<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
<h3>LONELY RANCH AT OWL HOOT</h3>
<p>In spite of the recent tragic events the routine of
the daily life at Loon Dyke Farm was very little interfered
with. Just for a few weeks following upon
the death of Leslie Grey the organization of Mrs.
Malling’s household had been thrown out of gear.</p>
<p>The coming of the police and the general scouring
of the country for the murderers of the Customs
officer had entailed a “nine days’ wonder” around
the countryside, and had helped to disturb the wonted
peace of the farm. But the search did not last long.
Horse-thieves do not wait long in a district, and the
experience of the “riders of the plains” taught them
that it would be useless to pursue where there was no
clue to guide them. The search was abandoned after
a while, and the dastardly murder remained an unsolved
mystery.</p>
<p>The shock to Prudence’s nervous system had been
a terrible one, and a breakdown, closely bordering
upon brain fever, had followed. The girl’s condition
had demanded the utmost care, and, in this matter,
Sarah Gurridge had proved herself a loyal friend. Dr.
Parash, with conscientious soundness of judgment, had
ordered her removal for a prolonged sojourn to city
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_134' name='page_134'></SPAN>134</span>
life in Toronto; a course which, in spite of heartbroken
appeal on the girl’s part, her mother insisted upon
carrying out with Spartan-like resolution.</p>
<p>“Broken hearts,” she had said to Sarah, during a
confidential chat upon the subject, “are only kept from
mending by them as talks sympathy. There isn’t
nothin’ like mixing with folks what’s got their own
troubles to worrit over. She’ll get all that for sure
when she gets to one o’ them cities. Cities is full of
purgat’ry,” she added profoundly. “I shall send her
down to sister Emma, she’s one o’ them hustlin’
women that’ll never let the child rest a minute.”</p>
<p>And Sarah had approved feelingly.</p>
<p>So Prudence was safely dispatched eastwards for
an indefinite period before the spring opened. But
Hephzibah Malling had yet to realize that her daughter
had suddenly developed from a child, who looked
to her mother’s guidance in all the more serious questions
of life, into a woman of strong feelings and
opinions. This swift casting off of the fetters of childhood
had been the work of those few passionate
moments at the bedside of her dying lover.</p>
<p>Prudence had submitted to the sentence which her
mother, backed by the doctor’s advice, had passed, and
she went away. But in complying with the order she
had performed the last act which childhood’s use had
prompted. The period of her absence was indefinite.
The fiat demanded no limitation to her stay with
“sister” Emma. She could return when she elected
so to do. Bred in the pure air of the prairie, no city
could claim her for long. And so she returned to the
farm against all opposition within two months of
leaving it.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_135' name='page_135'></SPAN>135</span></div>
<p>The spring brought another change to the farm, a
change which was as welcome to the old farm-wife as
the opening of the spring itself. Hervey returned
from Niagara, bringing with him the story of the
failure of his mission. True to herself and the
advice of Iredale, Hephzibah made her proposition
to her son, with the result that, with some show of
distaste, he accepted the situation, and with his
three-legged companion took up his abode at the
farm.</p>
<p>And so the days lengthened and the summer heat
increased; the hay in the sloughs ripened and
filled the air with its refreshing odours; the black
squares of ploughed land were quickly covered with
the deepening carpet of green, succulent grain; the
wild currant-bushes flowered, and the choke-cherries
ripened on the laden branches, and the deep blue
vault of the heavens smiled down upon the verdant
world.</p>
<p>George Iredale again became a constant and welcome
visitor at the farm, nor in her leisure did Sarah
Gurridge seek relaxation in any other direction.</p>
<p>The morning was well advanced. The air was still
and very hot. There was a peaceful drowsiness about
the farm buildings and yard which was only broken by
the occasional squeal of the mouching swine routing
amongst any stray garbage their inquisitive eyes
happened to light upon. The upper half of the barn
door stood open, and in the cool shade of the interior
could be seen the outline of dark, well-rounded forms
looming between the heel-posts of the stalls which
lined the side walls. An occasional impatient stamp
from the heavily-shod hoofs told of the capacity for
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_136' name='page_136'></SPAN>136</span>
annoyance of the ubiquitous fly or aggravating mosquito,
whilst the steady grinding sound which pervaded
the atmosphere within, and the occasional
“gush” of distended nostrils testified to healthy
appetites, and noses buried in mangers well filled with
