Soon after Festing started for British Columbia Sadie drove over to the farm; because she had heard about the fight in the poolroom and suspected why he had gone. At first she found it difficult to break down Helen's reserve, but the latter could not resist her frank sympathy, and softening by degrees, allowed herself to be led into confidential talk. Sadie waited until she thought she understood the matter, and then remarked:

“So you stuck to your promise that you'd help me with Bob, although you saw what it would cost? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you hated us.”

“It wasn't altogether the promise,” Helen replied. “We were both highly strung, and I thought Stephen hard and prejudiced; it seemed ridiculous that he should care what the loafers said. But I don't hate you. The fault was really mine, and I want a friend.”

“Well,” said Sadie, “I feel I've got to help put this trouble right, if I can.” She paused and asked with some hesitation: “Will Steve be away long?”

“I don't know,” Helen answered dejectedly. “He hinted that he might not come until spring; I think he means to stop until he has earned enough to make him independent. That's partly my fault—I said something rash. If I hadn't had more money than him, it wouldn't have happened.”

Sadie smiled. “My having more money won't make trouble between me and Bob; he doesn't mind how much I've got. But I suppose you want Steve back?”

“Of course! It's all I want, but the matter is not as simple as it looks. I don't think he will come back as long as he's poor, and if he does, he won't use my capital, and things will be as before. If he earns some money, I should feel hurt because he was obstinate and wouldn't let me help. That's why I don't know what to do. I wish I'd never had the money!”

Sadie thought Helen had some ground she had not mentioned yet for her distress. Moreover, it looked as if she still felt she had a grievance against Festing, and their clashing ideas about the money did not altogether account for this.

“I guess you're keeping something back.”

Helen's reserve had broken down. She was half ashamed because she had lost it, but she felt the need of sympathy, and Sadie could be trusted.

“He didn't see, or didn't mind, that his going away would bear out the wicked story!” she exclaimed with sparkling eyes. “I feel that was the worst.”

“I don't know that it looks quite as bad as you think. It's a common thing for a farmer who has lost his crop to go off and work on a new railroad, particularly if he has teams the construction boss can use. Anyhow, I guess the thing will come right, and I'll help if I can. But I want to see my way before I move.”

Helen did not answer, and soon afterwards Sadie left the homestead. She said nothing to Charnock about her visit, but started for the settlement next morning and informed herself about what had happened at the poolroom and what people thought. Then she drove home, and getting back at dusk, sat down opposite Charnock, who lounged in a basket chair with a pipe in his mouth. Her eyes twinkled with rather grim humor.

“You don't look as if anything bothered you,” she said.

“It's possible,” Charnock agreed. “I suppose I'm lucky because I have nothing much to bother about.”

“You wouldn't bother about it, anyhow. You leave that kind of thing to me.”

Charnock gave her a quick glance. She was not angry, which was something of a relief, because Sadie was difficult when she let herself go. Besides, he was not conscious of having done anything to vex her since he gave Wilkinson the cheque. But she looked resolute.

“I've a good excuse,” he answered. “I've got a remarkably capable wife.”

“We'll cut out the compliments. I don't think you have seen any of the boys from the settlement since Festing left.”

Charnock said he had not done so, and she gave him a thoughtful look.

“I suppose you can't remember when you last did something useful; something that would help somebody else?”

“It's a painful confession, but I can't remember. Still I've some experience of being helped along a way I didn't want to go, which leads me to believe it's often kinder to leave folks alone.”

“Anyhow, you have done some harm.”

“I'm afraid that's true. I don't know that I meant to do much harm, but it's generally easier than doing good. For example, I've given you some trouble; but at the moment I can't think of a new offense.”

“You can quit joking and put down that newspaper. It looks as if you didn't know why Festing left?”

Charnock said he could not guess, and got up abruptly when Sadie told him. He kicked the newspaper out of his way and crossed the floor with angry strides. His face was red when he stopped in front of his wife.

“You don't believe the lying tale!”

“No,” said Sadie, calmly. “If I had believed it, I wouldn't have talked to you like this.”

“Thank you! Now we have cleared the ground, I'm certainly going to do something. I'll begin by driving over to Wilkinson's to-morrow, and I'll take a whip.”

“Festing 'tended to that matter before he left, and making another circus won't help. Besides, Wilkinson has got to quit. You'll see notices about his sale soon; I fixed that up.”

