Barbara in the Chilcoten Valley.

The Autumn rains had now set in, and all the way up through the Chilcoten Valley from Quesnel, the wagon train groaned and pitched from side to side. The wheels rolled in mud up to the very hubs, and the horses lagged in their traces, wearied by the excessive burden they were urged to drag. Sandwiched in with the baggage, providing for their comfort as best they could, were the several passengers. Upon the front seat with the driver sat the only woman passenger of the company. A figure tall and spare, a face thin and drawn, lines that were deep cut, marked the features of a determined character. Her manners were not engaging, and her fellow travelers soon understood that she preferred to be left alone, not to talk. But they had observed through the tedious journey up from Quesnel to the terminus at the head of Soda Creek, that she had at intervals questioned the driver, each time making him confirm his answer by repeating it a second time.

“Yes,” said he, “I am sure that I brought your husband up this valley. It must be nigh two years ago this Fall, and if I ain’t mistaken, him and another man left some truck over at Dan Magee’s place, across the bridge at the head of the trail. If ye want, mum, I’ll take ye over that soon as I put the horses up.” They had now reached the end of the wagon route and the passengers had dismounted in front of the building which served as a lodging house, but Barbara sat awaiting the return of the driver, who by his positive answers to her questionings, had kindled the dying flame of hope in her heart, and already through her weak frame new life coursed with a quickened throb. Up to this time, over the trails by which she had come no definite information could she obtain that her husband had passed that way. No encouragement had she received to inspire within her that fortitude which would aid her to withstand all fatigue, knowing that at the end of the journey she should meet her beloved; and now she sat transfixed, afraid to discover the truth of the report, fearing there might be a sudden ending of the hopes she had allowed to spring up in her heart, that soon she should see her husband, and the longing of her soul to be at his side would be satisfied.

She was presently rejoined by the driver of the van, which was left standing at the side of the hotel, the team of four horses having been detached for stabling. Together they went toward the home of Magee. The dim lights were beginning to show through the gathering darkness from the cabins of the scattered settlement. A thin mist was rising from the dampness, and but for the feeble rays which filtered through nothing would have been visible to mark the exact location of the house. To one of those lights, coming as if from out the side of the hill, Barbara and her guide came.

“This is the place, mum. Dan Magee is a friend of mine, so you needn’t be afraid to tell him what you have come about.” The door opened cautiously in answer to the knock. “It’s all right, Dan,” said the driver of the stage wagon. “Here’s somebody wants to see you.” The door opened wide. Barbara and her friend advanced into the light.

Seated around a table at the side of the room opposite the door were two men, one young, bronzed, but handsome, the other older and weather beaten, his beard untrimmed and hair unkempt. They looked toward the door as the strange visitor of the night entered, then quickly, as if from a sudden impulse, the older man stood up. His hand shook, as it rested upon the table, and his eyes stood out as if they would leap from their sockets. The tall figure of this silent woman had advanced to the middle of the room, her eyes fastened upon the man standing by the table. Slowly her two arms were raised, and stepping quickly forward, in a dreadful whisper she ejaculated, “Surely, Andy, it is ye!” Cameron also had recognized his wife, but he caught her in his arms only to lay her tenderly upon the couch, for she had swooned away.