Roger Pocock

“ The hillside was clothed beneath the pines with a dense wet jungle of rotting deadfall, fruit bushes gorgeous with blossom, and the immense leaves poised on viciously barbed stems of the devil-club. After climbing for a very long time, the riders came to the brow of this lowest spur of the mountains, from whence the trail wound on through big timber for many a weary mile, gently rising save where there was an occasional abrupt slope to be surmounted. The top of the ridge was a gigantic stairway, and it was sundown before the Tenderfoot and his guide came to the base of the upper foothills. ”

“ Going round by way of the Tough Nut Claim, he gained the upper moorland, wrapped in a choking dry mist, out of which rose the Throne cabins, gaunt, spectral, desolate. The doors were locked, the windows barred hastily across with a few rough planks, the stable empty. Down the hills he rode, his black horse lathered with sweat, his face haggard as he followed the trail of three riders. Ramsay had led, Miss Violet followed, Burrows taking the rear, all down the swaying curves of the steep places, and along the sinuous path through heavy timber. They had not stayed to even pack their clothes ”

“ Here were round patches, traces of camp-fires, by which many travellers in that lonely way had been wont to rest. How waggons got down the trail to the bottom without accident is one of the many wonders of the West.
The sun was set behind the Selkirks, the wind was sinking, the air had a blue dryness blown from some forest fire; heavy, sultry enough to make all nature sulk. ”

“ Besides that, a thirty years' habit of being bad is stronger than a four months' habit of being good. It seemed now that to be virtuous was to lose all the fun. He would drift a little, and haul up with a jerk; he would rebuke with hard fists some champion of the cowboys; then, thinking that he had done something wrong, look up the Selkirk foothills as though he hoped for further guidance from the Throne. From the skin outwards this Blackguard was an epitome of hardened wickedness, inwardly like a big child. ”

“ She looked up, tears swimming in her eyes, "When I was up at the Throne, Mr. Ramsay liked to watch me peeling potatoes."
"What a cad! Well, he gets his deserts—wealth from the Burrows' inventions beyond the very dreams of avarice, and much good may it do him."
"And I have a log-cabin, a nest to keep warm for my big true Blackguard, and thanks to say on my knees to God for love. What does it matter all this stuff in the paper?" She laid it on her lap, watching his comic clumsiness at the peeling. "The world outside doesn't matter one little bit to us." ”

“ A workhouse pauper who has dropped a penny down a grating could not have looked more forlorn.
So two months went by. Miss Violet very demure, like a kitten after its first mouse; the Blackguard spending every Saturday and Sunday night in the saddle to snatch brief hours for courtship; the Tenderfoot perched in desolate places brooding on suicide.
Then of a sudden Mr. Ramsay became demurely expectant, and Miss Violet unnaturally gay. Some new absurdity was in the wind, so Mr. Burrows, with the gingerly air of one broaching a gift of untasted wine, had a few words with his niece. ”

“ Foxes were dodging about from cover to cover, a crane stood melancholy in the untroubled water, meditating on one leg, hopeless of even a desultory minnow by way of supper. A cloud of dust arose behind the southern boundary of the ravine, the crane flapped sorrowfully away, hearing a distant tramp of horses, and presently a mounted man in bright cavalry uniform rode to the edge of the hills, standing out against the deepening sky a beautiful silhouette, motionless as a statue. ”

“ Dinner followed, Dandy and all the non-commissioned officers fighting among themselves for the right to serve the Señora La Mancha, who sat in state upon a buffalo coat near their camp fire, all smiles and blushes. This was her wedding breakfast, served under the frosty blue sky by a swarm of soldiers, who one and all would have offered with the beef and bread their hearts and hands, but for the prior claims of their comrade. ”

“ So he sat at the edge of the cliff, perched like a fly on a wall, until presently there came another fly stealing up softly behind; a female fly this, full as her little body could hold of wanton mischief, to wit, the Burrows girl, who clapped her dainty hands over both La Mancha's eyes.
"You must be Love," laughed the Blackguard, "blinding a chap like that. What nice soft fingers—Um! Get away, you minx, or I'll kiss you."
"Ugh!" said the minx, suddenly releasing him.
"Now, sit down here, Impudence, and tell me who taught you your manners." ”

“ Then, two by two, came twenty mounted men, each with a rifle poised on the horn of his Mexican saddle, and many a glittering point of brass and steel about his harness. At a word of command they dismounted to advance, leading their horses down the slope; while behind them appeared five waggons, each carrying two men, and a rear-guard of two, who lingered a bit to be clear of the dust which arose in clouds from the groaning wheels of the transport. ”

“ But a hardened sinner like the Blackguard writes seldom or never, finding the pen awkward after shovel, axe, and gun; so the epistle to Miss Burrows, of course a strictly private communication, was delivered painfully, tongue in cheek, head askew, with a perhaps too copious discharge of ink.
Miss Violet read it with such a disdainful tilt of her little pert nose that the blotted characters were well-nigh out of range. She was sitting during the Sunday rest at the cliff edge, with Dandy Irvine on one side and Mr. Ramsay, jealously observant, on the other. ”