sweet-smelling “Timothy” hay.</p>
<p>The kitchen doorway was suddenly filled with the
ample proportions of Hephzibah Malling. She moved
out into the open. She was carrying a large pail
filled with potato-parings and other fragments of
culinary residuum. A large white sun-bonnet protected
her grey head and shaded her now flaming
face from the sun, and her dress, a neat study in
grey, was enveloped in a huge apron.</p>
<p>She moved out to a position well clear of the
buildings and began to call out in a tone of persuasive
encouragement––</p>
<p>“Tig––tig––tig! Tig––tig––tig!”</p>
<p>She repeated her summons several times, then
moved on slowly, continuing to call at intervals.</p>
<p>The swine gathered with a hungry rush at her
heels, and their chorus of acclamation drowned her
familiar cry. Passing down the length of the barn
she reached a cluster of thatched mud hovels. Here
she opened the crazy gate to admit her clamorous
flock, and then deposited the contents of her pail in
the trough provided for that purpose. The pigs
fell-to with characteristic avidity, complaining vociferously
the while as only pigs will.</p>
<p>She stood for a few moments looking down at her
noisy charges with calculating eyes. It was a fine
muster of young porkers, and the old lady was estimating
their bacon-yielding capacity.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_137' name='page_137'></SPAN>137</span></div>
<p>Suddenly her reflections were interrupted by the
sound of footsteps, and turning, she saw Hervey
crossing the yard in the direction of the creamery.
She saw him disappear down the steps which led to
the door, for the place was in the nature of a dugout
She sighed heavily and moved away from
her porkers, and slowly she made her way to the
wash-house. The sight of this man had banished all
her feelings of satisfaction. Her son was a constant
trouble to her; a source of grave worry and anxiety.
Her hopes of him had been anything but fulfilled.</p>
<p>In the meantime Hervey had propped himself
against the doorway of the creamery and was talking
to his sister within. The building, like all dugouts,
was long and low; its roof was heavily thatched
to protect the interior from the effects of the sun’s
rays. Prudence was moving slowly along the two
wide counters which lined the walls from one end to
the other. Each counter was covered with a number
of huge milk-pans, from which the girl was carefully
skimming the thick, yellow cream. She worked
methodically; and the rich fat dropped with a heavy
“plonk” into the small pail she carried, in a manner
which testified to the quality of the cream.</p>
<p>She looked a little paler than usual; the healthy
bloom had almost entirely disappeared from her
cheeks, and dark shadows surrounded her brown
eyes. But this was the only sign she displayed of
the tragedy which had come into her young life.
The trim figure was unimpaired, and her wealth of
dark hair was as carefully adjusted as usual. Hervey
watched his sister’s movements as she passed from
pan to pan.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_138' name='page_138'></SPAN>138</span></div>
<p>“Iredale wants me to ride over to Owl Hoot
to-day,” he said slowly. “We’re going to have an
afternoon’s ‘chicken shoot.’ He says the prairie-chicken
round his place are as thick as mosquitoes.
He’s a lucky beggar. He seems to have the best of
everything. I’ve scoured our farm all over and
there’s not so much as a solitary grey owl to get a
pot at. I hate the place.”</p>
<p>Prudence ceased working and faced him. She
scornfully looked him up and down. At that
moment she looked very picturesque with her black
skirt turned up from the bottom and pinned about
her waist, displaying an expanse of light-blue petticoat.
Her blouse was a simple thing in spotless
white cotton, with a black ribbon tied about her
neck.</p>
<p>“I think you are very ungrateful, Hervey,” she
said quietly. “I’ve only been home for a few
months, and not a day has passed but what I’ve
heard you grumble about something in connection
with your home. If it isn’t the dulness it’s the
work; if it isn’t the work it’s your position of
dependence, or the distance from town, or the people
around us. Now you grumble because of the shooting.
What do you want? We’ve got a section and
a half, nearly a thousand acres, under wheat; we’ve
got everything that money can buy in the way of
improvements in machinery; we’ve got a home that
might fill many a town-bred man with envy, and a
mother who denies us nothing; and yet you aren’t
satisfied. What <i>do</i> you want? If things aren’t
what you like, for goodness’ sake go back to the wilds
again, where, according to your own account, you
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_139' name='page_139'></SPAN>139</span>
were happy. Your incessant grumbling makes me
sick.”</p>
<p>“A new departure, sister, eh?” Hervey retorted,
smiling unpleasantly. “I always thought it was
everybody’s privilege to grumble a bit. Still, I don’t
think it’s for you to start lecturing me if even it isn’t.