Charnock laughed. “You're a marvel, Sadie, but the brute deserves it. Well, if I mustn't thrash him, what's your plan?”

“You'll go to British Columbia and bring Festing back.”

“I will, by George!” said Charnock. “We owe him and Helen much, and the job is obviously mine—by joining Festing I give Wilkinson the lie. You're clever, and I expect you saw this. Anyhow, I'll start; but Festing's an obstinate fellow. Suppose he won't come back?”

“He mayn't at first. If so, you'll have to wait.”

Charnock turned away and walked about the floor while Sadie watched him, pleased but curious. Bob was rather hard to move, but he was moved now. He came back, and sitting down, looked at her thoughtfully.

“I imagine you are giving me a bigger job than you know. If Festing has taken the railroad contract, he'll probably stop until he had carried it out. Now I don't imagine I'd find it amusing to loaf about and watch him work; for one thing, it's pretty cold in the ranges after the snow comes.”

“Well?” said Sadie.

Charnock leaned forward with an apologetic smile. “I'd like to take a share in the contract and help him through; that is, of course, if he won't come back at once. But there's a difficulty; I haven't the cash.”

“You want me to give you some?”

“Yes. I shouldn't feel much surprised if you refused. I've squandered your money before, but this time I mean business. Can't you see that I have, so to speak, got my chance at last?”

“I don't quite see. You have had many chances.”

“I have,” Charnock agreed; but there was a new note in his voice and a look in his eyes that Sadie had not often seen. “I've been a fool, but perhaps it doesn't follow that I'm incapable of change. However, let's be practical. The crop is spoiled, we have no grain to haul in, and there'll be nothing doing here while the snow is on the ground. Well, if Festing can get some of his money back, why can't I? I've wasted yours long enough, and now, if I can't bring him home, I'll stop with him until we both make good.”

“You mean that, Bob?”

“I do. Give me a chance to prove it.”

Sadie got up, and putting her hands on his shoulders, kissed him. “Very well. You shall have all the money you want.”

Then she went back to her chair and turned her head. She had borne with her husband's follies and fought hard for him, sometimes with hope and sometimes in desperation, but always with unflinching courage. Now it looked as if she had won. Victory was insecure yet, and there was a risk that it might turn to defeat, but Sadie never shrank from a daring venture. For a moment she could not speak; her heart was full.

“Hallo!” said Charnock, who got up and came towards her. “Crying, Sadie? Will you miss me as much as that?”

Sadie hastily wiped her eyes. “Yes, Bob; I'll miss you all the time. But if you'll come back the man you are now, I'll wait as long as you like.”

“I'll try,” said Charnock simply. “I'm not going to protest, but you deserve a much better husband than you've got. If I can't come back better fit to live with you, I won't come back at all.”

“I wouldn't like that,” Sadie answered, smiling uncertainly. “But I guess I know what you mean. I'll wait, dear, because I know you are going to make good.”

Then, feeling that she had said enough, she began to make plans. Something might be saved from the ruined crop and she had better keep a heavy team, but Charnock could have the other horses if they were required. She could carry on whatever work was possible after the frost set in, and would pay off one of the hired men. Charnock approved, and after a time Sadie leaned back in her chair.

“It's all fixed, but perhaps we mayn't need these plans,” she said. “Remember you're really going there to bring Festing home.”

“That's understood. However, I don't think he'll come, and if so, it will be Helen's money that prevents him. If he's foolish enough to doubt her, I can put him right, which will be something.”

“Yes,” said Sadie, with a sigh. “Well, if he won't come, you must stop and do the best you can.”

In the meantime, Festing reached the railroad camp. It was raining when the construction train rolled noisily through a mountain gorge, and he stood at the door of the caboose, looking out. Three or four hundred feet below, a green river, streaked with muddy foam, brawled among the rocks, for the track had been dug out of a steep hillside. Festing knew this was difficult work; one could deal with rock, although it cost much to cut, but it was another matter to bed the rails in treacherous gravel, and the fan-shaped mounds of shale and soil that ran down to the water's edge showed how loose the ground was and the abruptness of the slope. Above, the silver mist drifted about the black firs that clung to the side of the mountain, and in the distance there was a gleam of snow. Some of the trees had fallen, and it was significant that, for the most part, they did not lie where they fell. They had slipped down hill, and the channels in the ground indicated that the shock had been enough to start a miniature avalanche which had carried them away. The pitch was near the slant engineers call the angle of rest, but Festing thought there was rock not far beneath, which prevented the solidification of the superincumbent soil. It looked as if his contract would be difficult and he would earn his pay.

