A Man of Two Countries. Alice Harriman
State," spoken by a fair-haired young man as he passed with a taller, older one. "Montana will be a State, some day," the would-be judge went on, eagerly boyish.
"Hello, Doc," called Charlie, as he sighted the elder pedestrian. "Stop a minute."
Before the invitation was accepted the physician gave impetus to the other's desire.
"Hope your hopes, Latimer. Honorable and honest endeavor will reach the most exalted position." Then he put out his hand to the child, who clasped it affectionately.
"Well, Charlie," he smiled genially at the English lad as well as on his former river travelers. "How goes it?"
"All right," returned Charlie, amiably. "So Latimer wants to dabble in territorial politics, eh?"
"I didn't say so," flushed the embryonic lawyer. "I said I'd like to be a judge on the supreme bench, some day. I'm going to settle in Montana, and——"
"What do you think about politics?" suddenly quizzed Charlie, turning to Danvers.
"I'd not risk losing your friendship," smiled Philip, "by stating what an Englishman's opinion of American politics are."
"Better not," laughed the doctor, with a keen glance of appraisal.
"I'll admit they're rotten," Latimer hastened to add. "But I'd love to play the game. No political affiliations should bias my decision."
"Bet you'll be glad to get home, Doc." Charlie changed the subject, so foreign to his out-of-door interests. "You can't keep the doctor away from Fort Benton," he explained to the two strangers. "He thinks she's got a big future, don't you, Doc?"
"To be sure! To be sure!" corroborated the physician, as his arm went around the little girl. "Fort Benton will be a second St. Louis! Mark my words, Latimer." He turned to his companion, whose charm of manner appealed unconsciously to the reserved Danvers.
"I hope your predictions may prove correct, since I am to set up a law office there," replied Latimer. "And you?" He turned to include Philip Danvers in a smile which the lonely Englishman never forgot.
"He an' I 's for Fort Macleod," explained Scar Faced Charlie, before Philip could speak. These ready frontiersmen had a way of taking the words out of his mouth.
"He's for the Mounted Police, yeh know, an' I'm freightin' in the supplies. An' what d'yeh think, Doc? Toe String Joe says he's goin' to enlist when we get to Fort Benton. Burroughs won't mind havin' him in the Force."
"Isn't it unusual for Canadian troopers to come through the United States?" inquired Arthur Latimer.
This time it was the doctor who answered the question directed toward the silent Danvers.
"The first companies marched overland from Winnipeg two years ago, when the North West Mounted Police was organized, and a tough time they had. They were six months making it, what with hostile Indians and one thing and another, and at last they got lost in an awful snowstorm (winter set in early that year), and they nearly died of cold and starvation—most of their horses did. An Indian brought word to one of the trading posts. Remember that rescue, Charlie?" He turned for corroboration to the freighter, but continued, without waiting for an answer that was quite unnecessary to prod the reminiscent doctor.
"Fort Macleod is only two hundred miles north of Fort Benton," he concluded, "and I understand the recruits will hereafter be taken into the Whoop Up Country by way of the Missouri."
The blue eyes of the lawyer instinctively sought the dark ones of the young trooper in a bond of subtle feeling at this recital of pioneer life. It was all in the future for them.
"We came from Ottawa by rail to Bismarck," explained Danvers at the unspoken question, "and brought our horses."
"They are a civil force under military discipline," added the doctor to Latimer's questioning eyes.
As they talked, the steamboat came to a series of rapids, and Danvers and Latimer went to the prow to watch the warping of the boat over the obstruction. Burroughs stood near, and took no pains to lower his voice as he remarked to the mate: "Jes' watch my smoke. I'm goin' to twist the lion's tail."
"Meanin' the feller with the black hair?" The mate looked critically at Danvers. "Better leave him alone, Burroughs," he advised. "Yeh've been achin' to git at him ever since yeh set eyes on him. What's eatin' yeh?"
"Yeh talk too much with yer mouth," flung back Burroughs, as he moved toward the Englishman. "Ever been up the river before?" he demanded of Danvers.
"No." Philip barely glanced away from the lusty roustabouts working the donkey engines.
"Are yeh a 'non-com' or a commissioned officer?"
The young recruit turned stiffly, surprised at the persistence.
"Neither," he answered, laconically, returning to the survey of the swearing, sweating crew. Several bystanders laughed, and the mate remarked:
"You'll git nothin' outer that pilgrim that's enlightenin', Bob. He's too clost mouthed."
"Some say 'neether' an' some say 'nayther,' but 'nyther' is right," sneered Burroughs, "fer the Prince o' Wales says 'nyther.'"
Danvers, disdaining to notice the cheap wit, watched the brilliant sunshine struggling through the lessening rain as it danced from eddy to sand-bar, from rapids to half-submerged snags. The boiling river whitened as the steamboat labored to deeper water above the rapids. The islands, flushed with the fresh growth of a Northern spring, and the newly formed shore-line where the capricious Missouri had recently undermined a stretch of bank, gave character to the scene, as did the delicately virent leaves of swirling willow, quaking aspens and cottonwoods loosened from their place on shore to float in midstream.
A party of yelling Crees attracted their attention, and the stranger's indifference gave a combative twist to Burroughs' remark:
"Them's Canadian Injuns."
Something in his tone made the men draw nearer. Was it a sneer? A slur on all things English? A challenge to resent the statement, and resenting, to show one's mettle? Frontiersmen on the upper Missouri fought at a word in the early seventies. No need for cause. Men had been shot for less animus than Burroughs displayed.
"A fight?" asked Scar Faced Charlie, drawn from the cabin.
"No; a prayer-meeting," Toe String Joe gave facetious answer.
"Run back to our stateroom, Winnie," said Charlie, as he glanced at Burroughs' face. "What's the matter?" he inquired as she obeyed.
"Search me." Joe still acted as fourth dimension. "Bob and Danvers seem to hate each other on sight."
Burroughs moved nearer the quiet trooper.
"The Mounted Police think they're goin' to stop whiskey sellin' to the Injuns," he began. "But they can't. I know——" A meaning wink at his friends implied disloyalty even in the Force.
The baited youth faced the trader, his countenance darkening. But his hand unclasped as he started for the cabin with Latimer. Why notice this loud talk? Why debase himself by fighting this unknown bully? His bearing voiced his thoughts. The expectant crowd looked noncommittally at the tall smokestacks, at the snags. Burroughs laughed noisily.
"'The widdy at Windsor' 's got another pretty!" he taunted. Hate flared suddenly from his deep-set eyes; he could not have analyzed its cause. "Jes' cut loose from home an' mammy," he continued, intemperately. "Perhaps he's the queen's latest favorite, boys. We all know what women are!"
What was it? A crash of thunder? A living bolt of fire? Something threw the intervening men violently to the deck. The stripling who had accepted the traditional shilling brushed the crowd aside and knocked down the slanderer of all women—and of his queen!
"Take that back!" Philip breathed, not shouted, as one less angry might have done. "You will not? You shall!"
Burroughs sprang to his feet instantly and returned the blow valiantly. He