Mother’s treated me pretty well––in a way. But
don’t forget she’s only hired me the same as she’s
hired Andy, or any of the rest of the hands. Why,
I haven’t even the same position as you have. I am
paid so many dollars a month, for which I have to
do certain work. Let me tell you this, my girl: if I
had stayed on this farm until father died my position
would have been very different. It would all have
been mine now.”</p>
<p>“Well, since you didn’t do so, the farm is mother’s.”
Prudence’s pale cheeks had become flushed with
anger. “And I think, all things considered, she has
treated you particularly well.”</p>
<p>And she turned back to her work.</p>
<p>The girl was very angry, and justifiably so. Hervey
was lazy. The work which was his was rarely
done unless it happened to fall in with his plans for
the moment. He was thoroughly bearish to both his
mother and herself, and he had already overdrawn
the allowance the former had made him. All this
had become very evident to the girl since her return
to the farm, and it cut her to the quick that the
peace of her home should have been so rudely
broken. Even Prudence’s personal troubles were
quite secondary to the steady grind of Hervey’s ill-manners.</p>
<p>Curiously enough, after the first passing of the
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_140' name='page_140'></SPAN>140</span>
shock of Grey’s death she found herself less stricken
than she would have deemed it possible. There
could be no doubt that she had loved the man in her
girlish, adoring fashion.</p>
<p>She had thought that never again could she return
to the place which had such dread memories for her.
Thoughts of the long summer days, and the dreary,
interminable winter, when the distractions of labour
are denied the farmer, had been revolting to her. To
live within a few miles of where that dreadful tragedy
had occurred; to live amongst the surroundings
which must ever be reminding her of her dead lover;
these things had made her shrink from the thought
of the time when she would again turn westward to
her home.</p>
<p>But when she had once more taken her place in
the daily life at the farm, it was, at first with a certain
feeling of self-disgust, and later with thankfulness,
that she learned that she could face her old life with
perfect equanimity. The childish passion for her
dead lover had died; the shock which had suddenly
brought about her own translation from girlhood to
womanhood had also dispelled the illusions of her
girlish first love.</p>
<p>She confided nothing to anybody, but just went
about her daily round of labours in a quiet, pensive
way, striving by every means to lighten her mother’s
burden and to help her brother to the path which
their father before them had so diligently trodden.</p>
<p>Her patience had now given way under the
wearing tide of Hervey’s dissatisfaction, and it
seemed as though a rupture between them were
imminent.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_141' name='page_141'></SPAN>141</span></div>
<p>“Oh, well enough, if you consider bare duty,”
Hervey retorted after a deliberate pause.</p>
<p>“Bare duty, indeed!” Prudence’s two brown eyes
flashed round on him in an instant. “You are the
sort of man who should speak of duty, Hervey. You
just ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your mother’s
debt of duty towards you was fulfilled on the day
you left the farm years ago. She provided you with
liberal capital to start you in life. Now you have
come back, and she welcomes you with open arms––we
both do––glad that you should be with us again.
And what return have you made to her for her goodness?
I’ll tell you; you have brought her nothing
but days of unhappiness with your lazy, grumbling
ways. If you are going to continue like this, for
goodness’ sake go away again. She has enough on
her shoulders without being worried by you.”</p>
<p>The man looked for a moment as though he were
going to give expression to some very nasty talk.
Prudence had returned to her pans and so lost the
evil glance of his expressive eyes. Then his look
changed to a mocking smile, and when he spoke his
words were decidedly conciliating.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid I’ve done something to offend you,
Prue. But you shouldn’t use hard words like that
I know I’m not much of a farmer, and I am always
a bit irritable when I am not my own master. But
don’t let’s quarrel. I wanted to talk to you about
George Iredale. He seems a jolly decent fellow––much
too good to be kicking his heels about in such
a district as Owl Hoot. He’s extremely wealthy,
isn’t he?”</p>
<p>The girl felt angry still, but Hervey’s tone slightly
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_142' name='page_142'></SPAN>142</span>
mollified her. She answered shortly enough, and the
skimming of the milk was not done with the adeptness
which she usually displayed.</p>
<p>“Rich? Yes, he’s one of the richest men in
Manitoba. Why?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know. He seems very interested in––us.