As the cars passed he saw the ballast creep about the ends of the ties, which reached to the edge of the descent, and in places small streams of gravel had run down, leaving hollows round the timber. The harsh jolting indicated the consequences, but he knew that in the West railroads are built as fast as possible and made safe afterwards. For that matter, he had often run risks that would have daunted engineers used to conservative English methods. In the meantime, the speed was slackening, and by and by the harsh tolling of the locomotive bell echoed among the pines. Tents, iron huts, and rude log shacks slipped past; men in muddy slickers drew back against the bank, and then the train stopped.

Festing got down into the water that flowed among the ties, and Kerr came forward in dripping slickers.

“If you want help to get the teams out, I'll send some of the boys,” he said. “If not, you had better come along and I'll show you your shack. I told our cook to fix your supper, and I'll be glad to sit down for a time out of the wet.”

Festing followed him along the descending track, which presently ended at a ledge of rock sixty or seventy feet above the river. Wire ropes spanned the gap between the banks, and near the middle a rock islet broke the surface of the savage flood. Here men were pouring cement into holes among the foundations of an iron frame, while suspended trollies clanged across the wires. On the other bank was a small flat where shacks of log and bark stood among dripping tents. The roar of the river filled the gorge, but its deep note was broken by the rattle of hammers, clash of shovels, and clang of thrown-down rails.

The sounds of keen activity stirred Festing's blood. He had a touch of constructive genius, but lack of specialized training had forced him into the ranks of the pioneers. Others must add the artistic finish and divide the prizes of ultimate victory; his part was to rough out the work and clear the way. But he was satisfied with this, and something in him thrilled as he heard in the crash of a blasting charge man's bold challenge to the wilderness. Kerr waited with a twinkle of understanding amusement while Festing looked about, and then took him up the hill.

“You have come back,” he remarked. “Well, I guessed you would come. After all, this is your job; it's here you belong.”

“That is so, in a sense,” Festing dryly agreed. “It looks as if my job was to get tired and wet and dirty while others got the dollars; but it's a job with different sides. Farming's as much a part of it as this, and has very similar disadvantages.”

“There's an altruistic theory that the dollars don't count; but it's easier to believe when you draw your wages regularly, and I've known it break down when an engineer was offered a more lucrative post. Anyhow, I reckon it's our business to make good, even if our pay isn't equal to our desserts, which happens pretty often when you work on the railroad.”

“If you work on a farm, you often don't get paid at all.”

Kerr laughed and indicated the pines that rolled up the hill in somber spires.

“Well, there's your raw material, and you won't have much trouble to bring the logs down, though you may find stopping them from plunging into the river a harder thing. However, you have some notion of what you're up against, and I'll show you the plans and specifications when we get out of the rain.”

He stopped in front of a small log shack, and opening the door, beckoned Festing in. There was an earth floor, and a bunk, filled with swamp-hay, was fixed to the wall; two or three camp-chairs stood about, and a fire of scented cedar logs burned on the clay hearth. A Chinaman, dressed in very clean blue clothes, was putting a meal on the table. Festing hung up his wet slickers and sat down with a vague sense of satisfaction. It was plain that he must go without many comforts he had enjoyed at the farm, but he felt strangely at home.

Kerr took supper with him, and afterwards threw some papers on the table and lighted his pipe. Half an hour later Festing looked up.

“I imagine I've got the hang of things, and I'll make a start to-morrow. Your way of underpinning the track is pretty good, but I don't like that plan. You can't hold up the road long with lumber; the work won't stand.”

“I don't know if your objection springs from artistic delight in a good job or British caution. Anyhow, you ought to know that in this country we don't want work to stand; our aim is to get it finished. If the track holds up until we can start the freight traffic running, it's as much as we expect. We'll improve it afterwards as the dollars come in.”

“A freight train in a Canadian river isn't a very uncommon object,” Festing rejoined. “However, it's my business to cut the logs and do the underpinning as well as I can. On the whole, and barring accidents, I see some profit on the job. I'm grateful to you for putting it in my way.”

“Your thanks are really due to somebody else. The head contractor is not allowed to sub-let work without our approval, and although I recommended your being given a chance, the decision rested with another man.”

“Who's that?”

