Lorimer of the Northwest. Harold Bindloss
yellowing. Coombs’ voice roused me from a pleasant reverie, wherein I sat once more with Alice beside the hearth in England.
“It’s not dark yet, and there’s the wire waiting for the paddock fence,” he said. “I regret to see you addicted to loafing. And Mrs. Coombs has no water left for the kitchen.”
Saying nothing, I smiled a little bitterly as I marched away to carry in water, and then the lady, whose thin face seemed sourer than usual that evening, set me to wash the supper dishes. All went well until I had the misfortune to break a stove-cracked plate, when looking at me contemptuously she said:
“How very clumsy! Do you know you have cost me two dollars already by your breakages? No—the handle always toward a lady! But what could be expected? You were never brought up.”
Now the frying-pan or spider I held out had stood with its handle over an open lid of the range, so, though nettled, I still held it turned from her, and answered shortly:
“Not to wash dishes, madam, though my up-bringing has nothing to do with the case.”
With an impatient gesture she reached over and grasped the hot handle, then dropped it with a cry just as the door opened and Coombs came in. This did not displease me, for if a quarrel must come it comes best quickly, and I listened unmoved while the mistress of the homestead said: 43
“Walter, I think you had better get rid of this man. He not only breaks my crockery, but set a cruel trap to burn my fingers, and I do not choose to be insulted by a hired hand.”
“Have you anything to say before I turn you out on the prairie?” asked Coombs pompously; and remembering many an old grievance I answered with cheerful readiness:
“Nothing of much moment, beyond that I warned Mrs. Coombs, and it was an accident. But it is cooler without, and we can discuss it better there.”
He followed in evident surprise, and I chuckled when he even walked after me into the stable, for already I guessed that if I left before the harvest I might have trouble about my wages. So far, in spite of several requests, Coombs had paid me nothing. It is also possible that a penniless newcomer of peaceful disposition might have been victimized, but I had learned in several industrial disputes, argued out with clog and brickbat as well as upon barrelhead platforms, that there are occasions when ethical justice may well be assisted by physical force. Besides, I was a Lingdale Lorimer, and would have faced annihilation rather than let any man rob me of my right.
“I am afraid Mrs. Coombs is prejudiced against me, and it might save unpleasantness if you paid me my wages and I left this place to-night,” I said; and read in Coombs’ face that this was by no means what he desired. Wages are high at harvest and labor scarce, while any one with a knowledge of working land was a god-send at seven dollars a month. But Coombs was equal to the emergency.
“I regret to see so much dishonesty in one so young,” he said. “Our bargain was until after harvest, and I’ll neither pay you a dollar nor give up your boxes if you go before. Let this be a lesson, if I overlook it, to confine yourself to the truth.” 44
I forget what I answered—we were always a hot-blooded race—but I fancy that several adjectives and the word hypocrite figured therein; while Coombs, shaken out of his usual assumption of ironical courtesy, made a serious mistake when he tried bullying. As he strode toward me, fuming like an irate turkey cock, in an absurdly helpless attitude, I grasped his shoulder and backed him violently against a stall. Then, and whether this was justifiable I do not know, though I know that otherwise not a cent would I ever have got, I took out his wallet, which, as he had been selling stock in Brandon, contained a roll of dollar bills, and counted out the covenanted hire.
“Now I’m going to borrow your spare horse to carry my box,” I said. “It will be sent back from Jasper’s to-morrow, and if you venture to interfere I shall be compelled to hurt you. Let this also be a lesson to you—never try to bluff an angry man and put your hands up like that.”
I think he swore, I am sure he groaned distressfully when I went out with what was due to me. Meeting Harry I told him the story.
“I don’t think my guardians care much about me, and I’m coming with you,” he said. “Good evening, Mrs. Coombs, you may make dusters of any old clothes I leave. I am going away with Mr. Lorimer, and henceforward I am afraid you will have to trust Marvin, who’ll certainly eat the sugar, or do your own plate washing.”
So twenty minutes later, while Marvin stood chuckling on the threshold and waved his hat to us, we marched out in triumph, leading Coombs’ steed which made an efficient pack-horse. It was dawn the next day when aching and footsore we limped into Jasper’s. He lay back in his hide chair laughing until there were tears in his eyes when we told him the tale at breakfast, then smote me on the back as he said: 45
“I’d have given a good deal to see it—the cunning old rascal! Got your full wages out of him?—well, I guess you broke the record. What shall you do now?—stay right where you are. It’s a bonanza harvest, and I’ll keep my promise; fifteen dollars a month, isn’t it? Mr. Lorraine! oh yes, I know him—offer you the same. Then when harvest’s over we’ll talk again.”
Needless to say, we gladly accepted the offer.
46
CHAPTER V
A BID FOR FORTUNE
We returned the horse with a note of sarcastic thanks, and flattered ourselves that we had heard the last of the matter. Several days later, however, when, grimed with oil and rust, I was overhauling a binder, a weather-beaten man wearing a serviceable cavalry uniform rode in, and explaining that he was a sergeant of the Northwest Police added that he had come in the first case to investigate a charge of assault and robbery brought against one Ralph Lorimer by Coombs. I told him as clearly as I could just what had happened, and I fancied that his face relaxed, while his eyes twinkled suspiciously as he patted the fidgeting horse, which did not like the binder.
Then sitting rigidly erect, the same man who afterward rode through an ambush of cattle-stealing rustlers who were determined to kill him, he said, “I’m thinking ye acted imprudently—maist imprudently, but I’m not saying ye could have got your wages otherwise oot o’ Coombs. Weel, I’ll take Jasper’s security for it that ye’ll be here, and away back to report to my superior. Don’t think ye’ll be wanted at Regina, Mr. Lorimer. Good-morning til ye, Jasper.”
“Get down, Sergeant Angus,” said Jasper, grasping his rein. “If you have run all decent whiskey off the face of the prairie, I’ve still got some hard cider to offer you. Say, don’t you think you had better ride round and lock up that blamed old Coombs?”
There was less hard cider in the homestead when Sergeant Angus Macfarlane rode out again, and our presence was 47 never requested by the Northwest Police. Nevertheless, it became evident that either Coombs or his wife was of inquiring as well as revengeful disposition, and had read some of the letters I left about, for some time later, when the snowdrifts raced across the prairie I received the following epistle from Martin Lorimer:
“I return the last letter sent your cousin, and until the present cloud is lifted from your name I must forbid your writing her. Neither do I desire any more communications from you. We all have our failings, and there is much I could have forgiven you, but that you should have used your position in the mill to ruin that foolish girl Minnie Lee is more than I can overlook. The story has roused a very bitter feeling, even among my own hands, who are not particularly virtuous, and now that we are on the eve of the elections some of the other side’s pettifoggers are using it freely. Still, I should gladly have faced all that, but for my own shame, knowing it is true. Her father is a half-mad