He’s always over here. And he never by any
chance loses an opportunity of ingratiating himself
with mother. I wonder what his object is?”</p>
<p>Prudence bent over her work to hide the tell-tale
flush which had spread over her face, and the skimming
was once more done with the utmost care.</p>
<p>“Mother is very fond of Mr. Iredale,” she replied
slowly. “He is a good man, and a good friend.
We, as you know, are his nearest neighbours. Are
you going over there to-day?”</p>
<p>“I think so. Why?”</p>
<p>“Oh––it doesn’t matter––I was going to ask you
to ride over to Lakeville to ask Alice Gordon to
come here during the harvesting. She’s staying with
the Covills. But it doesn’t matter in the least, I
can send one of the boys.”</p>
<p>“Yes, better send one of the boys. I’m going over
to Lonely Ranch. I shall cultivate Iredale; he’s the
only man I care about round here.”</p>
<p>Prudence had nearly completed her operations and
was salting the cream in the pail.</p>
<p>“Say, sis, did it ever strike you that Iredale’s dead
sweet on you?” Hervey went on coarsely.</p>
<p>The girl suddenly turned and looked her brother
squarely in the face. Her brow was again flushed,
but now with anger.</p>
<p>“You’ll lose the best of your shooting if you don’t
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_143' name='page_143'></SPAN>143</span>
hurry. You’ve got ten miles to ride. And––I am
going to lock up.”</p>
<p>Her brother didn’t offer to move.</p>
<p>“Why do you do all this work?” he went on
calmly. “Why don’t you send all the milk to the
Government creamery? It’ll save labour, and you get
market price for the produce.”</p>
<p>“Because Government creameries are for those who
can’t afford to send their stuff to market, or make
their cheese on their farms.”</p>
<p>“Ah, that’s the worst of being large farmers, it
entails so much work. By Jove! Iredale doesn’t
work like we ‘moss-backs’ have to, and he’s made a
fortune. I guess if there were a Mrs. George Iredale
she’d have a bully time. No cheese- or butter-making,
eh, sis?” And, with a grin, Hervey turned on his
heel, and, passing up the steps, walked away towards
the barn.</p>
<p>Prudence waited until her brother had disappeared
within the stables; then she locked up. As she
turned from the door she heard her mother’s voice
calling.</p>
<p>“Girl––girl, where are you?”</p>
<p>“Here I am, mother dear, at the creamery.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Malling trundled round the corner of the
house.</p>
<p>“Prudence, there’s young Peter Furrer come over,
and I haven’t time to stop and gossip with him.
Like as not he don’t want to talk to a body like me,
anyway. Just drop that skirt o’ yours, girl, and go
and see him. A nice time o’ day to come a-courtin’.
He’ll be a-follerin’ you to the grain fields when we’re
harvesting.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_144' name='page_144'></SPAN>144</span></div>
<p>Prudence smiled.</p>
<p>“Never mind, mother. He’s come at an opportune
moment. I want a messenger to go over to Lakeville.
He’ll do. I’m sending word to Alice Gordon.
I want her to come here for the harvesting. Alice
must get very sick of living at Ainsley, in spite of the
fact of her beau living there. I’ve a good mind to tell
her to bring him out here. Shan’t be long, dear;
I’ll join you directly. Where are you? In the wash-house?”</p>
<p>The girl ran off, letting her skirt fall as she went
The mother passed on to the wash-house, muttering
to herself as she went.</p>
<p>“La, if he were only like her. But there, the Lord
ordains, and them as brings their offspring into the
world must abide the racket. But it goes hard with
a man about the house who idles. Mussy-a-me, he
ain’t like his poor father. And I’m not goin’ to give
him no extra dollars to fling around in Winnipeg.
He’s too fond of loose company.”</p>
<p>The old lady continued to mutter audibly until she
reached the wash-house door, where she disappeared
just as the object of her thoughts led his horse out of
the barn, jumped on its back, and rode away.</p>
<p>It was noon when Hervey reached Owl Hoot.
