第29章

"But, Professor, someone must go; and besides that seems to me great work, and I'd like to have a hand in it."It was the necessity, the difficulty, and the promise of the work that summoned young McIntyre from all the openings, vacancies, positions, and appointments his friends were so eagerly waving before his eyes and set him among the foot-hills in the far front as the first settled minister of Big River, the pride of his Convener's heart, the friend and shepherd of the scattered farmers and ranchers of the district.Once only did he come near to regretting his choice, and then not for his own sake, but for the sake of the young girl whom he had learned to love and whose love he had gained during his student days.Would she leave home and friends and the social circle of which she was the brightest ornament for all that he could offer? He had often written to her, picturing in the radiant colours of his own Western sky the glory of prairie, foot-hill, and mountain, the greatness and promise of the new land, and the worth of the work he was trying to do.But his two years of missionary experience had made him feel the hardship, the isolation, the meagreness, of the life which she would have to share with him.The sunset colours were still there, but they were laid upon ragged rock, lonely hill, and wind-swept, empty prairie.It took him days of hard riding and harder thinking to give final form to the last paragraph of his letter:

"I have tried faithfully to picture my life and work.Can you brave all this? Should I ask you to do it? My work, I feel, lies here, and it's worth a man's life.But whether you will share it, it is for you to decide.If you feel you cannot, believe me, I shall not blame you, but shall love and honour you as before.But though it break my heart I cannot go back from what I see to be my work.I belong to you, but first I belong to Him who is both your Master and mine."In due time her answer came.He carried her letter out to a favourite haunt of his in a sunny coolie where an old creek-bed was marked by straggling willows, and there, throwing himself down upon the sloping grass, he read her message.

"I know, dear, how much that last sentence of yours cost you, and my answer is that were your duty less to you, you would be less to me.

How could I honour and love a man who, for the sake of a girl or for any sake, would turn back from his work? Besides, you have taught me too well to love your glorious West, and you cannot daunt me now by any such sombre picture as you drew for me in your last letter.No sir.The West for me! And you should be ashamed--and this I shall make you properly repent--ashamed to force me to the unmaidenly course of insisting upon going out to you, 'rounding you up into a corral'--that is the correct phrase, is it not?--and noosing, no, roping you there."When he looked up from the letter the landscape was blurred for a time.But soon he wondered at the new splendour of the day, the sweetness of the air, the mellow music of the meadow-lark.A new glory was upon sky and earth and a new rapture in his heart.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed."Dear little soul! She doesn't know, and yet, even if she did, I believe it would make no difference."Experience proved that he had rightly estimated her.For a year and a half she had stood by her husband's side, making sunshine for him that no clouds could dim nor blizzards blow out.It was this that threw into her husband's tone as he said, "My wife, Mr.Macgregor,"the tenderness and pride.It made Shock's heart quiver, for there came to him the picture of a tall girl with wonderful dark grey eyes that looked straight into his while she said, "You know I will not forget." It was this that made him hold the little woman's hand till she wondered at him, but with a woman's divining she read his story in the deep blue eyes, alight now with the memory of love.

"That light is not for me," she said to herself, and welcomed him with a welcome of one who had been so recently and, indeed, was still a lover.

The interval between supper and bed-time was spent in eager talk over Shock's field.A rough map, showing trails, streams, sloughs, coolies, and some of the larger ranches lay before them on the table.

"This is The Fort," said McIntyre, putting his finger upon a dot on the left side of the map."Twenty-five miles west and south is Loon Lake, the centre of your field, where it is best that you should live, if you can; and then further away up toward the Pass they tell me there is a queer kind of ungodly settlement--ranchers, freighters, whisky-runners, cattle thieves, miners, almost anything you can name.You'll have to do some exploration work there.""Prospecting, eh?" said Shock.

"Exactly.Prospecting is the word," said McIntyre."The Fort end of your field won't be bad in one way.You'll find the people quite civilised.Indeed, The Fort is quite the social centre for the whole district.Afternoon teas, hunts, tennis, card-parties, and dancing parties make life one gay whirl for them.Mind you, I'm not saying a word against them.In this country anything clean in the way of sport ought to be encouraged, but unfortunately there is a broad, bad streak running through that crowd, and what with poker, gambling, bad whisky, and that sort of thing, the place is at times a perfect hell.""Whisky? What about the Police? I have heard them well spoken of,"said Shock.

"And rightly so.They are a fine body of men with exceptions.But this infernal permit system makes it almost impossible to enforce the law, and where the Inspector is a soak, you can easily understand that the whole business of law enforcement is a farce.