, I pitched a little A tent on 
 the prairie back of Polly's house. Thar I could see 
 my ponies at grass, and snuff the air clear of that 
 stinking town. 
 
 But from the time I moved into the house, thar 
 was something disturbing my nose — something un- 
 easy — oh, I don't know what it was, back of all 
 house smells, which give me a sense of evil, so I 
 could hardly bear to stay indoors. 
 
 And there were signs. I'd come back from some 
 errand into town, to find a man's track leading into 
 the door, when Polly claimed she had no visitors. 
 Why should she say she'd been alone all morning, 
 when there's pipe ashes on the parlor table, or I'd 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 63 
 
 catch the wet smell from a chewed cigar? She only 
 laughed. 
 
 Comin' from town one night — she'd sent me there 
 — I seen a man's shadow cross the parlor blind. I 
 fired, missing, a fool's act, for it warned him, and 
 gave him time. The lamp was out before I reached 
 the house, and Polly with some hysterics getting in 
 my way. 
 
 It wouldn't be sense to show a match guiding the 
 stranger's aim, or to stand against a window, or 
 make sounds. Rather I stood right still, and after a 
 while Polly surprised herself into dead silence. I 
 couldn't hear that man, or feel, or see him. I could 
 smell him, but that don't supply his bearings. I 
 could taste the air from him, but that flickered. I 
 sensed him. Can't explain that — no. You just feel 
 if a man stares hard. I fired at that. Then Polly, of 
 course, went off into all sorts of fits. 
 
 Next morning I tracked blood sign to the hospital. 
 Seems a young person from the bank had took to 
 conjuring and swallowed lead. 
 
 It was still before breakfast that I told Polly to 
 pack her dunnage, 'cause we was moving out from 
 Abilene. I claimed I could earn enough to keep my 
 wife without her needing to go out into society. 
 
64 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "On cow-boy pay?" she said laughing. "On forty 
 dollars a month? I spend more'n that on cham- 
 pagne. Here you Miss Jesse, who's payin' for this 
 — ^you? Who keeps you, eh, Miss Prunes — ^and — 
 prisms? Shamed of my bein' a lady, eh? I am a 
 lady, too, and don't you forget it And now, git out 
 of my home." 
 
 I struck a match to the bo-kay of paper flowers, 
 heaped on the hand-painted pictures, the paper fans, 
 the rocker chairs, and slung the coal-oil lamp into 
 the flames ; then while she tore my shoulder with her 
 teeth, I carried her to my tent "That's your home 
 now," I said, "the home of an honest working-man," 
 I said, "and if another tough defiles my home, I'll 
 kill you." 
 
 The house-warming gathered the jieighbors, but 
 she had no use for neighbors. Only they seen the 
 line I drew in the dust around that tent, the dead- 
 line. Afterward if any man came near that line, 
 she'd scream. 
 
 But she'd taught me to drink, an' I drank, day 
 after day, night after night, while she sat frightened 
 in the tent, moaning when I came. Only when she 
 was cured could I get work, not while I had to 
 watch all day, all night Only when she was cured 
 
THE ORDEAL BY TORTURE 65 
 
 could I get work, make good, an' keep my wife as 
 women should be kept. And I — and I — why if I let 
 myself get sober once I'd remember, and remember, 
 and go mad. 
 
 She swore she loved me, she vowed that she'd re- 
 pented, and I believed until she claimed religion. 
 I'd seen her breed of religion. I'd rather have her 
 atheist than shamming. She would keep straight, 
 and be my faithful wife if I'd quit drinking, if I'd 
 only take her away. But she'd married me for a 
 joke, and false as a cracked bell she'd chime out lies 
 and lies, knowing as I knew that if she'd ever been 
 the thing she claimed, I'd come into her life too late. 
 How could she be the mother of my children, when 
 — I drank, and sold my ponies to buy liquor, for 
 there was no way out. 
 
 And by the time I'd only Tiger left, one night 
 came Bull to find me just as dusk was falling. He'd 
 been away, I hadn't seen him for weeks, and when 
 he came to me in the Roundup saloon, I seen how 
 frightened he was of speaking to me. I was drunk, 
 too, scarce knowing what he said, just telling him to 
 shut up and have a drink. Polly's bin hurt ? Well, 
 that's all right — have rye — Polly's been shot ? That's 
 good, we'd all have drinks. Was she dead ? 
 
66 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 She was dead. 
 
 And I was sober then as I am now. 
 
 "Murdered?" I asked. 
 
 "Jesse, she shot herself." 
 
 "Is that so?" 
 
 "Through the brow — above the eyes. Come, 
 Jesse." 
 
 Next thing I was standing in the tent door, and it 
 was so dark inside I had to strike a match. The 
 sulphur tip burned blue, the wood flared, and for 
 that moment, bending down, I seen the black dark 
 hole between the eyes, the smear of drying blood. 
 Then the match went out, and I — that was enough. 
 
 I gave Bull what I'd left, to pay for burial. 
 
 Then I was riding Tiger all alone, with my 
 shadow drawin' slowly out ahead as the moon 
 waned. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE BURNING BUSH 
 
 AMONG the Indians, before a boy gets rated 
 warrior, he goes alone afoot, naked, starvin', 
 thirsty, way off to the back side of the desert. Thar 
 he just waits, suns, weeks, maybe a whole moon, till 
 the Big Spirit happens to catch his eye. Then the 
 Big Spirit shows him a stick, or a stone, or any sort 
 of triflin' common thing, which is to be his medicine, 
 his wampum, the charm which guards him, hunting, 
 or in war. There's the ordeal, too, by torture, done in 
 the medicine lodge, so all the chiefs can see he's fit 
 for bearin' arms. He's given the war-path secret, 
 taking his rank as a man. 
 
 Among them Bible Indians you'll remember a 
 feller called Moses, out at the back side of the desert, 
 seen the Big Spirit in a burning bush. Later his 
 tribe set up a medicine lodge, and the hull story's 
 mighty natural. 
 
 This Indian life explains a lot to men like me, 
 67 
 
68 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 raised ignorant, never grown-up — or at least not to 
 hurt. I had the ordeal by torture, which done me 
 good, and I been whar Moses went, and the Lord 
 Christ too, seeking the medicine of the Almighty 
 Father. 
 
 For as I'd broken ponies for their good till they 
 got peaceful, so I was broke myself. Bein' full of 
 pride an' sin as a young horse, so I was tamed until 
 He reckoned me worth pasturage. Before then I'd 
 work hard — ^yes, for pride. A bucking horse throws 
 miles, sheer waste into the air, miles better pulled out 
 straight the way you're goin'. I work for service, 
 now. 
 
 You know when you've been in trouble, how you 
 swing back thinking of edged words which would 
 have cut, and dirty actions that you wish you'd done. 
 These devils has got to go if you'd keep your man- 
 hood, harder to beat out than a talky woman, and 
 even the littlest of them puts up a heap big fight. 
 But when the last is killed, there's room for peace. 
 I Sloth walks in front of trouble, peace follows 
 after. Water is nothing till you thirst, rest nothing 
 till you're weary, calm nothing till you've faced the 
 storm, peace nothing until after war. But peace is 
 like the water after thirst, rest when you're weary, 
 
THE BURNING BUSH 69 
 
 calm after storm, earnings of warriors only. Many 
 find peace in death, only a few in life, and I found 
 peace thar in the wilderness, the very medicine of 
 torn souls, fresh from the hand of the Almighty 
 Father. 
 
 And I found wealth. Seems there's many persons 
 mistaking dollars for some sort of wealth. I've had 
 a few at times by way of samples, the things which 
 you're apt to be selfish with, or give away to buy 
 self- righteousness. Reckoning with them projuces 
 the feeling called poverty. They're the very stuff 
 and substance of meanness, and no man walks 
 straight-loaded. Dollars gets lost, or throwed away, 
 or left to your next of kin, but they're not a good 
 and lasting possession. I like 'em, too. 
 
 What's the good and lasting possession, the real 
 wealth? Times I've been down in civilization, meet- 
 ing folks who'd been rusting and rotting on one spot, 
 from a while or so to a long lifetime, aye, and proud 
 to boast in long decaying. They'd good memory, 
 but nothing to remember. They're handy enough as 
 purses if they were filled with coin. But where 
 they're poor I'm rich, with wealth of memories,- some 
 good, some bad, all real. In coin like "seen" and 
 "known" and "done" I'm millionaire. Ah, yes, but 
 
^o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 times I wisht that I could part with things I've 
 "lived" to help beginners, and keep moths out of 
 candles. Things lived ain't current coin to be given, 
 sold, lost, thrown, aye, or bequeathed. My body's 
 meat and bones, my soul's the life I've lived, and 
 mine until I square accounts with God. Queer reck- 
 oning that last. I guess He'll have to laugh, and He 
 who made all life plumb full of humor, is due to en- 
 joy some things He'll have to punish. 
 
 I found peace, I found wealth, yes, and found 
 something more thar in the wilderness. Sweet as 
 the cactus forest in blossom down Salt River is that 
 big memory. 
 
 It was after I'd found the things of happy soli- 
 tude. I'd gone to work then for the Bar Y outfit, 
 breaking the Lightning colts. We was out a few 
 weeks from home, taking an outfit of ponies as far 
 as the Mesa Abaho, and one night camped at the 
 very rim-rock of the Grand Canon. The Navajo 
 Indians was peevish, the camp dry, grass scant, herd 
 in a raffish mood, and night come sudden. 
 
 I'd just relieved a man to get his supper, and rode 
 herd wide alert. I scented the camp smoke, saw the 
 spark of fire glow on the boys at rest, and heard 
 their peaceful talk hushed in the big night They, 
 
THE BURNING BUSH yt 
 
 seemed such.triflin' critters full of fuss since dawn, 
 so small as insects at the edge of nothin', while for 
 miles beneath us that old, old wolfy Colorado River 
 was playing the Grand Canon like a fiddler plays a 
 fiddle. But the river in the canon seemed no more 
 than a trickle in a crack, hushed by the night, while 
 overheard the mighty blazing stars — ^point, swing, 
 and drive, rode herd on the milky way. And that 
 seemed no more than cow-boys driving stock. Would 
 God turn His head to see His star herds pass, or no- 
 tice our earth like some lame calf halting in the rear? 
 
 And what am I, then? 
 
 That was my great lesson, more gain to me than 
 peace and wealth of mind, for I was humbled to the 
 dust of earth, below that dust of stars. So as a very 
 humble thing, not worth praying for, at least I could 
 be master of myself. I rode no more for wages, but 
 cut out my ponies from the Lightning herd, mounted 
 my stud horse William, told the boys good-by at 
 Montecello, and then rode slowly north into the Brit- 
 ish possessions. So I come at last to this place, an 
 old abandoned ranch. There's none so poor in dol- 
 lars as to envy ragged Jesse, or rich enough to want 
 to rob my home. They say there's hidden wealth 
 whar the rainbow goes to earth — that's whar I live. 
 
PART 11 
 
CHAPTER I 
 TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 MY horse was hungry, and wanted to get back 
 to the ranch. I was hungry too, but dared 
 not go. I had left my husband lying drunk on the 
 kitchen floor, and when he woke up it would be 
 worse than that. 
 
 For miles I had followed the edge of the bench 
 lands, searching for the place, for the right place, 
 some point where the rocks went sheer, twelve hun- 
 dred feet into the river. There must be nothing to 
 break the fall, no risk of being alive, of being taken 
 back there, of seeing him again. But the edge was 
 never sheer, and perhaps after all, the place by the 
 Soda Spring was best. There the trail from the 
 ranch goes at a sharp turn, over the edge of the 
 cliffs and down to the ferry. Beyond there are three 
 great bull pines on a headland, and the cliff is sheer 
 for at least five hundred feet. That should be far 
 enough. 
 
 75 
 
76 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 I let my horse have a drink at the spring, then we 
 went slowly on over the soundless carpet of pine 
 needles. I would leave my horse at the pines. 
 
 Somebody was there. Four laden pack-ponies 
 stood in the shade of the trees, switching their tails 
 to drive away the flies. A fifth, a buckskin mare, 
 unloaded, with a bandaged leg, stood in the sunlight. 
 Behind the nearest tree a man was speaking. I 
 reined my horse. "Now you, Jones," he was saying 
 to the injured beast, "you take yo'self too serious. 
 You ain't goin' to Heaven? No! Then why pack 
 yo'bag? Why fuss?" 
 
 I had some silly idea that the man, if he discov- 
 ered me, would know what business brought me to 
 this headland. I held my breath. 
 
 "And since you left yo' parasol to home, Jones, 
 come in under out of the sun. Come on, you sun- 
 struck orphan." 
 
 His slow, delicious, Texan drawl made me smile. 
 I did not want to smile. The mare, a very picture of 
 misery, lifted her bandaged, frightfully swollen leg, 
 and hobbled into the shade. I did not want to laugh, 
 but why was she called Jones? She looked just like 
 a Jones. 
 
 "The inquirin' mind," said the man behind the 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR n 
 
 tree, "has gawn surely astray from business, or you'd 
 have kflow'd that rattlers smells of snake. Then I 
 asks — why paw?" 
 
 His voice had so curious a timbre of aching sym- 
 pathy. He actually began to argue with the mare. 
 "I've sucked out the pizen, Jones, hacked it out with 
 my jack-knife, blowed it out with powder, packed 
 yo' pastern with clay — ^best kind of clay — million- 
 aires cayn't buy it. And I've took off your cargo. 
 Now what more kin I do ? Feedin' bottle's to home, 
 and we're out of cough mixture. Why, what on 
 airth— " 
 
 The mare, with her legs all astraddle, snorted in 
 his face. 
 
 "Sugar is it ? Why didn't ye say so befo' ?" 
 
 Jones turned her good eye on the man as though 
 she had Just discovered his existence, hobbled brisk- 
 ly after him while he dug in his kitchen boxes, made 
 first grab at the sugar bag, and got her face slapped. 
 The man, always with his eye upon the mare, re- 
 turned to his place, and sat on his heel as before. 
 "Three lumps," he said, holding them one by one to 
 be snatched. "You're' acting sort of convalescent, 
 Jones. No more sugar. And don't be a hawg!" 
 
 The mare was kissing his face. 
 
78 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Back of all ! Back water ! Thar now, thank the 
 lady behind me !" 
 
 And I had imagined my presence still unknown. 
 
 "How on earth," I gasped, "did you know I was 
 here?" 
 
 The man's eyes were still intent upon the wounded 
 mare. "Wall, Mrs. Trevor," he drawled. 
 
 "You know my name? Your back has been turned 
 the whole time ! You've never seen me in your life 
 — at least I've never seen you !" 
 
 "That's so," he answered thoughtfully. "I don't 
 need tellin' the sound of that colt yo' husband 
 bought from me. As to the squeak of a lady's pig- 
 skin saddle, thar ain't no other lady rider short of a 
 hundred and eighty-three and a half miles." 
 
 What manner of man could this be? My colt was 
 drawing toward him all the time as though a mag- 
 net pulled. 
 
 "This Jones," the man went on, "bin bit by a 
 snake, is afraid she'll be wafted on high, so my eyes 
 is sort of engaged in holding her down while she 
 swells. She kicked me hearty, though, and loading 
 sugar's no symptom of passing away, so on the 
 whole I hope she'll worry along while I cook din- 
 ner." 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 79 
 
 He stood facing me, the bag still in his hand, and 
 my colt asking pointedly for sugar. Very tall, gaunt, 
 deeply tanned, perhaps twenty-five years of age, he 
 seemed to me immeasurably old, so deeply lined was 
 his face. And yet it was the face of one at peace. 
 Purity of life, quaint humor, instant sympathy, may 
 perhaps have given him that wonderful charm of 
 manner which visibly attracted animals, which cer- 
 tainly compelled me as I accepted his invitation to 
 dinner. I had been away since daybreak, and now 
 the sun was entering the west. As to mypurpose, 
 that I felt could wait. 
 
 So I sat under the pines, pretending to nurse 
 Jones while the shadows lengthened over the tawny 
 grass, and orange needles flecked fields of rock, out 
 to the edge of the headland. 
 
 The man unsaddled my horse, unloaded his 
 ponies, fetched water from the spring of natural 
 Apollinaris, but when, coming back, he found me 
 lighting a fire, he begged me to desist, to rest while 
 he made dinner. And I was glad to rest, thinking 
 about the peace beyond the edge of the headland. 
 Yet it was interesting to see how a man keeps house 
 in the wilderness, and how different are his ways 
 from those of a woman. No housewife could have 
 
8o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 been more daintily clean, or shown a swifter skill, 
 or half the silent ease with which this woodsman 
 made the table-ware for one, enough to serve two 
 people. But a woman would not clean a frying-pan 
 by burning it and throwing on cold water. He 
 sprinkled flour on a ground sheet, and made dough 
 without wetting the canvas. Would I like bread, or 
 slapjacks, or a pie? He made a loaf of bread, in a 
 frying pan set on edge among glowing coals, and, 
 wondering how a pie could possibly happen without 
 the assistance of an oven, I forgot all about that cliff. 
 He parboiled the bacon, then peppered it while it 
 was frying. When the coffee boiled, he thrust in a 
 red coal to throw the grounds to the bottom. If I 
 thought of English picnics, that was by way of con- 
 trast My host had never known, I had almost for- 
 gotten, the shabby barriers, restraints, and traditions 
 of that world where there are picnics. Frontiersmen 
 are, I think, really spirits strayed out of chivalric 
 ages into our century of all vulgarities. They are not 
 abased, but only amused by our world's condescen- 
 sions. Uneducated? Th^ are better trained for 
 their world than we are for ours. Their facts are at 
 first-hand from life, ours only at second-hand from 
 books. Illiterate? I should like to see one of our 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 81 
 
 professors read the tracks on a frontier trail. What 
 was the good of the education which had led me to 
 the brink of this cliff? My host, who lived always 
 at the edge of death, had eyes which seemed to see 
 my very thoughts. How else could he know that 
 silence was so kind? To the snake-bitten mare he 
 gave outspoken sympathy, to me his silence. Jones 
 and I were his patients, and both of us trusted him. 
 
 He had found me out. The thing I had intended 
 was a crime, and conscience-stricken, I dreaded lest 
 he should speak. I could not bear that. Already his 
 camp was cleaned and in order, his pipe filled and 
 alight, at any moment he might break the restful 
 silence. That's why I spoke, and at random, asking 
 if he were not from the United States. 
 
 His eyes said plainly, "So that's the game, eh?" 
 His broad smile said, "Well, we'll play." He sat 
 down, cross-legged. "Yes," he answered, "I'm an 
 American citizen, except," he added softly, "on elec- 
 tion days, and then," he cocked up one shrewd eye, 
 "I'm sort of British. Canadian? No, I cayn't claim 
 that either, coming from the Labrador, for that's 
 Newf'nland, a day's march nearer home. 
 
 "Say, Mrs. Trevor, you don't know my name yet. 
 It's Smith, and with my friends I'm mostly Jesse." 
 
82 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "If you please, may I be one of your friends?" 
 
 "If I behave good, you may. No harm in my 
 trying." 
 
 From behind us the sun flung beams of golden 
 splendor and blue tree shadows, which went over the 
 rim-rock into the misty depths of the abyss. Down 
 there the Eraser roared. Beyond on the eastern side 
 soared a vast precipice of gold and mauve which at 
 an infinite height above our heads was crested with 
 black pines. Level with our bench land that amaz- 
 ing cliff was cut transversely by a shelf of delicate 
 verdure, with here and there black groves of ma- 
 jestic pines. Nearly opposite, half hidden by the 
 trees, perched a log cabin, in form and in its ex- 
 quisite proportion like some old Greek temple. 
 
 "And that is where you live ?" 
 
 The moment Jesse Smith had given me his name, 
 I knew him well by reputation. Comments by Surly 
 Brown, the ferryman, and my husband's bitter 
 hatred had outlined a dangerous character. Nobody 
 else lived within a day's journey. 
 
 "That's my home," said Jesse. "D'ye see a dim 
 trail jags down that upper cliff? That's whar I 
 drifted my ponies down when I came in from the 
 States. I didn't know of the wagon road from 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 83 
 
 Hundred Mile House to the ferry, which runs by the 
 north end of my ranch." 
 
 "Your house," I said, "always reminds me of an 
 eagle's aerie." 
 
 "Wall, it's better'n that. Feed, water, shelter, 
 timber, and squatter's rights is good enough to make 
 a poor man's ranch." 
 
 "And the tremendous grandeur of the place?" 
 
 "Hum. I don't claim to have been knocked all in 
 a heap with the scenery. A thousand-foot wall and 
 a hundred-foot gulch is big enough for dimples, and 
 saves fencing. But if you left this district in one 
 of them Arizona canons over night, it would get 
 mislaid. 
 
 "No. What took holt of me good and hard was 
 the company, — a silved tip b'ar and his missus, both 
 thousand pounders, with their three young ladies, 
 now mar'ied and settled beyond the sky-line. There's 
 two couples of prime eagles still camps along thar 
 by South Cave. The timber wolf I trimmed out be- 
 cause he wasted around like a remittance man. Thar 
 was a stallion and his harem, this yere fool Jones 
 bein' one of his young mares. El Seiior Don Cou- 
 gar and his senora lived here, too, until they went 
 into the sheep business with Surly Brown's new 
 
84 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 flock. Besides that, there was heaps of lil' friendly 
 folks in fur, hair, and feathers. Yes, I have been 
 right to home since I located." 
 
 "But grizzly bears? How frightful !" 
 
 "Yes. They was frightened at first. The coarse 
 treatment they gets from hunters, makes them sort 
 of bashful with any stranger. Ye see, b'ars yearns to 
 man, same as the heathen does to their fool gods, 
 whereas bullets, pizen, and deadfalls is sort of dis- 
 couraging. Their sentiments get mixed, they acts 
 confused, and naturally if they're shot at, they'll get 
 hostile same as you and me. They is misunderstood, 
 and that's how nobody has a kind word for griz- 
 zlies." 
 
 "But the greatest hunters are afraid of them." 
 
 "The biggest criminals has got most scare at po- 
 lice. B'ars has no use for sportsmen, nor me 
 neither. My rifle's heaps fiercer than any b'ar, and 
 I've chased more sportsmen than I has grizzlies." 
 
 "Wasn't Mr. Trevor one of them?" 
 
 Jesse grinned. 
 
 "Tell me," I said, for the other side of the story 
 must be worth hearing. 
 
 "Wall, Mr. Trevor took out a summins agin me 
 for chasing him off my ranch. He got fined for 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 85 
 
 having no gun license, and no dawg license, and not 
 paying his poll-tax, and Cap Taylor bound him over 
 to keep the peace. I ain't popular now with Mr. 
 Trevor, whereas he got off cheap. Now, if them 
 b'ars could shoot — " 
 
 I hadn't thought of that. "Can they be tamed?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Men can be gentled, and they needs taming most. 
 Thar was three grizzlies sort of adopted a party by 
 the name of Capen Adams, and camped and traveled 
 with him most familiar. Once them four vagrants 
 promenaded on Market Street in 'Frisco. Not 
 that I holds with this Adams in misleading his 
 b'ars among man-smell so strong and distrackful to 
 their peace of mind. But still I reckon Capen 
 Adams and me sort of takes after each other. I'm 
 only attractive to animals." 
 
 "Oh, surely !" I laughed. 
 
 But Jesse became quite dismal. "I'm not reck- 
 oned," he bemoaned himself, "among the popular 
 attractions. The neighbors shies at coming near my 
 ranch." 
 
 "Well, if you protect grizzlies and hunt sports- 
 men, surely it's not surprising." 
 
 "Can't please all parties, eh ? Wall, perhaps that's 
 
86 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 how the herd is grazing. Yes. Come to think of 
 it, I remember oncet a Smithsonian grave robber 
 comes to inspeck South Cave. He said I'd got a 
 boneyard of some ancient people, and he'd rob 
 graves to find out all about them olden times. He 
 wanted to catch the atmosphere of them days, so I 
 sort of helped. Robbing graves ain't exactly a holy 
 vocation, the party had a mean eye, a German 
 name, and a sort of patronizing manner, but still I 
 helped around to get him atmosphere, me and Eph." 
 
 "Who's Eph?" 
 
 "Oh, he's just a silver-tip, what scientific parties 
 calls ursus horribilis ord. You just cast your eye 
 whar the trickle stream falls below my cabin. D'ye 
 see them sarvis berry bushes down below the spray ?" 
 
 "Where the bushes are waving? Oh, look, there's 
 a gigantic grizzly standing up, and pulling the 
 branches !" 
 
 "Yes, that's Eph. 
 
 "Wall, as I was tellin' you, Eph and me is help- 
 ing this scientific person to get the atmosphere of 
 them ancient times." 
 
 "But the poor man would die of fright !" 
 
 "Too busy running. When he reached Vancouver, 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 87 
 
 he was surely a cripple though, and no more use to 
 science." 
 
 "Crippled?" 
 
 "Yes, lost his truthfulness, and a professor with- 
 out truth is like a woman with no tongue, plumb 
 disabled. His talk in the Vancouver papers beat 
 Ananias, besides exciting a sort of prejudice. The 
 . neighbors shies at me, and I'm no more popular. 
 Shall I call Eph?" 
 
 "I think not to-day," said I, hurriedly rising, "for 
 indeed I should be getting home at once." 
 
 Without ever touching the wound, he had given 
 me the courage to live, had made my behavior of 
 the morning seem that of a silly schoolgirl ; but still 
 I did not feel quite up to a social introduction. I 
 said I was sure that Eph and I would have no in- 
 terests in common. 
 
 "So you'll go home and face the music?" said 
 Jesse's wise old eyes. 
 
 "My husband," said I, "will be getting quite 
 anxious about me." 
 
 Without a word he brought my horse and sad- 
 dled him. 
 
 And I, with a sinking heart, contrasted the loneli- 
 
88 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 ness and the horror which was called my "home" 
 with all the glamour of this man's happy solitude. 
 
 While Jesse buckled on the head-stall, some evil 
 spirit prompted me to use the word "romantic." In 
 swift resentment he seized and rent the word. 
 
 "Romantic? Snakes! Thar's nothen romantic 
 about me. What I can't earn ain't worth stealing, 
 and I most surely despise all shiftless people." 
 
 "Forgive me. I did not mean romantic in that 
 sense." 
 
 "Lady, what did you mean?" 
 
 "May I say picturesque?" 
 
 He spat. "Thank Gawd I ain't that, either. I'd 
 shoot myself if I thought I was showing off, or dress- 
 ing operatic, or playing at bein' more than I am." 
 
 Seeing him really hurt, I made one last wriggle. 
 
 "May I say what I mean by romance ?" 
 
 He held the stirrup for me to mount, offered his 
 hand. 
 
 "Do you never get hungry," I asked, "for what's 
 beyond the horizon?" 
 
 He sighed with sheer relief, then turned, his eyes 
 seeing infinite distances. "Why, yes ! That country 
 beyond the sky-line's always calling. Thar's some- 
 
TWO SHIPS AT ANCHOR 89 
 
 thing I want away off, and I don't know what I 
 
 want." 
 
 "That land beyond the sky-line's called romance." 
 He clenched his teeth. "What does a ship want 
 
 when she strains at anchor? What she wants is drift. 
 
 And I'm at anchor because I've sworn off drift." 
 At that we parted, and I went slowly homeward, 
 
 up to my anchor. Dear God ! If I might drift ! 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 
 
 NB. — Mr. Smith, while living alone, had a 
 • habit of writing long letters to his mother. 
 After his mother's death the habit continued, but as 
 the letters could not be sent by mail, and to post them 
 in the stove seemed to suggest unpleasant ideas, 
 they were stowed in his saddle wallets. 
 
 Dear Mother in Heaven : 
 
 There's been good money in this here packing con- 
 tract, and the wad in my belt-pouch hcis been grow- 
 ing till Doctor McGee suspecks a tumor. He thinks 
 I'll let him operate, and sure enough that would re- 
 duce the swelling. 
 
 Once a week I take my little pack outfit up to the 
 Sky-line claim for a load of peacock copper. It runs 
 three hundred dollars to the ton in horn silver, and 
 looks more like jewels than mineral. Iron Dale's 
 cook, Mrs. Jubbin, runs to more species of pies and 
 cake than even Hundred Mile House, and after din- 
 go 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 91 
 
 ner I get a rim-fire, cigar which pops like a cracker, 
 while I sit in front of the scenery and taste the breath 
 of the snow mountains. Then I load the ponies, col- 
 lects Mick out of the cook house, which he's partial 
 to for bones. Iron slings me the mail-pouch, and I 
 hits the trail. I aim to make good bush grass in the 
 yellow pines by dusk, and the second day brings me 
 down to Brown's Ferry, three miles short of my 
 home. From the ferry there's a good road in winter 
 to Hundred Mile House, so I tote the cargoes over 
 there by sleigh. There my contract ends, because 
 Tearful George takes on with his string team down 
 to the railroad. I'd have that contract, too, only 
 Tearful is a low-lived sort of person, which can feed 
 for a dollar a week, whereas when I get down to the 
 railroad, I'm more expensive. 
 
 Did you hear tell of the Cock and Bull Ranch? 
 Seeing it's run by a missionary you may have the 
 news in Heaven. This man starts a stock ranch with 
 a bull and cow, a billy-goat and nanny-goat, a 
 rooster and hen ; but it happened the cow, the hen, 
 and the nanny-goat got drowned on the way up- 
 country; and ever since then the breeding ain't come 
 up to early expectations. 
 
 Well, it's much the same way with me since my 
 
92 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 stallion William died — of trapezium, I think the 
 doctor said. The mares are grinning at me ever 
 since, and it will take nine months more of this pack- 
 ing contract before I can buy another stud horse. 
 Then there's the mortgage, and the graveyard artist 
 has seized your tombstone until I pay for repairing 
 the angel on top. Life's full of worries, mother. 
 Your affectionate son, 
 
 Jesse. 
 Rain-storm coming. 
 
 P. S. — It's a caution to see how Jones steps out on 
 the home trail. Or'nary as a muel when she has to 
 climb, she hustles like a little running horse to git 
 back down to bush grass. All night in the pines I'll 
 hear her bell through my dreams, while she and her 
 ponies feed, then the stopping of the bell wakes me 
 up, for them horses doze off from when the Orion 
 sets until its cocklight when I start my fire. By load- 
 ing-time they've got such grass bellies on them that I 
 has to be quite severe with the lash rope. They hold 
 their wind while I cinch them, and that's how their 
 stomachs get kicked. 
 
 Yes, it's a good life, and I don't envy no man. 
 Still it made me sort of thoughtful last time as I 
 swung along with that Jones mare snuggling at my 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 93 
 
 wrist, little Mick snapping rear heels astern, and the 
 sun just scorching down among the pines. Women is 
 infrequent, and spite of all my experiences with the 
 late Mrs. Smith — most fortunate deceased, life ain't 
 all complete without a mate. It ain't no harm to any 
 woman, mother, if I just varies off my trail to survey 
 the surrounding stock. 
 
 Mrs. Jubbin passes herself off for a widow, and all 
 the boys at the mine take notice that she can cook. 
 Apart from that, she's homely as a barb-wire fence, 
 and Bubbly Jock, her husband, ain't deceased to any 
 great extent, being due to finish his sentence along in 
 October, and handy besides with a rifle. 
 
 Then of the three young ladies at Eighty Mile, 
 Sally is a sound proposition, but numerously engaged 
 to the stage drivers and teamsters along the Cariboo 
 Road. Miss Wilth, the schoolma'am, keeps a widow 
 mother with tongue and teeth, so them as smells the 
 bait is ware of. the trap. That's why Miss Wilth 
 stays single. The other girl is a no-account young 
 person. Not that I'm the sort to shy at a woman for 
 squinting, the same being quite persistent with sound 
 morals, but I hold that a person who scratches her- 
 self at meals ain't never quite the lady. She should 
 do it private. 
 
94 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 There's the Widow O'Flynn on the trail to Hun- 
 dred Mile, — she's harsh, with a wooden limb. Be- 
 sides she wants to talk old times in Abilene. I don't. 
 
 As to the married women, I reckon that tribe is 
 best left alone, with respects. If you sees me agin, it 
 will be in Heaven, and I don't aim to disappoint you 
 by turning up at the other place. I'd get religion, 
 mother, but for the sort of swine I seen converted, 
 but even for the sake of finding grace I ain't going 
 to graze with them cattle. 
 
 While I've mostly kep' away from the married 
 ladies, and said "deliver us from temptation" regular 
 every night, there was no harm as I came along 
 down, in being sorry for Mrs. Trevor. Women are 
 reckoned mighty cute at reading men, but I've no- 
 ticed when I've struck the complete polecat, that he's 
 usually married. So long as a woman keeps her head 
 she's wiser than a man, but when she gets rattled 
 she's a sure fool. She'll keep her head with the com- 
 mon run of men, but when ^he strikes the all-round 
 stinker, like a horse runs into a fire, she ups and mar- 
 ries him. Anyway, Mrs. Trevor ha"d got there. 
 
 Said to be Tuesday. 
 
 Trip before last was the first time I seen this lady. 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 95' 
 
 The trail from Trevor's meets in with the track from 
 Sky-line just at the Soda Spring. From there a sure- 
 enough wagon road snakes down over the edge of 
 the bench and curves away north to Brown's Ferry. 
 At the spring you get the sound of the rapids, you 
 catch the smell of the river like a wet knife, you looks 
 straight down into white water, and on the opposite 
 bench is my ranch. 
 
 Happens Jones reckoned she'd been appointed in- 
 spector of snakes, so I'd had to lay off at the spring, 
 and Mrs. Trevor comes along to get shut of her 
 trouble. She's hungry; she ain't had anything but 
 her prize hawg to speak to for weeks, and she's as 
 curious as Mother Eve, anyway. Curiosity in ante- 
 lopes and women projuces venison and marriages, 
 both species being too swift and shy to be met up 
 with otherwise. 
 
 She's got allusions, too, seeing things as large as 
 a sceart horse, so she's all out of focus, supposin' me 
 to be romantic and picturesk, wharas I'm a working- 
 man out earning dollars. Still it's kind in any lady 
 to take an interest, and I done what you said in aim- 
 ing at the truth, no matter what I hits. 
 
 Surely my meat's transparent by the way her voice 
 struck through among my bones. If angels speak 
 
96 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 like that I'd die to hear. She told me nothin', not 
 one word about the trouble that's killing her, but 
 her voice made me want to cry. If you'd spoke like 
 that when I was your puppy, you'd a had no need 
 of that old slipper, mother. 
 
 'Cause I couldn't tear him away from the beef 
 bones, I'd left Mick up at the Sky-line, or I'd ast that 
 lady to accept my dog. You see, he'd bite Trevor all- 
 right, wharas I has to diet myself, and my menu is 
 sort of complete. Still by the time she stayed in camp, 
 my talk may have done some comfort to that poor 
 woman. She didn't know then that her trouble was 
 only goin' to last another week. 
 
 This is pie day. I comes now to describing my 
 last trip down from the Sky-line, when I hustled the 
 ponies just in case Mrs. Trevor might be taking her 
 cultus cooly along toward Soda Spring. Of course 
 she wasn't there. 
 
 You'd have laughed if you'd seen Jones after she 
 drank her fill of water out of the bubbly spring, 
 crowded with soda bubbles. She just goes hie, tittup, 
 hie, down the trail, changing step as the hiccups jolt- 
 ed her poor old ribs. The mare looked so blamed 
 funny that at first I didn't notice the tracks along the 
 road. 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 97 
 
 To judge by the hind shoes, Mrs. Trevor's mean 
 colt had gone down toward the river not more'n ten 
 minutes ago, on the dead run, then back up the road 
 at a racking out-of-breath trot. Something must 
 have gone wrong, and sure enough as I neared a 
 point of rocks which hid the trail ahead, Jones sud- 
 denly shied hard in the midst of a hiccup. There 
 was the Widow Bear's track right across the road, 
 and Mick had to yell blue blazes to get the other 
 ponies past the smell. Ahead of me the tracks of the 
 Trevor colt were dancing the width of the road, 
 bucking good and hard at the stink of bear. Then I 
 rounded the point of rocks. 
 
 There lay Mrs. Trevor all in a heap. The after- 
 noon sun caught her hair, which flamed gold, and a 
 green humming-bird whirred round as though it 
 were some big flower. Since Jones would have shied 
 over the tree-tops at a corpse or a whiff of blood, I 
 knew she'd only fainted, but felt at her breast to 
 make sure. I tell you it felt like an outrage to lay 
 my paw on a sleeping lady, and still worse I'd only 
 my dirty old hat to carry water from a seepage in 
 the cliff'. My heart thumped when I knelt to sprinkle 
 the water, and when that blamed humming-bird 
 came whirring past my ear, I jumped as though the 
 
98 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 devil had got me, splashing the hatful over Mrs. 
 Trevor. At that her eyes opened, staring straight 
 at my face, but she made out a sort of smile when 
 she saw it was only me. 
 
 "Jesse!" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Seen my husband?" 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "I don't know what's come over him," she moaned, 
 clenching her teeth j "he fired at me." 
 
 "That gun I traded to him?" 
 
 "Four shots." 
 
 "You was running away when your colt shied at 
 the bear?" 
 
 "My ankle! Jesse, it hurts so dreadfully. Yes, 
 the left." 
 
 My knife ripped her riding-boot clear. The old 
 red bandana from my neck made her a wet bandage, 
 and the boot top served for a splint. There was no 
 call to tell her the foot was broken, and the fainting 
 fits eased my job. Between whiles she would tell me 
 to hurry, knowing that the return of that damned 
 colt would show Trevor which way she'd run. I 
 had no weapon, so if Trevor happened along with 
 the .45 revolver it wouldn't be healthy. 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 99 
 
 I couldn't leave the loads of ore on my ponies, and 
 if I got Mrs. Trevor mounted with her foot hanging 
 down, she'd lose time swooning. So I unloaded all 
 the ponies except Jones, and turned them loose, keep- 
 ing Jones and Swift, who has a big heart for travel. 
 Next I filled one of the rawhide panniers with brush, 
 and lashed it across Jones' neck for a back rest. A 
 wad of pine brush made a seat between Jones' pan- 
 niers where I mostly carry my grub. Hoisting Mrs. 
 Trevor on to the mare's back was a pretty mean job, 
 but worst of all I had to lash her down. Taking my 
 thirty-eight-foot rope I threw a single-hand dia- 
 mond, hitching the lady good and hard to mare and 
 cargo. Her head and shoulders was over Jones' 
 neck, her limbs stretched out above his rump, where 
 I had made them fast with a sling rope. I've packed 
 mining machinery, wheels, and once a piano, but I 
 never heard tell of any one packing a lady. For 
 chafing gear to keep the ropes from scorching, I had 
 to use my coat, shirt, and undershirt, so that when I 
 mounted Swift to lead off, I'd only boots and over- 
 alls, and Mrs. Trevor could see I was blushing down 
 to my belt. Shocked ? Nothing ! Great ladies doesn't 
 shock like common people. No, in spite of the pain- 
 racking and the fear-haunting, she laughed, and it 
 
loo A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 done me good. She said I looked like Mr. Polio Bel- 
 videary, a dago she'd met up with in Italy. Dagos 
 are swine, but the way she spoke made me proud. 
 
 Jones leads good, which was well for me riding 
 bareback, for we didn't stop to pick flowers. 
 