He had been there several times lately, sometimes
at George Iredale’s invitation, but generally at his
own. He had his own particular reasons for cultivating
the owner of Lonely Ranch, and those
reasons he kept carefully to himself. This unworthy
son had only been at Loon Dyke Farm for little
more than four months, and during that brief period
he had plainly shown what manner of man he was.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_145' name='page_145'></SPAN>145</span></div>
<p>Even the doting affection of his mother had not
blinded that simple soul to his shortcomings. Each
month since his coming he had steadily overdrawn
his allowance to no inconsiderable extent. His
frequent visits to Winnipeg had always ended in
his return home with pockets empty, and an
accumulation of debts, of which he said nothing,
left behind him. Then came the inevitable request
for money, generally backed up by some plausible
excuse, and Hephzibah’s cheque-book was always
forthcoming on these occasions. But though, hitherto,
she had not failed him, he saw by her manner that
the time was not far distant when her sweet old
face would become curiously set, and the comely
mouth would shut tight, and the cheque-book would
remain locked in her wardrobe, while he poured his
flimsy excuses on stone-deaf ears.</p>
<p>He understood his mother. She would do much,
perhaps far too much for her children, but she would
not allow herself to be preyed upon; she was too keen
a business woman for that. Besides, his accumulation
of debts was now so great that all he was able to
bleed her for would be but a drop in the ocean. In
Winnipeg he posed as the owner of Loon Dyke Farm,
and as such his credit was extensive. But now there
were clamourings for settlements, and Hervey knew
that gaming debts and hotel bills must be met in due
course. Tradesmen can wait, they have redress from
owners of property, but the others have no such means
of repaying themselves, therefore they must be paid
if he wished to remain in the district. Now he meant
to raise what he required from Iredale. He had
recognized the fact that Iredale was in love with
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_146' name='page_146'></SPAN>146</span>
Prudence, nor was he slow to appreciate the possibilities
which this matter suggested as a money-raising
means. Yes, Hervey intended that Iredale
should pay for the privilege of enjoying his sister’s
society. Money he must have, and that at once.</p>
<p>It was a wild, desolate region which he rode
through on his way to Lonely Ranch. No one, finding
themselves suddenly dropped into the midst of
those wood-covered crags and clean-cut ravines, the
boulder-strewn, grassless land, would have dreamed
that they were within half-a-dozen miles of the
fertile prairie-lands of Canada. It was like a slum
hidden away in the heart of a fashionable city. The
country round the mysterious Lake of the Woods is
something utterly apart from the rest of the Canadian
world, and partakes much of the nature of the
Badlands of Dakota. It is tucked away in the
extreme south-eastern corner of Manitoba, and the
international boundary runs right through the heart
of it.</p>
<p>Lonely Ranch was situated in an abrupt hollow,
and was entirely lost to view in a mammoth growth
of pinewoods. Years ago a settlement had existed
in this region, but what the nature of that settlement
it was now impossible to tell. Local tradition
held that, at some far-distant period, the place
had been occupied by a camp of half-breed “bad-men”
who worked their evil trade upon the south
side of the American border, and sought security
in the shelter of this perfect hiding-place. Be that
as it may, it was now the abode of George Iredale,
rancher. He had built for himself a splendid house
of hewn logs, and his outbuildings––many of them
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_147' name='page_147'></SPAN>147</span>
the restored houses of the early settlers––and corrals
formed a ranch of very large dimensions.</p>
<p>And it was all hidden away in black woods which
defied the keenest observation of the passer-by. And
the hollow was approached by a circuitous road which
entered the cutting at its northern end. Any other
mode of ingress was impossible for any beast of
burden.</p>
<p>As Hervey entered the valley and became lost to
view in the sombre woods, he was greeted by the
woeful cry of a screech-owl. So sudden and unexpected
was the ear-piercing cry that both horse and
rider started. The horse threw up its head and
snorted, and stood for an instant trembling with
apprehension. Hervey looked about him keenly.
He could see nothing but the crowd of leafless tree-trunks,
and a bed of dry pine-cones which covered
the surrounding earth. The owl was probably hidden
in the hollow of some dead tree, for there were
many about. He pressed his horse forward. The
animal moved cautiously, dancing along in its nervous
apprehension.</p>
<p>Presently another cry split the air. Again some
owl had protested at his intrusion.</p>
<p>So suddenly did the cry come that Hervey felt
a slight superstitious quiver pass down his back, but
he rode on. He had nearly a mile of the valley to
travel before he came to the house, and, during the
journey, seven times came the hideous screech of
the owls. Now he began to understand why this
place was called “Owl Hoot.”</p>
<p>It was with a feeling of relief that he at length
saw the ranch through the trees, and he greeted
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_148' name='page_148'></SPAN>148</span>
Iredale, who was standing in his doorway when he
dismounted, with genuine pleasure.</p>
<p>“Well,” he said, after shaking his host by the
hand, “another mile of this d–––d valley and I
should have turned tail and fled back to the open.