“He'll probably look you up to-night,” Kerr replied with a twinkle. “They sent him from headquarters to see how we're getting on. But I'll leave you the plans. We're working nights with the blast-lamps, and I've got to be about when the new shift makes a start.”

He went away and Festing studied the drawings. He had undertaken to cut and dress to size the heavy logs required for the lower posts of trestles and foundation piles. So far, he did not apprehend much difficulty, but he would run some risk over the underpinning of part of the track. In order to make a secure and permanent road-bed, it would have been necessary to cut back the hillside for some distance and then distribute the spoil about the slope below, but the engineers had chosen a quicker and cheaper plan. Heavy timbers would be driven into the face of the hill to make a foundation for the track, which would be partly dug out of, and partly built on to, the declivity. Where the main piles reached the rock the plan would be safe, but where they were bedded in gravel there was danger of their giving way under a heavy load. Festing knew he must share the risk of this happening with the head contractor.

By and by somebody knocked at the door, and he got up abruptly as a man came in.

“Dalton!” he exclaimed.

The other smiled and threw off his wet slickers. It was getting dark, but the firelight touched his face and Festing studied him with surprise. The lad, whom he had not seen for some years, had grown into a man, and had moreover a look of quiet authority. He had made rapid progress if he had, as Kerr had stated, been sent to report upon the latter's work.

“You don't seem to have expected me, though, to some extent, I'm responsible for your being here,” he said. “However, I'm remarkably glad we have met again.”

Festing, awkwardly conscious that his welcome was somewhat cold, indicated a chair, and sitting down opposite began to fill his pipe. Dalton sometimes wrote to Helen, but had not mentioned his being sent to British Columbia.

“Well,” he said, “I was glad to hear you had got a move up once or twice, but it looks as if you had gone farther than I thought.”

“I had the advantage of a proper training, and the reputation of the engineer who gave it me counted for something, although I might never have got my chance in this country but for you. Now I'm happy if I've been able to show my gratitude. When Kerr brought your name forward I told him to see you got the contract.”

“You did more than you knew,” said Festing. “It looks as if you hadn't heard from Helen.”

“Not for a time; I hope she's well. I'd thought about coming West to see you, but couldn't get away, and she talked about your going to Montreal this winter.”

“That's off, of course. It's plain you don't know that Helen and I have quarreled.”

Dalton looked up sharply, but was silent for a moment or two.

“This is a nasty knock,” he said. “I don't know if my relation to you justifies my venturing on dangerous ground, but do you feel at liberty to tell me what you quarreled about?”

Festing decided that Charnock's part in the matter must be kept dark. It was unthinkable that Dalton should imagine he suspected his wife.

“To put it roughly, we differed about what you might call a principle, although Helen's money had something to do with the thing. You see, I lost my crop and she was hurt because I wouldn't use her capital.”

“I don't see altogether,” Dalton rejoined. “In fact, your objection seems unusual.”

He pondered for a minute or two, and Festing marked the change in him. Dalton had a reserve and thoughtfulness he had not expected. He had grown very like Helen.

“A quarrel about a principle is apt to be dangerous,” he resumed. “Although you are probably both wrong, you can persuade yourselves you are right. Then while I was glad to hear about your wedding, I'll admit that I saw some difficulties. Helen has a strong will and is sometimes rather exacting, while you're an obstinate fellow and a little too practical. I must wait until I know more than I do now, but might be of some use as a peacemaker. Isn't it possible to compromise? Can't you meet half way?”

“Not in the meantime. I can't go home until I'm able to run the farm without your sister's help. There's some risk of her despising me if I did go.”

“You may be right; I can't judge,” Dalton thoughtfully agreed. “Now I could, of course, find an excuse for getting you dismissed, but I know you both too well to imagine that plan would work. You would go somewhere else, while though Helen is generous there's a hard streak in her. I really think she'd like you better afterwards if you carried your intentions out.”

He paused and smiled. “She got the money you object to in a very curious way—by refusing to indulge the wishes of our only rich relation. I was more compliant because his plans met my views, and he paid for my education, but when he died we found Helen had got her share and mine. I understand he told his lawyer that he still thought her wrong; but if she thought she was right, she was justified in refusing, and he admired her pluck.”

“She has pluck,” said Festing. “On the whole I don't think that makes things much better for me. Anyhow, I've taken this contract and I've got to stay with it.”

“I'll help you as far as I can,” said Dalton, who soon afterwards left the shack.