 Washing day after supper. 
 
 We weren't more than half-way down to the river 
 when we heard Trevor surging and yelling astern, 
 somewheres up on the bench. At that I broke to a 
 trot, telling the lady to let out a howl the moment it 
 hurt beyond bearing. I wonder what amount of 
 pain is beyond the bearing of real thoroughbreds? 
 That lady would burn before she'd even whimper. 
 
 Nearing the ferry my innards went sick, for the 
 punt was on the far bank, the man was out of sight, 
 and even Jones wouldn't propose to swim the river 
 with a cargo of mineral and a deck load. As we got 
 to the door of Brown's cabin, Trevor hove in sight. 
 
 Now, supposing you're poor in the matter of time, 
 with, say, half a minute to invest to the best advan- 
 tage, you try to lay out your thirty seconds where 
 they will do most good. I lep' to the ground, giving 
 Jones a hearty slap on the off quarter, which would 
 steer her behind Brown's cabin ; then with one Jump 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT loi 
 
 I grabbed old man Brown's Winchester rifle from 
 its slings above the hearth, shoved home two cart- 
 ridges from the mantel, rammed the muzzle through 
 the window-pane, which commands a view up the 
 trail, and proceeded to take stock of Mr. Trevor. 
 
 The man's eyes being stark staring mad, it was a 
 sure fact he'd never listen to argument. If I shot 
 him, the horse would surge on, dropping the corpse 
 at Mrs. Trevor's feet, which would be too sudden to 
 please. If I stopped the horse at full gallop, the 
 rider would go on till he hit the scenery, and after 
 that he wouldn't feel well enough to be injurious. 
 That's why I waited, following with the rifle until 
 t^e horse's shoulder widened out, giving me a clear 
 aim at the heart. 
 
 The horse finished his stride, but while I was run- 
 ning to the door, he crumpled and went down dead, 
 the carcass sliding three yards before it stopped. As 
 to the man, he shot a long curve down on his back in 
 a splash of dust, which looked like a brown explo- 
 sion. His revolver went further on whirling, until a 
 stump touched off' the trigger, and its bullet whined 
 over my head. 
 
 Next thing I heard was the rapids, like a church 
 organ finishing a hymn, and Mrs. Trevor's call. 
 
I02 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "You've killed him?" 
 
 "No, ma'am, but he's had an accident. I'll take 
 him to the cabin for first aid." 
 
 Trevor was sitting up by the time I reached him. 
 He looked sort of sick. 
 
 "Get up," said I, remembering to be polite in the 
 presence of a lady. "Get up, you cherub." 
 
 Instead of rising, he reached out a flask from his 
 pocket, and uncorked to take a little nourishment. I 
 flicked the bottle into the river, and assisted him to 
 rise with my foot. "My poor erring brother," said I, 
 "please step this way, or I'll kick your tail through 
 your hat." 
 
 He said he wasn't feeling very well, so when I got 
 him into the cabin, I let him lie on Brown's bed, 
 lashing him down good and hard. I gave him a stick 
 to bite instead of my fingers, which is private. 
 "Now," said I, "your name is Polecat. You're due 
 to rest right there, Mr. Polecat, until I get the pro- 
 vincial constable." I gathered from his expression 
 that he'd sort of taken a dislike to me. 
 
 Swift and the mare were grazing on pine chips 
 beside the cabin, and Mrs. Trevor looked wonder- 
 fully peaceful. 
 
 "Your husband," said I, "is resting." 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDEJTT 103 
 
 She gave me a wry laugh, and seeing she was in 
 pain, I poured water over her foot. 
 
 "That's better," said she, "how good you are to 
 me!" 
 
 Old man Brown was coming across with the punt, 
 mighty peevish because I'd dropped a horse carcass 
 to rot at his cabin door, and still worse when he seen 
 I had a lunatic roped in his bunk. Moreover, he 
 wasn't broke to seeing ladies used for cargo on pack- 
 animals, or me naked to the belt, and making free 
 with his rifle. I give him his Winchester, which he 
 set down by his door, also a dollar bill, but he was 
 still crowded full of peevishness, wasting the lady's 
 time. At last I hustled the ponies aboard the punt, 
 and set the guide lines so that we started out along 
 the cable, leaving the old man to come or stay as he 
 pleased. He came. Fact is, I remembered that while 
 I took Mrs. Trevor to my home, I'd need a messen- 
 ger to ride for doctor, nurse, groceries, and consta- 
 ble. I'm afraid old man Brown was torn some, 
 catching on a nail while I lifted him into the punt. 
 His language was plentiful. 
 
 Now I thought I'd arranged Mrs. Trevor and Mr. 
 Trevor and Mr. Brown, and added up the sum so 
 that old Geometry himself couldn't have figured it 
 
I04 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 better. Whereas I'd left out the fact that Brown's 
 bunk was nailed careless to the wall of his cabin. As 
 Trevor struggled, the pegs came adrift, the bed cap- 
 sized, the rope slacked, and the polecat, breaking 
 loose, found Brown's rifle. I'd led the ponies out of 
 the punt, and was instructing Brown, when the pole- 
 cat let drive at me from across the river. With all 
 his faults he could shoot good, for his first grazed my 
 scalp, half blinding me. At that the lady attracted 
 attention by screaming, so the third shot stampeded 
 poor Jones. 
 
 I ain't religious, being only thirty, and not due to 
 reform this side of rheumatism, but all the sins I've 
 enjoyed was punished sudden and complete in that 
 one minute. Blind with blood, half stunned, and 
 reeling sick, I heard the mare as she plunged along 
 the bank dispensing boulders. No top-heavy cargo 
 was going to stand that strain without coming over, 
 so the woman I loved — yes, I knew that now for a 
 fact— was going to be dragged until her brains were 
 kicked out by the mare. It seemed to me ages be- 
 fore I could rouse my senses, wipe my eyes, and 
 mount the gelding. When sight and sense came back, 
 I was riding as I had never dared to ride in all my 
 life, galloped Mr. Swift on rolling boulders steep as 
 
THE TREVOR ACCIDENT 105 
 
 a roof, and all a-slither. I got Swift sidewise up 
 the bank to grass, raced past the mare, then threw 
 Swift in front of Jones. Down went the mare just as 
 her load capsized, so that she and the lady, Swift 
 and I, were all mixed up in a heap. 
 
 My little dog Mick was licking my scalp when I 
 woke, and it seemed to me at first that something 
 must have gone wrong. My head was between two 
 boulders, with the mare's shoulder pressing my nose, 
 my legs were under water, and somewhere close 
 around was roaring rapids. Swift was scrambling 
 for a foothold, and Mrs. Trevor shouting for all she 
 was worth. I waited till Swift cleared out, and the 
 lady quit for breath. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," says I. 
 
 "Oh, say you're not dead, Jesse!" 
 
 "Only in parts," said I, "and how are you?" 
 
 "I'm cutting the ropes, but oh, this knife's so 
 blunt!" 
 
 "Don't spoil your knife. Will you do what I say?" 
 
 "Of course I will." 
 
 "Reach out then on the off side of the load. The 
 end of that lashing's fast to the after-basket line." 
 
 When I'd explained that two or three times, "I 
 have it," she answered. "Loose!" 
 
io6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Pull on the fore line of the diamond." 
 
 "Right. Oh, Jesse, I'm free!" 
 
 "Kneel on the mare's head, reach under the pan- 
 nier, find the latego, and cast off." 
 
 She fumbled a while, and then reported all clear. 
 
 "Get off the mare." 
 
 In another moment Jones was standing up to 
 shake herself, knee deep in the river, and with a slap 
 I sent her off to join Swift at the top of the bank. 
 Mrs. Trevor was sitting on a boulder, staring out 
 over the rapids, her eyes set on something coming 
 down mid-stream. Her face was all gray, and she 
 clutched my hand, holding like grim death. As for 
 me, I'd never reckoned that even a madman would 
 try to swim the Eraser in clothes and boots. 
 
 "I can't bear it!" she cried, turning her face away. 
 "Tell m^-" 
 
 "I guess," said I, feeling mighty grave, "you're 
 due to become a widow." 
 
 The rapids got Trevor, and I watched. 
 
 "You are a widow," says I, at last. 
 
 She fainted. 
 
 There, I'm dead sick of writing this letter, and my 
 wrist is all toothache. Jesse. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 JESSE argues that there's nothing to boast of in 
 the way he saved me. Horse and rifle are like 
 feet to run with, hands to fight with, part of his life. 
 "Now, if I'd rode a giraffe and harpooned you, I'd 
 have my name in all the papers. Shucks ! Skill and 
 courage are things to shame the man who hasn't got 
 them." 
 
 I married Lionel Trevor in the days when he 
 looked like a god as Parsifal, sang like an angel, had 
 Europe at his feet. "Something wrong with 
 Europe," is Jesse's comment. "West of the Rockies 
 we don't use such, except to sell their skins." 
 
 When Lionel lost his voice — more to him than are 
 horse and gun to Jesse — he would not ask me to fol- 
 low him into the wilderness but tried to persuade me 
 to stay on in London. I was singing "Eurydice" in 
 Orfeo, my feet, thanks to Lionel, were at last on 
 
 107 
 
io8 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 the great ladder, and if I was ambitious, who shall 
 blame me? Yet for better, for worse, we were mar- 
 ried, and here among the pines, in this celestial air, 
 a year or two at the most w{ould give him back his 
 voice. My place was at his side, for better or worse, 
 and when he drank, when day by day I watched the 
 light of reason give place in his eyes to bestial vice, 
 until at last I found myself chained to a maniac — ^till 
 death us do part — it was then I first saw Jesse, the 
 one man whose eyes showed understanding. 
 
 I can't write about that day when Lionel, a thing 
 possessed of devils, hunted me through the woods 
 like a bear. It wasn't fair. I'm only twenty-eight 
 years old. It wasn't fair that I should be treated 
 like that. I doubt if I remember all that happened. 
 I must have been crazed with pain and fear until 
 suddenly I woke up on a boulder by that awful 
 river, and saw him drift past me, caught in the 
 rapids, drowning. I would have shouted I was so 
 glad, until he saw me, and dying as he was, looked 
 at me with Lionel's clear sane eyes. 
 
 I fainted, and when I awoke again in the dusk, 
 Jesse bent over me, not as he is, the rugged fighting 
 frontiersman, but dressed in white, wearing a wreath 
 of beaten gold leaves, the laurel crown. He was a 
 
LOVE 109 
 
 Greek warrior, and it seemed to me that I, too, wore 
 the Grecian dress, a milk-white peplum. We were 
 walking side by side along a beach between the cliffs 
 and the sea. He stopped, looking seaward, his 
 bronzed face set with an anxiety, which as he 
 watched, became fear. He clasped me in his arms, 
 and then I saw that out of the distance of the sea, 
 came a wave, rushing straight at us, a monstrous 
 tidal wave with curved and glassy front, crowned 
 with a creaming surf of high-flung diamond. The 
 cliff barred all escape, and we stood waiting, locked 
 in each other's arms, commending our spirits to the 
 gods — 
 
 My eyes broke through the vision, for Jesse, the 
 real Jesse of this present life, shook me, imploring 
 me to rouse myself. He says I woke up shouting 
 "Zeus ! Zeus !" He lifted me in his arms and carried 
 me. 
 
 Of course I was hysterical, being overwrought, 
 and the very thought is nonsense that in some past 
 life thousands of years ago, Jesse and I were lovers. 
 That night and for three weeks afterward, I lay 
 delirious. At the ferryman's cabin he made me a 
 bed of pine boughs, until my household stuff and the 
 Chinese servant could be brought down from the 
 
no A MAN IN THE OPfiN 
 
 ranch. He sent Surly Brown to bring Doctor McGee, 
 and the Widow O'Flynn as my nurse, while her son 
 Billy was hired to do his pack-train work. From 
 that time onward the pack outfit carried cargoes of 
 ore from the mine, and loads from Hundred Mile 
 House of every comfort and luxury which money 
 could buy for me. Jesse bought tents, which he set 
 up beside the cabin, one for my servant, the other 
 for Brown and himself, besides such travelers as 
 from time to time stayed over night at the ferry. 
 When I got well, I found that Jesse had spent the 
 savings of years, and had not a dollar left 
 
 The widow nursed me by day, Jesse by night, 
 and after one attempt by Mrs. O'Flynn, it was he 
 who dressed my foot. In his hands he had the deli- 
 cate strength of a trained surgeon, but also some- 
 thing more, that sympathetic touch which charms 
 away pain, bringing ease to the mind as well as to 
 the body. " 'Tisn't," said he, "as if you kicked me 
 out of the stable every time I laid a hand on yo' 
 pastern. That Jones, when she hurt her foot, just 
 kicked me black and blue." 
 
 When at last I crept out of doors to bask in the 
 autumn sunlight, the cotton woods and aspens were 
 changed to lemon, the sumac to crimson, the fallen 
 
LOVE in 
 
 needles of the pines clothed the slopes with orange, 
 and a mist of milky blue lay in the canon. Very 
 beautiful were those days, when no breath of wind 
 stirred the warm perfume, and the music of the 
 rapids echoed from sun-warmed precipice and glow- 
 ing woodlands up to the gorgeous cobalt of the sky. 
 Cured of all sick fancies, I was content to rest. 
 
 Jesse had arranged with lawyers for the probate 
 of Lionel's will, and settlement of his debts, which 
 would leave me nothing. As far as Jesse knew, I 
 was penniless, and to this day I have never dared 
 acknowledge that, secured from the extravagance 
 of my late husband, I have capital bringing in some 
 seven thousand, five hundred dollars a year. Jesse 
 supposed me to be destitute, and when I spoke of re- 
 turning to my work in Europe, offered to raise the 
 money for my passage. Knowing his ranch to be 
 mortgaged already to its full value, I wondered what 
 limit there was to this poor man's valor. Yes, I 
 would accept, assuring him of swift repayment, yet 
 dared not tell him the wages offered me at Covent 
 Garden. It seemed indecent that a woman's voice 
 should be valued at more per week than his heroic 
 earnings for a year. 
 
 I sang to him, simple emotional music : Orfeo's 
 
112 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 lament, the finale of // Trovatore, the angel song 
 from Chopin's Marche Funebre. 
 
 There was the last of my poor little test which 
 had proved in him a chivalry, a generosity, a moral 
 valor, a physical courage, a sense of beauty, a na- 
 tive humor, which made me very humble. All I had 
 foolishly imagined in poor Lionel, all that a woman 
 hopes for in a man, was here beyond the accidents 
 of rank or caste. How pitiful seemed the standards 
 of value which rated Lionel a gentleman, and this 
 man common ! Jesse is something by nature which 
 gentlemen try to imitate with their culture. Should 
 I go back to imitations ? I had outlived all that be- 
 fore I realized the glory of the great wilderness, be- 
 fore I met Jesse and loved him. 
 
 Could I promise to love, honor and obey ? I loved 
 him, I honored him, and as to obeying, of course 
 that's the way they are managed. 
 
 I wonder why women make it so important that a 
 man should propose? It needed no telling that Jesse 
 and I were in love. It seemed only natural that we 
 should marry, and any pretense of mourning for the 
 late Mr. Trevor would have been distasteful. 
 
 My dear father was content with my first mar- 
 riage, because — it seems so quaint — Mr. Trevor was 
 
LOVE 113 
 
 a sound churchman. The old saint had Indeed one 
 misgiving, for Lionel was very high church, and if 
 he reverted to Rome, the religious education of any 
 children — my father has found peace in a land 
 where there are no doctrinal worries. But for his 
 daughter he would pray still, lest she be yoked with 
 an unbeliever. For my father's sake I asked Jesse 
 about his religious convictions. 
 
 "Wall," he explained, "my old mother was a 
 Hard-Shell Baptist, and father was Prohibition, so if 
 them two forms of ignorance came to be used around 
 here, I'd be a sort of mongrel." 
 
 "Surely you don't think the churches mere forms 
 of ignorance?" 
 
 "Ignorance," he took the word up thoughtfully. 
 "It's a thing I practises, and am apt to recognize by 
 the way it acks. It ain't so scarce in them churches 
 as you'd think. Maybe, knowin' more than me, you 
 can tell me about that Sermon on the Mount. Was 
 it a Catholic Mount, or Baptist, or Episcopalian?" 
 
 "Surely a hill, or mountain." 
 
 "And Jesus took his people away from the smell 
 of denominations — Scribes, Pharisees, and such, to 
 some place outdoors?" 
 
 The idea struck me full in the face like a sudden 
 
114 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 lash of spray, but before I could clear my eyes, the 
 man had followed his thought to a weird conclusion. 
 
 "The more they build churches and chapels to 
 corral Him, the more He takes to the woods. I sort 
 of follow." 
 
 This only left me to wonder what my dear old 
 white saint would have said. 
 
 Certainly he could never have accepted that Amer- 
 ican citizenship, and Jesse's nationality is vague. 
 "Thar's God," he would say quite reverently, "and 
 Mother England, and Uncle Sam, but beyond that I 
 ain't much acquainted. The rest seems to be sort of 
 foreigners. The Labrador? Oh, that's just trim- 
 mings." 
 
 Whatever he is, I love him, — primitive, elemental, 
 kin of the woodland gods, habitant of the white 
 sierras, the august forest, and the sweet wild pas- 
 tures. My doubts fluttered away from the main 
 issue to settle down on very twigs of detail. I had 
 not courage to imagine what a fright he would look 
 in civilized clothes, how awkward he would feel 
 among folk and houses, or how such dear illusions 
 would be shattered if ever my cynical relations saw 
 him eat. He is a Baptist, and by his convictions lia- 
 ble to wed in store clothes, with a necktie like a boot- 
 
LOVF IIS 
 
 lace, and number twelve kid gloves, taking his 
 honeymoon as a solemnity at the very loudest hotel 
 In San Francisco. Preferring plague, pestilence, 
 famine, battle, murder, and sudden death, to such 
 festivities, I pleaded our poverty, and dire need of 
 keeping free from debt. Although born in the Lab- 
 rador, he had been a cow-boy in Texas for half his 
 working life. As a stockman, he was to wed a ranch- 
 er's widow. Was he ashamed of his business? No, 
 proud as Lucifer ! Was he ashamed of the dress of 
 his trade? Not by a damned sight! Soldiers and 
 sailors are proud to wear the dress of their trade 
 when they marry. "So are cow-punchers," said he, 
 with his head in the air. "S'pose we ride to Cariboo 
 City, and get married in that little old log church." 
 
 He managed to persuade me; and I consented also 
 to a hunting trip, instead of the usual honeymoon. 
 
 When I was well enough for the journey, I rode 
 my colt, and Jesse his demon mare — Jones — my sole 
 rival, I think, except that dreadful bear, in his af- 
 fections. Two pack-ponies carried our camp and 
 baggage, and each night he would set up a little tent 
 for me, bedding himself down beside the fire. At 
 the end of five days' journey, we rode at dusk into 
 Cariboo. 
 
ii6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Captain Taylor, of Hundred Mile House, and 
 Pete Mathson, the cargador of the Star Pack-train, 
 two old stanch friends of Jesse, witnessed our mar- 
 riage in the quaint log building which served the 
 Cariboo miners as church and schoolhouse. The 
 Reverend Cyril Redfern, pioneer and missionary, 
 read the service, while our ponies waited just outside 
 the door. Jesse wore his plain old leather shaps, a 
 navy blue shirt, a scarf of ruby silk against his 
 tanned neck, and golden Mexican spurs — his dearest 
 treasure. He must have known he looked magnifi- 
 cent, for he carried himself with such quiet dignity, 
 and his deep voice thrilled me, for it was music. I 
 could hardly respond for crying, and would gladly 
 have been alone afterward in the church that I 
 might thank God for all His mercy. 
 
 Captain Taylor is a retired naval officer, a pioneer 
 of the gold mines, a magistrate, a man to trust, and 
 when he gave me his heartfelt congratulations, it 
 was not without knowledge of Jesse's character. He 
 and Pete, the cargador, rode with us to the camp of 
 his Star Pack-train, and it was there in the forest 
 that we ate our wedding breakfast. The blue haze of 
 Indian summer, the serene splendor of the sunlit 
 woods, and autumn snow on all the shining hills — 
 
LOVE 117 
 
 such was our banquet hall, and a rippling brook our 
 orchestra. We drank healths in champagne from tin 
 cups, and then, saddling up, Jesse and I rode away 
 alone into the solitudes. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE LANDLORD 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 OF his life before he reached this province Jesse 
 will so far tell me nothing, yet his speech be- 
 trays him, for under the vivid dialect of the stock 
 range, there is a streak of sailor, and beneath that I 
 detect traces of brogue which may be native perhaps 
 to Labrador. Out of a chaos of books he has picked 
 words which pleased him, pronounced of course 
 to suit himself, and used in some sense which would 
 shock any dictionary. 
 
 His manners and customs, too, are a field for re- 
 search. Of course one expects him to be professional 
 with rope, gun, and ax, but how did he learn the 
 rest? I wanted a lantern — he made one; my boot 
 was torn — he made one; my water-proof coat was 
 ruined — he made one; and if I asked for a sewing- 
 machine, he would refuse to move camp until he had 
 
 Il8 
 
THE LANDLORD 119 
 
 one finished. If his name were not Smith I could 
 prove him directly descended from the Swiss family 
 Robinson. If a project sounds risky, I have to as- 
 sume that it is something unusually safe, as the only 
 way to keep him out of danger. If I should ever 
 wish to be a widow, I have only to doubt his power 
 to fly without wings. 
 
 Our journey last autumn led us into most awe- 
 some recesses of the coast range. Heads of the sea 
 fiords lay dismal among crowding glaciers, white 
 cataracts came roaring down through belt after belt 
 of clouds, to where a grim surf battled with black 
 rocks. In that dread region of avalanche and rock- 
 slide, of hanging ice-cliffs, roaring storms, ear-shat- 
 tering thunder, our camp seemed too frail a thing to 
 claim existence, our thread of smoke a little prayer 
 for mercy. "Nary a dollar in sight," was Jesse's 
 comment. "Such microbes don't breed here. D'ye 
 think they'll ever vaccinate agin selfishness, Kate? 
 That plague kills more souls than smallpox." 
 
 Guided by his uncanny woodcraft, I began to 
 meet the parishioners, mountain sheep and goats, the 
 elk and cariboo, eagles, bears, wolverines, and cer- 
 tainly I shared something of Jesse's uptiring delight 
 
I20 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 in all wild creatures. Even when we needed meat 
 in camp, and some plump goose or mallard was at 
 the mercy of his gun, Jesse would sometimes beg the 
 victim off, and catch more trout. "So long as they 
 don't hunt us," he would say, "I'd rather tote your 
 camera than my gun. But thar's that dog-gone 
 beaver down the crick, he tried to bite me yesterday 
 again. If he don't tame himself, I'll slap his face. 
 Thinks he's editor." 
 
 Were there no clouds, would we realize that the 
 sky is blue? If no little misunderstandings had risen 
 above our horizon, would Jesse and I have realized 
 our wedded happiness ? How should I know when I 
 read his pocket diary, what was meant by "one night 
 out. Took Matilda," or "Matilda and Fussy to- 
 night," or "marched with Harem!" Matilda and 
 Fussy if you please, are blankets, and the Harem is 
 his winter camp equipment. 
 
 What would you think if you found this in a 
 book? 
 
 He says it means, "Eating-house woman chasing — 
 Jesse galloping — home dead finish." 
 And some of it is worse! 
 
THE LANDLORD 121 
 
 I dare not accuse my dear man of being narrow- 
 minded. I have no doubt that he is quite justified 
 in his intense antipathy to niggers, dagos, and chinks 
 — indeed, he will not allow my Chinese servant on 
 the ranch. But if I wished to uncork a choice vint- 
 age of stories, I alluded to his prejudice against the 
 word "grizzly" as applied to his pet bear. 
 
 "Now that's whar yo're dead wrong." He threw a 
 log of cedar upon our camp altar, making fresh in- 
 cense to the wild gods. "The landlord's a silver-tip, 
 fat as butter. Down in the low country, whar feed 
 is mean, and Britishers around, the b'ars is poor, 
 and called grizzlies. I'd be shamed to have a grizzly 
 on my ranch. Come to think, though, Kate, the 
 landlord was a sure-enough grizzly three years back. 
 He'd had misfortunes." 
 
 "Tell me." As he stirred the fire, gathering his 
 thoughts, I watched the cedar sparks, a very torch- 
 light procession of fairies flowing upward into the 
 darkness overhead. 
 
 "Wall, you see, he and the landlady was always 
 around same as you and me, but not together. No. 
 Being respectable b'ars they'd feed at opposite ends 
 of the pasture." 
 
122 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "But don't the married couples live together ?" 
 
 "None. They feels it ain't quite modest to make 
 a show of their marriage. You see, Kate, after all, 
 these b'ars is not like us but sort of foreigners. 
 Mother gets kind of secluded when there's cubs, 
 'cause father's so careless and eats 'em." 
 
 "How disgusting!" 
 
 "I dunno. Time I speak of, their three young 
 lady b'ars was married somewheres up in the black 
 pines, whar it takes say fifty square miles to feed one 
 silver-tip — and no tourists to help out in times of 
 famine. That country was gettin' over-stocked, 
 with a high protective tariff agin canon b'ars. 
 
 "And here's the landlady down on our ranch, 
 chuck full of fiscal theories. 'B'ars is good,' says 
 she, 'the more cubs the merrier,' says she, 'let's be 
 fruitful and multiply.' And It's only a two b'ar 
 ranch. Thar ain't no England handy whar she can 
 dump spare cubs. 
 
 "So the landlord gets provident and eats the cubs. 
 Naturally thar's a sort of coolness arises over that, 
 so that she's feeding north, while he's around south. 
 Then the salmon season happens. There's only two 
 fishing rocks in our reach, the same being close to- 
 gether. The landlord, he fishes at the back-water 
 
THE LANDLORD 123 
 
 rock. The landlady fishes at the rapids rock. They 
 has to pretend they've not been introjuiced. 
 
 "There's been heavy rains, and up on the edge of 
 the bench I seen a new crack opening across Apex 
 Rock. I'd have put up a danger notice, only these 
 people thinks it's for scratching their backs on. 
 There's the crack getting wider, and the landlady 
 fishing right underneath, and me hollerin,' but she's 
 too full of pride to care about my worries. So I 
 thinks maybe if I just drop her a hint she'll begin to 
 set up and take notice. I run home for my rifle, 
 posts myself at big pine, takes a steady bead, and 
 lets fly, knocking a salmon out of the lady's mouth. 
 Then I remembers that the shock of a gunshot is 
 enough to loose the end of Apex Rock. It does, and 
 while the scenery is being rearranged, the landlady 
 sets up, wondering what's the trouble. When the 
 dust clears, Apex Rock up here is reduced to a 
 stump; down thar by the rapids the fishing rock's 
 extended with additions; the landlord's a widower, 
 running for all he's worth; and the landlady is no 
 more — not enough left of her to warrant funeral 
 obsequies." 
 
 "Why is the landlord called Eph?" 
 
 "Christian name. Most b'ars is Ephraim, but 
 
124 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 he's Ephrata which means 'be open.' I tried to get 
 him to be open with me instead of stealing chickens. 
 That's when the bad year come." 
 
 "Were you In difficulties ?" 
 
 "Eph was. Them canneries down to salt water, 
 had fished the Eraser out, and the hatchery didn't 
 get to its work until the fourth year, when the new 
 spawn come back to their home river. Yes, and the 
 sarvis berries failed. I dunno why, but the silver- 
 tips of this districk ain't partial to the same kinds of 
 feed as they practises in Montana and Idaho. Down 
 south they'll lunch on grubs, ants, or dog-tooth vio- 
 lets, but Eph ain't an original thinker. He runs to 
 application, and shies at new ideas. He'd vote con- 
 servative. So when the salmon and berries went 
 back on him, he sort of petered out. He come to the 
 cabin and said, plain as talk, he was nigh quitting 
 business." 
 
 "But, Jesse! A starving gr — I mean b'ar. 
 Weren't you afraid even then ?" 
 
 "Why for? My pardner attends to his business, 
 and don't interfere with my hawss ranch. He owns 
 the grubs, berries, salmon, wild honey and fixings. 
 I owns the grass, stock, chickens, and garden sass. 
 When we disagreed about them cabbages, I shot 
 
THE LANDLORD 125 
 
 holes in his ears until he allowed they was mine. 
 His ears is still sort of untidy. As to his eating 
 Sarah, wall, I warned her not to tempt poor Eph too 
 much." 
 
 "Sarah?" 
 
 "Jones' foal. Being a fool runs in her family. 
 Wall, Sarah died, and cabbages was gettin' seldom, 
 and Eph was losing confidence in my aim, although 
 I told him I'm tough as sea beef." 
 
 "He did attack you then?" 
 
 "Not exactly. His acts might have been misun- 
 derstood, though. Seemed to me it was time to sur- 
 vey the pasture, and see how much in the way of 
 grub could be spared to a poor widower. These 
 people eats meat, but they like it butchered for 'em, 
 and ripened. Down at the south end, I spared Eph 
 a family of wolverines, one at a time, to make the 
 rations hold out. He began to get encouraged. 
 Then this place was just humming with rattlesnakes, 
 so Eph and me just went around together so long as 
 the hunting was worth the trouble. I doubt if 
 there's any left." 
 
 At that I breathed a sigh of relief. 
 
 "Then Eph gets sassy, wanting squir'ls and chip- 
 munks. Now thar I was firm. Every striped var- 
 
126 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 mint of 'em may rob my oat sacks, every squir'l may 
 set up and cuss me all day, but they won't get hurt 
 They scold and swear, but every HI' devil among 
 them knows I like being insulted. Though they has 
 enemies — foxes, mink, skunk, weasel, I fed that lot 
 to Eph, saving the foxes. Tell you, Kate, the land- 
 lord began to get so proud he wouldn't know me." 
 
 "Your great eagles, Jesse; they kill squirrels, too." 
 
 "That's a fact. If I shot the eagles, them squir'ls 
 would get too joyful. Eagles acks as a sort of re- 
 ligion to squir'ls, or they'd forget their prayers. The 
 next proposition was cougars." 
 
 "Oh, I'm glad you killed them. At the old ranch 
 I was so terrified I'd lie awake all night." 
 
 "And you a musician! Now that's curious. You 
 like lil' small cats, only one foot from top to tip, al- 
 though I own they're songsters for their size. But 
 a nine foot cougar, with a ten-thousand cat-power 
 voice, composing along as he goes, why he's full of 
 music. Now I was goin' to propose a cougar opera 
 troupe. They'd knock the stuffing out of that Wag- 
 ner, anyway." 
 
 "Not for me, dear. You see, there's trade rivalry. 
 I wish you had shot them." 
 
 "I'm sort of sorry. Many's the time, camped on 
 
THE LANDLORD 127 
 
 your bench land, which I own Is a good place for 
 cougars, I'd set up half the night to listen. They'd 
 come purring so close I could see their eyes glint. 
 Seemed to me they sat round on their tails and 
 purred because they liked a camp whar there was no 
 gun-smell. They sang love songs, big war songs, 
 and all kinds of music. Fancy you bein' scared ! 
 
 "Kill them? They're hard to see as ghosts, and 
 every time you fire they just get absent. That ain't 
 the reason though, for if the landlord wanted cat's 
 meat, I'd like to see the fight." 
 
 "They'd never dare to fight that giant bear !" 
 
 "I dunno. Eph ain't lost no cougars. He treats 
 them as total strangers. 
 
 "But the real reason I fed no mountain-lions to 
 Eph is mostly connected with sheep. Cougars does 
 a right smart business in sheep, 'specially Surly 
 Brown's. Sheep is meaner's snakes, sheepmen is 
 meaner'n sheep, and if the herders disagrees with 
 the cougars, give me the cougars. Sheepmen is 
 dirt." 
 
 There spoke the unregenerate cow-boy ! 
 
 "But, Jesse dear, are you sure that Eph won't ex- 
 pect me to be 'spared' next time he's hungry?" 
 
 "Why, no. He was raised respectable, and 
 
128 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 there's a proper etiquette for b'ars on meeting a 
 lady. It's sort of first dance-movements : — 'general 
 slide, pass the cloak-room, and whar's my little 
 home?'" 
 
 Jesse's Note 
 
 N. B. — Kate and me agrees that the next chapter 
 has to be cut out, being dull. It's all about the barn- 
 raising after we got home to the ranch. The neigh- 
 bors put us up a fine big cabin connecting to the old 
 one by a covered porch of cedar shakes. That's 
 where the fire-wood lives, the water-butt, the grind- 
 stone, which Kate says is exactly like my singing 
 voice, likewise the ax and saw. 
 
 Of course our house-raising was a celebration, 
 with a dance, camp-fire, water-butt full of punch, 
 and headaches. I bet five dollars I was the only 
 semaphore signaler in our district, and lost it to 
 Iron Dale, who learned signaling five years ago 
 during the Riel rebellion. Cap Taylor put up a sig- 
 nal system for our use, of fires by night or big 
 smokes by day. One means a celebration, two means 
 help, and three means war. The women beat the 
 men at tug-of-war, but that was due to the widow's 
 wooden leg being a rallying point for the battle. 
 
THE LANDLORD I2g 
 
 Eph being holed up for the winter, I got more popu- 
 lar. 
 
 After the celebration we settled for the winter, 
 and I put all the ponies except Jones and the sleigh 
 team down in the canon pasture. That made the 
 ranch sort of lonesome, but we're short of hay on 
 account of the wedding-trip. We're broke. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 
 
 Jesse's Letter 
 
 MOTHER, I'm married. I thought I'd got 
 bliss by the horns, but seems I've not roped 
 what I throwed for, and what I've caught is trouble. 
 I wish you weren't in Heaven, which feels kind of 
 cold and distant when a fellow's lonesome. Nobody 
 loves me, and the mosquitoes has mistook me for a 
 greenhorn. 
 
 I can't smoke in the lady's home, and when it's 
 forty below zero outside, a pipe clogs with ice from 
 your breath. Chewing is worse, because she cried. 
 She don't need my guns, saddles, and me, or any 
 sort of litter whar she beds down, and my table man- 
 ners belongs under the table. Men, she says, feeds 
 sitting down, so they won't be mistook for animals, 
 which stand up. 
 
 Loyal Englishmen like the late Trevor now fry- 
 ing, has a cold bath every morning, specially in win- 
 
 130 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 131 
 
 ter, which throws a surprising light upon his last 
 symptoms. It's that frozen manner and pyjamas, 
 which makes the Englishman so durned popular. If 
 I belonged to the episcopal sect, wearing a coat in 
 the house instead of out-of-doors, and used pink 
 tooth-paste instead of yellow soap, maybe I'd like 
 my hash with curry powder, and have some hope of 
 going, when I die, to parts of Heaven where the 
 English keeps open windows, instead of open house. 
 Meanwhile I jest moved back into the old cabin with 
 Mick, — he's wagging himself by the tail between my 
 legs to say as this writing habit is a vice. If I'd only 
 a bottle of whisky now I'd be good, but as it's eighty 
 miles to refreshments, he's got to put up with vice. 
 
 This here storm has been running the province 
 since Monday, and making itself at home as if it had 
 come to stay. Put your nose to the door and it's 
 froze, so it's no fun crossing to the stable. I just got 
 back. Horses like to lick white men because we taste 
 salt from eating so much in our bacon, but that mare 
 Jones takes liberties in kicking me through the door 
 when she knows durned well it's shut. 
 
 Mrs. Trevor's husband was an opera singer which 
 mislaid his vocal cords, so settled here to be on his 
 romantic lonesome, and spite his wife. He went 
 
132 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 loco, and mistook her for a bear; she broke her 
 ankle stampeding; and I took an interest, he shoot- 
 ing me up considerable until he met with an acci- 
 dent. Then his widow married me, and I'm plumb 
 disheartened. 
 
 II 
 
 I was cooking slapjacks, which gives quick satis- 
 faction for the time invested, when Iron Dale rolled 
 in on his way home. Says my high-grade slapjacks 
 is such stuff as dreams are made of. With him quot- 
 ing Scripture like that I got suspicious about his 
 coming around by this ranch, instead of hitting 
 straight for Sky-line. On that he owns up to some- 
 thing dam curious and disturbing to my fur. Thar's 
 a stranger at Hundred Mile House, claiming he's 
 come from London, England, to find my wife. 
 
 On the stage sleigh from Ashcroft this person got 
 froze, which mostly happens to a tenderfoot, who'd 
 rather freeze like a man than run behind like a dog. 
 So of course he comes in handy for poor Doc Mc- 
 Gee. Our people being hale and artful as bears, Mc- 
 Gee would be out of practise altogether but for such, 
 so I hope he'll make good out of this here perishable 
 stranger, the same being a useful absentee from my 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 133 
 
 ranch. He's got a sort of puppy piano along, 
 which grieves me to think our settlers must be get- 
 ting out of date with such latest improvements, and 
 other settlements liable to throw dirt in our face. 
 Puppy pianos which tinkle isn't priced yet in the 
 Hudson's Bay store catalog. Seems it's called harp- 
 secord, and this person plays it night and day, so 
 that the ranch hands is quitting, and Cap Taylor 
 charges him double money for board. I wonder 
 what he wants with my wife, anyhow. The missus 
 wants me to take the sleigh and collect him. I dunno 
 but seems to my dim intellecks that would be meet- 
 ing trouble half-way, besides robbing the doctor and 
 Capt. Taylor who done me no harm. 
 
 Ill 
 
 This morning, after rigging a life-line to the 
 stable because of this continuing blizzard, I went to 
 the lady's home. She showed me a letter Dale 
 brought, in eytalian, which says the swine proposes 
 to kiss her feet, and wallow in divine song, etc. His 
 name is Salvator, so he's a dago. She, being white, 
 can't have any truck with such, being the same specie 
 as niggers, so that's all right. Seems the puppy 
 piano is for her from her beloved maestro, another 
 
134 , A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 swine from the same litter. She's singing now, and 
 it goes through my bones. Her voice is deep as a 
 man's, strong as Eraser Rapids, and I own that 
 puppy piano appeals to my best instinks. As for me, 
 my name's mud, and she treads in it. 
 
 IV 
 
 The wind went chasing after the sun, leaving 
 peace and clear stars, so this morning it must be 
 sixty below zero by the way the logs are splitting. 
 At noon Tearful George transpires, dumping the 
 puppy piano, and the swine with his nose in a muff. 
 Tearful had capsized the sleigh over stumps to make 
 his passenger run instead of arriving here like frozen 
 meat, but appears it hadn't done the harpsecord no 
 good. He said he'd roll his tail before any more 
 music broke out, so didn't stay dinner. The swine 
 was down on one knee in front of the missus, slob- 
 bering over her hand. She was kneading doe at the 
 time, and there's some on his nose. 
 
 He's got an angels-ever-bright-and-fair expres- 
 sion, smiles to turn milk, dog's eyes, and a turn- 
 down collar. He calls her Donner Addoller-r-r- 
 ra-ta, and looks as if he hadn't had much to eat on 
 the trail with Tearful, though they'd camped at 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR i35 
 
 Widow O'Flynn's where pie occurs whenever her 
 Billy's to home. 
 