Why, you must have a regular colony of owls in
the place. Man, I never heard such weird cries
in my life. How is it that I haven’t heard them
before when I came here?”</p>
<p>Iredale took his visitor’s horse. He was dressed in
moleskin. Underneath his loose, dun-coloured vest
he wore a soft shirt, and in place of a linen collar he
had a red bandana tied about his neck. His headgear
was a Stetson hat. In this garb he looked
much more burly and powerful than in the tweeds
he usually wore when visiting at the farm. His
strong, patient face was lit by a quiet smile. He
was a man whose eyes, and the expression of his
features, never betrayed his thoughts. A keen
observer would have noticed this at once, but to
such people as he encountered he merely appeared
a kindly man who was not much given to talking.</p>
<p>“Colony of owls, eh?” he said, leading the horse
in the direction of the barn. “Those cries you have
heard are what this cheerful place takes its name
from. It only needs one cry to set the whole valley
ringing with them. Had not the first creature seen
you approach you might have reached your destination
without hearing one disturbing sound. As a
rule, in the daytime, they are not heard, but at night
no one can enter these woods without the echoes
being aroused. When they begin to shriek there is
no sleep for any one in my house.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_149' name='page_149'></SPAN>149</span></div>
<p>“So I should say. Well, never mind them now,
we have other matters on hand. What coverts are we
going to shoot over first?”</p>
<p>Hervey had followed his host to the stable. A
strange-looking little creature came from the obscurity
within. He was an undersized man with a small
face, which seemed somehow to have shrivelled up
like a dead leaf. He had a pair of the smallest eyes
Hervey had ever seen, and not a vestige of hair on
his face. His head was covered with a crown of
bristly grey hair that seemed to grow in patches,
and his feet were both turned in one direction––to
the right.</p>
<p>“Take this plug and give him a rub down, Chintz,”
said Iredale. “When he’s cool, water and feed him.
Mr. Malling won’t need him until about eight o’clock.”</p>
<p>Then he turned towards the house.</p>
<p>“He don’t waste words,” observed Hervey, indicating
the man, who had silently disappeared into the
stable, taking the horse with him.</p>
<p>“No; he’s dumb,” replied Iredale. “He’s my head
boy.”</p>
<p>“Boy?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Sixty-two.”</p>
<p>The two men passed into Iredale’s sitting-room.
It was plainly but comfortably furnished in a typical
bachelor manner. There were more signs of the
owner’s sporting propensities in the room than anything
else, the walls being arranged with gun-racks,
fishing-tackle, and trophies of the chase.</p>
<p>“We’ll draw the bush on the other side of the
Front Hill, otherwise known as the ‘Haunted Hill,’”
said Iredale, pointing to a gun-rack. “Select your
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_150' name='page_150'></SPAN>150</span>
weapon. I should take a mixed bore––ten and
twelve. We may need both. There are some geese
in a swamp over that way. The cartridges are in the
bookcase; help yourself to a good supply, and one
of those haversacks.”</p>
<p>Hervey did as his host suggested.</p>
<p>“Why ‘Haunted Hill’?” he asked curiously.</p>
<p>Iredale shrugged.</p>
<p>“By reason of a little graveyard on the side of it.
Evidently where the early settlers buried their dead.
It is a local name given, I suppose, by the prairie folk
of your neighbourhood. Come on.”</p>
<p>The two men set out. Nor did they return until
six o’clock. Their shoot was productive of a splendid
bag––prairie chicken and geese. Both men were
excellent shots. Iredale was perhaps the better of
the two, at least his bag numbered two brace more
than that of his companion; but then, as Hervey told
himself, he was using a strange gun, whilst Iredale
was using the weapon he most favoured. Supper
was prepared by the time they returned to the house.
Iredale, healthily hungry and calmly contented, sat
down to the meal; Hervey, famished by his unusual
exercise, joined him in the loudest of good spirits.</p>
<p>Towards the close of the meal, when the whisky-and-water
Hervey had liberally primed himself with
had had due effect, he broached the subject that
was ever uppermost in his thoughts. He began
expansively––</p>
<p>“You know, George,”––he had already adopted the
familiarity, and Iredale had not troubled to show
disapproval, probably he remembered the relationship
between this man and Prudence,––“I’m sick of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_151' name='page_151'></SPAN>151</span>
farming. It’s too monotonous. Not only that; so
long as mother lives I am little better than a hired
man. Of course she’s very good,” he went on,
as he noted a sudden lowering of his companion’s
eyelids; “does no end for me, and all that sort of
thing; but my salary goes nowhere with a man who
has––well––who has hitherto had considerable resources.
