Part 50 (1/2)

he continued to the agent.

”What's the matter with you?” said the agent. ”I didn't see anything. If you trip yourself up and pitch into the corner, that is your own business. Get out of this office, you disorderly beast!

Hurry up!” The agent put his hand upon the counter and leaped over.

Rosenblatt fled, terrified.

”Brute!” said the agent, ”I can't stand these claim jumpers.

You did that very neatly,” he said to Brown, shaking him warmly by the hand. ”I am awfully sorry, but the thing can't be helped now.”

Brown was too sick at heart to reply. The mine was gone, and with it all the splendid castles he and Kalman had been building for the last six months. He feared to meet his friend. With what heart now could he ask that this brute, who had added another to the list of the wrongs he had done, should be forgiven? It was beyond all human strength to wipe out from one's mind such an acc.u.mulation of injuries. Well for Brown and well for his friend that forty miles lay before him. For forty miles of open country and of G.o.d's sun and air, to a man whose heart is open to G.o.d, work mighty results.

When at last they came together, both men had won their victory.

Quietly Brown told his story. He was amazed to find that instead of rousing Kalman to an irrepressible fury, it seemed to make but little impression upon him that he had lost his mine. Kalman had faced his issue, and fought out his fight. At all costs he could not deny his Lord, and under this compulsion it was that he had surrendered his blood feud. The fierce l.u.s.t for vengeance which had for centuries run mad in his Slavic blood, had died beneath the stroke of the Cross, and under the shock of that mighty stroke the loss of the mine had little effect upon him. Brown wondered at him.

The whole colony was thrown into a ferment of indignation by the news that Kalman had been robbed of his mine. But the agents of Rosenblatt and Sprink were busy among the people. Feast days were made hilarious through their lavish gifts of beer. Large promises in connection with the development of the mine awakened hopes of wealth in many hearts. After all, what could they hope from a young man without capital, without backing, without experience? True, it was a pity he should lose his mine, but men soon forget the losses and injuries of others under the exhilaration of their own ambitions and dreams of success. Kalman's claims and Kalman's wrongs were soon obliterated. He had been found guilty of the unpardonable crime of failure. The new firm went vigorously to work. Cabins were erected at the mine, a wagon road cut to the Saskatchewan. In three weeks the whole face of the ravine was changed.

It was in the end of April before French returned from his tie camp, with nothing for his three months' toil but battered teams and empty pockets, a worn and ill-favoured body, and with a heart sick with the sense of failure and of self-scorn. Kalman, reading at a glance the whole sordid and heart-breaking story, met him with warm and cheery welcome. It was for French, more than for himself, that he grieved over the loss of the mine. Kalman was busy with his preparations for the spring seeding. He was planning a large crop of everything the ranch would grow, for the coming market.

”And the mine, Kalman?” enquired French.

”I've quit mining. The ranch for me,” exclaimed Kalman, with cheerful enthusiasm.

”But what's up?” said French, with a touch of impatience.

”Jack, we have lost the mine,” said Kalman quietly.

And he told the story.

As he concluded the tale, French's listlessness vanished.

He was his own man again.

”We will ride down and see Brown,” he said with decision.

”No use,” said Kalman, wis.h.i.+ng to save him further pain. ”Brown saw the entry at the Land Office, and the agent plainly told him nothing could be done.”

”Well, we won't just lie down yet, boy,” said Jack. ”Come along--or--well, perhaps I'd better go alone. You saddle my horse.”

In half an hour French appeared clean shaven, dressed in his ”civilization clothes,” and looking his old self again.

”You're fine, Jack,” said Kalman in admiration. ”We have got each other yet.”

”Yes, boy,” said Jack, gripping his hand, ”and that is the best.

But we'll get the mine, too, or I'm a Dutchman.” All the old, easy, lazy air was gone. In every line of his handsome face, in every movement of his body, there showed vigour and determination. The old English fighting spirit was roused, whose tradition it was to s.n.a.t.c.h victory from the jaws of defeat and despair.

Four weeks pa.s.sed before Kalman saw him again. Those four weeks he spent in toil from early dawn till late at night at the oats and the potatoes, working to the limit of their endurance Mackenzie and the small force of Galicians he could secure, for the mine and the railroad offered greater attractions. At length the level black fields lay waiting the wooing of the sun and rain and genial air.

Then Kalman rode down for a day at Wakota, for heart and body were exhausted of their vital forces. He wanted rest, but he wanted more the touch of a friend's hand.

At Wakota, the first sight that caught his eye was French's horse tethered on the gra.s.sy sward before Brown's house, and as he rode up, from within there came to his ear the sound of unusual and hilarious revelry.

”h.e.l.lo there!” yelled Kalman, still sitting his horse. ”What's happened to you all?”

The cry brought them all out,--Brown and his wife, French and Irma, with Paulina in the background. They crowded around him with vociferous welcome, Brown leading in a series of wild cheers.