 Kate's pleased all to pieces. Seems this gent in 
 the paper collar has wrote an opera, and there's a 
 party goes by the name of Impress Ario, song and 
 dance artist, putting it on the stage at London, Eng- 
 land. The leading woman sings base, and that's 
 why Kate is wanted. To the only woman on earth 
 who sings base enough, they sends this dingus and 
 the organ-grinder. She says it's a business proposi- 
 tion with money in it, and wants me to come along to 
 the Old Country. She'd have me in a collar and 
 chain with a pink bow at my oS ear, promenading 
 in Strand Street. 
 
 She's been having a rough time here, mostly liv- 
 ing on wild meat, without money or servants. I'd 
 like well to see her happier j I know her musie be- 
 longs to the whole world, and I've no right to hold 
 her for any selfishness. If it's up to her to go, it's 
 agin me to look pleased, and she shall go the day I 
 believe in her call. 
 
 She and the tinkle dingus and the swine are at it 
 full blast. He's screeching nil desperandum, she's 
 thundering "Shut-ut the dooroh !" "Ting ting tong 
 banggo !" says the puppy piano, while Mick in here 
 
136 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 howlg like a moonstruck wolf. I dunno, but seems 
 to me that when you're out at night between the 
 stars and the mountains and the river praising God 
 in the canon, there's music reaching from your soul 
 to the Almighty, and peace descending right out of 
 Heaven. Oh, Lord, speak to my wife, and tell her 
 there's more love right here, than in all the sham 
 passions of all the damned operas put together. But 
 now she's following after vain swine. 
 
 I made the dago bed down in here, but he flopped 
 over to breakfast and they've been at it hammer and 
 tongs ever since. "Tinkle tankie ping ping pee-chee- 
 ree-ho-0! Oh! Oho! me-catamiaou-ow-yow." 
 Cougars is kittens to it, but I'm durned ignorant, and 
 I notice that the signer looked on while she 
 washed up. 
 
 I didn't sorrow with Kate persuading me to drive 
 them as far as Hundred Mile. The sound of her 
 voice stampedes me every time, but when the dago 
 tries to stroke my ears, he was too numerous, so I 
 held his head in the bucket until he began to subside. 
 I don't take to him a whole lot. 
 
 From when I'd finished the horses, till nigh on 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 137 
 
 sundown, the music tapered off, and I got more and 
 more rattled. At last I walked right in. 
 
 She'd a black dress, indecent round the shoulders, 
 and a bright star on her brow. She stood with the 
 swine's arms around her, until at the sight of me he 
 shrank off, guilty as hell. There was nary a flicker 
 of shame or fear to her, but she just stood there 
 looking so grand and beautiful that my breath 
 caught in my throat. "Why, Jesse," she said, her 
 voice all soft with joy, "I'm so glad you've come to 
 see. It's the great scene, the renunciation. Come, 
 Salvator, from 'Thy people shall be — ' " 
 
 I twisted him by the ear into my cabin, he talking 
 along like a gramophone. I set him down on the 
 stool, myself on the bunk, inspecting him while I cut 
 baccy, and had a pipe. If I let him fight me with 
 guns, she'd make a hero of him. If I hoofed him 
 into the cold or otherwise wafted him to the dago 
 paradise, she'd make a villain of me. 
 
 "You wrote an opery," says I. 
 
 He explains with his tongue, his eyes, and both 
 paws waving around for the time it takes to boil 
 eggs. I'm not an egg. 
 
 "You give the leading woman a base voice ?" 
 
 He boiled over some more, 
 
138 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "So you got an excuse for coming." 
 
 He spread out over the landscape. 
 
 "Thinkin'," sez I, "that she'd nothin' more than 
 Trevor to guard her honor." 
 
 More talk. 
 
 "But you found her married with a man." 
 
 He wanted to go alone to civilization. 
 
 "You stay here," I says, "and Salvator, you're go- 
 ing to earn your board." 
 
 VI 
 
 I ain't claiming that this Salvator actually earned 
 his grub this month. He can clean stables now with- 
 out being kicked into a curry hash; he can chop 
 water holes through ice, and has only parted with 
 one big toe up to date; he can buck fire- wood if I 
 tend him with spurs and quirt; but his dish-washing 
 needs more rehearsals, and he ain't word perfect yet 
 at scrubbing floors. He's less fractious and slothful 
 since he was up-ended and spanked in presence of a 
 lady, but on the other hand, there's a lack of joy, 
 cheerfulness, and application. He's too full of dumb 
 yearnings, and his pure white soul seems to worry 
 him, but then there's bucking horses for him to ride 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 139 
 
 in spring, and first exercises in bears. My bear had 
 ought to be a powerful tonic. 
 
 I sent a cable message by Tearful George to the 
 song and dance artist who's running the swine's 
 opery, just inquiring if he'd remitted Salvator to 
 collect my wife. The reply is indignant to say that 
 the swine is a liar. Likewise there's a paragraph in 
 the Vancouver papers about the illustrious young 
 composer, Salvator Milani, who's disappeared, it 
 seems, into the wilds. His wife is desolated, his kids 
 is frantic, the Salvatori, a musical society, is offering 
 rewards, which may come in useful, and the rest of 
 mankind throws fits. This paper owns up that the 
 departed is careless and absent-minded, and I just 
 pause to observe that he hasn't made my bed. He'll 
 have some quirt for supper. 
 
 As to my wife, she'd never believe that the swine 
 wasn't sent to fetch her, or that he's deserted his wife 
 and family. She thinks he's a little cock angel, and 
 me a cock devil. She'll have to find him out for her- 
 self. 
 
 VII 
 
 My wife has run away with him, 
 
I40 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 VIII 
 
 I could pick stars like apples. Here's me with my 
 pipe and dog in my home, and my dear wife content. 
 The Dook of London has no more, except frills. I 
 hardly know whar to begin, 'cept whar I left off 
 without mentioning how they run away. The illus- 
 trious didn't have the nerve, so it was my lady who 
 stole over to stable in the dead of night, and har- 
 nessed the team so silent I never woke. She drove 
 off with her trunks, the puppy piano, and her swine, 
 on a bitter night with eighty mile ahead before she'd 
 get any help if things went wrong. She has the pure 
 grit, my great thoroughbred lady, and it makes me 
 feel real good to think of the way she followed her 
 conscience along that unholy trail through the black 
 pines. 
 
 By dawn she put up for breakfast at O'Flynn's. 
 The widow had broke her leg reproaching a cow, 
 and sent off her son to the carpenter at Hundred and 
 Fifty Mile House to get the same repaired. Her bed 
 was beside the stove, with cord-wood, water, and 
 grub all within reach. It was real awkward though 
 that the stove had petered out, and the water bucket 
 froze solid while she slept, so she was expecting to 
 be wafted before her son got home, when Kate ar- 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 141 
 
 rived in time to save her from Heaven. The signor 
 volunteers to make fire and cook grub while Kate 
 fed and watered the team, so my wife has the pleas- 
 ure of chopping out a five-foot well at Bent Creek, 
 while this unselfish cavalierio stayed in the house 
 and got warm. Naturally he didn't know enough to 
 light the stove, until the widow threw things, and he 
 got the coal-oil. Then he disremembered how to 
 soak the kindlings before he struck a match, so he lit 
 the fuel first, then stood over pouring oil from the 
 five-gallon can. When the fire lep' up into the can, 
 of course he had to let go, and when he seen the 
 cabin all In flames, he galloped off to the woods, 
 leaving the Widow O'Flynn to burn comfy all by 
 herself. 
 
 By the time Kate reaches the cabin, the open door 
 is all flames ; but, having the ice ax, she runs to the 
 gable end, and hacks in through the window. The 
 bed's burning quite brisk by then, but the widow has 
 quit out, climbed to the window and gone to sleep 
 with the smoke, so that Kate climbs in and alights 
 on top of her sudden. The fire catches hold of my 
 wife, but she swings the widow through the window, 
 climbs out, lights on top of her again, then takes a 
 roll in the snow. 
 
142 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 When the illustrious comes out of the woods to ex- 
 plain, d'ye think she'd listen? I can just see him 
 explaining with dago English, paws, shoulders, and 
 eyes. She leaves him explaining in front of the 
 burning cabin. Three days from now young O'Flynn 
 will ride home with his mother's limb tied to the 
 saddle strings, and if the swine's alive then, he'll 
 begin explaining again, though Billy's quick and 
 fretful with his gun. 
 
 My wife humped this widow to the barn, and got 
 warm clothes from her trunks for both of them. She 
 fired out her baggage and the puppy piano, bedded 
 down the widow in clecin hay, hitched up the team, 
 and hit the trail for home. 
 
 She hadn't a mile to go before she met me, and 
 what with the smoke from O'Flynn's, the widow in 
 the rig, and the complete absence of the swine, I'd 
 added up before she reined her team. She would 
 want to cry in my arms. 
 
 So she's in bed here, her burns dressed with oil 
 from a bear who held me up once on the Sky-line 
 trail. It's good oil. The widow's asleep in my cabin, 
 and I'm right to home with this letter wrote to you, 
 Mother. I guess you know, Mummy, why me and 
 
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SALVATOR 143 
 
 my pipe and my dog are welcome now, which you've 
 lived in your time and loved. 
 
 So hoping you're in Heaven, as this leaves me at 
 present. Yr. affect, son, 
 
 Jesse. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 WE have started a visitor's book. It opens with 
 press cuttings of interviews with Professor 
 Bohns, the famous archaeologist, who came to ex- 
 amine the paleolithic deposits at South Cave. Next 
 are papers relating to a summons for assault, brought 
 by the late Mr. Trevor against J. Smith. There is a 
 letter from a big game hunter. Sir Turner Rounde, 
 who came up the canon collecting specimen pelts of 
 ursus horribilis, which Jesse maintains is not a griz- 
 zly bear. But the gem of our collection is a letter of 
 lengthy explanation from an eminent Italian cur, 
 who spent a whole month at the ranch last winter. 
 Nobody is more hospitable, or more hungry for pop- 
 ularity than my dear man, but I think that special 
 prayers should be offered for his visitors. He has a 
 motto now: — "Love me: love my bear, not my 
 missus." 
 
 144 
 
ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 145 
 
 My jealous hero has told the story of an old ad- 
 mirer, once my fellow-student, who brought me a 
 dumpy piano for which I had so starved, told me the 
 news, talked shop, and would make me a prima 
 donna — my life's ambition. The trap was well 
 baited. Lonely, and terrified by the dread majesty 
 of winter, I craved for the lights, for the crowds, for 
 my home, for my people, for my art. And there are 
 little things besides which mean so much to a woman. 
 
 Salvator turned out to be a cur, his mission des- 
 picable, and yet no woman born can ever be without 
 some little tenderness for one whose love misleads 
 him. And I who sought to read a lesson to poor 
 Jesse, learned one for myself. I am no longer free, 
 but fettered, and proud of the chains. Love's chains, 
 worth more to me than that lost world. 
 
 And yet I wonder if in Heaven there are blessed 
 but weak little souls like mine, which grow weary 
 at times of the harps, chafed by their crowns of 
 glory, bored to tears with bliss, ready to give it all 
 up just for a nice gossip. That would be human. 
 
 Where spring has come like a visitation of angels, 
 where winter's loneliness is changing to summer's 
 happy solitude, I look into mirror pools, and see con- 
 tentment. Oh, how can civilized people realize the 
 
146 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 wonder and glamour of this paradise? Up in th«. 
 black pines it is winter still, but all our towered, 
 bayed, sculptured, sunny precipice is alive with flow- 
 ers and birds, while the slopes at the foot of the wall 
 are white with the blossom of wild orchards. Here 
 our bench pasture is a little sky with marigolds for 
 stars. Down in the lower canon the trees are in 
 summer leaf. The canaries are nesting, the hum- 
 ming-birds have just come, the bees are having a 
 wedding, just as Mendelssohn told us, and Jesse and 
 I are quite ashamed of ourselves, because the wid- 
 ow's reproachful eyes have found us out. We are 
 not really and truly grown up. 
 
 Why should the poor sour woman be afraid of 
 fairies ? But then you see I was dreadfully afraid of 
 the landlord, until, emerging gaunt and haggard 
 from his winter sleep, Eph came to inquire for 
 treacle. He had a dish of golden syrup, bless him, 
 and no baby short of nine feet from tip to tip, could 
 ever have got himself in such a mess. He still thinks 
 I'm rather dangerous. 
 
 One morning, it must have been the twenty-sixth, 
 I think, we had a caller, destined, I fear, to entry in 
 our visitor's book. Jesse had ridden off to see how 
 his ponies thrive on the new grass, Mrs. O'Flynn 
 
ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 147 
 
 was redding up after breakfast, and finding myself 
 in the way, I took my water colors down to Apex 
 Rock, to see if one sketch would hold winter, spring, 
 summer, as viewed from the center of wonderland. 
 
 Now our house being in full view from the apex, 
 and sound traveling magically in this clear at- 
 mosphere, I heard voices. Mrs. O'Flynn had a vis- 
 itor, and I was in such a jealous hurry to share the 
 gossip, that my sketch went over the cliff as I rose 
 to run. A rather handsome man, in the splendid 
 cow-boy dress, stood by a chestnut gelding, such a 
 horse aristocrat that I made sure he must sport a 
 coat of arms. Moreover, in a gingerly and reluctant 
 way, as though under orders, he was kissing Mrs. 
 O'Flynn. She beamed, bless her silly old heart! 
 
 Mrs. O'Flynn looks o^n her truthfulness as a qual- 
 ity too precious for every-day use, and so care- 
 fully has it been preserved that in her fifty-fourth 
 year it shows no signs of wear. Hence, on reaching 
 the house I was not surprised to find that her visitor 
 was a total stranger. 
 
 From chivalrous respect for women — the species 
 being rare on the stock range — cow-boys are shy, us- 
 ually tongue-tied. In a land where it is accounted ill- 
 bred to ask a personal question, as, for instance, to 
 
148 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 inquire of your guest his name, where he comes from, 
 or whither he is bound, cow-punchers take a pride in 
 their reticence. They never make obvious remarks, 
 ask needless questions, or interfere with matters be- 
 yond their concern. 
 
 In the cattle country a visitor asked to dismount, 
 makes camp or house his home, never suggesting by 
 word or glance a doubt that he is welcome to water, 
 pasturage, food, shelter, and warmth, so long as he 
 needs to stay. I had not invited this man to dis- 
 mount 
 
 Judged by these signs — chivalry, reticence, cour- 
 tesy — Mrs. O'Flynn's guest was not a cow-boy. His 
 florid manners, exaggerated politeness, and imitation 
 of our middle-class English speech stamped him 
 bounder, but not of the British breed. Later, in mo- 
 ments of excitement, he spoke New York, with a 
 twang of music-hall. 
 
 Even in so lonely a place it is curious to remember 
 that such a person should appeal to me. Still in his 
 common way the man had beauty, carried his clothes 
 well, moved with grace. So much the artist in me 
 saw and liked, but I think no woman could have seen 
 those tragic eyes without being influenced. 
 
 "Ah! Mrs. Smith, I believe?" He stood uncovered. 
 
ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 149 
 
 "May I venture to ask if your husband is at home? 
 I think I had the pleasuah of knowing him years ago 
 down in Texas." 
 
 "He'll be back by noon." 
 
 "Thank you, madam. Fact is, we were very much 
 surprised to see your chimney smoke. We thought 
 this exquisite place was quite unoccupied. Indeed!" 
 
 "Who's 'we' ?" 
 
 "Oh, we're the outfit riding for General Schmidt. 
 We've come in search of the spring feed. We were 
 informed that Ponder's place was unoccupied, open 
 to all. Am I mistaken in supposing that this is Pon- 
 der's place?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "Er — ^may I venture to ask if your husband holds 
 squatter's rights, or has the homestead and preemp- 
 tion?" 
 
 "You may ask my husband." 
 
 "Thank you, madam. Our foreman instructed me 
 to say that if the place proved to be occupied, I was 
 to ask terms for pasturage. We've only two hun- 
 dred head." 
 
 "Mr. Smith will consider the matter." 
 
 "We're camped in a little cave at the south end 
 of the bench, deuced comfortable." 
 
ISO A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Of course I know I'm a fool, and expect to be 
 treated as such. But this man claimed to have 
 camped at the South Cave without passing this 
 house, which was impossible. 
 
 "Camped at South Cave?" said I. "In that event 
 I need not detain you. Mr. Smith no doubt will 
 call on you after dinner. Good morning, sir." 
 
 But this was not to his mind, and I gathered 
 vaguely that my husband was not really wanted at 
 the Bar Y camp. I even suspected that this visitor 
 would rather deal with me than see my husband. 
 It required more than a hint to secure his departure. 
 
 Jesse returned at noon. He had set off singing, 
 but at dinner he was so thoughtful that he never 
 even noticed my casserole, a dish he was expected 
 to enjoy, and when he tried afterward to light an 
 empty pipe, I saw that there was something wrong. 
 He received the story of our caller with the noises 
 of one displeased. "That visitor, Kate," he summed 
 up, "would make a first-class stranger. Knew me, 
 you say, in Texas?" 
 
 Hearing from her kitchen Mrs. O'Flynn's sharp 
 grunt of dissent, I closed the door. 
 
 "You've left the key-hole open," said Jesse, rising 
 from the table, "come for a walk." 
 
ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 151 
 
 "Now, Kate dear," Jesse sat down beside me on 
 the Apex Rock, "this morn you got your first 
 lesson in robbers. How would you like a visit to 
 old Cap Taylor at Hundred Mile?" 
 
 My voice may have quivered just a little. "Dan- 
 ger?" I asked. 
 
 "I dunno as there's actual danger, but if I jest 
 knowed you was safe, I'd be free to act prompt." 
 
 "Tell me everything, Jesse." 
 
 "Up at the north end of the bench, there's maybe 
 two hundred head of strange cattle. One pedigree 
 short-horn bull is worth all of twenty-five hundred 
 dollars, and there's a Hereford stud I'd take off my 
 hat to anywheres. There's Aberdeens or Angus — • 
 I get them poll breeds mixed — and a bunch of Jer- 
 seys grazing apart, purty as deer. Anyways, that 
 herd's worth maybe two hundred thousand dollars, 
 every hoof of 'em stolen, and if you raked all them 
 millionaire ranches in California I doubt you'd get 
 that value." 
 
 "How do you know they're stolen?" 
 
 "No stock owner needs that amount of stud cattle. 
 We don't raise such in the north, so they've been 
 drifted in here from the States. They're gaunt 
 with famine and driving, and it beats me to think 
 
1S2 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 how many more's been left dead crossing the Black 
 Pine country. The Bar Y brands has been faked. 
 The parties herding 'em waits till I'm away, and 
 tries to make a deal with you for pasturage. The 
 gent with the sad eyes is sent dressed up to fool a 
 woman." 
 
 "But how could even robbers collect such a won- 
 derful herd?" 
 
 "Kate, in them western states there's just about 
 four hundred cow thieves working together, which 
 you'll see them advertised in the papers robbing 
 coaches, trains, pay for mining-camps, or now and 
 again some bank. Still that's just vacations, and 
 the main business is lifting cattle. 
 
 "Ye see, Kate, they'd collect an occasional stud, 
 such as these here imported thoroughbreds, too good 
 to lose, too well-known to sell, too hot to hold. 
 They'd keep 'em in some hid-up pasture. But some- 
 times the people prods the sheriffs to get a move on, 
 or Uncle Sam sends pony soldiers to play hell with 
 the sovereign rights of them holy western states. 
 Then the robbers is apt to scatter down in store 
 clothes, for a drunk at 'Frisco. This time I seen in 
 the papers that Uncle Sam is rounding up his rob- 
 
ROBBERY-UNDER-ARMS 153 
 
 bers, so naturally the pick of their stealings requires 
 hiding. They'd drive north for the British posses- 
 sions, but on the plains there's too much mounted 
 police, whereas this British Columbia has one dis- 
 trict constable to a district the size of the old 
 country. Yes, they'd come to this province, and this 
 here ranch of ours is a sort of North Pole to the 
 stock range. Since old man Ponder quit out, and I 
 squatted, only the neighbors know that the ranch is 
 claimed. 
 
 "Now, Kate," his great strong arm closed round 
 me like a vise. "The hull country knows you're 
 clear grit, so there's no shame in leaving. For my 
 sake, dear — " 
 
 "Do you think I'd leave you in danger?" 
 
 He sighed. "I knew it. I cayn't help it, and, 
 Kate, it's the truth, I'd rather see you dead than 
 scared. There's Madam Grizzly, and Senora Cou- 
 gar, there's Lady Elk, and even Mrs. Polecat, brave 
 as lions. I'd hate to have my mate the only one to 
 run like a scalded cat." 
 
 "The program, Jesse?" 
 
 "Do you remember, Kate, how we lost five dollars 
 finding out that Dale and me is signalers?" 
 
154 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "And Captain Taylor gave us the signals to raise 
 the district: one fire for feasts, two for help, three 
 for war!" 
 
 "That's it, little woman. By dusk I'll be on top 
 of the cliffs, and make my fires back from the rim- 
 rock, where them robbers won't see the glare." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE ROUND-UP 
 Jesse's Narrative 
 
 WHILE I made signal fires on the top of the 
 cliff, Mr. Robber came to find out from my 
 wife why for I hadn't called to leave my card at the 
 South Cave. He's picturesque, says she, hair like a 
 raven's wing, eyes steel-blue, scarf indigo striped 
 with orange, shirt black silk, woolly shaps out of a 
 Wild West show, gold and silver fixings, Cheyenne 
 saddle, carbine of some foreign breed, or maybe a 
 Krag, manners fit for a king, age thirty-four, height 
 six feet two inches, chest only thirty-eight, and such 
 a sad smile — all of this will be useful to the police. 
 
 He tried all he knew to get out of being photo- 
 graphed, which I wisht I'd been there, for it must 
 have been plumb comic, but we all submits when 
 Kate gets after us. That reminds me that if he 
 can't capture the camera and plate, we're apt to be 
 burnt out by accident. 
 
156 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 She led him on and made him talk. If his boss 
 knew how much Kate has down in her note-book, 
 this guy with the sad eyes would get kicked all 
 round the pasture. When I axed if the robber 
 made love to her, my wife just laughed, and turned 
 away, telling me not to be a fool; but the blush 
 came round her neck. 
 
 I dunno. Perhaps it's my liver, so I'm taking 
 the only medicine I have, which it tastes like lini- 
 ment. Is it liver, of am I getting to dislike this 
 person ? 
 
 II 
 
 So happens, while I was writing, Billy O'Flynn 
 comes along with the pack outfit on his way to 
 Sky-line. He wanted to know why I made them 
 fires, so I explained I was making a clearing up 
 thar for Kate's spring chrysanthemums. (She spelt 
 that word, which had me bogged down to the 
 hocks.) It may be liver, or my squeam inflamed, 
 but my mind ain't easy, and the Sky-line folk may 
 think I'm only joshing with them fires. 
 
 I can't leave Kate to ride for help, I can't shift 
 her, I can't send Billy to the constable without 
 breaking my contract with the Sky-line, and I don't 
 
THE ROUND-UP 157 
 
 divulge nothin' to William O'Flynn, Esquire, who 
 talks to the moon rather than waste conversation. 
 
 If I make a letter for Dale, and slip it into the 
 pouch, Billy won't know, or gossip if he happens to 
 meet in with stray robbers. I'll get him up and 
 off by midnight to the Sky-line, in time for the sup- 
 per pies, and the boys will be surging down to the 
 ferry before to-morrow midnight. Now I must 
 make up some lies to hasten Billy's timid footsteps 
 along the path of duty. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Billy hastened away at midnight to tell Dale that 
 pigeon's milk is selling at eighty-four and three- 
 fourths. He believes that if he can get that secret 
 intelligence to Iron in good time, he's to share the 
 profits. Fact is, that Iron's late wife made him the 
 laughing-stock of the plains over some joke she put 
 up on him connected with pigeon's milk, so that 
 Billy's share of the profits will be delivered on the 
 toe of Dale's boot. He's breaking records to make 
 the Sky-line quick. 
 
 Nothing happened this morning, except Bull Dur- 
 ham, calling himself Brooke. He, the gent with the 
 
158 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 sad eyes, who came to make love to my wife. He 
 paid me one hundred dollars for pasturage. Then 
 I axed him to stay dinner, and Kate says she never 
 seen me so talkative. Bull found out which weeks 
 the Cariboo stage carries specie, and how many 
 thousand dollars a month in amalgam comes down 
 from the Sky-line camp. He even dragged out of 
 me that old Surly Brown, the miser, has fifteen 
 thousand dollars buried under the dirt floor of his 
 cabin — which reminds me that if Brown's home be- 
 comes the scene of a mining stampede, I'll have to 
 keep shy of his rifle. I owned up that our provincial 
 constable is in bed with the mumps at Alexandria — 
 temperature of a hundred and six in the shade. I 
 sort of hinted that he was prejudiced agin me for 
 belonging to the Society for Prevention of Cruelty 
 to Animals, and because I was suspected of adopting 
 poor, dumb, driven cattle which had happened to 
 stray within range of my branding-iron. He even 
 learned I'd rode for the Lightning outfit, and from 
 this jumps on to the conclusion I must have be- 
 longed once to the Tonto gang of outlaws. This 
 might account for me being hid up here in the 
 British possessions. Our mutual acquaintance, even 
 at Abilene, was all candidates for the gallows, or 
 
THE ROUND-UP 1S9 
 
 such of the dear departed as had been invited to 
 the hereafter by Judge Lynch. Yes, he showed a 
 great gift of faith, and got both his photo and the 
 negative to show there was no ill feeling. I'm 
 pastoral, harmless, simple, raised for a pet. 
 
 Leaving Kate hid in a ruined shack, half-way to 
 the ferry, I was down by eleven P. M. to the bank of. 
 the river, hailing old man Brown. So soon as he'd 
 brung me acrost, I sent him to ride for all he was 
 worth and collect our constable, which cost me eight- 
 een dollars and a horse. The money is severe, but 
 I'll get even on horse trades. 
 
 From midnight to one A. M. I put in the time cuss- 
 ing Dale; from then till two A. M. I felt that nobody 
 loved me; from two A. M. to half past, I was 
 scheming to take the robbers single-handed. At 
 two thirty-five Dale rolled up with nine men from 
 Sky-line, mounted on Billy's ponies, besides 
 O'Flynn, and Ransome Pollock, who may be good 
 for a burnt offering but ain't much use alive. 
 
 Of course, having raised the country, I'd got to 
 make good, producing a business proposition and 
 robbers to follow. Iron has no sense of humor any- 
 how, and can't see jokes unless the prices is wrote 
 plain on their tickets. He's come to this earth after 
 
i6o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 dollars. If a batch of robbers is liable to cost him 
 fifty dollars a day, and only fetches fifty-one dol- 
 lars a day on the contract, his mine is better money, 
 so he rolls his tail and takes away his men. That's 
 Iron Dale seven days in the week. 
 
 He's right smart, too, at holding a business meet- 
 ing, so when I'd ate cranberry pie, which is a sort of 
 compliment from the mine, and the boys has some 
 of Brown's tea as a donation from me, the conven- 
 tion sits down solemn to talk robbers. 
 
 Moved and seconded that hold-ups ain't encour- 
 aged in her majesty's dominions, and we hands 
 these robbers to the constable as his lawful meat, 
 but we got to get 'em first. 
 
 Resolved that there's money ia it. The owners 
 of them cattle had ought to be grateful and show 
 their gratitude, 'cause otherwise the stock is apt to 
 scatter. Proposed that we hit the trail right away, 
 with Iron Dale for leader. Carried, with symptoms 
 of toothache disabling one of his men. 
 
 Dale told off O'Flynn and Branscombe to stam- 
 pede the cattle just at glint of dawn, sending 'em 
 past the cave, and shooting and yelling as if there 
 was no hereafter. That should interest the robbers, 
 and bring them out of the cave which overlooks our 
 
THE ROUND-UP i6i 
 
 pasture. Looking down at a sharp angle, they 
 weren't likely to hit our riders, whereas our postse, 
 posted in good cover with a steady aim, could attend 
 to the robbers with promptness and despatch. 
 
 Crossing the ferry our main outfit left Billy and 
 Branscombe to start drifting the cattle southward, 
 while we rode on to take up our positions around the 
 cave. With dawn coming on, and Kate alone in 
 that shack, I wanted the boys to gallop, whereas 
 Dale said he'd no use for broken legs. The night 
 was dark as a wolf's mouth. 
 
 In the ruined shack, half-way to our home, Kate 
 was to have a candle, screened so that it could only 
 be seen from our trail. As soon as we rose the 
 edge of the bench, and a mile before we would reach 
 the shack, I seen the candle and knew that she was 
 safe. We passed my fence, we crossed the half- 
 mile creek, we gathered speed along the open pas- 
 ture, and then Kate's yell went through me like a 
 knife. The robbers must have had a man on night 
 herd, and found her by that light ! 
 
 Dale's hand grabbed my rein, and with a growl 
 he halted our whole outfit. "Steady," says he, "you 
 fool!" Then in a whisper, as his men came crowd- 
 ing in: "Dismount! Ransome, hold horses! Sam, 
 
1 62 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 take three men afoot round the rear of that cabin. 
 I take the rest to close in the front. Siwash, and 
 Nitchie Scott, find enemy's horses and drift them 
 away out of reach. No man to whisper, no man to 
 make a sound, until I lift my hand at that cabin 
 window. After, that, kill any man who tries to es- 
 cape. Get a move on !" 
 
 So, with me at his tail, he crept along from cover 
 to cover, waving hand signals to throw his squad 
 into place. The enemy's five horses at the door were 
 led off by Billy's Siwash arriero, and Nitchie Scott, 
 so gently that the robbers thought they were graz- 
 ing. By that time Dale and me was at the window 
 gap on the north side of the shack, but the candle 
 was in our way, we couldn't see through its glow, 
 and it wasn't till we got round to the door hole that 
 we'd a view of what was going on inside. 
 
 My wife stood in the nor'west, right, far corner. 
 A man with a gray chin whisker and a mournful 
 smile, with his gun muzzle in her right ear, was 
 shoving her head against the wall. Bull was talking 
 as usual, explaining how his tact was better'n 
 Whiskers' gun at persuading females. Ginger was 
 trying to assuage Bull. The greaser was keeping 
 
THE ROUND-UP 163 
 
 a kind of lookout, although he couldn't see from the 
 lighted room into the dark where we was. Ginger 
 clapped his paws over Bull's mouth before the pro- 
 ceedings went on. 
 
 "Now," says Whiskers sadly, "are you goin' to 
 scream any more?" 
 
 Kate's face was dead white with rage. "You cur," 
 said she, "I screamed because my — ^you're hurting 
 me, you brute! Leave off if you want to hear one 
 word from me. Leave off! That's better. No, I 
 won't scream again." 
 
 The gun sight was tearing her ear as she screwed 
 her head around, looking him full in the eyes. "If 
 you do me any harm," she said, "my husband's 
 friends won't let you off with death. They'll burn 
 you. Stand back, you coward !" 
 
 He flinched back just a little, and I saw his hand 
 drawing slowly clear of her head. 
 
 "Get your horses," she cried out sharp, "you've 
 barely time to escape !" 
 
 Then I fired, the bullet throwing that hand back, 
 so that it contracted on the gun. His revolver shot 
 went through the rear wall. The hand was spoiled. 
 
 "Now, hands up, all of you!" Dale yelled. 
 
1 64 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Hands up ! Drop your guns !" One of the robbers 
 was raising his gun to fire, so I had to kill him. The 
 rest surrendered. 
 
 "Kate," said I, sort of quiet, and she came to me. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE STAMPEDE 
 Jesse's Narrative 
 
 BEING married to a lady, and full of dumb 
 yearnings for reform, I axed Dale when he 
 was down to Vancouver to dicker for a book on eti- 
 quette. Deportment for Gents being threw at a 
 policeman and soiled, Dale only paid six bits; but 
 I tossed him double or quits, and come out all right. 
 As to the book, it's wrote mighty high and severe 
 by Professor Aaron E. Honeypott, but when I tried 
 some on my wife she laughed so she rolled on the 
 floor. I know now that when I sweats at a dance 
 I'm not to hang my collar on the chandileer, or 
 press bottled beer on my partner. If ever I get to 
 a town I'm to take the outside of the sidewalk, wipe 
 my gums on the mat, and wash before I use them 
 roller towels. But it doesn't say when I'm to wear 
 my boots inside my pants, or how old Honeypott 
 chews without having to spit, or what to say when 
 Jones kicks me in the morning, or in deadfall tim- 
 
 165 
 
i66 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 ber, or when a bear dislikes me, or any unusual acci- 
 dent in this vale of tears ; and there ain't one word 
 about robbers. 
 
 I Which these robbers we got in the cave is a dis- 
 appointment. This old man what leads them with a 
 plume on his face, ought to have more deportment, 
 for screwing a gun in Kate's ear ain't no sort of 
 manners. Even after I'd shot his hand to chips, he 
 grabbed Ransome's gun with his left and tried to 
 make me lie down. There's some folks jest don't 
 know when you give them a hint 
 ' And Bull, with the sad eyes, ought to comport 
 himself around like a Honeypott, seeing the way he 
 was raised, and how he claims on me his ancient 
 friendship. While we lashed his thumbs behind 
 him, he told us he'd been educated at Oxford and 
 Cambridge. 
 
 "What!" Kate flashed out, "after leaving Eton 
 and Harrow?" 
 
 "Yes, and I've enough education to guess this 
 ain't no way to treat American citizens. You'll hear 
 of this," he shouted, "from Uncle Sam !" 
 
 "Thar," says Dale, "I knew there'd be rewards 
 for you, dead or alive. How much? Two thousand 
 dollars a head ?" 
 
THE STAMPEDE 167 
 
 Then old Whiskers ordered this Bull to shut his 
 head. He's a curious, slow, mournful voice, like a 
 cat with the toothache. 
 
 "I demand—" 
 
 "Shut up." 
 
 So Bull shut up while we lashed him, likewise 
 young Ginger and the greaser. Seeing the fellow 
 I'd killed might want an inquest, we laid him 
 straight in the ruined shack, and then marched our 
 prisoners off to South Cave, where they'll wait until 
 we get our constable to arrest them. 
 
 II 
 
 Now on the second day after we captures these 
 ladrones, along toward supper, the depositions of 
 the various parties is as follows, viz. ; 
 
 Up to the ruined shack two mile north of my 
 home, lies the remains of one robber expecting an 
 inquest. Two miles south, right where the upper 
 cliff cuts off the end of our pasture, there's our cave 
 full of captured bandits, to wit; Whiskers, Bull 
 Durham, Ginger, and the dago. Down on the 
 bench in front of the cave is our guard-camp with 
 Iron Dale in command, and Kate with the boys hav- 
 ing supper. Right home at the ranch house is me 
 
i68 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 finishing my chores, and the widow spoiling hash 
 for my supper, because she hates me worse nor 
 snakes for being a Protestant. Away off beyond 
 the horizon is old man Brown cussing blue streaks 
 'cause he can't find much constable. 
 
 Such being the combinations at supper-time, along 
 comes the widow's orphan, young Billy O'Flynn, 
 who handles my pack contract with the Sky-line. 
 He's supposed to be on duty at the guard-camp, and 
 his riding back to the home ranch completely dis- 
 arranges the landscape. I'm busy, hungry, and ex- 
 pected to take charge of the night guard at the cave, 
 but somehow this Billy attracts my attention by act- 
 ing a whole lot suspicious. Instead of bringing me 
 some message from Dale, he rides straight to the 
 lean-to kitchen, steps oflf his pony, and whispers for 
 his mother. I sneaks through the house to the 
 kitchen in time to see this widow with a slip of 
 paper, brown paper what we used to wrap up the 
 prisoners' lunch. At sight of me she gets modest, 
 shoving it into the stove, but I becomes prominent, 
 and grabs it. "Shure," she explains, "an' it's only 
 a schlip a v paper!" 
 
 Seems to be scratches on the smooth side of this 
 paper, sort of reminding me that Bull has a fountain- 
 
THE STAMPEDE 169 
 
 pen sticking out of his vest pocket. If he's been 
 writing with milk, I'd warm the paper — ^but no, we 
 use canned milk, and haven't got any either. I've 
 heard faintly somewheres of things wrote in spittle, 
 so I pours on a bottle of ink, and rinses the paper in 
 the water-butt. Yes, there's the message plain as 
 print. 
 
 "Gun to hand, but cartridges wrong size, no good. 
 Get .45. Billy to wait with ponies under nearest 
 pine N. of cave, when plough above N. Star. Send 
 more gum for chief's wound. — Bull." 
 
 Billy was mounting at the door to put out for 
 solitude, but since he knows I can't miss under two 
 hundred yards, he was persuaded to come into the 
 cabin. There I read him some of the etiquette about 
 keeping his temper, and not using coarse language. 
 Also I told him politely what I thought of him, and 
 where he'll go when he dies. He waited, stroking 
 the little fur on his muzzle, till I got through, look- 
 ing so damned patient with me that I came near 
 handing him one in the eye. 
 
 "You invited these robbers to my grass?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
I70 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Thanks to you, my wife had a gun muzzle 
 screwed round in her ear." 
 
 "Bet she squinted !" said Billy. 
 
 If I lose my temper, I can't shoot, and Billy knew 
 that well. "She's up agin it good and hard," said 
 he. 
 
 "Agin what?" 
 
 "Making a silk purse out of a sow's ear." 
 
 "You lop-eared, mangy, pig-faced, herring- 
 gutted son of a — " 
 
 "From the Etiquette?" asked Billy. "I don' 
 think much of you, anyway. Mother ain't got no use 
 for you either, or any of the neighbors, you old cow 
 thief!" 
 
 Now if Billy talked so big as all that, it must be 
 to astonish his mother. So she must be at the key- 
 hole, and sure enough I heard her grind her stump 
 with the backache from stooping down. Happens 
 Mrs. Smith has a garden squirt which it holds a 
 gallon, so while I kep' young Billy interested with 
 patches of etiquette, I took off the rose, filled the 
 squirt, and let drive through the key-hole into the 
 widow's ear. At that she lifted up her voice and 
 wept. 
 
 Feeling better, I resumed the conversation. 
 
THE STAMPEDE 171 
 
 "Billy," sez I, smooth as cream, while I filled the 
 squirt, "on the shelf there you'll find a little small 
 bottle." In my dim way I aimed to get him excited, 
 and talkative, divulging secrets with all his heart. 
 Then afterward I'd like him asleep, out of mischief. 
 
 "Get your bottle yourself," says he, sort of defiant, 
 so I let drive at him with the squirt. 
 
 "If you please," said I, and he got the bottle all 
 right. 
 
 "If you don't mind," said I, "will you just draw 
 the cork?" 
 
 "And if I won't?" 
 
 I took my squirt and watched him pull the cork. 
 
 "Thank you," sez I, seeing how beautiful is the 
 uses of true politeness. "Now may I trouble you to 
 spill what's left in the bottle into that there goblet? 
 Now be so kind." 
 
 "I refuse!" 
 
 The squirt won't scare any more Billy, so I exhib- 
 its my gun. 
 
 "I regrets to remark, Mr. O'Flynn, that this gun 
 acts sort of sudden." 
 
 "Shoot, and you go to jail !" 
 