It’s no easy thing under the circumstances
to keep my expenses down. It seems such nonsense,
when one comes to think of it, that I, who will
eventually own the farm, subject, of course, to some
provision for Prue, have to put up with a trifling
allowance doled out to me every month; it’s really
monstrous. Who ever heard of a fellow living on
one hundred dollars a month! That’s what I’m
getting. Why, I owe more than five months’ wages
at the Northern Union Hotel in Winnipeg. It can’t
be done; that’s all about it.”</p>
<p>Iredale looked over at the dark face opposite him.
Nor could he help drawing a comparison between the
man and the two ladies who owned him, one as
brother, the other as son. How utterly unlike them
he was in every way. There was not the smallest
resemblance in mind, face, or figure. His thoughts
reverted to Silas Malling, and here they paused.
Here was the resemblance of outward form; and he
wondered what unfathomed depths had lain in the
nature of the old farmer which could have communicated
themselves in such developed form to the son.
It was inconceivable that this indolent, selfish spendthrift
could have inherited his nature from Silas
Malling. No; he felt sure that some former ancestor
must have been responsible for it. He understood
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_152' name='page_152'></SPAN>152</span>
the drift of Hervey’s words in a twinkling. He had
experienced this sort of thing before from other men.
Now he did not discourage it.</p>
<p>“A hundred a month on the prairie should be a
princely––er––wage,” he said in his grave way. “Of
course it might be different in a city.”</p>
<p>“It is,” said Hervey decidedly. “I don’t know,
I’m sure,” he went on, after a moment’s pause. “I
suppose I must weather through somehow.”</p>
<p>He looked across at Iredale in such a definitely
meaning way that the latter had no hesitation in
speaking plainly. He knew it was money, and this
was Prudence’s brother.</p>
<p>“Got into a––mess?” he suggested encouragingly.</p>
<p>Hervey felt that he had an easy victim, but he
smoked pensively for a moment before he spoke,
keeping his great eyes turned well down upon the
table-cover.</p>
<p>“Um––I lost a lot of money at poker the last time
I was in the city. I was in an awful streak of bad
luck; could do nothing right. Generally it’s the
other way about. Now they’re pressing me to redeem
the I.O.U.s. When they owe me I notice
they’re not so eager about it.”</p>
<p>“That’s bad; I’m sorry to hear it.” Iredale’s eyes
were smiling, whilst in their depths there was the
faintest suspicion of irony. He was in no way
imposed upon by the breadth of the fabrication. It
was the old story. He, too, lit his pipe and leant
back in his chair. “I hope the amount is not too
overwhelming. If I can––er––be–––”</p>
<p>Hervey interrupted him eagerly. He brought his
hand down heavily upon the table.</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_153' name='page_153'></SPAN>153</span></div>
<p>“By Jove! you are a good sort, George. If you
could––just a loan, of course––you see I can offer you
security on my certain inheritance of the farm–––”</p>
<p>But Iredale had no wish to hear anything about
his future possibilities of inheritance. He interrupted
him sharply, and his tone was unusually icy.</p>
<p>“Tut––tut, man. Never mind about that. In spite
of your need of money, I hope it will be many a year
before your mother leaves our farming world.”</p>
<p>“I trust so,” murmured Hervey, without enthusiasm.</p>
<p>“How much will appease your creditors?”</p>
<p>Iredale spoke with such indifference about the
amount that Hervey promptly decided to double the
sum he originally intended to ask for.</p>
<p>“Five thousand dollars,” he said, with some show
of diffidence, but with eyes that gazed hungrily
towards this man who treated the loaning of a large
amount in such a careless manner.</p>
<p>Iredale offered no comment. He merely rose from
his seat, and opening a drawer in his bookcase,
produced a cheque-book and a pen and ink. He
made out a cheque for the amount named, and
passed it across the table. His only remark was––</p>
<p>“Your luck may change. Pay me when you like.
No, don’t bother about a receipt.”</p>
<p>Hervey seized upon the piece of paper. He was
almost too staggered to tender his thanks. Iredale
in his quiet way was watching, nor was any movement
on his companion’s part lost to his observant
eyes. He had “sized” this man up, from the soles of
his boots to the crown of his head, and his contempt
for him was profound. But he gave no sign. His
cordiality was apparently perfect. The five thousand
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_154' name='page_154'></SPAN>154</span>
dollars were nothing to him, and he felt that the
giving of that cheque might save those at Loon
Dyke Farm from a world of anxiety and trouble.