 "But first, my dear young friend, I've time to lop 
 off a few fingers, one at a time — won't miss them all 
 
172 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 at once. May I request you to pour out the medi- 
 cine ? No — not on the floor, please, but into the gob- 
 let, while I observe that your right thumb seems 
 tender after that cut, and ought to be treated. So, 
 a little more. That's right. Now honor me by add- 
 ing a little water from the pitcher. Thank you. 
 Thumb feeling easier? Well, that there laudanum 
 soothes the fractious infant, and causes a whole 
 lot of repose. Quite sweet without sugar. Yes, 
 please, you'll lift the goblet to your mouth while I 
 watch that nothing goes wrong with your pug nose. 
 You want to throw back your head, you treacherous 
 swine. Drink, or I'll splash your brains on the 
 floor!" 
 
 "I daren't! It's poison!" 
 
 "It's bullets— you'd better! Drink, or I'll kill 
 you! Drink! One — ^two — much obliged, I'm sure. 
 Hope you'll sleep well." 
 
 "Curse you !" he shrieked, and flung the glass at 
 my head. 
 
 Then down came the widow like a landslide. She 
 scratched my face, confessed my sins, sobbed over 
 her darling Billy avick, prescribed for my future, 
 wrung her wet frock, and made a soap emetic for 
 her off'spring all at once. It's a sure fact that widow 
 
THE STAMPEDE 173 
 
 was plenty busy, and what with slinging that emetic 
 at the patient, and gently introducing the lady to the 
 kitchen cupboard, wall, I declare I didn't have a 
 dull moment. Then distant shots brought us up all 
 standing. 
 
 "At last!" Billy shouted, "they're off!" 
 
 "Who's off?" 
 
 "Father and his men — escaped while I kep' you 
 in talk. Fooled, Jesse! Fooled! I fooled you 
 to the eyes! My father's Larry O'Flynn, Captain 
 Larry O'Flynn, captain of the outlaws !" My, there 
 was pride in the lad! He sat on the table in the 
 dusk, fighting to keep awake, rubbing his eyes with 
 his sleeve. "He's give me leave to join, and I'm 
 hitting the trail to-night — hitting the trail, d'ye 
 hear?" His eyes closed, his voice trailed off to a 
 whisper, and then once more he roused. "I'm a 
 wolf!" he howled. "I come from Bitter Creek! 
 The higher up, the worse the waters, and I'm from 
 the source! Robbery-under-arms, and don't you 
 forget it. Mister Jesse Smith!" He rocked from 
 side to side, gripping hard at the table, muttering 
 threats. 
 
 Outside I could hear a rider coming swift, and 
 Dale's voice hailing, "Jesse! Jesse!" 
 
174 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Jesse," the lad was muttering, "lift his stock, and 
 his woman, burn his ranch, and put his fires out — ■ 
 thatsh the way to — " 
 
 Dale had stepped from his horse, and stood in the 
 doorway, making it dark inside. "Where in blazes 
 are you ?" 
 
 "Look," said I, and Dale watched, for the boy, 
 dead pale, was lurching from side to side, his eyes 
 closed, his lips still moving. 
 
 "Only drugged," said I. "Who let them robbers 
 escape ?" 
 
 "Ransome Pollock," said Dale. 
 
 "Who else?" 
 
 "Dave." 
 
 "How's his poor tooth?" says I, and Dale ex- 
 plained he'd been clubbed. 
 
 Young O'Flynn rolled over, and went down 
 smash, so that I had to kneel, and try if his heart 
 was all right. It thumped along steady and give no 
 sign of quitting. 
 
 "I had to," said I, "old Whiskers yonder is the 
 widow's husband, and father to this boy. He's clear 
 grit, Iron." 
 
 "Where's the widow?" 
 
THE STAMPEDE 175 
 
 "Resting." I heard horses come thundering out 
 of the dusk. "Robbers broke south ?" 
 
 "Yep." 
 
 "Hev they grow'd wings?" 
 
 "Nope." 
 
 "Can't swim the Eraser?" 
 
 "Bottled?" said he, cheering up. 
 
 "Some," says I. "Not corked yet. You want to 
 make a line here quick, from the foot of the upper 
 cliff to the edge of the river, and each man make 
 three big fires. Then post half your men to tend 
 fires, and the best shots to hold that line with rifles. 
 Them robbers has got to break through when they 
 knows they're cornered. Here's your boys. Iron. 
 Git a move on !" 
 
 "That's so," says Dale, and in two shakes of a 
 duck's tail he was throwing his men into line. Seems 
 that some of the boys rode the robbers' horses, and 
 the rest were bareback on my pack-ponies, so Kate 
 had a fine gallop home with the mob. But when she 
 saw what I'd prescribed for Billy's symptoms, she 
 wasn't pleased, and by the time she'd made herself 
 content, I had to be off on duty. Meanwhile the 
 widow, wild and lone, had flew; so that left Kate 
 
176 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 without help, her Job being coffee to keep the boys 
 awake till we'd daylight to corner the robbers. 
 
 Men watching on a strain like that get scary as 
 cats, so by moonset some of our warriors would 
 loose off guns at stumps, trees, rocks, or Just because 
 they felt lonesome. After the moon went down, dry 
 fuel got scant, so that the fires waned, and some of 
 our young men must have seen millions of outlaws. 
 When at last something actually happened, it was 
 natural that Ransome should have adventures. He 
 wasn't built for solitude, and when he seen a flag 
 wave from behind a bush, he called the boys from 
 left and right to bunch in and corroborate. The flag 
 kep' waving, and presently two more of our men had 
 to Join the bunch because they couldn't shout their 
 good advice, lest the robbers hear every word. I 
 was away to Apex Rock, Iron down in the canon, 
 and these blasted idiots talked. 
 
 Of course old Whiskers knew that antelope will 
 always creep up to inspect any waving rag. Before 
 the excitement was properly begun he and his rob- 
 bers slipped through our broken line. 
 
 If Ransome has time to aim he's dangerous to the 
 neighbors, but since the odds were a thousand to 
 
THE STAMPEDE 177 
 
 one the gun would kick him as far as next Thurs- 
 day, I'd have bet my debts he wouldn't hit the party 
 with that flag. Yet that's what happened. He got 
 the widow O'Flynn. 
 
 With one heart-rending, devastating howl she 
 went to grass, and she did surely shriek as if there 
 was no hereafter. Murthered in the limb she was, 
 and as I left to follow the sounds of them escaping 
 robbers, I didn't have time to send a carpenter. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER 
 
 Jesse's Narrative 
 
 WITH creditors, women, robbers, and every- 
 thing dangerous, you want to be chuck full 
 of deportment, smooth as old Honeypott, and a 
 whole lot tactful. Anything distractful or screech- 
 ing disturbs one's peace of mind, and sends one's 
 aplomb to blazes, just when a bear trap may happen 
 at any moment. I traveled for all I was worth to 
 put that widow behind me, and compose my mind. 
 Which her wolf howls was plumb deplorable. It 
 wasn't her limb. Indeed, she wanted excuses for 
 a new one ever since she seen that table limb in 
 my barn. It was her husband, Whiskers, depart- 
 ing, desperate to get away from her. And I don't 
 blame him. She was an irreverent detail anyhow, 
 diminishing gradual into the night, for if I let them 
 robbers once get out of hearing, they couldn't be 
 tracked till morning. The worst of it was I'd no 
 
 178 
 
THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER 179 
 
 smell dog; my Mick being sick with a cold and hot 
 fermentations, had his nose out of action. No, 
 the only thing was to get clear of the widow's con- 
 cert, and keep in hearing while the outlaws traveled. 
 I was laying a trail of torn paper, mostly unpaid 
 bills, so that the boys could find which way I'd gone. 
 
 Maybe I'd gone a mile before remorse gnawed 
 Whiskers because he'd abandoned the widow. He 
 paused, and as I came surging along, he lammed. me 
 over the head with a gun. 
 
 Yes, I was captured. They got my gun, too, 
 and marched me along between them. Mr. Bull, 
 he yapped like a coyote, full of glory's if he'd cap- 
 tured me himself. What with being clubbed, and 
 not feeling good just then, I didn't seem to be much 
 interested, although I put up a struggle wherever 
 the ground was muddy, leaving plenty tracks down 
 to the ferry, so that the boys would know which way 
 I'd been dragged. 
 
 Old man Brown was away, but as I'd left the 
 scow on the near bank, the robbers were able to 
 cross, and put the' Eraser between me and rescue. 
 That ought to have cheered them up, since it gave 
 them a start of several hours toward safety, but 
 instead of skinning out of British Columbia, as I 
 
i8o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 advised them with powerful strong talk, they'd got 
 to stop for breakfast on old Brown's beans and sow- 
 belly, cussing most plenteous because he wasn't there 
 to cook hot biscuits. 
 
 After breakfast they wasted an hour dressing his 
 paw for old Whiskers, and wondering whether 
 they'd waste one of my cartridges on me, or keep 
 them all for my friends. On that I divulged a lot 
 of etiquette out of my book. I told these misbegotten 
 offspring they'd been brung up all wrong, or they'd 
 have enough deportment to make tracks. "Now," 
 says I, "in the land of the free and the home of the 
 brave you been appreciated, whereas if you linger 
 here till sunup you'll be shot" 
 
 That made poor Whiskers still more suspicious, 
 wondering what sort of bear traps guileful Smith 
 was projecting. "Wants to get us up on the bench," 
 says he, "that means ware traps. We'll stay right 
 here, boys, for daylight, when we'll be able to see 
 ourselves, how to save them cattle." 
 
 "We'd better kill the prisoner," Bull argues, and 
 this reminds me of his ancient friendship. 
 
 "Shut your fool head," says Whiskers. "His 
 friends would rather us go free than see him killed 
 
THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER i8i 
 
 before their eyes. You've no more brains than a 
 poached owl." 
 
 "You're dead right, Whiskers!" says I. "Hair 
 on you !" 
 
 But he being fretful with his wound, orders his 
 men to disable Brown's fiddle, and lash me up with 
 catgut. Moreover, when I was trussed, this Bull 
 seen fit to kick me on the off chance, a part which 
 ain't referred to in polite society, especially with a 
 boot. 
 
 "Brave man!" says I, and the rest of them rob- 
 bers was so shamed they got me a gag. 
 
 "Sorry," says I, "pity I won't be able to guide you 
 to Brown's cigars. He keeps a bottle, too." 
 
 "Where are they ?" says Bull. 
 
 "Gag Brooke," said I, for Bull went by that name, 
 "and I'll divulge the drinks." 
 
 "Gag Brooke," says Whiskers, cheering up a little, 
 "pity he weren't born gagged." 
 
 So they gagged Mr. Brooke, and mounted him on 
 sentry while they had Brown's bottle of whisky and 
 cigars. I got some, too. 
 
 Of course these or'nary, no-account, range wolves 
 reckoned my friends would wait for day before they 
 attempted tracking. Whereas Dale got the lantern, 
 
1 82 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 found my paper trail, and guessed at the ferry. Be- 
 fore we entered the cabin, I'd seen the glint of that 
 lantern behind the rim of the bench, and I knew 
 our boys trusted me to keep the robbers somehow 
 down at the ferry-house. Ginger and the greaser 
 lay down for an hour's sleep, Mr. Brooke, gagged 
 and not at all pleased, kep' g^ard at the door, 
 Whiskers, since the liquor made his wound worse, 
 lurched groaning around the shack. At the first 
 glint of dawn, he ordered Bull to take out the gag 
 and lie down, then went to the door himself. 
 
 It's a pity that Dale, our leader, a sure fine shot, 
 has a slight cast in his near eye, which throws his 
 lead a little to the right. That's why, when 
 Whiskers went to the door, Dale's bullet only 
 whipped off his left ear. Instead of being grateful. 
 Whiskers skipped around holding the side of his 
 face, with remarks which for a poor man was ex- 
 travagant. The shot made Bull bolt courageous be- 
 hind the stove, to look for a bandage, he said, while 
 Ginger and the greaser sat up on their tails looking 
 sort of depressed. Not one of the four was happy 
 on finding that they'd bottled themselves in the cabin 
 instead of taking my advice and clearing for the 
 States. 
 
THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER 183 
 
 "Prisoner," says Whiskers, dolesome, holding his 
 poor ear, "you can talk to your friends acrost the 
 river ?" 
 
 "Why, certainly, Captain." 
 
 "What way?" 
 
 "Signaling." 
 
 "Then tell your friends that if they don't throw 
 all their guns into the river, you die at sunrise. 
 Have you got religion?" 
 
 "I didn't mention," says I, sort of thoughtful, 
 "that any of my friends can read the signals." 
 
 "Then," says he, in that suicide manner he had, 
 "they won't get your last sad words. Get them 
 weapons thrown in the river, or grab religion right 
 away, for you'll need it." 
 
 "Cut the catgut. Colonel." 
 
 So Ginger cut me free. 
 
 "Show a white flag. General," said I. 
 
 So Ginger waved a paper on a stick, and Dale re- 
 plied with a white scarf from his neck. 
 
 When I walked out, the boys acrost the river gave 
 three cheers, but I was halted from behind before 
 I'd got far sideways. "Now," says Whiskers, "sig- 
 nal, and pray that you won't be tempted to send 
 erroneous messages." 
 
184 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Remember," Bull shouts, "I can read Morse. No 
 fooling." 
 
 "All right, Mr. Brooke," I called back, "then I'll 
 use semaphore." 
 
 I heard Whiskers in tears directing his two 
 youngsters to put Mr. Brooke's head in the meal 
 sack, and sit hard on top. So I began to signal, 
 explaining each word to Whiskers. 
 
 Swim. "That," says I, "means 'Dale.' " 
 
 Pool. "That's 'fool,' " says I, 'because he don't 
 give the answer." 
 
 Below. "That's 'Hello.' " 
 
 Rapids. "That's 'Hello' again." 
 
 "You lie," says Whiskers, miserable, through his 
 teeth. "You made six letters." 
 
 "Sorry," says I, "it got spelt wrong first time." 
 
 Float. "That's 'skunk,' " says I, "because he's 
 a polecat not to answer me." 
 
 Guns. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Whiskers, heaps suspicious 
 because I couldn't think of another word of four let- 
 ters. "Hell !" says I. 
 
 "Quite right," sighed Whiskers, "to think of your 
 future home." 
 
 Dale signaled, Chming. 
 
THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER 185 
 
 "Says he's ready for the Epistle and Gospel now. 
 Spit it out, Whiskers." 
 
 "Tell him to throw his guns in the river, or I'll 
 shoot prisoner. And what's more, young man, you 
 don't want to call me Whiskers." 
 
 I wagged all that, word for word, as far as "Whis- 
 kers," and when the boys were through laughing, 
 Dale asked if the robbers were serious. 
 
 I explained to the general that Dale wouldn't wet 
 good guns to please a lot of — 
 
 "Lot of what?" 
 
 "Terms of endearment," says I, "which I blushes 
 for Dale's morals." 
 
 Dale signaled. Keep your tail up. 
 
 "Well, General," says I, "without being able to 
 read him exact, I guess Dale ain't drawing his men 
 off along the bank with your outfit to shoot them like 
 rabbits the moment they quit cover." 
 
 "Tell Dale," said Whiskers in his tired voice, "he 
 needn't trouble to take his men along the bank to 
 whar they can swim the river. Now if you had re- 
 ligion — " 
 
 I could have choked with grief. 
 
 "Tell Dale," says Whiskers, and his bereaved 
 voice kind of jarred me now, "we're just goin' to 
 
1 86 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 keep a gun at your ear-hole while we march up the 
 trail. If Dale's men fire, your wife will be a widow, 
 Mr. Smith." 
 
 At that I wagged my arms and ignaled. No call 
 to get wet. Hold-ups marching to Georgia. Kill man 
 with gun. If you miss, ware Widow Smith. You see 
 if Dale squinted and missed, my widow was apt to 
 reproach. So I added. Allow windage for squint. 
 
 Dale answered. You bet your life I will. 
 
 Then I swung round facing the cabin, and saw the 
 barrel of my own revolver just peering round the 
 door. By its height from the ground I judged that 
 poor young Ginger was the artist. I wished it had 
 been Bull, for I'd taken a fancy to Ginger. 
 
 "Well, gents," says I, "your umbrellas is in the 
 hat rack. All aboard for Robbers' Roost, and don't 
 forget the lunch." 
 
 Talking encourages me, and it seemed even betting 
 whether me or Ginger was booked right through to 
 glory. Yes, I talked to gain time for Ginger, and 
 for me a little, even persuading the robbers to take 
 no risks. I forgot how them sort of cattle drives by 
 contraries. I only set their minds on coming, and 
 heard their boss give orders. 
 
 He wanted me into the cabin, but I'd taken a dis- 
 
THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER 187 
 
 like to catgut, so Ginger got orders to shoot me. At 
 that I flared up. "Shoot," says I, "you skulking 
 cowards, scared to show your noses at the door. 
 Hold your off ear, Whiskers. Charge, you cursJ" 
 
 The chief came first, straight at me, and seemed to 
 climb over my foot on to his nose. Mr. Bull Brooke 
 got hurt on the nose too, and I'd Just time to hand 
 the greaser a left hander behind the ear, before I 
 went down on top of Whiskers, and the four of us 
 rolled in a heap. I learned when I was a sailor how 
 to argue. 
 
 Then I struggled, dragging my pile of robbers off 
 sideways, so that to keep me covered with the gun, 
 poor Ginger showed his red head in the doorway. 
 It was his life or mine, yet when the shot rang out 
 from across the river, and I saw the lad come crash- 
 ing to the ground, I felt sort of sick. Of course that 
 shot slacked the grip of the three robbers, so I 
 wrenched loose, struck hard, and jumped high, gain- 
 ing the north wall of the cabin. When I turned 
 round, our boys across the river were pouring hot 
 lead after the robbers as they dived through the door 
 of the shack. Ginger sprawled dead on the door- 
 step, and my gun, six paces off, lay in the dust. The 
 robbers were disarmed, and I was free. 
 
i88 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Boys," I called out to them, "you done like men. 
 You put up a good fight and it ain't no shame to sur- 
 render." 
 
 Mr. Bull Brooke's voice answered. 
 
 "Jesse, old friend!" 
 
 I heard a crash inside and guessed that Mr. 
 Brooke had been discouraged. 
 
 "Whiskers," I called, "don't make a mess of that 
 cabin with Mr. Brooke." 
 
 "All right, young fellow," said Whiskers, "we've 
 only put him back in the flour sack." 
 
 He spoke quite cheerful. 
 
 "Say, Whiskers," I called, "I want to save your 
 lives, you and the greaser. Come and throw up your 
 hands before you're hurt." 
 
 There was no answer. Rocky Mountain outlaws 
 may be mean and bad, but they fight like Americans, 
 and they know how to die. I'd only one way left to 
 force their surrender, and save their lives, so I hus- 
 tled brushwood, cord-wood, coal-oil from the shed, 
 piled up the fuel, and got a sulphur match from the 
 bunch in my hind pocket 
 
 "Boys," I called, "Old Brown sort of values this 
 place. It's .all the home he's got, and it ain't in- 
 sured." 
 
THE UNTRUTHFUL PRISONER 189 
 
 No answer. 
 
 The little flame lep' up and caught the brush- 
 wood, the crackling lifted to a roar, and the robbers 
 must surely know that their time was come, for if 
 they showed at the door they would be shot. I 
 grabbed my gun from the ground and ran to the 
 doorway to stop our boys from firing. Then I 
 shouted above the noise of the flames, "Come out and 
 throw up your hands !" 
 
 They came, poor fellows, and I made them pris- 
 oners, marching them down to the ferry. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 BREAKING THE STATUTES 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 AT Hundred Mile House the long table 
 had been removed from the dining hall, the 
 benches set back to the log walls, and at the head of 
 the room an enormous Union Jack draped a very- 
 small portrait of Queen Victoria. Beneath was the 
 chair, in front of it a table set with writing materials 
 and the Bible, while at one end the schoolma'am 
 looked very self-conscious as clerk, in official black, 
 with large red bows like signals of distress. 
 
 On the right sat Iron Dale, Jesse, and myself, and 
 all our posse, very ill at ease. On the left were two 
 gaunt American stockmen, both wearing hats, while 
 one had the star of a United States marshal. Be- 
 side them sat the general public, consisting of Tear- 
 ful George, two ranch-hands, an Indian, and the 
 captain's bulldog. Wee James, the captain's grand- 
 son, sat with the dog at first, but presently he inter- 
 
 190 
 
BREAKING THE STATUTES 191 
 
 rupted the court to say that he would like to sit on 
 me. He sat with considerable weight for so small a 
 person. 
 
 At Captain Taylor's entrance the constable or- 
 dered us all to stand. Every inch a naval officer, 
 bluff, ruddy, cheery, choleric, frightfully impres- 
 sive in a frock coat, he wore a Russian order slung 
 by a ribbon at his throat, and a little row of minia- 
 ture war medals, the ribbons, alas, too small to show 
 me of which campaigns. At sight of the two stran- 
 gers he mounted a single eye-glass, and stared with 
 growing wrath until they removed their hats. Then, 
 taking the chair, he permitted us to be seated and 
 ordered his constable to "Bring the prisoners aft." 
 
 Had our captives been washed and brushed, they 
 might not have looked so wretched or so guilty. Old 
 O'Flynn, described by Jesse as Whiskers, with his 
 head in a blood-stained bandage, his right hand in 
 a gory handkerchief, looked so ill that he was given 
 a seat. The Mexican, whose beautiful leather dress, 
 and soft dark eyesremindedmesharply of the opera- 
 house, seemed like a trapped wolf, only thinking of 
 escape to the nearest woods. Bull Durham's swag- 
 gering gallantry was marred by obvious traces of 
 the flour sack wherein he had been immersed by his 
 
192 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 disgusted chief, and the shower of rain which fol- 
 lowed. , 
 
 "Prisoners," said the magistrate. 
 
 At that moment the United States marshal squirt- 
 ed tobacco juice, adroitly hitting a spittoon distant 
 some fourteen feet 
 
 "Constable," said the magistrate austerely, "re- 
 move that person until he has washed his mouth." 
 Every man present had been furtively chewing to- 
 bacco, but no one who knew Captain Taylor in his 
 official mood would have presumed to spit. Every 
 jaw became rigid, every eye looked reproachfully at 
 the marshal, who rose protesting in stately sen- 
 tences that he represented the majesty of the people. 
 
 "Take his majesty out," said the captain with 
 dreadful calmness, "and put him under the pump." 
 
 The representative of the stock associations rose 
 to support his countryman. 
 
 "Clap them in irons," said the captain. "I'll have 
 no spitting on my quarter deck." 
 
 Jesse and Dale rose to assist the constable, and for 
 some stirring moments we were threatened with in- 
 ternational complications. Then in his quaint slow 
 drawl my husband obtained leave to address the 
 magistrate. "I got an American book right here," 
 
BREAKING THE STATUTES 193 
 
 said he, "in my hind pocket. It's called Deportment 
 for Gents. In real high-toned society, this Honey- 
 pott claims that Amurrican gentlemen chews, but 
 reserves the juice until they happens on a yaller 
 dawg. Then they assists that dawg with his com- 
 plexion." 
 
 The marshal stooped to pet the captain's bulldog. 
 
 "I'd help this yaller purp," said he, with a grave 
 smile, "if I'd thicker pants." 
 
 The captain chuckled and the case went on, our 
 visitors having "allowed that they didn't propose 
 to chew in a court of justice." 
 
 "Prisoners," said our justice of the peace, laying 
 his hand on the Bible, "this book contains the only 
 law I know. I'm not here as judge or lawyer, but 
 as one of Her Majesty's officers trusted to do the 
 sporting thing, and to deal fairly and squarely with 
 three innocent men who have the misfortune to be 
 charged with crime. You've only to prove to me 
 that you're innocent, and I have power to let you go 
 free. But I warn you to tell the truth." 
 
 "Seems a square deal. Cap," said Whiskers. 
 
 "It is a square deal. Now, would you like to have 
 some one of your countrymen as prisoners' friend?" 
 
 Whiskers looked reproachfully at the United 
 
194 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 States marshal who demanded his extradition, and 
 the representative of stock associations who offered 
 fabulous rewards for his body "dead or alive." 
 
 "Wall," he drawled, "not exactly." 
 
 "You other prisoners. Do you accept this man 
 as your spokesman ?" 
 
 "Sij senor." 
 
 "That's all right," said Bull. 
 
 "Prisoner O'Flynn, you are charged with assault- 
 ing a woman, you others with aiding and abetting. 
 Guilty or not guilty ?" 
 
 "It's a fact," said Whiskers sadly, "and all three 
 of us wishes to say what's got to be said" — ^he drew 
 himself up to his full height — "by gentlemen ! We 
 tried to force a lady to give her husband away. She 
 shamed us, and we honors Mrs. Smith for what she 
 done. She told us to go to blazes. Yes, sir! Wc 
 just owns up that we're guilty as hell, as the best 
 way of showing our respect." 
 
 "Gentlemen," Captain Taylor spoke very gently. 
 "I understand that you, O'Flynn, received two 
 wounds in punishment, and that two of your com- 
 rades were killed by the men who avenged this af- 
 front. Is that true?" 
 "It's a fact." 
 
BREAKING THE STATUTES 195 
 
 "The verdict of the court is, 'not guilty.* 
 
 "But prisoner, your confession proves the right of 
 the settlers to organize for defense of the settlement 
 until the constable could be brought to their help. 
 All you settlers who have taken part in the capture 
 of these prisoners are engaged by the province as 
 special constables from the day you undertook serv- 
 ice, until I give you your discharge. You will be 
 paid on such a scale as I direct. 
 
 "Rudolf Schweinfurth." 
 
 The marshal came forward and was sworn. 
 
 "You are a United States marshal?" 
 
 "Yes, your honor." 
 
 "You submit proof?" 
 
 The marshal's credentials were read. 
 
 "You claim these prisoners for extradition?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Sit down. Cyrus Y. Jones." The other stock- 
 man was sworn. "You are representative of certain 
 stock associations and submit proof? Right. You 
 claim certain cattle alleged to be stolen, and found 
 in possession of the prisoners ? Right. You submit 
 photographs identifying certain of these cattle and 
 evidence of theft. And you offer twenty-five thou- 
 
196 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 sand dollars' reward for recovery of the stock. Pay 
 that money into court and take my receipt 
 
 "Prisoners, you are charged in your own country 
 with robbery-under-arms and homicide in various 
 degrees. Now, I don't pretend to understand to 
 what particular degree you may or may not have 
 murdered people, but it seems to me that being killed 
 even to a very slight extent must be damned incon- 
 venient. I don't want to know whether you're guilty 
 or not guilty, because it's no business of mine. I do 
 know that this official who claims you represents the 
 republic. I have plenty of evidence that you were 
 found in this country under suspicious circumstances, 
 and that you proceeded to make yourselves a general 
 nuisance. If I committed you for vagrancy or as- 
 sault, it would delay you in a business which you 
 must have deeply at heart. I know that if I were 
 charged with a tenth part of these crimes I'd never 
 sleep until I proved my innocence. Do you or do 
 you not wish to prove your innocence?" 
 
 The prisoners scratched their heads. 
 
 "Marshal," said the magistrate. "I don't know 
 what my powers are in this matter, but it's evident 
 that the less red tape there is the sooner these men 
 will get the justice they rightly demand. I don't 
 
BREAKING THE STATUTES 197 
 
 want them. Give me a receipt and engage what 
 men you need for escort duty. You, Mr. Repre- 
 sentative, give me your receipt for the cattle. Now 
 clear out, and get to the States before you're inter- 
 fered with by any lop-eared officials. Constable, 
 hand over your prisoners. 
 
 "Mr. Dale and Mr. Smith, will you trust me as 
 magistrate to make a fair division of this reward? 
 All right. One-quarter goes to Dale, one-quarter 
 to Smith, and the other half to be equally divided 
 among you. Is that fair? All right, here's the 
 plunder. Let's get the table in and dinner served. 
 I'm famished." 
 
 So the court rose, and the dear old captain, hav- 
 ing, I believe, broken every statute in British Co- 
 lumbia jurisprudence, asked all hands and the pris- 
 oners to dinner. "Of course," he said afterward to 
 Jesse, "I ought to have committed you and Dale to 
 trial for homicide, fined you all round for using 
 guns without a license, turned the lawyers loose on 
 a fat extradition case, and impounded the cattle to 
 eat my grass at government expense. As it is, I'll 
 be hanged, drawn, and quartered by the politicians, 
 damned by the press, and jailed for thrashing edi- 
 tors. And I missed all the fun." 
 
198 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 After dinner the crowd broke up into little groups. 
 In one corner the American officials were bargaining 
 with Mr. Dale for his Sky-line men to ride with the 
 prisoners and the cattle. By the door stood Mr. 
 Brooke, explaining something at great length to our 
 bored constable. At the head of the long table 
 Captain Taylor was telling me how difficult it was 
 to find a suitable nursery governess for Wee James. 
 At the foot of the table I saw the Mexican whisper- 
 ing to his unfortunate chief — ^plans for escape, no 
 doubt. Then Jesse joined them, with a present of 
 pipes, matches, and tobacco to ease their journey. 
 
 "Mr. Smith," said poor old O'Flynn, "this yere 
 Sebastian Diaz has been with me these twelve year. 
 He's only a greaser — " 
 
 "Medio Sangre, senor!" said the half-breed 
 proudly. 
 
 "But he's got the heart of a white man. He's like 
 a son to me." 
 
 "I'm proud," said Jesse, "to make your acquaint- 
 ance, both of you. You are men, all right." 
 
 "We fought the rich men what had wronged us, 
 them and their breed. We put up a good fight. 
 Yes, sir! And we wouldn't have missed a mile of 
 
BREAKING THE STATUTES 199 
 
 that twelve years' trail. It wasn't our way to insult 
 women, Mr. Smith." 
 
 "You had to git that information somehow," said 
 Jesse, "and Mrs. Smith forgives you." 
 
 The old man bowed his head. 
 
 "Muchos gracias, caballero!" said the Mexican, 
 gently. 
 
 "That's off our minds, Mr. Smith." 
 
 "Mostly known as Jesse," said my husband. 
 
 "Jesse. We bin consulting, and we agree you're 
 the only man here we'd care to ask favors of." 
 
 "I'm your friend all right." 
 
 "Jesse, if we don't escape, we are due to pass in 
 our chips." 
 
 "I'm not going to help you escape." 
 
 "Wall, you haven't helped our escape to any great 
 extent, so far as I know." 
 
 Jesse chuckled. 
 
 "But I'm asking you to look after my wife and 
 my son." 
 
 "I'll do that." 
 
 "You'll save the boy from his father's trade?" 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "Put her thar." 
 
 And they shook hands. 
 
200 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Them horses we was riding," said the outlaw, 
 "is for my son." 
 
 "That's all right." 
 
 "And one thing more. This yere Brooke ain't 
 white." 
 
 "You don't say!" 
 
 The outlaw grinned. "You sized him up all right. 
 He joined us out of a Wild West show last fall. He's 
 never done nothin' to earn hanging or jail, being 
 too incompetent. But he's state's evidence enough to 
 hang us twenty times over. He'll get off. 
 
 "Moreover, Jesse, take a dying man's word. 
 That Brooke has an eye on your good lady. He's 
 your enemy from times far back at Abilene. He'll 
 live to do you dirt. Thar, I sort of hates to talk so 
 of one of my men, and I won't say no more. 
 
 "Say, my hands being hurt, will you just reach 
 Into my off hind pocket? That's right. There's a 
 gold watch. Take it, my time's up. Give that to 
 your lady from us as a sort of keepsake. Good-by, 
 partner." 
 
 "Good-by, friend." 
 
 ^Adios," said the Mexican. "Vaya usted con 
 Dios!" And the English of that is, "May you ride 
 with God !" 
 
BREAKING THE STATUTES 201 
 
 From the other end of the room Captain Taylor 
 and I were watching that little scene. Without 
 hearing a word we could understand so well. 
 "Young woman," said the captain, "when I was a 
 younger fool than I am now, I was a naval attache 
 at St. Petersburg. I'd seen how the Russian Bear 
 behaved at Sebastopol and I liked to watch how he 
 behaved in the Winter Palace. One day a Cossack 
 officer and his son came to make an appeal. Mrs. 
 officer had been a puss and bolted with one of 
 the court officials, so her husband and son wanted 
 leave to go after the man with their guns. They 
 were so miserable that they sat at a table and took 
 no notice of anybody or anything. After they'd 
 been sitting a long time, a man came and laid down 
 a case of dueling pistols on the table beside them. 
 I couldn't hear what he said, but he sat down with 
 them. Presently I saw him shake hands with the 
 general. 
 
 "Now your husband put something on the table, 
 and sat down with those wretched prisoners, and 
 presently shook hands with one of them. 
 
 "Your husband and that Russian chap did the 
 very same things in the very same way. Yes, you've 
 married a gentleman by mistake." 
 
202 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 I was puzzled. "Who was the Russian ?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh, didn't I tell you? He was the emperor." 
 
 After a minute, while I watched my royal man, 
 the captain laid his hand on mine. "Don't let these 
 loafers see you crying," he whispered. 
 
 "I'm not crying." I looked round to prove that 
 I was not crying, and as I did so, my glance fell 
 upon the old man's miniature medals. One of them 
 was the Victoria Cross. 
 
CHAPTER Xr 
 
 BILLY O'FLYNN 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 BOTH Jesse and I have a habit of committing 
 our thoughts to paper and not to speech. 
 Things written can be destroyed, whereas things 
 said stay terribly alive. I think if other husbands 
 and wives I know of wrote more and talked less, 
 their homes would not feel so dreadful, so full of 
 horrible shadows. There are houses where I feel 
 ill as soon as I cross the door-step, because the very 
 air of the rooms is foul with the spite, the nagging, 
 the strife of bitter souls. As to the houses where 
 horrors have taken place — despair, madness, mur- 
 der, suicide — these are always haunted, and sensitive 
 people are terrified by ghosts. 
 
 My pen has rambled. I sat down to write a thing 
 which must not be said. . 
 
 Jesse is cruel to young O'Flynn. Perhaps he is 
 justly, rightly cruel, in gibing at this young cow- 
 
 203 
 
204 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 boy, taunting him until the lad is on the very edge 
 of murder. "Got to be done," says Jesse, "I prom- 
 ised his father that I'd break the colt until he's fed 
 up with robbers. So just you watch me lift the dust 
 from his hide, and don't you git gesticulating on 
 my trail with your fool sympathies." Billy does 
 not suspect that the tormentor loves his victim. 
 
 My heart aches with his humiliation. His mother 
 is my cook, not a princess, as the boy's pride would 
 have her. His father was one of the most danger- 
 ous leaders of the Rocky Mountain outlaws, so 
 there the lad saw glory, and I don't blame him. 
 But all the glamour was stripped away when Jesse 
 tricked O'Flynn and his gang into surrender, hand- 
 ed them over to justice, and showed poor Billy his 
 sordid heroes for what they really were. His father 
 has been hanged. 
 
 Remember that this ranch, ablaze with romance 
 for me, is squalid every-day routine for Billy, whose 
 dreams are beyond the sky-line. He imagines rail- 
 ways as we imagine dragons, and the Bloomsbury 
 boarding-house from which my sister wrote on her 
 return from India is, from his point of view, a 
 place in the Arabian Nights. I read to him Taddy's 
 letter, about the new boarder from Selangor, who 
 
BILLY O'FLYNN 205 
 
 is down with fever, the German waiter caught read- 
 ing Colonel Boyce's manuscript on protective color 
 for howitzers, the tweeny's sailor father drowned 
 at sea, and the excitement in that humdrum house 
 when Lady Blacktail called. "Wish I'd had a 
 shot," said Billy wistfully, his mind on the black- 
 tail, our local kind of deer. Perhaps he saw forest 
 behind the boarding-house. "In the old country," 
 said he, "do the does call? Only the buck calls 
 here. Your folks is easy excited, anyways." 
 
 "Lady Blacktail," said I, "is a woman." 
 
 "What was she shouting about?" 
 
 "She just called — came to take tea, you know." 
 
 "Got no job of work?" 
 
 "Oh, but her husband, Sir Tom, was a very rich 
 man. He left her millions." 
 
 "Mother's first husband," said Billy, his mind 
 running on widows, "had lots of wealth. He kep' 
 a seegar stand down-town near the Battery, and had 
 a brass band when they buried him. Mother came 
 out West." 
 
 That night the lad had come from Hundred Mile 
 House, with Jesse's pack-train bearing a load of 
 stores. There was a dress length, music for my 
 dear dumpy piano, spiced rolls of bacon, much 
 
2o6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 needed flour and groceries, and an orange kerchief 
 for Billy. From his saddle wallets he produced 
 my crumpled letters and the weekly paper, a Van- 
 couver rag. Therein Jesse labors among tangles of 
 provincial politics, I gloat over the cooking recipes 
 of America's nice cuisine, and spare maybe Just a 
 sigh over the London letter. Billy's portion con- 
 sists of blood-curdling disasters and crimes, and the 
 widow waits ravenous for her kindling, bed stuffing, 
 wall paper, and new pads for her wooden leg. At 
 ten cents that paper is a bargain. 
 
 She hovered presiding while her boy had supper, 
 I checked stores against an untruthful invoice, and 
 Jesse prepared to read: "Bribed with a Bridge! 
 Who Stole the Bonds," etc. Dear Jesse takes his 
 reading seriously. His mind must be prepared with 
 a pipe. His stately spectacles are cleaned on his 
 neck-cloth, and so mounted that he can see to read 
 over the edges. Next he crawls under the stove to 
 find the bootjack, and pull off his long boots. 
 After that he fills the lamp, lights that and a cigar 
 of fearful pungency, and settles his great limbs in 
 the chair of state. When all was arranged that 
 night he looked up from his paper. "Say," he 
 drawled, "Billy. When you ride away and turn 
 
BILLY O'FLYNN 207 
 
 robber, what's the matter with politics? You see 
 if you was Sir Billy O'Flynn, and a Right Honor- 
 able Premier, you could steal enough to buy spurs 
 as big as car wheels. You're fiercer than our mem- 
 ber already with that new cow-scaring scarf, so all 
 you'd need is a machine gun slung on your belt, a 
 man-killer like my mare Jones, and you'll be the 
 tiger of the forest. You git yo' mother's cat to 
 learn you how to yowl." 
 
 II 
 
 After breakfast when Jesse had gone to work, 
 the widow came to me in deep distress, leaning 
 against the door-post, twisting up her apron with 
 tremulous fingers, her eyes dark with dread. When 
 I led her to a seat, perhaps she felt my sympathy, 
 for a flood of tears broke loose, and wild Irish 
 mixed with her sobs. The leprechawn possessed 
 her bhoy avick, night-riders haunted him, divils 
 was in him acushla, and the child was fey. His 
 step-uncle went fey to his end in the dreadful 
 quicksands, her brother-in-law went mad in the 
 black Indian hills, running on the spears of the 
 haythen, rest his sowl, and now Billy! He was 
 gone this hour. Fiercely she ordered me out to 
 
208 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 search, for she would take the southern pasture, so 
 surely I would find him in the pines. She feared 
 that place; muttered of fires lighted by no mortal 
 hands. She spoke of wandering lights; the cat had 
 bristled sparks flying from his coat because of elfin 
 voices, and Mick had howled all night down at the 
 Apex. Yestreen a falling star had warned her that 
 she was to lose her bhoy, and had I not seen that face 
 in the windy last night? 
 
 Soothing the poor thing as best I could, I under- 
 took the search, glad of an excuse to get away out- 
 doors. Presently I came upon Billy perched on a 
 root overhanging the depths of the canon. He was 
 cleaning Jesse's rifle, and I surprised him in a fit 
 of angry laughter. 
 
 "Billy," I shouted, "come in off that root before 
 you fall !" 
 
 He obeyed, with sulky patience at my whims. 
 
 "Why are you not at work? What are you doing 
 with my husband's rifle ?" 
 
 "I'm at work," he answered sulkily, — then with 
 an odd vagueness of manner, "I'm cleaning the 
 durned thing." 
 
 Being a woman, and cursed at that with the ar- 
 tistic temperament, I could n6t help being moved by 
 
BILLY O'FLYNN 209 
 
 this lad's extraordinary beauty, — ^the curly red-gold 
 hair, skin with the dusty blook of a ripe peach, the 
 poise of easy power and lithe grace, the sense he 
 gave me of glowing color veiling rugged strength. 
 As an artist studies a good model, I had observed 
 very closely the moods of Billy's temperament. 
 
 His mother was right. That vagueness of manner 
 was abnormal, and the lad was fey. 
 
 "But why are you cleaning his rifle?" 
 
 "It kicks when it's foul," he said absently. 
 
 "You're off hunting?" 
 
 "Goin' to shoot Jesse, thet's all." 
 
 "I'm sure," I said, "he cleaned it yesterday. Look 
 here," and I took the rifle to show him it was clean. 
 "See." I put my little finger nail in the breech while 
 he looked down the barrel. "Come," said I, and told 
 him that in my sewing-machine there was a bottle 
 of gun oil. The rifle was in my possession, safe. 
 
 Then he heard Jesse coming. "Whist ! Hide the 
 gun!" he said, and as though we were fellow con- 
 spirators, I placed it behind a tree, so that my man 
 saw nothing to cause alarm. 
 
 Jesse came, it seemed, in search of Billy. 
 
 "Hello, Kate," he said in greeting. "Say, young- 
 ster, when you sawed off that table leg to make your 
 mother's limb, what did you do with the caster ?" 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 
 
 I WONDER how many persons live in Jesse's 
 body ? On the surface he is the rugged whim- 
 sical stockman, lazy, with such powers in reserve 
 as would equip a first-class volcano. Sing to him 
 and another Jesse emerges, an inarticulate poet, a 
 craftless artist, an illiterate writer, passionate lover 
 of all things beautiful in art and nature. And be- 
 neath all that is Jesse of the Sabbath, in bleak 
 righteousness and harsh respectability, scion of 
 many Smiths, the God-fearing head of his house, 
 who reads and expounds the Scriptures on Sunday 
 evenings to sullen Billy, the morose widow, and my 
 unworthy self. Hear him expound in the vindictive 
 mood : — 
 
 "When I survey the pasture in these here back 
 blocks of Genesis, I know we got to make allow- 
 ances. These patriarchs is only sheepmen anyhow, 
 and sheep herders is trash. They're not what we 
 
 2IO 
 
EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 211 
 
 call white men, but Jews, which is a species of dago. 
 When they get religion they're a sort Mormons, a 
 low-lived breed, yet useful for throwing population 
 quick into a lonesome country where they don't 
 seem popular. 
 
 "Now here's Laban. He hasn't got religion, but 
 keeps a trunk full of no-account gods, believed in 
 by ignorant persons. Instead of attending to busi- 
 ness, he trusts his foreman Jacob, so it serves him 
 right if he's robbed. Yet the Lord ain't down on 
 him quite so much as you'd think, for he's allowed 
 to graze government land, with no taxes, mortgage, 
 or railroads to rob the meat off his bones. Maybe 
 the Lord's sort of sorry for the poor sheep-herding" 
 dago without no horses — the same being good for 
 men's morals, though Jones did kick me out of the 
 stable this very morning. Moreover, Laban lives 
 in a scope of country where men is surely scarce, or 
 he'd never give more'n one of his daughters to such 
 a swine as Jacob. Laban tries to be white, so he'd 
 get my vote at elections. 
 
 "You'd think that if the Lord could stand Jacob 
 He must be plumb full of mercy — so there's hope 
 for skunks. He's got so many millions of thorough- 
 bred stud angels that even the best of men is low 
 
212 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 grade stock to Him. And regarding us mavericks, 
 He has an eye on them as takes kindly to their feed. 
 Yes, He claps His brand on them as know their 
 work. 
 
 "So He sees Jacob is a sure glutton, and more, 
 a great stockman, projucing an improved strain of 
 ringstraked goats and sheep. And Jacob does his 
 duty to his country, begetting twelve spns — mean as 
 snakes but still the best he can raise. Yes, there's 
 excuses for Jacob, and lynching ain't yet invented. 
 
 "Jacob throws dirt in old man Laban's face, then 
 skins out for his own reservation. On this trail 
 he's got to cross Esau's ranch — ^the first man he 
 ever swindled. Just you watch him, abject as a 
 yaller dawg, squirming and writhing and crawling 
 to meet the only gentleman in that country. You 
 or me, Billy, would have kicked Jacob good and 
 plenty, but we're only scrub cow-boys, and that's 
 what the Bible instructs. 
 
 "The mean trash agrees to keep off Laban's grass ; 
 he puts up bribes to Esau ; he plays his skin game 
 on the folks at Succoth, which I explain because 
 there's ladies present, and the only comfort is that 
 the angel of the Lord has sized him up, being due 
 to twist his tail in next Sunday's chapter. Now 
 
EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 213 
 
 let us get through praying, quick as the Lord will 
 let us, because them calves ain't had their butter- 
 milk." 
 
 When we knelt, the widow still sat rigid, and with 
 her wooden leg scratched out upon the oil-cloth 
 vague outlines of a gallows. Afterward she ex- 
 plained. "Yer husband, Mrs. Smith, bad cess to 
 him, is mighty proud av his spectacles, phwat he 
 can't see through and all, and showing off his learn- 
 ing and pride av a Sunday." 
 
 "But why draw gallows on the floor?" 
 
 "And why for should I not draw gallows on the 
 flure, seeing he'll never drown? It's hung he'll 
 be for a opprissing the fatherless and the widow, 
 and burn he will afther for a Protestant. Yis," she 
 flashed round on her son, "feed buttermilk to thim 
 calves, and hould up yer head alladh, 'cause you 
 inherit glory while he's frying!" 
 
 Away from the widow's hate and her son's ven- 
 geance, I led my man out under the stars. I gave 
 him his cigar, that black explosive charged with 
 deadly fumes, lighted him a sulphur match. It 
 soothes his passions, and the pasture scent makes him 
 gentle, but when I fear my grizzly bear, and hardly 
 dare to stroke, I lead him by the keen silver spring. 
 
214 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 across the hollow where our flowers would make a 
 devil smile, and on through the wild rose tangle, to 
 my cathedral pines. To-night he seemed suspicious, 
 even there, biting off tags of the vindictive Psalms. 
 Nor would he sit under the father tree until I sang 
 to him. 
 
 "When Faith's low doorway leads into the church. 
 Light from austere saints mellows dusty gloom. 
 Sad music echoes in the stony heavens. 
 And this bleak pavement masks a charnel hell. 
 Yet in man's likeness God makes Pain divine 
 And here Truth's dawn breaks upwards towards 
 the Light. 
 
 Come to the hill-top : blackbird choristers 
 Peal their clear anthem to the kneeling gorse; 
 The old trees pray, their thirsty faces rapt, 
 While congregations of great angel clouds 
 Receive the holy Sacramental Light 
 From God's high priest, the ministering Sun !" 
 
 "What do you want?" asked Jesse, all the rancor 
 gone. 
 
 "Jesse, do you know that it's nearly a year since 
 we married?" 
 
 "Ten months, Kate, and fourteen days. Do you 
 think I don't reckon ?" 
 
: EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 215 
 
 I sat down on the root of the little governess tree, 
 the humblest in the grove. "In the Bible, dear, who 
 was the son of Jesse?" 
 
 "David, of course." 
 
 "Do you remember, dear: 'for I have provided 
 a king among his sons' ?" 
 
 He looked away across the thundrous misty 
 depths of the canon, and the moonlight caught his 
 profile as though it were etched in silver. "A 
 mighty valiant man," he whispered, "prudent in 
 matters, and a man of war." 
 
 "Jesse, I've got such a confession to make. When 
 you settled Mr. Trevor's estate — " 
 
 "His estates were debts, and we paid 'em. There 
 ain't no need to fuss." 
 
 "You paid the debts. You were hard driven to 
 meet the interest on your mortgage." 
 
 "That's paid off now. Besides we've a clear title 
 to our land, mother's gravestone's off my chest, we 
 don't owe a cent in the world, and there's nary a 
 worry left, except I'm sort of sorry for them poor 
 robbers. Why fuss?" 
 
 "You earned six thousand dollars, at goodness 
 knows what peril. I let you still imagine that you 
 were poor." 
 
2i6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "We got plenty wealth, Kate, wealth enough for 
 —for David." 
 
 "I wanted you, Jesse, just you, I wanted poverty 
 because you were poor. I have been content, and 
 now you've won the capital to free the ranch, to 
 buy a thoroughbred stallion, to stock the place." 
 
 "That's so." 
 
 "Jesse, under my dear father's will, I have seven 
 thousand five hundred dollars a year." 
 
 "A what!" 
 
 "I'm a rich woman, dear. I've been saving my 
 income, and there's ten thousand dollars for you at 
 the bank." 
 
 So I gave him my check, which he receipted 
 promptly with a kiss. He is so rough, too. 
 
 Then we discussed improvements. A bunch of 
 East Oregon horses, three cow-boys to handle our 
 stock, a man to run the Sky-line contract, an irri- 
 gated corn field, and winter feed, two Chinese serv- 
 ants, so many 'must haves' that we waxed quite de- 
 spondent over ways and means. Jesse must go to 
 Vancouver on business, and thus after much pre- 
 amble I came at last to the point. 
 
 "Take Billy with you." 
 
 "But if I go, he's got to look after the ranch." 
 
EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 217 
 
 Men are so stupid. When I sing to my dear bull 
 pines, they breathe a swaying thin echo like some 
 distant chorus; yet at the sight of Jesse, become im- 
 passive as red Indian chiefs. How could I tell such 
 a man of peril? The widow understands, and no 
 sacrifice is too great for a mother. 
 
 "You preach at Billy," I said, "you pray at him. 
 Remember he's wild as these woods, son of a dan- 
 gerous felon. His mother goads him on, and there's 
 danger, Jesse." 
 
 I knew while I spoke the folly of appealing to 
 any sense of fear. He chuckled softly. 
 
 "Why, Billy daresn't say good morning to my 
 pinto colt. He was bucking plentiful to-day, and 
 me spitting blood before I got him conquered. Now 
 just you leave me to tame colts and cow-boys. I 
 propose to rub old man Jacob into Billy by way of 
 liniment until he supples, yes, and works. Dreams 
 earn no grub." 
 
 "Take him away, Jesse, dear." 
 
 "He bin making love to you, Kate?" 
 
 My heart stood still, and to my jealous husband 
 silence means consent. Two bats came darkly by, 
 with a business manner, haying perhaps an appoint- 
 ment with some field mouse. Then the hypocrite 
 
2i8 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 in me sighed, and Jesse flinging away his cigar 
 stub, said with an oath that Billy should be on his 
 way to Vancouver by daybreak. 
 
 Yes, Jesse is hard to manage, but presently he 
 remembered about the check, which made him for 
 the first time in his life feel rich. He's too rough 
 when I let him love me. Indeed I had to do up 
 my hair in the dark, though the fireflies offered the 
 dearest little lamps. Besides a little jealousy is 
 good for Jesse. I should not like to see his love 
 go hungry. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Last night Jesse came home from Vancouver, and 
 it being Sunday evening, he read and expounded 
 the Scriptures to the amazement of the three new 
 ranch-hands. The Chinamen, being heathens, were 
 let off. 
 
 "Not being wise in the ways of high society, I 
 ain't free to comment on Mrs. Potiphar, who kep' 
 a steward instead of doing her job as housekeeper, 
 or on this General Sir Something Potiphar, C.O.D., 
 C.P.R., H.B.C., P.D.Q., commanding the Haw-Haw 
 Guards, who seems to neglect his missus. As a plain 
 stockman I pursues after Joseph," 
 
EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 219 
 
 By this time tliree godless cow-punchers, crimson 
 with suppressed emotions, were digging one another 
 fiercely in the ribs. 
 
 "This here Joseph is a sheep-herding swine from 
 the desert, smooth because he's been brung up 
 among range animals, but mean because he's raised 
 for a pet by Jacob, the champion stinker of the wild 
 west." 
 
 At that Pete exploded, and had to retire in con- 
 vulsions, while the other two infants reproached 
 him for interruption. 
 
 "Smooth and mean is Joseph, a cream-laid young 
 person like Pete, who's going to have black draft 
 to heal his cough before morning. Joseph is all 
 deportment and sad eyes, with a crossed-in-love 
 droop. His brothers is mean so far as they knows 
 how without reading newspapers, but even they 
 can't stand Joseph. General and Mrs. Potiphar 
 don't seem to like his perfume. When he's in jail 
 he's steward, so that the other prisoners has dreams 
 of grub but nary a meal till he goes. 
 
 "I dunno, but if I was a self-made man, I'd hate 
 to have my autobiography wrote by my poor rela- 
 tions, or the backers I'd cheated and left on my 
 trail to Fifth Avenue. Them brethren, the Potiphar 
 
220 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 outfit, and the jailbirds, is plumb full of grief 
 that they ever seen this Joseph, and you'll notice 
 that when he dies, the Egyptians don't subscribe 
 for a monument. He's a city man, a financier, and 
 the Lord is with him, watching his natural history, 
 this being the first warning of the plagues of Egypt. 
 
 "Thar's only one man as can afford to know the 
 Honorable Joseph. Pharoah has an ax, so any gent 
 caught with more'n four aces, is apt to fade away 
 out of Egypt. Yes, he can afford to know Joseph, 
 and they're birds of a feather all right 
 
 "Now horses is so scarce that up to now there 
 ain't one in the Bible, until Pharaoh loans Joseph 
 his second-best chariot, and gives him a sure fine 
 sleigh-robe to go buggy riding. 
 
 "And Jews is scarce. This Pharaoh is the first 
 king to get a Jew financier to do his graft. 
 
 "It ain't the king who pays for that comer in 
 wheat, and you can bet your socks it's not Joseph. 
 It's the bleeding, sweating, hungry Egyptians who 
 pays the wheat trust which makes Pharaoh and 
 Joseph multimillionaires. So there on the high 
 lonesome is the Jew and His Majesty, with no club 
 of millionaires to tell them they done right, and 
 nobody in all Egypt left to swindle. 
 
EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 221 
 
 "Old Pharaoh's in a museum now, Joseph is lo- 
 cated at Chicago, Egypt is sand-rock desert; but 
 God's in His Heaven, and judging by the way us 
 human beings behave, them golden pavements ain't 
 got crowded yet. 
 
 "Oh, Lord, Thou knowest that we who ride herd 
 in Thy pastures, haven't got much to be selfish about 
 on earth. We cayn't make dollars out of Thy 
 golden sunshine, or currency bills out of Thy sil- 
 ver streams, but all the same, deliver us from 
 selfishness, and lead us not into the temptations of 
 a large account at the bank, 'cause we're only kids 
 when we gets down to civilization, and all our ways 
 is muddy so soon as we quit Thy grass." 
 
 The cow-boys slipped away, no longer hilarious, 
 perhaps even a little awed, for Jesse's quaint ob- 
 servances are spray from a sfea, sparkling on the 
 surface, but in its depths profound. And we two 
 women waited, the widow longing for news about 
 her son, while I was concerned for my man. Hard, 
 bitter, sinister the sermon, humble and reverent the 
 appeal for help, and now when the men had left us, 
 Jesse remained in prayer. Almost with tears he 
 pleaded for widows and fatherless children, until 
 my servant's austere face became quite gentle, and 
 
222 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 she was able to hobble off to her bed feeling that 
 all was well. 
 
 The night being cold, Jesse had his cigar beside 
 the stove, while I sat on the low stool so that the 
 fumes might rise above my unworthy head. 
 
 "The widow believes," I said, "that her boy will 
 get rich in the city." 
 
 "I got Billy a job." 
 
 Jesse's face looked very grave. 
 
 "At a grocery," he added. 
 
 I sighed for the romantic lad, condemned to an 
 apron behind the counter. 
 
 "And the young hawk flew off." 
 
 "I'm glad!" 
 
 "Ye see it's this way, Kate. He's shying heaps 
 at Ashcroft, the first town he ever seen, where 
 there's a bit of sidewalk, electric lights, and wait- 
 resses. I had to kiss the fluffy one to show him they 
 don't bite. 
 
 "Then thar's the railroad. By that time he's 
 getting worldly, all 'you-can't-fool-me,' and *not- 
 half-so-slick-as-our-ranch' until we comes to his 
 first tunnel, and he jumps right out of his skin. 
 After that he wants everybody to know he's a cow- 
 boy wild and lone, despising the tenderfoot passen- 
 
EXPOUNDING THE SCRIPTURES 223 
 
 gers right through the two hundred and fifty miles 
 to Vancouver. At the depot' he points one ear at 
 the liners in port, and the other ear at them sky- 
 scraping, six-story business blocks up street. He 
 feels he'd ought to play wolf, shoot up saloons, and 
 paint the town, but he's getting scary as cats be- 
 cause there's too many people all at once. He loses 
 count, thinks there's three horns goes to one steer, 
 and wants to hold my hand. That's when a motor- 
 car snorts in his ear; a street-car comes at him ears 
 back, teeth bare, and tail a-waving; and a lady axes 
 him what time the twelve o'clock train leaves. Then 
 he hears a band play, and it's too much — he just 
 stampedes for the woods. When I rounds him up 
 next afternoon, he's just ate a candy store, he's 
 gorged to the eyes, and trying to make room for ice- 
 cream. The next two days Billy's close-herded, and 
 fed high to give his mind a rest. He seen the sea, 
 pawed the wet of it, snuffed the big smell — ^yes, and 
 the boy near crying. Town men who can't smell, 
 or see, or hear, or feel with their hands, would have 
 some trouble understanding what the sea means to 
 a sort of child like that. 
 
 "He's willing to start work as a millionaire, but 
 don't feel no holy vocation for groceries. So in the 
 
224 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 end he runs away, out of that frying-pan into the 
 — wall, the rest ain't clearly known, although the 
 police has a clue. It seems my wolf cub leads some 
 innocent yearling astray down by the harbor, said 
 victim being the crimp from a sailors' boarding- 
 house. To prove he's fierce, Billy has a skinful of 
 mixed drinks, and this stranger is kind enough to 
 take him to see a beautiful English bark which 
 is turning loose for Cape Horn. Seems the ship 
 takes a notion to Billy, and the captain politely axes 
 him to work. He's been shanghaied." 
 
 "This will kill his mother." 
 
 "Not if she thinks her son's another Joseph get- 
 ting rich." 
 
 "Oh, it's too awful!" 
 
 "Wall, maybe I'm a fool, Kate, but seems to me 
 that this young person had to be weaned from run- 
 ning after a woman, before he'd any chance to be 
 a man." 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 NATIVITY 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 JESSE allowed that the upper forest does look 
 "sort of wolfy." He would post relays of 
 ponies along the outward trail, so that he and Mc- 
 Gee could ride the eighty miles back in a single 
 march. If the doctor survived that, he would be 
 here in forty-eight hours, perhaps in time. 
 
 I made Jesse take his revolver, yes, loaded it my- 
 self, and he promised a signal shot from the rim- 
 rock to give me the earliest news of his return. He 
 put out the light, he kissed me good-by, and was 
 gone. 
 
 From the inner edge of the bed I could see 
 through the window, and watched Orion rising be- 
 hind the cliffs. The night turned pale, then for a 
 long time the great gaunt precipice was revealed in 
 tender primrose light and amber shade. I heard 
 our riders saddle, mount, and canter away for the 
 
 225 
 
226 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 day's work. The two Chinamen went off also on 
 Bome domestic errand. The sunrise caught the pines 
 upon the rim-rock into points of flame. I heard a 
 distant shot, and fell asleep. 
 
 The widow had stumped about nearly all night, 
 weary to the tip of her wooden leg, poor soul, so 
 when I woke again and crept to the lean-to door, it 
 was a relief to find that she had gone to sleep. She 
 had left me a saucepan full of bread and milk which 
 I warmed, and it warmed me nicely. 
 
 Mrs. O'Flynn asleep is like peace after war. 
 Dressing in stealth, I prayed for peace in our time, 
 then with a sweet enjoyment of fresh guilt, stole 
 out into the sunshine. 
 
 ' Instead of Jesse's whistling, Mick's barking, the 
 altercations in the new ram-pasture where our cow- 
 boys live, the snuffles of old Jones, our yard was 
 filled with the exact opposite. Of course each 
 sound has its opposite, its shadow, making a gap in 
 the chorus of things heard, and when all the homely 
 voices are replaced by gaps, one feels the desolation 
 of the high lonesome. Yet I fled away lest the wid- 
 ow's vengeful stump should overtake me. I was so 
 tired of being in bed. 
 
NATIVITY 227 
 
 The silver spring, the glade of marigolds, the 
 brier-rose brake, are all most necessary before one 
 ventures into the cathedral grove, for it is not well 
 to pass direct from any worldly home into a holy 
 place. And yet I felt that something was badly 
 wrong, for evil persons must have come in the night 
 and stretched the trail to double its usual length. I 
 was very angry, and I shall tell my husband. 
 
 I reached the grove, at this cool hour so like a 
 green lagoon where coral piers branch up to some 
 ribbed vault. The waves of incense, the river's 
 organ throb, the glory in the windows, gave me 
 peace, but the choir of the winds had gone away, 
 and for once in that sweet solitude I was lonely. 
 My sitting is at the root of the governess tree, and 
 Jesse's under the great father pine. If he were 
 only there, how it would ease the pain. I needed 
 him so badly as I sat there, trying to make him 
 present in my thoughts. He had gone away, and 
 the squirrel who lives in the widow tree, had taken 
 even his match ends. Only the cigar stubs were 
 left, which would, of course, be bad for the squirrel's 
 children. I wasn't well enough to call but I left 
 my nut. 
 
228 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Close by is the terrific verge of the inner canon, 
 and sitting at the very edge of death I saw into the 
 mists. 
 
 It was so foolish, why should I be frightened of 
 death, such a coward in bearing pain? And yet I 
 had better confess the truth, that presently I ran 
 away screaming, my skirt torn by brambles, my feet 
 caught in the roots. Only when I passed the place 
 where by anemones live, and beyond the east door 
 of the grove came out into full sunlight, I could go 
 no farther but fell to the ground exhausted. Yes, 
 it was very silly, and that blind panic shamed me as 
 I looked up at the crescent of silvery birch trees 
 who hold court at the foot of the upper cliff. 
 
 Something small and black was coming toward 
 me, a clergyman too, and nervous, because he twid- 
 dled his little hat. 
 
 "Are you in pain ?" he asked. 
 
 "Are you a fairy?" I answered, wondering. I 
 couldn't think of anything else at the moment, for 
 our lost ranch is so far from everywhere. 
 
 "No, madam," he isaid quite gravely. "I'm only a 
 curate. May I sit down ?" 
 
 My heart went out to him, for he was so little, so 
 old, English like me, but with the manner of the 
 
NATIVITY 229 
 
 great world. When he sat down he took care not to 
 hurt one of my flowers. 
 
 "I fear I'm trespassing," he said, "in your royal 
 gardens. May I introduce myself? My name is 
 Nisted — Jared Nisted, once an army chaplain, now 
 a tourist." 
 
 Was he real, or had I imagined him ? "My name 
 is Kate," I answered. "My husband would be ever 
 so pleased to make you welcome. But he's away." 
 
 "And are you lonely ?" 
 
 "Not now." Somehow the pain and fear were 
 gone as though they dared not stay in the serene 
 presence of this dear old saint. "Are you sure," I 
 ventured, "that you're not a — " 
 
 "Fairy? Believe me, dear lady, I'm a very com- 
 monplace little person. 
 
 "A humble admirer of yours, one Tearful George, 
 has been kind enough to bring me here in his buck- 
 board, which has complaining wheels, a creaky 
 body, and such a wheezy horse. He, Tearful 
 George I mean, contracted for seventy-five dollars 
 to bring me to paradise and back; but as we creaked 
 our passage through that weird black forest, I 
 feared my guide had taken the pathway which leads 
 to the other place. I confess, the upper forest 
 
230 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 frightened me, and now, having come to paradise, I 
 don't want to go back." He sighed. "George," he 
 added, "is making camp up yonder. Mrs. Smith, will 
 you laugh at me very much if I tell you a fairy 
 tale? It's quite a nice one." 
 
 "Oh, do !" I begged. 
 
 "Well," he began, "you know where the three 
 birch trees are all using a single pool as their mir- 
 ror?" 
 
 Of course these were the Three Graces. Mrs. 
 O'Flynn and I had known for months past that the 
 spot was haunted. 
 
 "Each of them," said my visitor, "seems to think 
 the others quite superfluous." 
 
 That was true. I asked him if any one was there. 
 
 "A lady, yes." 
 
 "That's the minx," I whispered. "She's a fairy. 
 But don't tell my husband. You know he laughs at 
 me for being so superstitious." 
 
 "Indeed. Fact is, Mrs. Smith, she was bathing, 
 and George insisted, most stupidly I think, on wa- 
 tering his horse at that pool. I mounted guard, 
 with my back turned, of course, and tried to per- 
 suade the good man to water his horse elsewhere. 
 He couldn't see any sanguinary lady in the rosy 
 
NATIVITY 231 
 
 pool, and you know the poor fellow has but a very- 
 meager choice of words. He reviled me, and my 
 progenitors, and if you'll believe me, my dear 
 mother was not at all the sort of person George de- 
 scribed. He made me feel so plain, too, with his 
 candor about my personal appearance. And all that 
 time, while George made my flesh creep with his 
 comments, the lady in the pool was splashing me. 
 I'm still quite damp." 
 
 "Did the horse see?" 
 
 "Do horses wink, Mrs. Smith? Do they smile? 
 Can they blush? The Graces shook their robes 
 above our heads, the squirrels gossiped, the rippled 
 pool caught glints from the rising sun, and a flight 
 of humming-birds came whirring, as though they 
 had been thrown in George's face. Them sanguin- 
 ary birds, he said, was always getting in the ruddy 
 way. As to the old horse, he kicked up his heels 
 and pranced off sidewise down the glen, and the 
 man followed, rumbling benedictions." 
 
 I explained that my dear husband can not see the 
 minx, that my servant dare not look. 
 
 "I doubt," said Father Jared, with regret, "that 
 very few fairies nowadays are superstitious enough 
 to believe in us poor mortals." 
 
232 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 For that I could have kissed him. 
 
 "They used," the dear old man went on, "to be- 
 lieve in our forefathers, but there is a very general 
 decline of faith. It is not for us to blame them. 
 What fairy, for example, could be expected to be- 
 lieve in Tearful George? He chews tobacco." 
 
 "Oh, tell me more about her. Did she speak to 
 you? She's fearfully dangerous. We had a ranch- 
 hand here who went quite fey, possessed, I think. 
 I'm frightened of her now." 
 
 "She thinks," he retorted, "that you're a wicked 
 woman." 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "Yes, you. She said you would run away, and 
 you did. I am to tell you that's very unwise." 
 
 "Please tell the minx to mind her own business." 
 
 "What is her business?" he asked mildly. 
 
 "Being a fairy, I suppose. I'll never forgive her 
 for what she did to Billy. Besides," I added, "she 
 makes fun of us." 
 
 "No wonder, for we humans are so stupid." 
 
 "She's full of mischief." 
 
 "Of course." The old man's eyes twinkled and 
 blinked as though — I can't set words to fit that puz- 
 zled memory. He had told me twice that he was not 
 
NATIVITY 233 
 
 a fairy. "I am to tell you from my lady, that she 
 is not the minx. Winds, waves, and living things," 
 he said, "are full of mischief and laughter. The 
 sun has room to sparkle even in a tear, and Heaven 
 touches our lips with every smile, for joy is holy. 
 Spirits, angels, fairies, are only thoughts which 
 have caught the light celestial, mirror-thoughts 
 which shine in Heaven's glory. Children, and happy 
 people see that light, which never shines on any 
 clouded soul." 
 
 "My soul is clouded. Help me." 
 
 "I wonder," he smiled with his old kind eyes. 
 "Have you a sense of humor? Ah, — there. Then 
 you need never worry, or run away. As sunshine 
 and rain are to the dear earth, so are laughter and 
 tears to every living soul. Humor, dear, is the 
 weather in which the spirit lives." 
 
 "But sorrow and tears?" 
 
 "Why, how can the sun make rainbows without 
 rain ?" 
 
 "You'll praise pain next !" 
 
 "That is a sacrament," he answered gravely, "the 
 outward sign of inward grace. For how else can 
 God reach through selfishness down to the soul in 
 need?" 
 
234 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 My pain had come back, but it was welcome now. 
 
 On the left were the solemn pines, and at their 
 feet white flowers ; on the right were my fair birch 
 trees ; and the glade between lay in warm sunshine. 
 
 "Lift up your hearts," whispered the priest, and 
 I saw my trees, which in winter storm and summer 
 sun alike show their brave faces to the changing sky. 
 
 "We lift them up unto the Lord," they seemed to 
 answer. 
 
 "It is very meet, right, and our bounden duty," 
 he responded, then looked as it seemed into my very 
 soul. 
 
 I saw the dear priest's face through tears, but 
 when I brushed them away the mist remained. He 
 seemed remote, awful, and beautiful. 
 
 "There is a place," he said, "where souls await- 
 ing incarnation, rest, and from that place they come, 
 borne by messengers. A messenger was waiting in 
 these woods, no evil spirit, my daughter, but one 
 who came bearing a child to you. She stands au- 
 gust and lovely at your back, and in her arms the 
 soul of a man-child, just on the verge of incarna- 
 tion, waits at the boundary of the spirit land. 
 
 " The light shineth in darkness; and the darkness 
 comprehended it not' 
 
NATIVITY 235 
 
 "That light is all around you, and I must go. 
 This very ground is holy. Fare you well." 
 ******* 
 
 Two days had passed since my dear Jesse left, 
 then through the long day I waited in the house, 
 and the blue gloom of night swept up the glowing 
 cliff. It was then I heard the signal shot from the 
 rim-rock, and told my baby David that his father 
 was coming home. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LOCKED HOUSE 
 
 Jesse's Memoir 
 
 THE book of our adventures which we began 
 together, was to go on through all our years. 
 We were too young to think how it must some time 
 finish at our parting, that one of us two was to be 
 left, with only the broken end, the pity of Christ, and 
 every word a stabbing memory. 
 
 Since I lost Kate is four years to-night, and in 
 all that time till now, I never dared to enter the 
 house where once she lived with me, her poor fool 
 Jesse. To-day, I unlocked the door. The sunlight, 
 glinting through chinks in the boarded windows, 
 fell in long dust-streaks on rat-eaten furniture, gray 
 cobweb, scattered ashes. There was the puppy 
 piano, green with mold, her work-basket, half eaten, 
 her writing-table littered with rat-gnawed paper. 
 The pages are yellow, the ink is rusty brown, but the 
 
 236 
 
THE LOCKED HOUSE i3? 
 
 past is alive in every line, the living past, the sunny 
 warm-scented land of memory, all full of love and 
 glory and delight, and agony which can not be 
 taken from me. 
 
 If she were here with me in the old log cabin, 
 she should not see me mourning, or afraid to face 
 the past, or dreading to set an end to our book. 
 She expected courage, and I will face it out, write 
 the last chapter in our Book of Life, then bury it all, 
 lest any one should see. I warm and burn my hands 
 at the fires of memory, and If the fine sweet pain 
 were taken from me, what should I have left but 
 cobweb, and ashes, dust, and the smell of rats. 
 
 How wonderful it is to think that a great lady, 
 and this ignorant callous brute shown up in the 
 rotted manuscript, should ever have been man and 
 wife together! When I think of what I was — illit- 
 erate, slovenly, lazy, selfish, brutal, meanly jealous, 
 ignorantly cruel, I see how it was right that she 
 should leave me. It has taken me bitter lonely 
 years to realize that I was unworthy to be her serv- 
 ant while she tamed me. So much the greater mys- 
 tery Is the love which made amends for my short- 
 comings, made her think me better than I was, a 
 something for which she sacrificed herself, and ia 
 
238 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 self-sacrifice became like the great angels which she 
 saw in dreams. 
 
 Then came the letter from Polly herself, which 
 sent me crazy, so that my lady read every word of 
 it, without being warned. 
 
 "Opium, Jesse, an overdose of opium did the trick, 
 and paint to make me look like a corpse, and blood 
 from the butcher's shop poured over my face as I laid 
 there. You was no husband for such as me with 
 Brooke around, the man I'd kept. Shucks, did ye 
 think I'd be such a puke as to set, with yer dead-line 
 round me, screaming if men came near, with all Abi- 
 lene grinning, and you drunk as Noah? That was no 
 way to treat a lady. That was no cinch for me as 
 could buy cow-boys, all I'd a mind to. Pshaw, it 
 makes me sick at the stummick to think I married 
 you. I only done it for a joke. 
 
 "But you jest mark my words on the dead thiev- 
 ing, no foreign woman from London, England, shall 
 have you while you're mine. I heerd of this Mrs. 
 Trevor daring to call you her husband. She's not 
 your wife, she's not Mrs. Jesse Smith, she's not a 
 married woman, but a poor thing, and her child, 
 what's he? I've had my revenge on her, and you, 
 and I'm coming to rub it in. I'm at Ashcroft, I am, 
 coming on the same coach as this letter, coming to 
 
THE LOCKED HOUSE 239 
 
 live in your home. If I don't love you, no other 
 woman shall. It's Fancy Brooke, the man you calls 
 Bull Durham, what give you dead away, he, and 
 the news he got by mail, since you let him get off 
 alive, you fool. That ought to splash yen 
 
 "And if I didn't love, d'ye reckon that I'd care? 
 "Your deserted true wife, 
 
 "Polly Smith. 
 "P. S.— I'll be to your ranch Monday." 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 My husband was still at dinner when we heard a 
 horseman come thundering in, the old cargador, 
 Pete Mathson, spurring a weary horse across the 
 yard. Jesse took the letter, and while he read, I 
 had a strange awful impression of days, months, 
 years passing, a whirlwind of time. My man was 
 growing old before my eyes, and it is true that with- 
 in a few hours his hair was flecked with silver. 
 When the letter fell from his hands he walked away, 
 making no sound at all. 
 
 I sat on my little stool and took the letter. The 
 paper felt like something very offensive, so that I 
 had to force myself to read, and even then without 
 
240 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 understanding one word, I went and washed my 
 hands and face, why I don't know, except that it 
 was better not to make a scene. I came back to my 
 stool. 
 
 Pete stood in the doorway very nervous about his 
 hat, as though he tried to hide it away. I remember 
 telling him quite gravely that I like to see a hat 
 
 "Cap Taylor, ma'am," he was saying, "told me to 
 get here first by the horse trail, so I rode hell-for- 
 leather. They'll be another hour comin' by road." 
 
 "Another hour?" 
 
 "A stranger's driving. Mebbe more'n an hour." 
 
 Then Jesse came back. 
 
 Jesse's Narrative 
 
 I found my lady seated on her stool, that letter 
 in her hands, while Pete, uneasy, clicked his spurs 
 in the doorway. I asked if he'd take a message. 
 
 "Burning the trail," he said. 
 
 "Say, if she comes, I'll kill her." 
 
 "Not that," my lady whispered, so I knelt down 
 by her, and she stroked my forehead. 
 
 "I didn't catch your words," said Pete. 
 
THE LOCKED HOUSE 241 
 
 "Promise," my lady whispered, "there must be 
 no murder." 
 
 "Tell her, Pete," said I, "there'll be no murder. 
 I can't let her off with that — give her fair warning." 
 
 Pete rode away slow. 
 
 "Wife," I whispered — we spoke in whispers, be- 
 cause it was the end of the world to us two — "you 
 trust me ?" 
 
 She kissed my forehead. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, "one thing. Polly was not 
 dead?" 
 
 "She shammed dead. She's alive, Kate. She's 
 coming here. Take David away. Take him to 
 South Cave, to Father Jared's camp." 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 "Lock the house before it's defiled." 
 
 "And then, dear?" 
 
 "When she's gone, I'll come to the cave, too." 
 
 Kate took David, letting me kiss him, letting me 
 kiss her, even knowing everything, let me take her 
 into my arms. She was very white, very quiet. She 
 even remembered to take her servant, and the two 
 Chinamen, making some excuse to get them away. 
 I locked the house and the old cabin. Then I made 
 the long call to Ephrata, and went to the Apex 
 
H^ A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Rock, calling until he answered from among the 
 dog-tooth violets. He climbed straight up the steep 
 rocks, whimpering, because I'd scarcely called him 
 once in fourteen months. He rubbed against me, 
 forgetting he hefted eleven hundred pounds, and 
 I had to scratch his neck before we started up to the 
 house, then to the left along the wagon track just 
 past Cathedral Grove. 
 
 The wagon was swinging round the end of the 
 grove at a canter, and when I let out a yell for the 
 last warning, the woman only snatched at the 
 driver's whip to flog the team faster. Then I turned 
 loose my bear, he rearing up nine feet or so to in- 
 spect that outfit. 
 
 The horses shied into the air, then off at a gallop 
 straight for the edge of the cliffs. The woman was 
 shot out as the wagon overturned, the driver caught 
 for a moment while his wagon went to match-wood. 
 He lay in the wreckage stunned, but the horses went 
 blind crazy, taking that twelve hundred feet leap 
 into the Eraser Rapids. So I had aimed, and as I'd 
 promised my lady to do no murder, I kept my bear 
 beside me. 
 
 The driver was awake and staggering to his feet 
 He would have talked, only my bear was with me, 
 
THE LOCKED HOUSfi 243 
 
 hard to hold by the roach hair. The man needed 
 no telling, and after he escaped from my ranch, 
 I did not see him there in the years which followed. 
 The woman, standing in the wreckage of her 
 trunks, wanted to talk. We herded her, Eph and 
 I, to the foot of the pack-trail, which leads up by 
 steep jags to the rim-rock of the upper cliffs, then 
 on through the black pines to Hundred Mile. We 
 herded her up the pack-trail, my bear and I, and 
 pointed her on her way, alone, afoot. H she lived 
 through that eighty miles, she would remember the 
 way, the way which is barred. 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 I was waiting for Jesse until the low sun shone 
 into the cave. All that letter, which had been a 
 blur of horror, cleared now before my mind, but 
 Father Jared held me by the hands, drawing the 
 pain away. He had given me tea, he had made me 
 a very throne of comfort in front of his camp-fire. 
 David slept in my lap, and now while the dear saint 
 held my hands, and I looked through the smoke out 
 toward the setting sun, he spoke of quaint sweet do- 
 ings in his hermitage. He spoke as a worldly an- 
 
244 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 chorite with a portable bath, of his clumsy attempts 
 to patch a worn-out cassock, and how the squirrels 
 tried to superintend his prayers at even-song. Then 
 the sun caught the walls of the cave and the roof to 
 glowing beryl and ethereal ruby, the smoke was a 
 Tose-hued thread of light, and the deep canon at 
 our feet filled with a shadowy sea of flooding ame- 
 thyst. 
 