Somehow behind that impassive face he may have
had some thoughts of the coming of a future time
when he would be able to deal with this man’s mode
of life with that firmness which only relationship
could entitle him to––when he could personally
relieve Hephzibah of the responsibility and wearing
anxiety of her worthless son’s doings. In the meantime,
like the seafaring man, he would just “stand by.”</p>
<p>“I can’t thank you enough, George,” said Hervey
at last. “You have got me out of an awkward
situation. If I can do you a good turn, I will.”
Iredale detected a meaning emphasis in the last
remark which he resented. “Some day,” the man
went on; “but there––I will say no more.”</p>
<p>“No, I shouldn’t say anything. These things
happen in the course of a lifetime, and one mustn’t
say too much about them.” The two men then
smoked on in silence.</p>
<p>Presently Hervey rose to go. It was nearly eight
o’clock.</p>
<p>“Well,” said Iredale, as he prepared to bid his
guest good-bye, “we have had a good afternoon’s
sport. Now you know my coverts you must come
over again. Come whenever you like. If I am
unable to go with you, you are welcome to shoot
over the land by yourself. There are some grand
antelope about the place.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. I shall certainly come again. And––well,
when are you coming over to us again? I can’t
offer you any shooting.”</p>
<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_155' name='page_155'></SPAN>155</span></div>
<p>“Don’t trouble,” smiled Iredale.</p>
<p>Hervey saw the “boy” Chintz leading his horse
round.</p>
<p>“You might tell your mother,” the rancher went on,
“that I’ll come to-morrow to read over that fencing
contract she spoke about for her.”</p>
<p>Hervey leered round upon him.</p>
<p>“Will it do if I tell Prue instead?”</p>
<p>“Certainly not.” Iredale’s face was quite expressionless
at that moment. “You will please do as I
ask.”</p>
<p>Hervey gulped down his chagrin; but his eyes
were alight with the anger from which his lips
refrained. He mounted his horse.</p>
<p>“Well, good-bye, George,” he said, with a great
display of cordiality. “I hope those owls of yours
will permit me to ride in peace.”</p>
<p>“I have no doubt they will,” replied Iredale, with
an inscrutable smile. “Good-bye.”</p>
<p>Hervey rode away. The man he had left remained
standing at his front door. The horseman half
turned in his saddle as the bush closed about him.</p>
<p>“Curse the man for his d–––d superiority,” he
muttered. “I suppose he thinks I am blind. Well,
Mr. Iredale, we’ve made a pleasant start from my
point of view. If you intend to marry Prudence
you’ll have to pay the piper. Guess I’m that piper.
It’s money I want, and it’s money you’ll have to pay.”</p>
<p>The mysterious owner of Lonely Ranch was
thinking deeply as he watched his guest depart.</p>
<p>“I believe he’s the greatest scoundrel I have ever
come across,” he said to himself. “Money? Why,
he’d sell his soul for it, or I’m no judge of men of
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_156' name='page_156'></SPAN>156</span>
his kidney, and, worse luck, I know his sort well
enough. I wonder what made me do it? Not friendship.
Prudence? No, not exactly. And yet––I
don’t know. I think I’d sooner have him on my side
than against me.” Then he turned his eyes towards
the corrals and outbuildings which were dotted about
amongst the trees, and finally they settled upon a
little clearing on the side of Front Hill. It was a
graveyard of the early settlers. “Yes, I must break
away from it all––and as soon as possible. I have
said so for many a year, but the fascination of it has
held me. If I hope to ever marry Prudence I must
give it up. I must not––dare not let her discover the
truth. The child’s goodness drives me to desperation.
Yes––it shall all go.”</p>
<p>His gaze wandered in the direction Hervey had
taken, and a troubled look came into his calm eyes.
A moment later he turned suddenly with a shiver and
passed into the house. Somehow his thoughts were
very gloomy.</p>
<hr class='toprule' />
<span class='pagenum pncolor'><SPAN name='page_157' name='page_157'></SPAN>157</span>
<SPAN name='CHAPTER_X_THE_GRAVEYARD_AT_OWL_HOOT' id='CHAPTER_X_THE_GRAVEYARD_AT_OWL_HOOT'></SPAN>
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