 "Kate, it is even-song. We see the steep way of 
 to-morrow's journey, the pain and sorrow from here 
 to the next hill. But presently our way shall be re- 
 vealed from star to star. We pass from earthly 
 sunshine and fretted time, into the timeless ageless 
 glory of the heavens. We sleep in Heaven, and 
 when we wake again we rise filled with the pres- 
 ence of the Eternal to put immortal power into our 
 daily service." 
 
 The sun had set, and the first star just shone out, 
 as Jesse came, standing at the mouth of the cave, 
 dark against the glory. I could not see his face. 
 
 The father released me, turning to my dear man. 
 "Jesse," he said, "won't you shake hands with me? 
 
 "You see," he said, "I made a mistake myself, 
 thinking a priest should be celibate to win love from 
 on high. But in its fullest strength God's love comes 
 
^ THE LOCKED HOUSE 245 
 
 through a woman to shine upon our life — and so 
 I've missed the greatest of His gifts. Your wife has 
 told me everything, and I'm so envious. Won't you 
 shake hands? I've been so lonely. Won't you?" 
 
 But my man stood in the mouth of the cave, as 
 though he were being judged. 
 
 "This filth," he said, "out of the past. Filth !" 
 
 His voice sounded as though he were dead. 
 
 "The law," he said. "I've come to find out what's 
 the law?" 
 
 "Man's law?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 "But I don't know. I'm only a very ignorant old 
 man ; your friend, if you'll have me." 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "So far as I see, Jesse, the woman can arraign 
 you on a charge of bigamy. Moreover, if you seek 
 divorce she can plead that there's equal guilt, from 
 which there's no release." 
 
 "And that's the law?" 
 
 "Man's law. But, Jesse, when you and Kate were 
 joined in holy matrimony, was it man's law which 
 said, 'Whom God hath joined, let no man put asun- 
 der.' What has man's law to do with the awful jus- 
 tice of Almighty God? 
 
246 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "And here, my son, I am something more than a 
 foolish old man." He rose to his feet, making the 
 sign of the cross. "I am ordained," he said, "a 
 barrister to plead at the bar of Heaven. Will you 
 not have me as your adviser, Jesse ?" 
 
 "Whom God hath joined," Jesse laughed horri- 
 bly, "that harlot and I." 
 
 "She swore to love, honor and obey?" 
 
 "Till death us part!" 
 
 "And that was perjury?" 
 
 "A joke! A joke!" 
 
 "That was not marriage, my son, but blasphemy, 
 the sin beyond forgiveness. The piteous lost crea- 
 ture has never been your wife. She tried to break 
 her way into our poor world of life and love. It is 
 forbidden and she was fearfully wounded. To-day 
 she tried again, and is there, in that forest, with the 
 falling night." 
 
 "I told her what she is, straight from the shoul- 
 der." 
 
 "Who made her so?" 
 
 Jesse lowered his head. 
 
 "Who made her the living accusation of men's 
 sins ? She is the terrible state's evidence, God's ev- 
 idence, which waits to be released in the Day of 
 
THE LOCKED HOUSE 247 
 
 Judgment. You told her straight from the shoulder. 
 Judge not that ye be not judged. Remember that 
 of all the men she knew on earth, you only can plead 
 not guilty." 
 
 "Because I married her?" asked Jesse humbly. 
 
 "Because you tried. You gave her your clean 
 name, your pure life, your manhood, an act of 
 knightly chivalry. Arthur, Galahad, Perceval, 
 Launcelot, and many other gentlemen who are now 
 at rest, will seek your friendship in the after life. 
 You are being tried as they were tried in that fierce 
 flame of temptation which tests the finest manhood. 
 
 "Only a cur would blame the weak. Only a cow- 
 ard would accuse the lost. But in your manhood 
 remember her courage, Jesse. Forgive as you hope 
 for pardon. Keep your life clean, from every touch 
 of evil, but to the world stand up for the honor of 
 the name you gave her." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "You forgive?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You will pray for her?" 
 
 "I will pray." 
 
 "And now the hardest test has still to come. For 
 your wife's honor and for the child, you must keep 
 
248 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 their names stainless, clear of all reproach while 
 you await God's judgment. They must leave you, 
 Jesse." 
 
 "Oh, not that, sir !" 
 
 "Can they stay here in honor?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Can you run away?" 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 "Then you must part." 
 
 Jesse covered his face with his hands, and there 
 against the deepening twilight I saw shadows reach- 
 ing out from him, as though — slowly the shadows 
 took form of high-shouldered wings and mighty 
 pinions sweeping to the ground. 
 
 He looked up, and behold he was changed. 
 
 "Pray for me, sir!" he whispered. 
 
 Then the priest raised his hand, and gave him 
 the benediction. 
 
 Jesse Closes the Book 
 
 It is years now since my lady left me. Never 
 has an ax touched her trees, or any human creature 
 entered her locked house. The rustle of her dress 
 is in the leaves each fall, the pines still echo to her 
 
THE LOCKED HOUSE 249 
 
 voice. I hear her footsteps over the new snow, I 
 feel her presence when I read her books. I know 
 her thoughts are spirits haunting me, and all things 
 wait until she comes back. Not until I lost my lady 
 did I ever hear that faint, thin, swaying echo when 
 her grove seemed to be humming tunes. At times 
 when dew was falling, I have heard the pattering 
 of millions and millions of little feet, just as she 
 said, making the grass bend. 
 
 The papers often have pictures of my lady, the 
 last as the Electra of Euripides. I love her most 
 of all in the Grecian robes, for once she dreamed 
 that she and I had been Greeks in some lost for- 
 gotten life. Perhaps this is not our only life, or 
 our last life, and we may be mated in some place 
 yet to come, where we shall not part. 
 
 Tears drop on the paper, and shame poor fool 
 Jesse. The Book says that He shall wipe away all 
 tears. If my bear had only lived, I should not have 
 been so lonely. I wonder if — God help me, I can't 
 write more. The book is finished. 
 
PART III 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 SPITE HOUSE 
 Kate Reviews the Book 
 
 THE book is not finished. This book of Jesse's 
 life and mine is not finished while she who set 
 us asunder is allowed to live. "Vengeance is mine," 
 saith the Lord, "I will repay." We wait. 
 
 What impulse moved my man after four years to 
 enter that tragic house? He read our book, so pit- 
 eously stained, this heap of paper scrawled with 
 rusty ink. He added parts of a chapter, which I 
 have finished. It is all blotted with tears, this rec- 
 ord of his life — childhood, boyhood, youth, man- 
 hood, humor, passion — veritable growth of an 
 immortal spirit — annals of that love which lifteth 
 us above the earth — and then ! 
 
 What did the woman gain who stole our happi- 
 ness ? A fairy gold, changing to ashes at the glint 
 of day, for which she lost her soul. 
 
 Caught in the leaves there is a long pine needle. 
 253 
 
254 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 So it was among the bull pines of Cathedral Grove 
 that Jesse sought to bury this record. Then know- 
 ing that his life was not all his to bury, he sent me 
 this dear treasure, so breaking the long, long silence. 
 
 How precious are even the littlest memories of 
 love ! Here is the muddy footprint of our kitten, 
 and Jesse's "witness my hand." Here is a scrap of 
 paper, inked and rinsed to reveal some secret writ- 
 ing of those poor outlaws. Pages of wrath from our 
 visitors' book — and the long pine needle. 
 
 "Belay thar!" as Jesse said. "We're hunting 
 happiness while sorrow's chasing us. Takes a keen 
 muzzle and runaway legs to catch up happiness, 
 while sorrow's teeth is reachin' for yo' tail." 
 
 So I must try to catch up happiness. I have notes 
 here of dear Father Jared, made at the time when 
 he was bringing me with Baby David home. I re- 
 member we sat in our deck chairs on the sunny side 
 of the ship, watching a cloud race out in mid- 
 Atlantic. We talked of home. 
 
 "You see, my dear" — I copy from my notes — "we 
 have in our blessed isles an atmosphere lending 
 glamour to all things, whether a woman's skin or a 
 slum town. Why, British portraiture and landscape 
 are respected, even by our own art critics, and they 
 
SPITE HOUSE 2SS 
 
 are far from lenient." I replied that I wanted air, 
 air for King David. 
 
 "Now when we come to air, that's very serious. 
 North of the Tweed the air produces Scotchness, 
 across St. George's Channel it makes Irishness. 
 Then in the principality of Wales it makes most peo- 
 ple Welsh, to say nothing of the Yarkshire vintage, 
 or Zummerzet, or the 'umble 'omes of the East 
 Anglians." 
 
 "But that's not what I mean. Some places are 
 so relaxing." 
 
 "Or bracing, or just damp, eh? Do you know, 
 my dear, that at Frognall End mushrooms are four- 
 pence a pound." 
 
 "That has nothing to do with it." 
 
 "Are you sure?" The delicious fairy-look came 
 to his eyes. "Of course they prefer the Russian 
 kind of mushrooms with red tops — warmer to sit 
 on. That's why they love Russia, and Russian 
 hearts stay young. And besides, they like to live 
 where people are really and truly superstitious. 
 
 "That's what's so wrong with England. Ah, 
 these board schools! I want to dig up all the 
 board schools and plant red mushrooms. Then, 
 of course, the fairies will each have an endowed 
 
256 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 mushroom, the children will be properly taught how 
 to stay young, and we shall live happily ever after- 
 ward. 
 
 "Do you know I called on the prime minister, 
 and, politics apart, he's not at all a bad fellow. We 
 quite agreed, especially about drowning the Board 
 of Education, but then the nonconformist con- 
 science would get shocked, while as to the treasury 
 — bigots, my dear, are getting more bigotty every 
 day." 
 
 I was getting mixed. 
 
 "So you see, Kate, with mushrooms at fourpence 
 a pound, it stands to reason that they're very plenti- 
 ful at Frognall End, with fairies in strict propor- 
 tion: one mushroom — one fairy, that is in English 
 weather. In a dry season, of course, they can sit on 
 the ground, although it wouldn't be quite the thing; 
 whereas in wet weather they really require their 
 mushrooms — and you know they're much too care- 
 less to clear up afterward. Yes, at Frognall End 
 young David would get what modern children need 
 so very badly — some wholesome uneducation." 
 
 This the father explained in all its branches. 
 
 1. Consider the lilies. 
 
 2. Take no thought for the morrow. 
 
SPITE HOUSE 257 
 
 3. Blessed are the poor in spirit, the pure, the 
 merciful, the peacemakers. 
 
 4. Suffer the little children to come unto me. 
 "You see," he added wistfully, "the churches 
 
 have to preach a heap of doctrines piled twenty cen- 
 turies high — with truth squashed flat beneath. The 
 poor are very worrisome, too, and there's such a lot 
 of heathen to convert. Why, all of our educated 
 people belong to societies for reforming their neigh- 
 bors, and yet — and yet — well, fairies have a nicer 
 time than curates." 
 
 Frognall End, where my saint is curate-in- 
 charge, is on the river near Windsor, and there I 
 went to live with Baby David. It was there I 
 learned that heartache is a cultivated plant not 
 known along the hedge-rows, that peace may be 
 found as long as the gorse blooms, that love grows 
 lustiest where it has least soil. For the rest, please 
 see the Reverend Jared Nisted's Fairyland which is 
 full of most important information for all who are 
 weary and heavy-laden. Its text is from the Logia 
 of Christ : "Raise the stone, and thou shalt find Me ; 
 cleave the wood and I am there." 
 
 From the first my Heaven-born was Interested in 
 milk, later in a growing number of worldly things, 
 
258 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 but it was not until last winter by the fireside that 
 we really had serious tales all about Wonderland. 
 It's a difficult place to reach, but when you get down 
 the cliff, and feel your neck to make quite sure it's 
 not broken, you come to the witch who has a wooden 
 leg. She lives in the Dust House, where the Dust 
 Fairies want to sleep, only she will worry them with 
 her broom. When they are worried, they dance 
 with the Sunbeam Fairy who comes in through the 
 window, and never breaks the glass. 
 
 There's a fairy mare called Jones, who lost her 
 Christian name in a fit of temper, and always 
 searches for it with her hind legs. There's a fairy 
 bear who is not a truly grizzly, though he does live 
 in a grizzly bear skin even when it's ever-so-hot 
 weather. He's a great hunter, too, and likes sports- 
 men so much that they keep getting fewer, and 
 fewer, and FEWER. The last sportsman was a fairy 
 Doctor called McGee, who perched all day long in a 
 tree, like the fowls-of-the-air, practising bird-calls, 
 while the fairy bear sat underneath taking care of 
 his rifle. 
 
 Wonderland is full of stories, especially about 
 Mr. Man. When Mr. Man was stolen away by 
 robbers, and tied up with fiddle-strings in a ferry- 
 
SPITE HOUSE 259 
 
 house, well — David flatly refused to go to bed until 
 we'd come to the ferry across Dream River. 
 
 David's dog came of an alliance between two 
 noble families, so his name is Whiskers Retriever- 
 Dachshund, Esq., P. T. 0. David's cat, who died 
 expensively in a pail of cream, was Mrs. Bull Dur- 
 ham. Ginger was a squirrel in the garden, and the 
 dago was a badger who lived a long way off be- 
 yond the grumpy cow. Dog, cat, squirrel and 
 badger were all of them robbers, but David would 
 have been quite wretched if he had caught them 
 doing anything dishonest. 
 
 Did I mention Mr. Man? He was a hero who 
 lived in fairyland, and didn't believe in fairies, 
 who spoke with a slow, sweet, Texan drawl, who 
 loved and protected all living creatures except poli- 
 ticians, who believed in God, in Mother England, 
 and in Uncle Sam, and who always wrote long let- 
 ters to his mother. David said his funny prayers 
 for mother, and Whiskers, and all kind friends 
 "and make me good like Mr. Man in Wonderland. 
 Amen. Now, tell me some wobbers, mummie." 
 
 Although David has decided to be a tram con- 
 ductor, he still takes some little interest in other 
 walks of life. Once on the tow-path he a^ed an 
 
26o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 old gentleman who was fishing, what he was fishing 
 for, and got the nice reply : "I often wonder." And 
 it was on this path beside the Thames, that one day 
 last November he made a big friendship. His nurse 
 was passing a few remarks with a young man who 
 asked the way to my house, and baby went ahead 
 pursuing his lawful occasions. Curious to know 
 what it felt like to be a real fish, he was stepping 
 into the river to see about it, when the young man 
 interfered. 
 
 "Leggo my tail," said David wrathfully, then 
 with sudden defiance, "I got my feet wet anyway, 
 so there !" 
 
 "That's so," the young man agreed. 
 
 "I say," David grew confident. "Mummie says 
 it's in the paper, so it's all right" 
 
 "What's that, sonny?" 
 
 "A little boy what went in to see about some 
 fishes, and that man what swum and swum, and I 
 saw'd his picture in the paper. So now 'tend you 
 look de udder way." 
 
 "Why, I can't see nothen." 
 
 "You can see. The game is for me to jump in, 
 and you swim." 
 
 "But I can't swim. I'm a sailor." 
 
SPITE HOUSE 261 
 
 "OH, weally? Then what's your name?" 
 
 "It's Billy O'Flynn." 
 
 "No, but that's weally my guinea-pig, the pink 
 one — Billy O'Flynn. You're not a fairy, Billy?" 
 
 "Why, what does you know about fairies ?" 
 
 "Most truthfully, you know, I don't believe in 
 fairies, but then it pleases mummie." 
 
 So Billy sat on his heel making friends with the 
 heaven-born, and Patsy, the nurse, came behind 
 him, craving with cotton-gloved hands to touch the 
 sailor's crisp, short, golden hair, and David gravely 
 tried on the man's peaked cap. 
 
 "Yes," Billy agreed, "fairies is rot when there's 
 real gals about, with rosy cheeks a-blushin' an' cot- 
 ton gloves." 
 
 "Lawks ! 'Ow you sailors does fancy yourselves," 
 said Patsy, her shy fingers drawn by that magnetic 
 gold of the man's hair. 
 
 "Climb on my back and ride," said young 
 O'Flynn to David, "I'll be a fairy horse." 
 
 "The cheek of 'im!" jeered Patsy, "fairy 'orse 
 indeed!" 
 
 Oh, surely the fairies were very busy about them, 
 tugging at heartstrings, while Billy and Patsy fell 
 head over ears in love, and my pet cupid had them 
 
262 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 both for slaves. David rode Billy home, by his 
 august command straight into my brown study, 
 where I sat in my lazy chair. 
 
 Was it my voice telling baby to go and get dry 
 feet ? Was it my hand grasping Billy's horny paw ? 
 For I heard my roaring canon, saw my cliffs, my 
 embattled sculptured cliffs, and once more seemed 
 to walk with Jesse in Cathedral Grove. I could 
 hear my dear man, speaking across the years, "Say, 
 youngster, when you sawed off that table leg to make 
 your mother's limb, what did you do with the cas- 
 ter?" 
 
 I laughed, I cried. Oh, yes, of course I made a 
 fool of myself. For this dear lad came out of Won- 
 derland, this heedless ruffian who knew of my sec- 
 ond marriage, who had such a tale to tell of "Ma- 
 dame Scotson." Oh, haven't you heard? Her pre- 
 cious Baby David is illegitimate! Couldn't I hear 
 my neighbor, Mrs. Pollock, telling that story at the 
 Scandal Club? Then a discreet paragraph from 
 Magpie in Home Truths would be libel enough to 
 brand a public singer. My mother would suggest 
 ever so gently that in the interests of the family, my 
 retirement to a warmer climate — say Italy, would 
 be so suitable. And madame's illegfitimate son 
 
SPITE HOUSE 263 
 
 would be barred from decent schools. Oh, I could 
 see it alii 
 
 With his pea-jacket thrown open, wiping his 
 flushed face with a red handkerchief, shifting from 
 one foot to the other in torment of uneasiness, blow- 
 ing like some sea beast come up from the deeps to 
 breathie, Billy consented not to run away from my 
 hysterics. 
 
 Feeling ill-bred and common, I begged Billy's 
 pardon, made him sit down, tried ever so hard to 
 put him at his ease. Poor lad! His father con- 
 demned as a felon, his mother such a wicked old 
 harridan, his life, to say the very least, uncouth. 
 Yet somehow out of that rough savage face shone 
 the eyes of a gentleman, and there was manliness 
 in all he said, in everything he did. After that 
 great journey for my sake, how could I let him 
 doubt that he was welcome? 
 
 "I know I'm rough," he said humbly, "but you 
 seem to understand. You know I'm straight. You 
 won't mind straight talk unless you're changed, and 
 you're not changed — at least not that way, mum." 
 
 Changed! Ah, how changed! The looking- 
 glass had bitter things to tell me, and crying makes 
 me such a frump. I never felt so plain. And the 
 
264 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 eyes of a young man are often brutally frank to 
 women. 
 
 "Don't mind about me, Billy. Say what you've 
 come to tell me." 
 
 "Been gettin' it ready to say ever since I started 
 for England. Look here, mum, / want to go back 
 to the beginning, to when I was a kid, an' mother 
 kep' that hash house in Abilene. D'ye mind if I 
 speak — I mean about this here Polly ?" 
 
 I set my teeth, and hoped he would be quick. 
 
 "Well, ye see, mum, she only done It for a joke, 
 and the way Jesse treated her — " 
 
 "I can't hear this." 
 
 "You don't mind if I say that mother and me 
 haven't no use for Jesse?" 
 
 "I know that." 
 
 "Well, mother put her up to the idea. To get 
 shut of him, she shammed dead. I helped. I say 
 she done right, mum. If she'd let it go at that, I'd 
 take her side right now." 
 
 "Billy, was that a real marriage?" 
 
 "It was that. She's Jesse's wife all right" 
 
 There was something which braced me in his cal- 
 lous frankness. "I hoped," I said. "Go on." 
 
 "Well, mother hated Jesse somethin' chronic. 
 Afterward when — well, she had to run for the Brit- 
 
SPITE HOUSE 265 
 
 ish possessions, and we met up with Jesse again by 
 accident. He give us a shack and some land, but 
 mother an' me had our pride. How would you like 
 to take charity? Mother hated him still worse, and 
 don't you imagine I'd go back on her. She's my 
 mother. 
 
 "Then you married Jesse. Of course, mother and 
 me both knew that Polly was alive. Father knew 
 too — and father was around when no one but us 
 ever seen him. We knew that Polly was alive, and 
 mother would have given Jesse dead away, only we 
 stopped her. Father said it was none of our busi- 
 ness. Father liked Jesse, I thought the world of 
 you, so when mother wrote to Polly, we'd burn her 
 letters." 
 
 What an escape for us ! 
 
 "Then you saved mother from burning in that 
 shack, and afterward she hated Jesse worse, because 
 shfe couldn't hit him for fear of hurting you. Oh, 
 she was mad because she'd got fond of you. 
 
 "And you took us into your ranch. Charity 
 again, and you sailin' under Protestant colors, both 
 of yez. The way mother prayed for Jesse was 
 enough to scorch his bones." Billy chuckled. "I 
 ain't religious — I drink, and mother's professin' 
 Catholic cuts no figure with me. 
 
266 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Then there's the fightin' between father's gang 
 and Jesse's. Dad got hung, Jesse got the dollars. 
 Rough, common, no-account, white trash, like 
 mother an' me, hears Jesse expounding the Scrip- 
 tures. We ain't got no feelings same as you." 
 
 Poor lad ! Poor savage gentleman ! 
 
 "You saved me from murdering Jesse, and got 
 me away from that ranch. Since then I've fol- 
 lowed the sea. There's worse men there than Jesse. 
 I seen worse grub, worse treatment, worse times in 
 general since I quit that ranch. Five years at sea — " 
 
 There was the glamour, the greatness of the sea in 
 this lad's eyes, just as in Jesse's eyes. Sailors may 
 be rugged, brutal, fierce — not vulgar. Men reach 
 out into spaces where we sheltered women can not 
 follow. 
 
 "Suppose I've grown," said Billy. "Well, mum, I 
 got a notion to go home. Signed as A. B. in a four- 
 masted bark Clan Innes out o' Glasgow, for Van- 
 couver with general cargo. I quit her at Van- 
 couver, made Ashcroft by C. P. R., blind baggage 
 mostly, then hit the road afoot. I thought I'd take 
 my departure from the Fifty-Nine." 
 
 "The old bush trail?" 
 
 "Hard goin', but then I expected, of course, 
 
SPITE HOUSE 267 
 
 mother'd be there at the ranch, and you, mum, an' 
 Jesse, of course, and — " 
 
 "Jones?" 
 
 Dreading his news, I fought for this one little 
 respite before he came to all I feared. If Jesse 
 lived, if he only lived! But at thought of the old 
 ranch life, Billy lapsed to a sheepish grin with one 
 quaint glint of mischief. Then with the utmost grav- 
 ity he asked me if Patsy, my nursemaid, "was 
 claimed". 
 
 "There's many a little craft dips her colors for 
 one who wants me to stand by, but still — " 
 
 "Patsy is free." 
 
 "Faix ! Can't help it, I backed my tawps'l," 
 
 "Proposed?" 
 
 "Save us ! It's time to offer a tow when they're 
 union down, and a danger to navigation. Um. 
 I'm off my course." 
 
 "You must have found things changed when you 
 got to the ranch." 
 
 "Didn't get there. I'd news at Hat Creek, and 
 kep' the road main north. Mother wasn't at the 
 ranch any more. She'd poisoned Jesse's bear. Oh, 
 mum, I don't want to hurt." 
 
 "Go on, dear lad." 
 
268 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Mother'd took up with Polly at Spite House." 
 "Spite House?" 
 
 "It's the Ninety-Nine Mile House. There's a 
 sign-board right across the road : — 
 
 THE NINETY-NINE 
 
 MRS. JESSE SMITH 
 
 HOTEL, STORE, LIVERY. 
 
 "She did that to spite Jesse, and they call the 
 place Spite House." 
 
 Just then the maid brought in the tea things, so, 
 cowardly as usual, I played hostess, delaying all the 
 news I dared not face. We gossiped of Captain 
 Taylor's half-bred child, Wee James at school down 
 East, of Tearful George married to that dreadful 
 young person at Eighty Mile House who scratched 
 herself at meals, so Jesse said. At the Hundred-and- 
 Four, where Hundred Mile Hill casts its tremendous 
 shadow on the lowlands northward, Pete Mathson 
 and his wife were making new harness for the Star 
 Pack-train. There a shadow fell on our attempt at 
 gossip — why does the conversation always stop at 
 twenty minutes past? Billy began to tell me about 
 Spite House. 
 
SPITE HOUSE 269 
 
 Spite House! How right Father Jared was. 
 "Sword versus dragon," he told us, "is heroic': 
 sword versus cockroach is heroics. Don't draw your 
 sword on a cockroach." 
 
 This much I tried to explain to young O'FIynn, 
 whose Irish blood has a fine sense of humor. But 
 the smile he gave me was one of pity, turning my 
 heart to ice. "Jesse," he said, "made that mistake. 
 That's why I've come six thousand miles to warn 
 you. Howly Mother, if I'd only the eddication to 
 talk so I'd be understood ! 
 
 "I'm going to try another course. See here, 
 mum. You've heered tell of Cachalot whales. They 
 runs say eighty tons for full whales — one hundred 
 fifty horse-power, dunno how many knots, full of 
 fight to the last drop of blood. That stands for Jesse. 
 
 "And them sperm whales is so contemptuous of 
 the giant squid they uses her for food. She's small 
 along of a sperm whale, but she's mean as eight 
 python snakes with a devil in the middle. That'll 
 do for Polly. 
 
 "Well, last voyage I seen one of them she-night- 
 mares strangle a bull Cachalot, and the sight turned 
 me sick as a dog. Now, d'ye understand what Pol- 
 ly's doing? I told you I hated Jesse. I told you 
 
270 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 straight to your face why I hated him. And now, 
 mum, I'm only sorry for poor Jesse." 
 
 It was then, I think, that I began really to be 
 terrified. Never in the old days at the ranch had 
 Billy been off his guard even with me. Now he let 
 me know his very heart. I could not help but trust 
 him, and it was no small uneasiness which had 
 brought the lad to England. 
 
 I had fought so hard, schooling myself to think 
 of Jesse as of the dead, with reverent tenderness. 
 Little by little I had filled a bleak and empty widow- 
 hood with mother duties, womanly service, my holy 
 art of song, and harmless fairies, making the best 
 of it while age and plainness were my destiny. But 
 now of a sudden my poor peace was shattered, and 
 that gift of imagination which had imagined even 
 contentment, played traitor and made havoc. Laws, 
 conventions, mean respectabilities, seemed only cob- 
 webs now. Love swept them all away, and nothing 
 mattered. Jesse! Jesse! 
 
 "Them devil-squids," he was saying, "has a habit 
 of throwing out ink to fog the water, so you won't 
 see what they're up to until they lash out to grapple. 
 That's where they're so like this Polly. She's a fat, 
 hearty, good-natured body, and it's the surest fact 
 
SPITE HOUSE 2^\ 
 
 she's kind to men in trouble. Anybody can have a 
 drink, a meal and a bed, no matter how broke he is ; 
 and Spite House is free hospital for the district. 
 She'll sit up nights nursing a sick man, and, till I 
 went an' lived there, I'd have sworn she was good 
 as they make 'em. That's the ink. 
 
 "Then you begins to find out, and what I didn't 
 see, mother would tell me. She'd been three years 
 there. Besides, I seen most of what we calls sailor 
 towns, and I'd thought I'd known the toughest 
 there was in the way of boardin' -houses; but rough 
 house in 'Frisco itself is holiness compared with 
 what goes on there under the sign of Mrs. Jesse 
 Smith. That name ain't exactly clean." 
 
 ."That's enough, I think, if you don't mind. I'd 
 rather have news about our old friends — Captain 
 Taylor, for instance, and Iron Dale, and how is 
 dear Doctor McGee?" 
 
 "Dear Doctor McGee, is it? Well, you see he lived 
 within a mile of Polly. She got him drinkin', 
 skinned him at cards, then told him he'd best shoot 
 himself. The snow drifts through his house. 
 
 "And Iron Dale? Oh, of course, he was Jesse's 
 friend, too. I'd forgot. She got him drunk and 
 went through him. That money was for paying 
 
272 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 his hands at the Sky-line — wasn't his to lose, so he 
 skipped the country. The mines closed down and 
 there wasn't no more packing contracts for Jesse." 
 
 I began to understand what Billy meant, and it 
 was with sick fear I asked concerning my dear 
 man's stanchest friend, his banker, Captain Boul- 
 ton Taylor. 
 
 "You'd better know, mum." There was pain in 
 the lad's face, reluctance in his voice. "Being the 
 nearest magistrate, he tried to down Polly for keep- 
 ing a disorderly house. But then, as old man Taylor 
 owned, he didn't know enough law to plug a rat 
 hole. There ain't no municipality, so Spite House 
 is outside the law. But Polly's friends proved all 
 the good she done to men who was hurt, or sick, 
 or broke. Then she showed up how her store and 
 hotel was cutting into the trade of Hundred Mile 
 House. She bru^ig complaints before the govern- 
 ment, so Taylor ain't magistrate now. The stage 
 stables got moved from Hundred Mile to Spite 
 House. The post-office had to follow. Now he's 
 alone with only a Chinaman. He's blind as a bat, 
 too, and there's no two ways about it — Bolt Taylor's 
 dying." 
 
 "Is there no justice left?" 
 
SPITE HOUSE 273 
 
 "Dunno about that. She uses a lot of law." 
 
 I dared not ask about Jesse. To sit still was im- 
 possible, to play caged tiger up and down the room 
 would only be ridiculous. Still, Billy's poisonous 
 tobacco excused the opening of a window, so I stood 
 with my back turned, while a November night 
 closed on the river and the misty fields. 
 
 How could I leave my baby? How could I pos- 
 sibly break with Covent Garden — where my under- 
 study, a fearsome female, ravened for the part? 
 The cottage would never let before our river sea- 
 son. "Madame Seotson has been called abroad on 
 urgent private business." 
 
 "Of course," the lad was saying, "when Polly got 
 to be postmistress, she handled Jesse's letters, held 
 the envelopes in the steam of a kettle until they'd 
 open, and gummed them when she was through — 
 if she sent them on. She found out who he dealt 
 with and got them warned not to trust him. There's 
 no letters now." 
 
 "She wouldn't dare!" 
 
 "No? You remember he sent you that book you 
 wrote together at the ranch ?" 
 
 "You know that!" 
 
 "I read it at Spite House. She had a heap of 
 
274 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 fun in the bar-room with Jesse's letter. Her cat 
 eyes flamed like mad." 
 
 "There was no letter." 
 
 "She made a paper house of it, and set it alight 
 to show how Jesse burned her home in Abilene. 
 She was drunk, too, that night. But that's nothin'. 
 Glad you didn't hear them yarns she put about the 
 country. Jesse wasn't never what I'd call popular, 
 but he ain't even spoken to now by any white man. 
 His riders quit, his Chinamen cleared out. Then 
 she bought Brown's ferry, had the cable took away, 
 the scow sent adrift, and Surly Brown packed off. 
 She'd heard that Jesse lived by his rifle, so she's 
 cut him off from his hunting grounds. There's 
 nothing left to hunt east of the Eraser." 
 
 "He's starving?" 
 
 "Shouldn't wonder." 
 
 "Billy!" 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 "How soon can I get a ship?" 
 
 "None before Saturday." 
 
 "Go on. Tell me the worst." 
 
 "The signs may read coarse weather or typhoon. 
 I dunno which yet. She's been locatin' settlers 
 along them old clearings in the black pine and, 
 judging by samples I'd seen, she swept the jaiJs." 
 
SPITE HOUSE 275 
 
 "Why more than one?" I asked, "why all that ex- 
 pense when one would do?" 
 
 "Who'd blackmail Polly afterward? She's no 
 fool. She says straight out in public she'd shOot 
 the man who killed him. But them thugs is planted 
 in hungry land, they see his pastures the best in the 
 district, and you know as well as I do he's a danger 
 to all robbers. Why, even when sportsmen and 
 tourists comes along his old gun gets excited. He 
 hates the sight of strangers, anyway. 
 
 "Now, all these years she's goading him to loose 
 out and break the law. That's why she's got the 
 constable protecting her at Spite House. Once she 
 can get him breaking the law she has all them thugs 
 — so many dollars a head — as witnesses. It ain't 
 murder she wants. She says that when she went to 
 his ranch that time Jesse sent her a message by old 
 Mathson, 'I won't let her off with death.' 
 
 "She won't let him off with death. Twice she 
 has put him to shame in public. She'll never rest 
 until she gets him hanged. There's only one thing 
 puzzles me. I see it's his silence, the waiting, which 
 makes Polly wake up and screech at night. But I 
 dunno myself — has Jesse lost his nerve?" 
 
 "How do you know all this?" 
 
2 76 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "She told mother everything." 
 "And your mother told you. Why ?" 
 "Because — say, mum, you remember the thing 
 your husband called Bull Durham?" 
 "Brooke." 
 
 "Fancy Brooke, the thing which Polly kept like 
 a pet lap-dog. The thing which turned state's evi- 
 dence to hang my poor old dad. Brooke's come to 
 Spite House as Polly's manager. Yes, now you 
 know why mother's got no more use for Polly — 
 told me I'd best come to you and give you warning. 
 That thing is at Spite House, and mother's gone." 
 "I see it all now. But one last question. How 
 did you get to England ?" 
 
 "Do you remember, mum, that my poor dad just 
 thought the world of Jesse?" 
 
 "I remember, a legacy for you, — some ponies." 
 "Well, Jesse found out somehow that I was at 
 Spite House. He sent me the value of them ponies, 
 with only a receipt for me to sign. I reckon, mum, 
 that ruined and well-nigh starving, he rode a hun- 
 dred and sixty miles through the black pines, be- 
 cause he's honest. That's why I spent the money 
 comin' to you. I wants to help." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE IMPATIENT CHAPTER 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 THIS chapter is so difficult to start. It deals 
 with a time when life had become impossible 
 unless one could jump from here to Wednesday next, 
 and thence to Monday fortnight. Of course the 
 book is only meant for Jesse, for David, for me, and 
 for those to come who may revere us as their an- 
 cestors. Thank goodness, I am not a novelist ! Think 
 of the fate of the professional writer whose hosts 
 of "characters," the bodiless papery creatures of his 
 brain, will rise up in judgment to accuse their petty 
 creator, to gibber at him, to make his dreams a 
 nightmare. What novelist would escape that con- 
 demnation? Dickens might be saved, perhaps 
 Balzac. Tourguenieff maybe, even Kipling, but in 
 Heaven the writers will not be overcrowded. 
 
 My characters are ready to hand, and my events 
 are real, but how can I possibly weld the notes In 
 
 277 
 
278 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 waiting, to make an harmonious, sane, restful chap- 
 ter, whose very motif is worry? I give it up, for 
 what am I that I should do this thing? 
 
 To three-fourths' pound of artistic temperament, 
 add one cup Celtic blood; stir in a tablespoon of 
 best Italian melody, add humor and laziness to 
 taste; then fry in moonlight over a slow anthem, 
 and there you are. That's me ! 
 
 As a little girl I would prefer a hobgoblin I 
 couldn't see, to a real doll stuffed with the best 
 sawdust. If there happened to be any day-dreams 
 about, visions or reveries, I would play hostess and 
 be well amused; but fend me from accounts, from 
 business men, and from all the things you catch, 
 such as trains and influenza. Hateful practical 
 affairs have to be faced, but I rush them to get 
 through quick. 
 
 Have you noticed that artists who vend feelings 
 as a grocer sells sugar, are always accused of being 
 callous? I sent David with his nurse to stay with 
 Father Jared, so mother called me a cold-blooded 
 wretch. I abandoned my part at the opera to a 
 weird ravening female who can't sing, so my man- 
 ager called me an atheist. My maids had to pack 
 and run to escape storage with the furniture at the 
 
THE IMMTIENT CHAPTER 279 
 
 "Pecking and Tootham Emporiums" ; my little home 
 passed to a gentleman with mourning nails, 
 diamonds, and a lisp; my bits and scraps of stock 
 were sold and the proceeds banked with the Hud- 
 son's Bay Company. Then came casual farewells 
 to baby and Father Jared, and, just as the train 
 pulled out, the district nurse threw a bunch of 
 violets. So I broke down and howled, wondering 
 damply why. Even then I longed for my dear wil- 
 derness where every wind blows clean, for the 
 glamour of an austere land braving the naked etern- 
 ities, the heart of a lonely man who dared to do 
 his duty, all, all that was real and great in life, call- 
 ing me, calling me home. 
 
 The keenest pleasure which ever money gave me 
 came when Billy and I helped in the drafting of 
 a cable order from the Hudson's Bay Company in 
 London to that bland magnifico who manages their 
 branch palace at Vancouver. One always feels that 
 if one happened to want a Paris hat, a bag of nuts, 
 and a monkey, this Vancouver potentate would make 
 a parcel of them without the slightest fear of their 
 getting mixed. As to surprising the company, one 
 might as well tickle the Alps. So here is the tele- 
 gram : — 
 
28o A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Provide three sleighs, each with two horses ; en- 
 gage two reliable bush teamsters ; six months' guar- 
 anteed bonus for secrecy and fidelity. 
 
 "Referring to previous requirements of Jesse 
 Smith, load No. i sleigh to capacity with provisions, 
 luxuries, ammunition, books, consigned to him via 
 bush trail from 59 Mile House, Cariboo Road. Re- 
 ferring to Captain Taylor's past requirements and 
 present sickness, load No. 2 sleigh with stores in- 
 valid comforts, consigned 100 Mile House. Each 
 driver to present load, rig and team, with personal 
 services, and to forward consignee's receipt. 
 
 "Hire third sleigh with team one month, furnish 
 furs on approval, equipment, comforts suitable to 
 bush travel and residence of a lady. Place in charge 
 of young competent civil engineer, bringing instru- 
 ments and assistant to report to Madame Scotson, 
 arriving Ashcroft Pacific Limited 20 inst. 
 
 "Absolute secrecy required. Charge Scotson." 
 
 So far the impulse had moved me to be quick 
 before I repented, and the journey gave time for 
 that. Leaving the sweet majesty and serene order 
 of the English landscape, I made the usual passage 
 by S.S. Charon across the Styx to New York, where 
 I caught a stuffy train for the transit of an untidy 
 continent. And so, in the starry middle of a night, 
 I was met at Ashcroft. 
 
THE IMPATIENT CHAPTER 281 
 
 The civil engineer sent by the Hudson's Bay Com- 
 pany was Mr. Sacrifice T. Eure. He stood uncov- 
 ered, and while his ears froze, spelled his name to 
 me, explaining that there were two syllables in 
 "Eure" with accent on the first. He seemed to con- 
 vey an offer of protection, to claim my friendship, 
 to take charge of my affairs, and with perfect mod- 
 esty to let me know that he was competent. Mud- 
 colored hair hung dank over a fine bloodless face 
 with eyes like steel, jaws like iron, accounting, per- 
 haps, for the magnetic charm of his smile. His 
 English was that spoken by gentlefolk, which has 
 the clearness of water, the sparkle of champagne. 
 His accent? How puzzling that is in a stranger's 
 voice ! Except when we play Shakespearean drama, 
 we all speak with an accent, American say, or 
 British. This gentleman lacked the primitive man- 
 liness which stamps the men of the Dominions. Aft- 
 erward Mr. Eure confessed himself a native of New 
 England. 
 
 He presented his assistant, led me to the sleigh, 
 showed Billy where to stow the luggage, tucked me 
 into some warm furs, congratulated me on escaping 
 the local hotels, then bidding my man and his own 
 to jump in, took the reins and asked which way we 
 
282 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 were going. I served as pilot along a trail of 
 poignant memories. Once as we climbed the great 
 steeps northward, I caught the scent of the bull 
 pines, and would have cried but for the cold, which 
 made it much wiser to sniff. Tears freeze. 
 
 We slept that night at Hat Creek station, where 
 Tearful George proved a most kindly host. He 
 told me of a loaded sleigh which had passed last 
 week on the way to Jesse's ranch. The teamster 
 was Iron Dale. So far I had wondered whether 
 my name was chang^ing letter by letter from 
 Madame Scotson into Mrs. Grumble, but now the 
 scent of the pines brought ease of mind, and in the 
 great calm of the wilderness one is ashamed to fret. 
 
 Our next march brought us rather late for the 
 midday dinner to Fifty-Nine Mile House, which 
 marks the summit of the long climb from Ashcroft 
 to the edge of the black pines. The light was be- 
 ginning to wane when we set out into that land of 
 silent menace, where black forests cast blue shadows 
 over deathly snow, and the cold was that of the 
 space between the stars. Once we had to pull up 
 to adjust a trace, and in that instant the trees seemed 
 suddenly to have paused from dreadful motion. A 
 snow-covered boulder faced us as though in chal- 
 
THE IMPATIENT CHAPTER 283 
 
 lenge: "You think I moved?" A deadfall log 
 seemed to ask us : "Did I moan?" A hollow tree 
 became rigid as though it had been swaying, a gaunt 
 pine leaned as though stopped in the act of falling 
 upon our sleigh. All of them, alert and full of 
 menace, watched us. The trees were dead, the water 
 was all frozen, the snow was but a shroud which 
 seemed to lift and creep. What were we doing here 
 in the land of the dead? The shadows closed upon 
 us, a mist rose, flooding over us, and far off the 
 cold split a tree asunder with loud report as of some 
 minute gun. 
 
 We drove on, freezing, and right glad I was to 
 be welcomed with all the ruddy warmth and kind- 
 ly cheer of Eighty Mile House. There we had 
 tea, and secured fresh horses for the last stage of 
 our journey. I learned also that the driver intrusted 
 by the Hudson's Bay Company with provisions for 
 Hundred Mile House had gone off with the team, 
 leaving his sleigh still loaded in Captain Taylor's 
 yard. 
 
 The malign bush seemed cowed by sheer immens- 
 ity of glittering starlight as we drove on. Only 
 once I ventured to speak, asking Mr. Eure to look 
 out for Ninety-Nine Mile House. Horses accus- 
 
284 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 tomed to bait there would try to stop. I did not 
 want to stop. 
 
 He nodded assent, and, crouched down beside 
 him, I waited until a brave red warmth shone out 
 across the snow from all the lighted windows of 
 Spite House. Mr. Eure lashed his horses, and in 
 a moment more we had passed into the night again. 
 Presently we crossed the little shaky bridge over 
 Hundred Mile Creek, then swung to the left into 
 Captain Taylor's yard. I could see on the right 
 the loom of the old barns, on the left the low house, 
 and at the end one window dimly lighted, which 
 told me my friend still lived. While Tom, the as- 
 sistant, stabled the team, Mr. Eure and Billy got 
 snow shovels from the barn, and hewed out a way 
 to the deep drifted door at the near end of the 
 building. Presently the Chinese servant let us in, 
 and I made my way through the barroom and 
 dining-hall to that far door on the right. How 
 changed was the grand old Hundred since the days, 
 only five years ago, of pompous assizes, banquets, 
 dances, when these rooms overflowed with light, 
 warmth, and comfort, now dark, in Arctic cold, in 
 haunted silence! I crept into the captain's room, 
 where, in an arm-chair beside the stove, the old man 
 
THE IMPATIENT CHAPTER 285 
 
 lay. I knelt beside him, taking his dreadfully 
 swollen hand. 
 
 "Dear wife," he muttered, whose wife must have 
 been dead full forty years, "this hulk is going to 
 be laid up soon, in Rotten Row. Can't all of us 
 founder in action." 
 
 I ran away. But then there was much to be done, 
 fires, lights, supper, beds, and the unloading of the 
 sleigh full of hospital comforts, which would set 
 my patient a great deal more at ease. 
 
 When I left my patient, very late that night, sup- 
 posing all lucky people to be in bed, I found Mr. 
 Eure making himself some tea. Gladly I joined 
 him beside the kitchen stove, ever so pleased with its 
 warmth and the tea, for I was weary, past all hope 
 of any sleep. Besides, the poor man was just dy- 
 ing with curiosity as to our journey and his engage- 
 ment as my engineer. So, for that one and only 
 time I told the story of Jesse's fate, and mine. The 
 creature would stop me at times to check the pro- 
 nunciation of words, or note the English manner of 
 placing accents, his own odd way of showing sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 And then I tried to explain the scheme which 
 needed his services as an engineer. 
 
386 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Let's see," he checked my rambling statement. 
 "Try if I've got all that correct. This Cariboo 
 wagon road runs from Ashcroft to Quesnelle, due 
 north, except at one point where the government 
 wouldn't pay for a bridge across the Hundred Mile 
 gorge. 
 
 "So at the ninety-five-mile post the road swings 
 eastward five miles, passing Spite House to the head 
 of the gorge, where it crosses Hundred Mile Creek, 
 right here. 
 
 "From here the road turns west again on the 
 north side of the gorge, and after one mile on the 
 level, drops down the Hundred Mile Hill, which 
 is three miles high, and a terror to navigation. 
 
 "At the bottom the road turns north again for 
 Quesnelle, at a cabin called the One Hundred and 
 Four where old Pete Mathson lives, a hairy little 
 person, like a Skye terrier with a faithful heart 
 
 "And said Mathson has blazed a cut-off, crossing 
 the foot of the gorge, then climbing by an easy 
 grade to the ninety-five-mile post. The said cut-off 
 is five miles long. Made into a wagon road, it 
 would give a better gradient for traffic, save four 
 miles, employ local labor at a season when money 
 is scant, and be an all-round blessing to mankind. 
 
THE IMPATIENT CHAPTER 287 
 
 At the foot of the gorge we'd locate the new Hun- 
 dred Mile House. 
 
 "Incidentally, Spite House would be side-tracked, 
 left in the hungry woods four miles from nowhere." 
 
 "Tell me," I urged, "what you think." 
 
 "My dear madam, when I've made a survey you 
 shall have dates and figures for a temporary snow 
 road, a permanent way, and a house." 
 
 "It can be done?" 
 
 "Why, certainly." 
 
 "You approve?" 
 
 "Yes. I see dollars in this, for me." 
 
 "You think I'm foolish!" 
 
 "It will be an excellent road." 
 
 "But the result?" 
 
 "Please don't blame the engineer." 
 
 "Oh, tell me what you think, as a man." 
 
 "Well, let's pretend I'm Polly." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 "Being Polly, and from my Polly point of view, 
 frankly, I'm pleased. Here are hundreds of new 
 customers, with Madame Scotson's money to spend 
 at Spite House." 
 
 "My men will sign an agreement. The man who 
 visits Spite House forfeits a bonus for good serv- 
 
288 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 ice, loses all outstanding pay, and leaves my camp 
 that day." 
 
 "Is that so ? Of course the coaches change horses 
 at Spite House." 
 
 "When I've bought out the stage company, they'll 
 change horses at the New Hundred." 
 
 "And only stop at Spite House for the mails?" 
 
 "I shall appeal to the postmaster-general." 
 
 "On the ground that you're running a rival 
 house? Captain Taylor, you say, did that." 
 
 "My house shall charge nothing. It shall be free, 
 and the visitors my guests." 
 
 "Then, in my little Polly way, I'm afraid I'll have 
 to move Spite House down to the new road." 
 
 "On to my land?" 
 
 "Your cruelty reduces me to tears. I am a 
 martyr. I appeal to the chivalrous public to boy- 
 cott that new road." 
 
 "When I've brought money into the country? 
 Oh, you don't know this hungry neighborhood!" 
 
 "Mercy! My client's done for. I'm Madame 
 Scotson's managing engineer. May I ask a plain 
 question?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Is there water-power in this gulch?" 
 
THE IMPATIENT CHAPTER 289 
 
 "There's a lovely waterfall." 
 
 "I'll look around to-morrow." 
 
 And then came Mr. Eure's confession. The as- 
 sistant, not himself, was a surveyor. "I'm only a 
 paper-maker. I'm looking for cheap timber, good 
 snow for haulage, water-power to mill the lumber 
 into paper-pulp, and a road to market. I've been 
 traveling some months now in search of that com- 
 bination, and if your lovely waterfall will give me 
 five thousand horse-power, I shall have to build your 
 cut-off road for myself, also the house. Then 
 there'll be war against these black pines, your 
 enemies. As to Spite House, it seems hardly the 
 kind of thing for you to deal with. Perhaps you'll 
 leave that to me." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 RESCUE 
 Jesse's Letter 
 
 "OTHER in Heaven: 
 
 M' 
 
 Please thank God for me and say I'm 
 grateful. Tell the neighbor angels how little mothers 
 having sons on earth are badly missed and grudged 
 by hungering mortals. Prayers sent to Heaven are 
 answered, but not letters. I reckon no one here 
 could ever write a letter happy enough, so light 
 with joy that it could fly up there. And when I'd 
 a notion to write, in these last years, I knew a heavy 
 letter might reach the wrong address, to make more 
 sorrow in the other place. I've passed the hours 
 writing, times when I had paper, but the stuff I 
 wrote would make no creature happy, except, per- 
 haps, critics, who enjoy to scoff. What can't make 
 happiness is worse than dirt. 
 
 In the days when I thought this Jesse person was 
 important, I used to read the Old Testament, which is 
 
 290 
 
RESCUE 291 
 
 full human with pride and arrogance of man. But 
 since I learned that this whole world is only a dream 
 from which we shall awake, the New Testament has 
 been my pasturage. Maybe three moons ago, when 
 my ammunition had run out, and my neighbor ani- 
 mals had learned all the little secrets of my traps 
 and snares, there was no food for the earthly part 
 of me, and I wondered what God was going to do 
 about it. Of course I couldn't question about His 
 business, but seeing that likely He intended me to 
 leave my little worries behind, I made a good fire 
 in the cabin, lay down in the bunk, arranged my 
 body to be in decent order in case I left it, and 
 took my Bible to pass away the time. 
 
 I suppose I'd dropped off to sleep, when some- 
 thing rough began to happen, jolting me back into 
 the world of fuss. A man in a buckskin shirt and 
 a bad temper, stamping the snow off his moccasins, 
 shaking me by the arm. He was my old friend Iron 
 Dale, a man of the world — which smashed him. 
 
 He seemed to be worried, and' that, of course, was 
 natural to a man like Iron, lusty and eager, with an 
 appetite for money — whereas poor Polly had done 
 her best to cure him of his dollars. She is like a 
 dutiful scapegoat eager to carry the burdens of all 
 
292 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 the people, but Iron doesn't understand and would 
 carry rocks to the cliifs rather than have no load in 
 a world of workers. Don't you remember, mother, 
 the lesson of the Labrador, "The Lord gave, and 
 the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of 
 the Lord." He takes away the things which keep us 
 from Him. 
 
 But here was Iron jumping about the cabin, busy 
 as a chipmunk, with just the same hurried, funny 
 way of blaspheming. He had to make fire, cook 
 soup, and haul things in from outdoors, while he 
 told me news about a team, a sleigh, a load of stores 
 for me, and his own services paid up six months 
 ahead if I'd let him work on the ranch. He was 
 like a little boy which plays at keeping store, where 
 you've got to pretend to trade, with nary a smile, 
 lest he should see and the whole game turn unreal. 
 So I sat up for soup, which made my loose skin fit 
 me again as I filled. I'd answer to all he did, grave 
 as a constable, playing the game of life just as I 
 used to. 
 
 All of us Have to play, at trade, at war, at love, 
 at kingdoms and republics. We play at empire 
 without a grin, we play with serious faces at learn- 
 ing and the arts. Yet all the business of men is like a 
 
RESCUE 293 
 
 game of children playing on the sands, as though 
 there were no tide to sweep away our footprints. 
 
 I played with Iron at being alive, and he got so 
 damned indulgent I could have smacked his face. 
 
 When he'd tended the horses. Iron set up a clock 
 upon the shelf, so I might hear the ticking as time 
 passed. He carried in armloads from the sleigh, he 
 opened cases, he spilled out sacks. He showed me 
 maple syrup, try-your-strength cigars, a dandy rifle 
 with plenty ammunition, books, clothes, candy, a 
 piano which plays itself, then garden seeds, and all 
 sorts of things which you'd have honed for in 
 the long ago. The place was like a barter store, 
 piled to the beams with riches wasted on me, who 
 hadn't a neighbor left. Why, even Iron, who used 
 to think for no one but himself, had a kitten for me, 
 warm in his pocket, and forgotten until a case of 
 hardware squashed out its best Sunday scream. 
 Who'd ever think, too, that so small a bundle of fur 
 and claws should have a purr to fill my whole bed 
 with joy. Surely, I loved this world I'd so nearly 
 quit, when after supper Iron loosed a gramophone. 
 The Hudson's Bay man had shown him a special 
 "record" from England, the angel song in Chopin's 
 Marche Funebre. We had that first, the very song 
 
294 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 she used to sing in this cabin, times when I reckoned 
 it a shameful thing for any man to cry. 
 
 It was Kate's voice. 
 
 Oh, tell God, mother, that I'm very gratefiil. I 
 heard her voice filling this place which used to be 
 her home. Though my wife and I are parted for 
 all our years — love finds a way. 
 
 A week or more had passed, and I'd my strength 
 again. The river had frozen so that we could cross 
 to the hunting grounds beyond, and when we came 
 back our camp was full of meat. 
 
 I was once rich, before my wealth of memories 
 went bad and turned to pain. I once had peace or 
 thought so, till I found that there is none for men 
 who keep on growing. But wealth of memories, 
 and peace of mind, and humbleness of spirit are 
 but emptiness, and life is a waste until it is filled 
 with love. Iron's kindness to me, the charity which 
 sent me Kate's voice, the love behind the gift which 
 found me dying — ^these are the things which saved 
 my soul alive. My life must be filled with love, my 
 hours must be deeds of help for others, there must 
 be no more self in me at all. It would be better to 
 be damned and doing good in hell, than to squan- 
 der love where it runs waste in Heaven. 
 
RESCUE 295 
 
 The truth is scarce, being winnowed by many 
 preachers, and my grains when I try to eat them, 
 are mostly husks. Iron calls me a coward. But 
 Polly only weighs ninety-eight pounds, and I two 
 hundred, so that I couldn't have managed to feel 
 brave fighting her. Then Iron claims it's not the 
 little woman I ought to fight, but the big evil she 
 did in bringing all our settlers to death or ruin. 
 A woman's whim is light as thistle-down, but this- 
 tles choke the pasture unless you fight them, and 
 Christ himself fought to the death against the evils 
 which grew rank around him. I doubt I've been 
 a cowardly sort of Christian. 
 
 Was I right to live alone? For if this world's a 
 school, I've been a truant. Can I live for self, while 
 all things done for self are only wasted? My place 
 was in the world working for others. 
 
 I'd got so far in thinking my morals needed re- 
 pairs, when a new thing happened, pointing out the 
 way. O'Flynn rode over burning the trail from 
 the Hundred. My wife is there ! Although we may 
 not meet, her love has brought her from England 
 to be near me. 
 
 O'Flynn has seen my son, he has spoken with 
 Father Jared, he has come with Kate from England, 
 
296 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 and he left her nursing at Bolt Taylor's bedside. 
 She is sending Surly Brown from Soda Creek with 
 a cable, to build a new scow, and start the ferry 
 again. Ransome Pollock's to manage the Trevor 
 ranch. Iron's to reopen the Sky-line while she 
 makes his peace with the owners — O'Flynn wants 
 to run the packing. She is finding a doctor to take 
 McGee's practise. Tearful George is to buy an 
 imported stallion, and drift him with a bunch of 
 East Oregon mares to stock my empty pastures. 
 The dead settlement is to live again as though there 
 had been no Polly to rob, ruin, and murder among 
 our pioneers. And then my wife will send young 
 Englishmen to school with me for training. 
 
 Stroke by stroke this Mr. O'Flynn comes lashing 
 home the news into my hide, as though I were being 
 flogged. He says he hated me always, but never 
 despised me before as he does now. My wife and I 
 should change clothes, only I'd be too useless for a 
 woman. Iron says the same, and in a most un- 
 christian way I thrashed the pair, knocking their 
 heads together, for putting me too much in the 
 wrong while I wanted my breakfast. They think 
 there's something in my argument. 
 i The news is better for being discussed, and best 
 
RESCUE 297 
 
 of all I reckon this man Eure who is to side-track 
 Polly, building a town at the foot of the Hundred 
 Mile Falls. The pines on the high land, too small 
 a trash for lumber, are good enough for pulp to 
 feed a mill, while paper is the plate from which we 
 eat our knowledge. I see the black bush turning 
 into books, the lands in oats or pasture till they're 
 warmed for wheat, and whea we come to the rocks 
 there's marble to build colleges for our sons, gold 
 to endow them. The land too poor for any other 
 crop, is best for raising men. 
 
 It's only because I'm happy I write nonsense, 
 feeling this night as though I were being cured of 
 all my blindness. I have a sense that though I sit in 
 darkness, my wife is with me, and if my eyes were 
 opened, I should see her. Is it our weakness which 
 gives such strength to love? 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 AT HUNDRED MILK HOUSE 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 MR. EURE inspected the woods and water- 
 power, then departed for the coast, secretly 
 to buy timber limits, avowedly to find a nurse and 
 a doctor. 
 
 Mr. Tom Faulkner, his engineer, surveyed, then 
 let contracts for temporary snow road, log buildings 
 at the falls, and a telegraph line which would secure 
 our business from being known at Polly's post-office. 
 
 Mr. Dale reopened the Sky-line mines, pending 
 my arrangement with the owners. 
 
 Mr. Surly Brown placed a cable and built a scow 
 in readiness to renew his ferry business. 
 
 Mr. Tearful George placed loads of forage a 
 day's march apart across the forest, then drifted 
 live stock into Jesse's ranch. 
 
 Father Jared sought out young gentlemen to be 
 trained at Jesse's "School of Colonial Instruction." 
 
 298 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 299 
 
 Mr. William O'Flynn became bartender, despatch 
 rider, stable man, general adviser, and commander- 
 in-chief at the Hundred. 
 
 A bewildered Chinaman, with a yellow smile, 
 cooked, scrubbed, chattered pidgin-English, and 
 burned incense to Joss in the kitchen. 
 
 And I, Kate, was busy nursing and keeping house, 
 with never a moment to spare for the specters which 
 thronged our forest. After the snow road diverted 
 traffic, my one visitor was Pete Mathson, who on 
 Saturdays climbed the long hill for his rations. 
 When my patient was well enough, he would talk 
 with "Bolt" Taylor about old times in the gold 
 mines, or on the high technic of pack-train har- 
 ness, above the comprehension of a woman. 
 
 Until the nurse came I was with my patient al- 
 ways, and slept in the same close room. On her 
 arrival — how I envied that pretty uniform — Nurse 
 Panton proceeded to set us all to rights. She was 
 a colorless creature, supported by routine as by a 
 corset, and Billy informed me that she needed to be 
 shocked thoroughly. He told her that the patient, 
 being a sailor, wanted the nursing done shipshape 
 and Bristol fashion. Nurse and I were to have each 
 four hours on and four off, with two dog or half 
 
^oo A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 watches, which would daily reverse the order, so 
 giving us the middle watch by turns. Nurse was 
 indignant at the very idea, and finding me on Billy's 
 side, protested to the captain. "Capital!" said he, 
 delighted at any chance of shaking up the long 
 monotony of illness. "You'll strike the bells as we 
 do at sea," he said, "two for each hour." 
 
 Of course the first of the nursing ten command- 
 ments is, "Pretend to agree with the patient;" but 
 then the naval oflScer, if he missed his bells, would 
 awake with horrible deep-sea oaths, and "Stop her 
 grog," so that she got no tea except by obedience. 
 
 Whether relieved at midnight or at four A. M. I 
 would put on my furs for a little prowl outdoors. 
 To leave the house when it was forty degrees below 
 zero, felt like the plunge into an icy bath, but gave 
 the same refreshment afterward. And it was good 
 to watch the ghostly dances of the northern lights 
 fill the whole sky with music visible. 
 
 Once setting out on such an excursion I traversed 
 the dining-hall, entered the dark barroom, and 
 opened the inner door which gave upon the porch. 
 But this time I could not push the storm door open. 
 Something resisted, something outside thrusting at 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 301 
 
 the panels, something alive. I fell back against the 
 bar, imagining bears, burglars, bogies, anything, 
 while I listened, afraid to breathe. 
 
 It was then I heard a voice, a girlish voice outside 
 in the Arctic cold, chanting in singsong recitation 
 as though at school : 
 
 "Bruce, Bruce; Huron, Desoronto; Chatham 
 Cayuga; Guelph — not Guelph — oh, what comes 
 after Cayuga ?" Then feeble hands battered against 
 the door, "Teacher ! Teacher !" 
 
 But when I opened the door, the girl stepped 
 back afraid. 
 
 "You're not the teacher," she said; "oh, tell me 
 before she comes. Sixty-six counties and the towns 
 have all got mixed." 
 
 "Come in and let me tell you." 
 
 "I daren't! I daren't! You're not the teacher. 
 This is not the school. You'll take me back !" 
 
 She turned, trying to run away, but her legs 
 seemed wooden, and she slid about as though she 
 were wearing clogs. 
 
 "I won't," she screamed, "I won't go back !" Then 
 she fell. 
 
 "Dear child, you shan't go back." 
 
302 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 But still she shrank from me. "Oh, leave me 
 alone !" she pleaded. 
 
 "Mayn't I give you some tea?" 
 
 "You won't take me back to Spite House?" 
 
 "Not to that dreadful place." 
 
 "Do you keep girls, too?" 
 
 "There's only a nurse, and a poor dying man." 
 
 "And you'll hear me the counties of Ontario ?" 
 
 "Why, yes, dear." 
 
 "I'll come then," but as she tried to get up, "it's 
 cramp," she moaned. 
 
 "Dear child, you're freezing." 
 
 "I'm not cold, it's cramp." 
 
 She must have fallen through the snow which 
 covered our water-hole, for she was literally incased 
 in ice up to the breasts. 
 
 Finding I had not strength to carry her, I shouted 
 for the nurse, who roused Billy, and then the China- 
 man. Together we carried her indoors, gave her 
 brandy, and laid her, dressed as she was, in Captain 
 Taylor's bath. Then while Billy rode hard for a 
 doctor, nurse and I filled the bath with freezing 
 water, which for eight hours we kept renewed with 
 ice. Drawn gently from her body, the frost formed 
 a film of ice upon the surface, but she assured me 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 303 
 
 that she felt quite warm, without the slightest pain. 
 To sustain her I gave liquid food at intervals, and 
 quite clear now in her mind, even cheerfiflly she 
 trusted me with her story. 
 
 She told me of a village among vineyards, over- 
 looking Lake Ontario, just where a creek comes 
 tumbling down from the Niagara heights. Her 
 father, a retired minister, wasted his narrow means 
 in trying to raise the proper grapes for sacramental 
 wine. Mother was dead, and nine small children 
 had to be fed and clothed, to appear with decency 
 at church and school, so that they would not be 
 ashamed among the neighbors. "You see," she 
 added primly, "I'm the eldest, the only one grown 
 up, so, of course, I couldn't be spared to stay at 
 college." And there was little to earn in the village, 
 much to do taking a mother's place. 
 
 Then Uncle John found an advertisement in the 
 paper. A governess was wanted for four children 
 somewhere in British Columbia. The wages were 
 so generous that there would be enough to spare 
 for helping father. It meant so much of proper 
 food, and good warm clothing for the younger chil- 
 dren. So references were exchanged with Mr. 
 Brooke, who wrote most charming letters, and 
 
304 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 Uncle John lent money for the journey. My little 
 schoolma'am pursed her lips severely over that 
 loan, which must be repaid by instalments. Then 
 her eyes shone with tears, and her face quivered, all 
 the scholastic manner quite gone, for she spoke of 
 the sad parting with everybody she loved, then of 
 the long nights, the lonely days of that endless jour- 
 ney across the continent. 
 
 Mr. Brooke met Jenny at Ashcroft, and took her 
 by sleigh nearly a hundred miles, getting more and 
 more familiar and horrid until, in a state of wild 
 fear of him, she ran for safety into a drunken riot 
 at Spite House. The waitresses were rude and 
 cruel, Polly lay drunk on the floor. There were no 
 children. 
 
 Afterward I learned from Mr. Eure that I was 
 a prejudiced witness, without a shred of evidence, 
 that no court would listen to hearsay, and that the 
 dying girl's confession would not be allowed in 
 court except it were made under oath before a mag- 
 istrate. Poor Jenny would never have told any man 
 what happened at Spite House ; she would not have 
 given the last sane moments of her life to ven- 
 geance; and so there was no case against either 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 305 
 
 Brooke or Polly in a crime which had earned them 
 penal servitude. 
 
 Vengeance? I think our prayers together did 
 more good, and when the time came for Jenny's re- 
 moval to a bed of lint soaked in carbolic oil, she wag 
 prepared to face the coming pain. 
 
 "Shall I die?" she asked. I could only kiss her. 
 
 "Then," she said, "even if it isn't true, tell papa 
 I died game." 
 
 She was Canadian, and there is valor in that 
 blood. 
 
 Before she was moved. Doctor Saunderson, of 
 Clinton, had taken charge, and since we lacked pe- 
 troleum enough for a bath, approved what we had 
 done. He used opiates, but the pain, after a frost- 
 bite is thawed, is that which follows burning. On 
 the third day came exhaustion — and release. 
 
 I was obliged to give evidence at the inquest, and 
 my profession has taught me quietness, restraint, 
 simplicity. The coroner might talk law, but I was 
 dealing with men, it was my business to make them 
 cry. There was no case against Brooke, but from 
 that time onward visitors to Spite House were 
 treated as lepers until they left the country. 
 
3o6 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 For the rest, I would not be present either at the 
 funeral or at the public meeting, or see the press 
 man who came up from Ashcroft, or discuss the 
 matter with any of my neighbors. 
 
 The theme was one distasteful to any woman 
 with claims to decency. These things are not dis- 
 cussed. And even if through misfortune my rela- 
 tionship with Jesse became a common scandal, at 
 least I need not share the conversation. To make a 
 scene, to discuss my affairs with strangers, to seek 
 public sympathy, were things impossible. Yet I 
 heard enough. The waitresses were gone from Spite 
 House, the constable was dismissed from his posi- 
 tion; the business of the post-office and stage-line 
 were transferred to Mr. Eure's stopping-place at 
 the falls. Brooke and Polly were left alone, with no 
 power, it seemed then, for any further mischief. 
 
 Until it actually happened, I never expected that 
 Brooke would visit me, but perhaps from his point 
 of view the event was piquant. His betrayal of 
 Billy's father to the gallows, of Jesse and myself to 
 Polly's vengeance, and of an innocent lady to ruin, 
 and death by cold, might have made even Brooke 
 suspect he would not be welcomed. But then Billy 
 was away, the gentleman had a revolver, and nei- 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 307 
 
 ther the nurse, the Chinaman, nor myself were dan- 
 gerous. Hearing a horse at the door, I went to the 
 barroom, and dodged behind the bar or he would 
 have shaken hands. 
 
 While he was actually present it did not occur to 
 me that there might be danger. I was conscious of 
 aromas from stale clothes and cigars, liquor, per- 
 fumes, and hair-oil ; I noted the greasy pallor which 
 comes of a life by lamplight; and while Brooke was 
 Brooke, he had to dress his part As a professional 
 gambler, he wore long hair, mustache and impe- 
 rial, broadcloth and black slouch hat, celluloid 
 "linen" and sham diamonds. To these the climate 
 added bright yellow moccasins, and a fur coat of 
 the hairiest, the whole costume keyed up to Sunday 
 best. Dirty and common, of course, yet let me in 
 justice own that Brooke was handsome, frank, and 
 magnetic as of old. Even the ravages of every vice 
 had left him something of charm, his only asset in 
 the place of manhood. 
 
 No, I was not frightened, but as a daughter of 
 Eve a little curious to know what brought him, and 
 not quite fool enough to run the risk of showing any 
 temper. 
 
 When I asked him to state his business, with a 
 
3o8 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 large gesture he claimed the visitor's drink. It is 
 an old custom, which I broke. 
 
 "You think I'm a villain?" 
 
 I made no comment. 
 
 "I've come to thank you, ma'am. If you'd pressed 
 that girl's case it might have been well — awkward." 
 
 I told him that had I known the law, I should 
 have done my best to get him penal servitude for 
 life. 
 
 "That's straight," he answered indulgently, "you 
 always were clear grit, and that's why I want — well, 
 ma'am," he lowered his eyes, "I'm going to confess. 
 You don't mind?" he added. 
 
 My eyes betrayed my one desire, escape, but he 
 stood in the doorway leading to the house. 
 
 "Your presence," I said, "is distasteful. Please, 
 will you let me pass?" 
 
 "Not till I've set things straight." 
 
 There was no bell with which to summon help, 
 and I should have been ashamed to make a scene. 
 
 "Go on," I said. 
 
 "I dunno how you feel, mum, about life. I've 
 been disappointed, starting in with ideals, and 
 they're gone. I'm as straight as the world will let 
 me, without my going hungry." 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 309 
 
 Let me here quote one of Jesse's letters to his 
 mother. "This Brooke and I grew our beef and 
 matured our horns on the same strong pasture, but 
 where a homely face kept me out of temptation, he 
 had what you call beauty, and I'd call vanity. In- 
 stead of trying to be, he aimed to act. He'd play 
 cow-boy, or robber, or gambler, things he could 
 never be, because he's not a man. He could wear 
 the clothes, the manners, the talk, and pass himself 
 off for real. The women who petted him sank and 
 were left in the lurch. The men who trusted him 
 were shot and hanged. That made him lonesome, 
 gave him the melancholy past, the romantic air, the 
 charm — ^all stock in trade. Long hair costs nothing, 
 he pays no dog tax, but life is too rich for his blood, 
 and in the end he'll die of it like Judas. Say, 
 mother, wasn't there a Mrs. Judas Iscariot? She 
 must have been a busy woman to judge by the size 
 of the Iscariot family." 
 
 "Yes," Brooke sighed, "I'm a disillusioned, dis- 
 appointed man." 
 
 I had a curious sense that this actor of life was 
 trying to be real, and in the attempt he posed. 
 
 "Not that I claim," he went on, "that Spite House 
 is anyways holy. It's not. Of course, a sporting 
 
3IO A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 and gambling joint meets a demand, a regrettable 
 demand, a thing we both abhor and would like to be 
 shut of. But since demand creates the supply, let's 
 have it in high-toned style, not run by thugs. That's 
 what I say." 
 
 His spacious benevolence seemed to confer part- 
 nership, yet to be shocked at my immoral tendencies. 
 
 "However," he sighed, "it's over. It's done with, 
 shoved aside. There was money in it, but small 
 money, and we pass on. Old Taylor may have 
 told you that as far back as November we decided, 
 Mrs. Smith and me, to run the house as a first-class 
 resort for tourists. We bought the Star Pack-train 
 from Taylor, and the old cargador is making our 
 new riggings." 
 
 This was news indeed ! 
 
 "Of course pack-trains as such are out of date 
 as Noah's ark, and we've got to march with the 
 procession. You'll see in this prospectus," he held 
 out a paper, "well, I'll read it. Let's see — ^yes — 
 'Forest Lodge, long under the able management of 
 Mrs. Jesse Smith, with great experience in' * * * 
 no, it's further on — 'Forest Lodge is the natural 
 center for parties viewing the wondrous wilds.' 
 That should grip them, eh? 'Experienced guides 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 31 1 
 
 with pack and saddle animals from the famous Star 
 atajo,' we can't call them mules, of course, 'will 
 escort parties visiting the sceneries and hunting 
 grounds of the Coast Range, the Cariboo, the 
 Omenica, the Babine, and the Cassiar.' That ought 
 to splash !" 
 
 Billy had warned me of bad characters settled on 
 the lands toward Jesse's ranch. Were these Brooke's 
 "experienced guides" ? 
 
 "Naturally," Brooke folded his prospectus, "the 
 sporting trade had to be closed right down before 
 the tourist connection took a hold. Millionaire 
 sportsmen out to spend their dollars, expect to find 
 things just so. They want recherche meals, and 
 unique decorations, real champagne wine, and 
 everything 'imported' even when it's made on the 
 spot. They don't make no hurroar over losing a 
 few thousands at cards, but they just ain't going to 
 stand seeing Polly laying around drunk on the bar- 
 room floor. I tell you when they comes I ain't 
 going to have Polly around my place. That's 
 straight. She'll get her marching orders P. D. Q." 
 
 So Polly was next for betrayal. 
 
 "Yes." Brooke became very confidential. "What 
 I require at Forest Lodge is a real society hostess, 
 
312 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 a lady. Yes, that's what's the matter — a lady. Now 
 that's what I come about. Ever since I seen you 
 Mrs., I mean madam, I mean — " 
 
 -He became quite diffident, leaving the doorway, 
 leaning over the counter. 
 
 "Would you — " he began, "would you be pre- 
 pared, ma'am, to — " 
 
 My way was clear, and I ran. 
 
 It often seemed to me that Jesse's life and mine 
 were veiled in some strange glamour of a directed 
 fate. Little by little, in ever so slow degrees this 
 mist was lifting, and I began to feel that soon the 
 air would clear, giving us back to blessed common- 
 place. Through no act of mine, but by Brooke's 
 incompetence, the prosperous business of Spite 
 House had been brought to ruin.* Polly was drink- 
 ing herself to death, and presently would find her- 
 self betrayed by that same callous treachery which 
 had wrought such havoc in my dear man's life and 
 mine. 
 
 Billy had held these last few weeks that Polly's 
 funds were gone, that she was penniless. He 
 begged me to let him destroy the great sign-board 
 across the road to Spite House. Failure to renew 
 
 ♦Note: Jesse says I ruined PoUy, which just shows how prejudiced men 
 are, even at the best. 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 313 
 
 that would indeed be conclusive proof of the 
 woman's penury, but the meanness of such a test 
 revolted me, for one does not strike a fallen adver- 
 sary. 
 
 Were there any funds to promote black pines and 
 mosquitoes as an attraction to millionaires? Brooke 
 in his folly had divulged that foolish scheme, suffi- 
 cient to complete the ruin of a poor wretched wom- 
 an, before he abandoned her interests to seek his 
 own. Was it true? I went straight to Captain 
 Taylor. 
 
 For a week past my refractory patient had in- 
 sisted upon living entirely upon cheese, a seemingly 
 fatal diet, which to confess the truth had done him 
 a world of good. Save for the loss of his sight he 
 was quite his dear old self and glad of a gossip. 
 
 "Yes, Kate," he chuckled, "the murder's out at 
 last. You see I'm not exactly prosperous, and my 
 retired pay is a drop in my bucket of debts. And 
 then our good friend Polly invested all her wealth 
 in buying up the mortgage on this ranch." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "For fun. For the pleasure of turning me out. 
 She kindly granted me permission to sleep in that 
 old barrel which used to belong to my fox, but then 
 
314 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 you see I really couldn't be under any obligations to 
 the lady." 
 
 "Did you pay off the mortgage?" 
 
 "I did. So Polly strums rag-time tunes on my 
 piano, Brooke wears my early Victorian frock coat, 
 they serve their beans and bacon with my family 
 plate, the gentleman sports my crest, the lady has 
 my dear mother's diamonds which are really paste. 
 My dear, they're county society — ^you really must 
 call and leave cards." 
 
 "But the portraits!" 
 
 "They stared at me so rudely that I burnt them. 
 Ancestors ought to remember they're dead, and 
 they'd rather be burned, too, than be claimed as 
 Polly's aunts." 
 
 "And the Star Pack-train?" 
 
 "A half-interest, my dear, a half-interest, that's 
 all." 
 
 "So you're in partnership?" 
 
 "Why, no. Fact is, old Pete has been working 
 thirty-five years, with his faithful eyes shining be- 
 hind that hair — it's silver now, eh ? Well, I couldn't 
 leave him in the lurch. And there's the Hudson's 
 Bay to consider, with forts up north depending on 
 us for supplies. And I suppose, when I come to 
 
AT HUNDRED MILE HOUSE 3 
 
 think of it, I'm rather proud of the outfit. So, 
 my sentimental way, I made a deed by which P< 
 is managing owner, with a half-interest, while Pol 
 is sleeping partner with no right to interfere." 
 
 "You've told Pete?" 
 
 "No. I suppose I've got to own up?" 
 
 "You don't want Pete to be cheated by his pai 
 ners." 
 
 "You're right. Just open my desk and look i 
 side. It's the paper on top." 
 
 I found and read the deed. 
 
 "You've read it, of course," I said. 
 
 "It was read to me by the lawyer chap. Isn't 
 all right?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," I managed to say, "it's all right — su 
 funny legal jargon." 
 
 I looked at the names of the witnesses, Cultus M 
 Tavish and Low-lived Joe, the worst characters 
 our district. The document read to the old blii 
 man had been no doubt destroyed. The deed act 
 ally signed made Polly sole owner of the famo 
 pack-train. My friend had been cheated. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE CARGADOR 
 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 IT was sixty degrees below zero. The moon- 
 light lay in silver on the pines, the hundred- 
 and-four-mile cabin, deep buried among the drifts, 
 glittered along the eaves with icicles, the smoke 
 went up into the hush of death, and the light in the 
 frosted window would glow till nearly dawn. 
 
 Within, Pete sat upon his shiny bench, rolling 
 waxed end upon his shiny knee, and tautened his 
 double stitches through the night, scarcely feeling 
 the need of sleep. His new aparejos, stacked as 
 they were finished, had gradually crowded poor 
 Mrs. Pete into her last stronghold, the corner be- 
 tween the wood-box and the bunk. Fiercely she re- 
 sented the filling of her only room with harness, of 
 her bunk with scrap leather, which scratched her, 
 she said. Wedged into her last corner, she would 
 
 316 
 
THE CARGADOR 317 
 
 patch disgraceful old socks, while Pete at his sewing 
 crooned One More River, or some indecent ballad 
 of the gold mines. 
 
 "Mother," Pete would look up from his bench. 
 "You mind when I brung her here right to this very 
 cabin, with Father Jared, and the Baby, David?" 
 
 "What makes you hover, Pete?" 
 
 "D'ye mind Baby David?" 
 
 "Didn't I nurse him?" said the old woman softly. 
 "He'd red hair like his stuck-up mother, blue eyes 
 same as Jesse, and a birthmark on his off kidney. 
 Now, did you ask her about that birthmark?" 
 
 "I told her," said Pete, "that a suspicious female, 
 with a face like a grebe and an inqulrin' mind is 
 wishful to inspeck Dave's kidneys." 
 
 Mother wagged her head. "I own I'd like to be- 
 lieve Kate Smith is back in this country, but you're 
 such a continuous and enduring liar." 
 
 "That's so," said Pete. 
 
 One day when the sun shone brightly into the 
 cabin, Billy arrived with a letter from Captain 
 Taylor. Pete would not give it to mother, or read 
 it aloud, or even tell the news. He danced an un- 
 gainly hornpipe, and mother had to shake him. 
 
3i8 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Can a woman's tender care 
 Cease toward the child She — Bear? 
 In the Old town 
 To-night my ba-Bee!" 
 
 "Now what, on airth's the matter with yew?" 
 mother boiled over. 
 
 "Yes, she may forgetful Bee, 
 Yet will I — remember Me. 
 
 "Finish them riggings by first May, says he. 
 
 "Says the old Obadiah 
 To the young Obadiah, 
 Obadiah. Obadiah! 
 Oh, be damned ! 
 
 "Says I'm partner and boss of the outfit, and run- 
 ning the whole shootin' match, and I'll get more 
 wealth than'U patch hell a mile, and 
 
 "Thar's none like Nancy Lee, I trow, 
 Ow! Ow! 
 
 "Oh, mother. Bolt's give me a half-interest, and 
 ain't this a happy little home, my darlin' !" 
 
 At that Mrs. Pete flung her skinny arms around 
 his neck, and the two silly old things sobbed to- 
 gether. 
 
THE CARGADOR 319 
 
 A week later, when, to save Pete a long tramp, 
 Billy rode down with the rations, he found the old 
 people concerned "about this yere partnership." 
 
 "Mother allows this Brooke is trash," said Pete, 
 wagging his snowy head, "and for all the interest 
 he takes he's mostly corpse. Thar's shorely holes in 
 my 'skito bar." 
 
 Billy read the letter thoughtfully. 
 
 "Brooke been to see the riggings?" he asked. 
 
 "Once in December. He don't know nothin', 
 either." 
 
 "Wonder what he wants?" 
 
 "Smells mean, eh?" 
 
 "A mean smell, Pete." 
 
 Billy had spent the week tracking down the two 
 bad characters who had served as witnesses to a 
 false agreement. Their confession was now in evi- 
 dence against Brooke, in case he dared repudiate 
 Mathson's rights as partner, but there was no need 
 to alarm the cargador. So Billy changed the sub- 
 ject, demanding tea, and there was a fine gossip. 
 
 "Mr. O'Flynn," asked mother, "hev yew bin in 
 love?" 
 
 "Engaged," said Billy in triumph. 
 
 "Dew tell!" 
 
320 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Yes, to Madame Scotson's nurse over in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 "Does she patch your socks?" 
 
 "Now, mother," Pete interrupted, "when you was 
 courting me did you patch my socks ?" 
 
 "Wall, I—" 
 
 "Come to think," said the cargador, "I didn't 
 have them, being then in the Confederate army. 
 But, mother, you did sure scratch my face !" 
 
 "Wall, that's no dream," said mother, bridling. 
 
 Once after his Saturday's tramp up the great hill, 
 Pete returned looking very old. "I axed Bolt," he 
 explained, "about this yere partnership." 
 
 "Well?" asked mother sharply. "Well?" 
 
 "Bolt says thar's pigs with pink bows to their 
 tails, just stretchin' and stretchin' around his sty." 
 
 The old woman turned her back, for Pete was 
 crying. 
 
 In April there came a rush of warmth out of the 
 west, licking up all the snow, save only on that high 
 plateau where the Hundred and Spite House 
 seemed to wait and wait in the white silence. 
 
 The spring storms came, the rains changed to 
 snow, the snow changed to rain, with hail-storms, 
 and thunder rolling over snow. The cheeky little 
 
THE CARGADOR 321 
 
 buttercups peeped up through the tails of the snow- 
 drift, and far away,below Jesse's ranch in the Fraser 
 canon, the Star brand mules worshiped their old 
 bell mare among, the marigolds. The ground was 
 bare now about Pete's cabin, all sodden pine chips 
 to the edge of the rain-drenched bush, and the wil- 
 low buds were bursting. 
 
 Pete sat under a roof of cedar shakes which he 
 had built to shelter the new "riggings." Around 
 him in a horseshoe stood fifty complete aparejos, 
 each with coiled lash and sling rope underneath, 
 breeching and crupper, sovran helmo and cinchas, 
 sweat pad, blanket, and corona, while the head- 
 ropes strapped the manias over all. He was rivet- 
 ing the last of sixty hackamores, as he dreamed of 
 the great north trail, of open meadows by the Hag- 
 wilgaet, of the heaven-piercing spire of Tsegeor- 
 dinlth at the Forks of Skeena. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "I'm no slouch of a cargador. 
 Them red gin cases is still to rig for kitchen boxes, 
 and it's all complete. The mules is fattening good, 
 I hear, and the men's the same as last summer, all 
 worth their feed, too." 
 
 But mother, grim and fierce in the throes of her 
 spring cleaning, had not come to admire. "Pete," 
 
322 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 she shrilled, "two more buckets of water, and yew 
 jest git a move on. And how long hev yew bin 
 promisin' to whittle me them clothes-pins? Now 
 jest yew hustle, Pete, or I'll get right ugly." 
 
 Pete only cut from the plug into his palm, and 
 rolled the tobacco small for his corn-cob pipe. His 
 winter servitude was ended, and he was master, the 
 cargador before whom all men bow in the dread 
 northlands. Mother went off content to carry her 
 own water, and Pete, with something of a flourish, 
 lighted his pipe. 
 
 "Mother!" Pete let out a sharp call, and forget- 
 ting her business, mother came quite humbly, as 
 though to heel. "Yes, Pete?" 
 
 He pointed with his pipe at a distant horseman 
 rounding the flank of the hill. 
 
 "Brooke?" she whispered, both gnarled rheumatic 
 hands clutched at her heart. 
 
 "I reckon," said Pete cheerfully. "Thinks he's a 
 circus procession. That sorrel's clattering a loose 
 near-hind shoe, and her mouth just bleeding as he 
 saws with that spade bit. He's a sure polecat. Trots 
 down-hill, too, and suffers in his tail. Incompetent, 
 mother. Look at his feet ! He's bad as a stale sal- 
 mon, rotten to the bones. Been drinking, too." 
 
THE CARGADOR 323 
 
 Brooke drew up and dismounted, leaving his rein 
 on the horse's neck, instead of dropping it to the 
 ground. When Brooke moved to sit on an aparejo, 
 Pete ordered him to one of the kitchen boxes. "Not 
 Bolt hisself may sit on my riggings," said the old 
 gray cargador. 
 
 "I thought," said Brooke quite kindly, "that this 
 harness was mine." 
 
 "A half-interest," said mother, "sure-ly." 
 
 "I fear," said Brooke, "you sort of misunder- 
 stood. Old Taylor did say something about your 
 usefulness as a working partner, and, of course, if 
 we hadn't canceled that preposterous contract with 
 the Hudson's Bay Company, there's no doubt your 
 knowledge of the country up north would have 
 been worth paying for. It was, as you say, damned 
 awkward about his being blind as a bat; in fact, I 
 was put to quite a lot of trouble getting the agree- 
 ment witnessed. However," he produced a docu- 
 ment which mother snatched, "it's all there in black 
 and white, and there's the old fool's signature — 
 holds good in any court of law — proves that I've 
 bought and paid for the whole atajo. You needn't 
 claim I haven't a clear title — so you needn't stare at 
 
324 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 me as if I'd forged the signature. It's straight 
 goods, I tell you." 
 
 Mother reeled backward, while she grabbed 
 Pete's shoulders so that the agreement fluttered to 
 Brooke's feet. She steadied herself, then with a 
 husky croak, "You made Bolt sign that — ^blind, 
 dying, so he dunno what's on the paper." 
 
 "Can you prove that?" asked Brooke indulgently, 
 as though he spoke to children. "If you say things 
 like that, it's criminal libel, and you're both liable to 
 the Skookum House. However," he shrugged his 
 shoulders, and put the agreement away, "I don't 
 want to be hard on you, Pete." 
 
 "Mister Mathson," mother hissed at him. 
 
 Pete, with a whispered word to mother, rose from 
 his bench, and without appearing to see Mr. Brooke, 
 walked past him across the sunlit yard, and on 
 slowly up the great lifting curve of the road to 
 Hundred Mile House. 
 
 The sun was setting behind him when Pete rested 
 at last upon the snowclad summit, and dusk lay in 
 lakes of shadow far below him. At the Hundred 
 he found the lamps alight, and, as usual, Billy of- 
 fered him a drink. "I ain't drinking," said Pete 
 huskily, as he lurched past the bar into the dining- 
 
THE CARGADOR 32S 
 
 hall, and on to the little room on the right where 
 Captain Taylor lay. 
 
 "Bolt!" he whispered. 
 
 "That you, Pete ? Sit down," said the boss cheer- 
 ily. "How's the claim, Pete? Getting coarse gold, 
 eh?" 
 
 "Gold? Say, Bolt, what's the matter, old fel- 
 low?" 
 
 "Matter? Why, nothing, Pete," the blind eyes 
 shone keenly; "of course I'm not nearly to bedrock 
 yet, and as to what I owe you've jolly well got to 
 wait. How's old Calamity? I got Lost Creek Jim 
 to work at last." 
 
 Was the boss dreaming of old times on Lightning 
 Creek? 
 
 "Watty's in with the mail," said Bolt. 
 
 Watty had been dead these thirty years. 
 
 Then Pete sat down on the bedside, and the two 
 miners prattled about the new flume, and the price 
 of flour in a camp now overgrown with jungle. 
 
 A word to Billy would have been enough to get 
 the aparejos to a place of safety, pending the set- 
 tlement of Pete's just claim as partner. But the 
 cargador knew well that death had come to take 
 the one man he loved. This was no time for sordid 
 
326 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 business, disturbing Bolt Taylor's peace. It was 
 better to go quietly. 
 
 The sky was full of stars as Pete went homeward. 
 The stars were big and round; the forest in an 
 ecstasy kept vigil all alert, all silent, and the little 
 streams of the thaw were saying their prayers be- 
 fore the frost sleep of the later hours. The man 
 was at peace. It is not so very much to be carga- 
 dor ; but it is a very big thing indeed to be unselfish. 
 The trees kept vigil, the little streams crooned 
 sleepy prayers, the stars in glory humbly served as 
 lamps, and the man made no cry in his pain. Far 
 down in the valley he saw a red flame rise. 
 
 Mother saw Brooke ride off to inspect his Star 
 mules in their pasture far away down the Eraser 
 Canon. She blacked the stove with malice, she 
 shook the bedding in enmity, set the furniture to 
 rights as though it were being punished, then sat on 
 the damp floor brooding, while twilight deepened 
 over a world of treachery. Brooke was a thief, the 
 
THE CARGADOK 327 
 
 lying boss had used Pete and thrown him away 
 wrung dry. And Pete was an old fool who would 
 forgive. 
 
 She had dreaded the lonely summer when she 
 was left with only squirrels for company. Now 
 Pete would be "settin' " around, ruined, and out of 
 work, the man who had been used and thrown aside, 
 the laughing-stock of the teamsters who saw his 
 pride brought low. 
 
 Cold and hot by turns, mother made herself tidy 
 against Pete's return, got the supper ready, and sat 
 watching the door-step. She smoked his spare corn- 
 cob pipe devising vengeance, while the night closed 
 over her head. 
 
 The frontier breeds fierce women, with narrow 
 venomous enmities toward the foes of the house. 
 Even if Pete suffered, Brooke should not prosper, 
 or the boss who had failed her man. Mother 
 dragged two five-gallon cans of petroleum from the 
 lean-to, and staggering under their weight, poured 
 the oil over all Brooke's harness. Breathing heav- 
 ily with her labor, she carried loads of swampy hay, ' 
 and cord-wood, until the aparejos were but part of 
 a bonfire. Then with a brand from the stove she set 
 
328 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 the hay alight. There should be no public shame 
 to break Pete's heart, there should be no pack-train 
 unless he were cargador. 
 
 Pete stood beside the ashes, searching mother's 
 face with his slow brooding eyes. Her burning rage 
 was gone, and she was afraid, for now she thought 
 too late of all his loving pride in the work, the 
 greatness of the thing which his knowledge and 
 skill had made. That she had burned. Under- 
 standing how love had made this blunder, Pete said 
 no word. He only knew that Bolt had paid him 
 seven hundred dollars in cash and kind, which must 
 be returned. In silence he turned away, and once 
 more faced the terrible hill which led to the Hun- 
 dred Mile House. 
 
 The spring was in my blood, and I could not 
 sleep. Can any creature sleep when the spring's 
 sweet restless air calls to all nature? The bears 
 were about again after their winter sleep, busy with 
 last year's berries. The deer were feasting on new 
 grass down in the lowlands, the wolverines and 
 cougar were sneaking homeward after the night's 
 hunting. Even the little birds were coming back to 
 the north, for now and again as I strolled along the 
 
THE CARGADOR 329 
 
 road I would hear a sleepy twitter. "Isn't it dawn 
 yet?" "Not yet, have another nap." So I came to 
 the brow of the great hill whence I should see the 
 dawn. 
 
 Down in the lower country, on every pool the 
 water-fowl lay abed, each, from the biggest goose 
 to the littlest teal, with Its head tucked under cover 
 of a wing, and one quaint eye cocked up to catch 
 the glint of dawn. A wan light was spreading in 
 the northeastern sky, and presently the snowy brow 
 of the hill revealed its wrinkled front, its frozen 
 runnels. The sentinels of the wild fowl saw that 
 first gleam of coming day, called the reveille along 
 from pool to pool, roused thunder of innumerable 
 wings, marshaled their echelons in soaring hosts, 
 and broke away in the northward flight of spring. 
 Far in the east a lone moose trumpeted. 
 
 I was turning back refreshed toward my duty, 
 when I heard something moan. The sound came 
 from underneath a pine tree, the one at the very 
 top of the long climb which Pete had blazed with 
 his inscription, "Got than" With my heart in my 
 mouth I went to find out what was the matter, and 
 so discovered the old cargador crouched down 
 against the trunk. 
 
330 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Pete," I asked in a very shaky voice, "what on 
 earth's the matter?" 
 
 "Dying, mum." 
 
 "But it's too damp here. Why, you'll catch your 
 death of cold." 
 
 "That would never do. Say, mum, how's Bolt?" 
 
 "Oh, ever so much better." 
 
 "Can't do it," said Pete, "if I died first he'd have 
 the joke on me." 
 
 "Wouldn't you like a hot rum?" 
 
 Pete staggered to his feet. "I'd go for that," he 
 sighed, "just like one man." 
 
 So he took my arm, and I helped him along the 
 road. 
 
 "She burned them riggings," he said. 
 
 "Mother?" 
 
 "Yes. Brooke came inspecting them riggings, so 
 mother burned 'em." 
 
 "Won't that be rather awkward?" 
 
 "Some. You see, mum. Bolt paid me four hun- 
 dred and five dollars cash, so I come to return him 
 the money." 
 
 I didn't quite understand. "You see, Pete," I 
 suggested, "you and Brooke are the owners. Don't 
 you owe half to yourself and half to Brooke?" 
 
THE CARGADOR 33 1 
 
 "Well, if that's so, I'll pay myself and owe the 
 rest to Brooke. But then he claims the whole Star 
 atajo." 
 
 "In that case you owe the whole of the money to 
 Brooke." 
 
 "I don't mind owing Brooke." Pete felt so much 
 better that he was able to walk without help. 
 "Brooke's gone on to inspect mules. I wonder how 
 he'll get on with them mules?" 
 
 As it happened, Jesse was an actual witness to 
 Mr. Brooke's inspection of the Star mules at their 
 pasture below his ranch. Here is his narrative : 
 
 "Mules are the most religious of all animals. They 
 believe in the bell mare, who creates grass, water, 
 mud holes, and mosquitoes, and leads them in the 
 paths of virtue where they don't get any fun. And 
 when they worship her too much she kicks them in 
 the stomach. 
 
 "The trouble for these poor mules was that they 
 followed a false goddess. Their bell mare Prue 
 ought to have been old enough to know better, but 
 at the age of twenty-three, with gray hair and bald 
 withers, she was still female. 
 
 "She and her mules had been grazing maybe half 
 a mile when my new stallion, young Jehoshaphat, 
 
332 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 happened along with his harem of twenty-five 
 mares, smelling down wind for a drink. The mares 
 looked so snug and grass-fat they could scarcely 
 waddle, but Jehoshaphat was full of sinful pride, 
 waltzing high steps at the sight of Prue. 
 
 "You should have seen Prue playing up innocent 
 modesty in front of Jehoshaphat, pretending she 
 wasn't there, making believe he was too sudden, 
 didn't approve of the gentleman, flattering his van- 
 ity with all sorts of airs and graces. He up with 
 his tail and showed off, prancing around pleased as 
 Punch. Prue paraded herself along in front of 
 the harem to spite the married mares, and all her 
 mules came worshiping along in pursuit. Those 
 mares gave the mules the biggest kicking you ever 
 saw in your life. 
 
 "There was me lying on Face Rock like a little boy 
 at a circus, and there was the performance proceed- 
 ing so joyful that I never saw Brooke until he rode 
 down right into the middle of the fun. Jehoshaphat 
 got mad and went for Brooke, chasing him around 
 the pasture. Prue chased Jehoshaphat, the mules 
 chased Prue, the harem mares bit and kicked at 
 everybody, Brooke galloped delirious in all direc- 
 
THE CARGADOR 333 
 
 tions, and I laughed until I could hardly hold down 
 the rocks. 
 
 "Of course, if Brooke hadn't been a mere mistake 
 on earth, he would have herded gently to the near- 
 est corral, and cut the two outfits apart. But Brooke 
 proceeded to lose his temper, pulled his gun, jumped 
 his wretched sorrel behind a tree, and let drive. 
 He missed the stallion. He shot Prue through the 
 heart. 
 
 "There was nothing after that to keep the sixty 
 Star mules together. Some went up the canon, some 
 down, a few even swam the Fraser, but the heft 
 of them climbed the big cliffs and vanished into the 
 forest. 
 
 "I reckon Pete and his arrieros could collect those 
 mules and break them to loving a new madrina. 
 But with Brooke as cargador, the great Star Pack- 
 train's numbered with the past, and Mathson's part- 
 nership is scarce worth arguing. 
 
 "I was sorry to see the fine mules lost, and in my 
 grief I kicked Brooke about one-third of a mile on 
 his way home afoot" 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE BLACK NIGHT 
 Kate's Narrative 
 
 'T BOULTON Wemyss Taylor, Commander R. 
 JLj N., retired, being of sound mind in a dying 
 body, do hereby make my last will and testament : 
 
 "And do appoint the lady known as Madame 
 Scotson my sole executress and trustee of all prop- 
 erty which I may die possessed of ; 
 
 "To pay my just debts, and to administer the re- 
 mainder on behalf of my grandson, James Taylor, 
 
 "Until at his coming of age he shall receive the 
 whole estate, if there is any ; 
 
 "Save only that I bequeath to Madame Scotson 
 my sword and the Victoria Cross ; 
 
 "And with regard to burial, it is my will that no 
 money whatever shall be spent, but that my body, 
 wrapped in the flag by right of her majesty's com- 
 mission, shall be consigned to the earth by my 
 neighbors; that no friend of mine shall be allowed 
 
 334 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 335 
 
 to stand uncovered catching cold, or to wear un- 
 seemly black clothing at the service of the resurrec- 
 tion, or to toll bells which should be pealed when 
 the soul passes to God, or to make pretense or 
 parade of grief for one who is glad to go." 
 
 The months of nursing were ended. No longer 
 should Nurse Panton and I be afraid when our pa- 
 tient was good, or rejoice when fractious whims and 
 difficult absurdities marked those rallies in which 
 he fought off death. At the last, after many hours 
 of silence, he asked me in a boyish voice if he might 
 go up-stairs to see his uniform. In his dreams hfe 
 was leaving school to enter the royal navy. 
 
 Billy was away on an errand to the Falls, and it 
 was Nurse Panton's watch below, when at ten in 
 the evening I saw the change come very suddenly. 
 The face of my dear friend, no longer old, but 
 timeless, reflected an unearthly majesty. 
 
 For the next hour I was busy rendering the last 
 services, in haste, for the lamp had a most peculiar 
 smell. I took it away and lighted candles, but it was 
 not the lamp. Spreading the Union Jack upon the 
 bed, I bolted from that room. For a time I sat in 
 the dining-hall but could not stay there. Even in 
 the barroom I still had to fight off something in- 
 
336 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 tangible, a sense of being watched, a presentiment 
 of evil coming swiftly nearer. 
 
 Closing the door which led into the house, I 
 opened that which gave upon the yard, then placed 
 a flickering candle on the counter, and my chair 
 in front of it facing the darkness. All through the 
 evening the drenching rain had fallen, with sob of 
 dripping eaves. Now at the open doorway, loud, 
 insistent, the great diapason of the rain was choral 
 to those little sad voices which fluted, throbbed, and 
 muttered near at hand, the lament of the water 
 drops, the liquid note from every pool, the plaint 
 of trickling streamlets. 
 
 It is the presence of the dead which makes their 
 resting-places serene with quiet beauty, instinct with 
 tenderness toward all living hearts. That presence 
 had entered the good log house, a home of human 
 warmth, of kindly comfort, made holy, consecrate, 
 where people would hush their voices, constrained 
 to reverence. 
 
 And in the gracious monotone of the rain, com- 
 pound of voices joined in requiem, I felt a soothing 
 melancholy beauty, knowing well how peace not of 
 this world had come into the homestead. 
 
 But outside that, beyond, in the dread forest, a 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 337 
 
 threat, a menace filled the outer darkness. Fear 
 clutched at my heart, a presentiment told me of 
 evil, of instant danger. Then, as though the horror 
 in the night moved other hearts as well as mine, 
 the Chinese cook came groping his way through 
 the dining-hall and humbly scratched at the door. 
 I let him in and he crept to a stool in the near cor- 
 ner. I whispered to him : 
 
 "Are you frightened, Sam?" 
 
 "Too plenty much," he quavered, "me flitened 
 bad." 
 
 He lighted his pipe and seemed, like me, to be 
 eased by human company. Once only he moved, and 
 in the queerest way came with his long yellow fingers 
 to touch me, then timid, but reassured, crept back 
 to his stool in the corner. 
 
 Soon Nurse Panton joined us, her hair in cork- 
 screws, looking very plain, peevish because she had 
 not been called at midnight. "What's the matter?" 
 she asked crossly, and for answer I pulled down the 
 blinds. She shivered as she passed the open door 
 to take a chair behind it. She begged me to close 
 the door, but the night was warm, and besides I 
 dared not. Nurse and Chinaman each had a glass 
 
338 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 of port, and so did I, feeling much better after- 
 ward. 
 
 An hour passed, the Chinaman nodding like those 
 ridiculous mandarin figures with loose heads, the 
 nurse pallid against the gloom, staring until she got 
 on my nerves. I always disliked that woman with 
 her precise routine and large flat feet. 
 
 Far off I heard the thud of a gunshot, then three 
 shots all together, and afterward a fifth. The evil 
 in the night was coming nearer, and I said to my- 
 self, "If I were really frightened I should close 
 that door. I'm half a coward." 
 
 The hero himself had strung his Victoria Cross 
 upon a riband which I wore about my neck. Could 
 I wear the cross and set an example of cowardice 
 to these poor creatures who crouched in the corners 
 of the room? To show fear is a privilege of the 
 underbred. But I did long fpr Jesse. 
 
 Through the murmurs of the nearer rain, I felt 
 a throb in the ground, then heard a sound grow, of 
 a horse galloping. The swift soft rhythm, now 
 loud, now very faint again, then very near, echoed 
 against the barns, thundered across the bridge, 
 splashed through the flooded yard, and ceased 
 abruptly. 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 339 
 
 Billy had come home from the Falls, he was 
 stabling his roan, he was crossing the yard in haste, 
 his spurs clanked at the door-step and, dreading his 
 news, a sudden panic seized me. I fled behind the 
 bar. 
 
 He entered, astream with rain, shading his eyes 
 against the candle-light; then as I moved he called 
 out, as though I were at a distance, begging me for 
 brandy. His face was haggard, his hand as he 
 drank was covered with dried blood, he slammed 
 the glass on the counter so that it broke. 
 
 "You heard the shots ?" he said. 
 
 "At Spite House?" I whispered. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "You were there?" I asked. 
 
 "Half a mile beyond^ When I got there it was 
 all dark. Looked in through the end window, but 
 the rain got down my neck, so I went round. The 
 front door was standing open. I listened a while. 
 No need to get shot myself. Thought the place was 
 derelict. Then I heard groans. 
 
 "Struck a bunch of matches then, found the hall 
 lamp, and got it alight. Wished I'd got a gun, but 
 there wasn't nothing handy except the poker, so I 
 took that and the light — ^just followed the groans. 
 
340 A MAN LNT THE OPEN 
 
 He was lying on the barroom floor." 
 
 "Brooke?" 
 
 "Yes. Shot through the throat, blood spurting 
 down the side of his neck, making a big pool on 
 the oil-cloth. You know the thing you make with 
 a stick and a scarf to twist up? A tourniquet, yes. 
 Well, it choked the swine, so I quit. He whispered 
 something about my thumb hurting the wound, so 
 I told him my father's neck hurt worse. 
 
 "Up to that I thought he was just acting, play- 
 ing pathetic to touch my feelings. Once he mut- 
 tered your name, and then he was dead." 
 
 "Brooke dead!" 
 
 "Yes, he'd been shooting Polly, too. I traced her 
 blood tracks all the way to the front door. Hello, 
 what's that? I thought I heard — " 
 
 I listened and there was only the sound of the 
 rain. 
 
 "I suppose it's all right," said Billy, "we'd bet- 
 ter close that door, though." 
 
 But before he could reach the door. Nurse Panton 
 called him away to her corner, where she spoke in 
 a whisper so that I should not hear, sending him, 
 perhaps, for her cloak. Meanwhile I came from be- 
 hind the counter to my former seat before the open 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 341 
 
 doorway, where I sat staring into the darkness, un- 
 able to feel any more, but just benumbed. Across 
 my weariness flickered the mournful soliloquy of a 
 poor barn-door fowl — "Yesterday an egg, to-mor- 
 row a feather duster! What's the good of anythin', 
 why, nothin'." 
 
 Then I, too, heard a sound in the night, and be- 
 cause Billy and the nurse were muttering, T stood 
 up with the candle-light behind me, trying to see 
 into the darkness. Billy said afterward he had 
 moved quickly, to shut the door, but I waved him 
 back just as the shot rang out. 
 
 The explosion blinded, deafened, seemed even to 
 scorch me, while the mirror on the wall came crash- 
 ing down. Stunned, dazzled, horrified, I felt a dull 
 rage at this attempted murder. 
 
 A second revolver-shot stirred my hair, and I'm 
 afraid then that I lost my temper. I am not a fish- 
 fag that I should stoop to fighting a creature such 
 as Polly, but I would have died rather than let her 
 see one trace of fear. 
 
 Billy rushed past the firing to reach the door 
 and close it, but I ordered him to desist, then 
 grasped the candle and held it out to show a bet- 
 ter light. 
 
342 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Lower your lights!" I shouted into the dark, 
 "you fired too high !" 
 
 A revolver crashed on the door-step, and low 
 down within three feet of the ground, I saw a dread- 
 ful face convulsed with rage, changing to fear. The 
 woman was sinking to her knees, she buried her face 
 in grimy, blood-smeared hands, and rocked to and 
 fro in awful abandonment of grief. 
 
 The danger was over now, the menace of evil 
 in the night had vanished. I felt an immense re- 
 lief, with hands wet, mouth parched, knees shaking, 
 and great need of tears. I knew the strain had 
 been beyond endurance, but now it was gone, al- 
 though a velvet darkness closing round me, black 
 night swinging round me, sickness — I must not 
 faint, when I had to fight, to keep command, to set 
 an example worthy of Jesse's wife. And there I 
 was sitting in my chair, with drops of sweat form- 
 ing and pouring on my forehead. Billy, groping 
 on the floor at my feet, had found and lighted the 
 candle, and was holding the flame in the palms of 
 his hands till it steadied and blazed up clear. 
 "Buck up, missus," he was saying. "Cheer-oh, 
 Don't let 'em know you swooned, mum. Grab on 
 to that cross, and make it proud of you. That's 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 343 
 
 right. Laugh, mum ! Laugh! Wish'd I'd half yer 
 grit." 
 
 I had come to myself and only Billy knew, who 
 was loyal. . As the candle blazed up I saw the 
 Chinaman gibbering like some toothless mask of 
 yellow india-rubber, but that nurse still kept up her 
 silly screaming, until I ordered her to shut her 
 mouth, which she did in sheer surprise. 
 
 There lay Polly prone across the doorway on her 
 face, racked with convulsive sobs, until feeling, I 
 suppose, the lashing rain on her back, she rose on 
 hands and knees like some forlorn wild animal 
 crawling to shelter, while behind her stretched a 
 trail of wet and blood. I stared until in shame she 
 sat up, still for all the world like an animal lost to 
 human feeling, and to a woman's dignity, until as 
 she looked at me a wan shamed smile seemed to 
 apologize. She sat back then against the log wall, 
 limp, relaxed with weakness. 
 
 "Nurse," I called, still with my gaze on Polly, 
 "this woman is wounded. You are a nurse. You 
 claimed to be a nurse." 
 
 But Miss Panton indulged in hysterics, so I turned 
 to Billy. "Run into the house, get the hip bath, 
 warm water, blankets, bandages." 
 
344 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 "Aye, aye, mum," he touched his forelock, and 
 swinging the Chinaman to his feet: "Come along, 
 Sam," he grunted, and bustled him off on duty. 
 
 Polly looked up, trusting me with her tawny 
 bloodshot eyes. Her voice was a dreary hoarse- 
 ness, demanding liquor. But with an open wound, 
 to quicken the heart's action might be fatal, and 
 Polly knew well it was no use pleading. Instead 
 of that she pointed at the nurse, and said, "Send 
 that away." 
 
 I turned upon Nurse Panton who sat forsaken 
 and ostentatious in her corner. "Go," I said, "and 
 make beef tea." 
 
 Sniff. 
 
 I took her by the shoulders, and marched her out 
 of the room, while Polly grinned approval. I came 
 back and asked where she was wounded. She 
 pointed to the left hip, but I dared not remove any 
 clothing which might have caught and sealed the 
 flow of blood. A sole diet of alcohol and montlis 
 of neglect had made hei- condition such that I 
 shrank from touching her. 
 
 "So you're Kate," she lay against the bottom 
 log of the wall, head back, eyes nearly shut, looking 
 along- her nc? at me, "Carroty Kate," 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 345 
 
 Her own tawny hair, draggled, and hung in 
 snakes, was streaked with dirty gray. 
 
 "Ye took Jesse," she said in weary scorn, "so I 
 ruined him. Then this Brooke, he fell in love with 
 yer, so I murdered him. Take everything, give 
 nothin'; that's you. Carrots, give nothin'. That's 
 you, Carrots, give nothin' away, not even a drink. 
 And I gave everything. 
 
 "So you're good, and I'm bad; you're high-toned 
 society, and I'm a poor sporting lady. Oh, I saw 
 ye lift yer skirt away when yer passed me — calling 
 yerself a Christian, when just one word of Christian 
 kindness would have saved the likes of me. 
 
 "Ye needn't look over my head as if I wasn't 
 there. I'm no fairy, I ain't — no dream. I'm facts, 
 and ye'd better face 'em. 'Sisters of Sorrow' they 
 calls us, who gave everything, who gave ourselves. 
 
 "And you good women pride yerselves in virtue, 
 which ain't been tempted. Your virtue never been 
 outdoors in the rain, gettin' wet. Your virtue never 
 been starved and froze, or fooled and betrayed. 
 Your colors ain't run, 'cause they've never been to 
 the wash. You don't know good from evil, and 
 you set thar judgin' me. 
 
 "Tears running down yer face, eh? You think 
 
346 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 you struck it rough when you came up agin me. 
 Poor Carrots playin' Christian rffartyr. I done 
 you good if you know'd it. I'm all the schoolin' 
 you got in real life. I waked ye from dreams to 
 livin'. And you an' me is women, sisters in pain. I 
 wish'd I'd auburn hair like your'n, Kate, and a baby 
 David to favor me with hair an' eyes. And if I'd 
 had a home ! But I didn't get a fair show ever, and 
 every time I done good, I got it in the neck. Well, 
 what's the odds? 
 
 "It wasn't you brung me down, Kate. Don't cry 
 like that, dear. It don't matter. Nothing matters. 
 It was this Brooke which done for me, not you or 
 Jesse. Brooke's only a thing I took in like a lost 
 dog 'cause he was hungry. He said he'd manage 
 my business, and he shorely did — invested all I'd 
 got in a governess, and a bonfire at Mathson's, and 
 a stampede of mules. Then he fooled a widow down 
 to Ashcroft to start him running a tourist joint, and 
 I was to be turned out. And he fell in love with 
 you. 
 
 "I guess that's all, excep' I got to tell you one 
 thing. It was nursing the sick men kep' me straight 
 all them years, kep' me from drink. You see I was 
 
THE BLACK NIGHT 347 
 
 meant for a ntirse, trained for a nurse until — until — 
 well, never you mind. Brooke stopped the nursing, 
 and I drank. I'm only a nurse gone wrong. 
 
 "Yes, your eyes Is wonderin' why they don't come 
 back with them bandages, and the bath. Don't 
 worry about that, 'cause I'll be dead by daybreak. 
 Jesse loved yer. Brooke loved yer, and somehow, 
 well, I'm kinder ranging that way myself. And if 
 I go, you'll get back Jess, eh?" 
 
 Rallying what courage I had left, I knelt down 
 and kissed my sister, my poor sister. For a moment 
 I let her stroke my carroty hair, which she liked. 
 Then I ran to hurry my people to bring the beef tea, 
 the hot water, the bandages. I found that wretched 
 nurse detaining Billy and the Chinaman, with some 
 pretense that I must not be disturbed. I was telling 
 her to get out of my sight, to go to her bed, when a 
 revolver-shot rang through the echoing hous& 
 
 Polly had crawled to the door-step, found her re- 
 volver. She who gave everything in life, had given 
 me back to Jesse, and lay dead, her forehead shat- 
 tered in with the revolver-shot. For some seconds 
 Billy and I hung back, watching from the doorway 
 while a slow coil of smoke unfolded in the wan light 
 
348 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 of the dawn. The rain had ceased, and the east was 
 all aglow with golden radiance. 
 
 Billy knelt and touched the poor broken fore- 
 head, then looking up at me, "This time," he said, 
 "it's real." 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 Once more with Jesse in Cathedral Grove! The 
 breath of evening stirred its tangled coral, the long 
 needles clustered in globes were swaying as censors 
 sway, with heavy incense. Beyond the purple night 
 swept up over glowing cliffs to where the upper for- 
 est like an edge of flame burned against deeps of 
 sky. 
 
 "Come to the hilltop : blackbird choristers ■ 
 Peal their clear anthem to the kneeling gorse." 
 
 Jesse lay dreaming while I sang to him. Crisp 
 silvered hair, and the deeply graven lines of his 
 dear face, gave him at rest a sweet sad dignity ; but 
 presently he would look up, his big mouth humor- 
 ous, his eyes alight with fun, a man of commanding 
 power matured in wisdom, in sympathy, and valor 
 to lead his fellows. 
 
 Through the east window of the grove, I could 
 see a little procession of my closest friends pass on 
 their Sunday stroll. First came Pete, ill at ease in, 
 
 349 
 
3SO A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 his Sabbath suit of blacks, and with him, arm in 
 arm, was Mrs. Pete in silk, full-skirted, prickly, and 
 so very grim. Then Billy passed slowly by, his 
 mother stumping beside him, bound to keep the 
 pace. They had the new rabbit with them, collared 
 and chained like a bulldog, and were followed by 
 David's nurse, dear Patsy, Billy's wife — ^plucking 
 my young anemones — ^the wretch ! 
 
 Out on the perilous edge of Apex Rock I could 
 see young Mr. Nisted, Father Jared's nephew, a 
 pupil' in Jesse's school of colonial training. With 
 rod and line he was seriously fishing — for birds ! 
 
 "Don't you reckon," said Jesse, relighting a stale 
 cigar, "that it's time we stopped our book?" 
 
 "Oh, but—" 
 
 "It's tempting Providence, young woman; it's 
 encouraging the police. From the moment you 
 started the thing, we've had more'n our share of 
 adventures. Put up a notice, 'Book Closed. No 
 more adventurers need apply. Try Surly Brown 
 for a change.' " 
 
 "But what shall we do ?" 
 
 "Publish the blamed thing, and serves it right. 
 Throw it to the critics." 
 
 •"But it's allsecre«3!" 
 
EPILOGUE 351 
 
 "Change the names and places. We'll be 'Mr. 
 and Mrs. Smith,' well-meaning private persons 
 located somewhere west. I'm going to have blue 
 eyes." 
 
 "But mine are blue." 
 
 "I made first grab. You can have green, and a 
 large mouth, and your Christian name is Carrots. 
 Hello, here's Baby David." 
 
 My son was coming through the scented dusk, and 
 in his arms he carried a large dog, a china dog with 
 gilt muzzle, split from nose to tail, but carefully 
 mended. 
 
 "Sonny," said Jesse, "don't you drop Maria, or 
 she'll have puppies." 
 
 "I did, and she didn't; so there! Something 
 dropped out, though. See, mummie." 
 
 David had thrown Maria into my lap, and danced 
 about in the gloaming with some strange trophy, 
 the tail of a large animal. 
 
 "Sort of reminds me," said Jesse, "of being a lit- 
 tle boy. That's the Inspector's tale. This is a long 
 way, too, from the Labrador." 
 
 The wind made quite a disturbance, telling the 
 pines to hush, while both my son and Jesse wanted 
 to play with the wolf tail, and would not be quiet, 
 
352 A MAN IN THE OPEN 
 
 though already the stars and the fireflies had lighted 
 Cathedral Grove, and the great river like an organ 
 crooned the first deep notes of nature's evensong. 
 An awed expectant silence came to us. 
 
 "Lighten our darkness," said the grave old trees, 
 "we beseech Thee." 
 
 "By Thy great mercy," pleaded the little flowers. 
 
 "Defend us from all perils," the small birds twit- 
 tered. 
 
 "And dangers of the night," the aspens quavered. 
 
 "For the love of Thy only Son," cried the South 
 Wind. 
 
 "Our Saviour Jesus Christ," a woman's voice re- 
 sponded. 
 
 "Amen," the cliffs were breathing. 
 
 "Amen," the high clouds echoed. 
 
 "Amen," said the organ river. 
 
 And from the reverent woodlands came : 
 
 "Amen. Amen." 
 
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