“ He looked towards the camp where lay Arrapahoe Bill, tended by the Mexican, recovering from an interview with a grizzly bear; he looked along the trail toward the Mission, whither, to judge by the scraps of cambric, Miss Violet had been carried much against her will; and he looked across the valley to where the tents of the Mounted Police encampment glimmered white in the afternoon sun. It was useless to trouble the cowboys, useless to ride to the Mission unless he had some sort of authority for interference; better to get help from the camp. ”

“ But the Lunatic, as we call him, has put us all out of date. It's all very well sneering at new ideas, but his methods are further above our heads than American quartz-mining is above the fuddling of the old Spanish colonists. They had ladder shafts, buckets for pumping, an arastra for milling; we have common sense tunnelling, and send sorted ores to the smelter. Burrows sneers at our fissure veins, and quarries the bare country granite. Of course, I knew all along that whole mountain ranges run a dollar and a half to the ton, but I didn't care while milling cost two dollars a ton. ”

“ Two men, I declare, on horseback, coming up to the cabin. Uncle!" she called,—"Uncle!"
"Well, my dear?" An elderly man in a velveteen jacket came lounging to the door and stood against the lamplight.
"Visitors, Uncle! Oh, bother!" continued the Burrows girl fretfully; "they'll be wanting supper."
"The duties of hospitality," said the man sententiously, "must"—
"Oh, drat the duties! You never have to wash up." Then, to appease him: "I don't want any company, Uncle—except you. I wonder who are they? Not prospectors, anyway. The big one looks like a soldier." ”

“ Indeed, it was a sight to stir one's blood, that march of frontier cavalry, to see the big bronzed men sitting their horses with careless grace, the tough, wiry bronchos walking sedately after a canter, the transport lumbering briskly in the midst, and all down the long double line of riders the gleam of blue rifle barrels, a glitter of belts, a glow of scarlet. ”

“ Britain is not in Fleet Street, or Mayfair, or the City, but at heart a rough race of conquerors and rulers. So this Tenderfoot from Balham, awakening in one short day, shook off the garments of conventionalism, worshipping the Blackguard because he was brave and strong, hung furtively a pace behind him as they walked, that he might gloat upon a pair of big rowelled spurs, a glittering cartridge belt, and a big sheathed revolver. ”

“ You don't know what it is to be in danger, to feel your heart jump with excitement, to feel your blood dance at the order to fire, to kill men, to be shot at. I used to like a bull feast once in Spain, but that's tame; to fight in our insurrections—that was better. Even a dead nation must have a little fun, and so, because we're not strong enough to fight our neighbours, we have comical insurrections among ourselves. We are quite bloodthirsty, and some people really get hurt. ”

“ The horses were pulling at the grass, or roving about with a quick, sharp clank of the hobbles, the man on duty gliding ghostlike among them, speaking to one or another lest they should fear him in the silence. All seemed well with the tired beasts, so the "picket" strolled back to the dying fire, drank a little tea, lit his pipe, and stood thinking. His body seemed gigantic against the light, his face borrowed something of satanic dignity from the glare, the light glimmered upon the points of his harness, while he kicked lazily the backs of smouldering logs till the flames leaped up again. ”

“ Outwitted by the Blackguard, humiliated in their summary treatment by the law, their grievance received hilariously as a huge joke, they were only too glad to excuse themselves with a plea of pressing business at the Throne, while their crestfallen departure after dinner provoked the troop to a burst of ironical cheering.
But the Blackguard and his Señora, mounted on horses lent by the Sergeant-Major, rode out with the troop on its first stage down the valley, an adventure which Violet La Mancha will ever remember as the most delightful thing in her life. ”

“ Now there are one or two live Spaniards like me, but to live as our fathers lived we have to serve under another flag.
"When you wake up, when you've forgotten all about that infernal old Balham, you'll see that there's another London, the centre of the Empire, which has stolen the fire from heaven that once belonged to Spain. We're making that Empire, we cowboys and miners, magistrates and mounted police of the frontier,—making the new empire in Australia, in Canada, in Africa, in India. ”

“ Ramsay would have given chase at once.
"One moment," said the Blackguard, smiling in his saturnine way, while a twinge of pain from his arm made him draw up stiffly. "Young man, you don't let the grass grow underfoot; you needn't be in such a hurry—she'll wait for you, and you have weeks and months to make up for this minute. About that shanty you knocked down this morning?" ”

“ Ramsay sat down on the flume feeling very miserable.
But he felt worse than miserable presently when he saw a horseman ride up to the mill whom he recognised to his utter disgust as the Blackguard.
"Hello, Burrows!" La Mancha's big voice rang out through the woods. "Want a word with you, Burrows. Come out and talk like a white man. You won't?—ah, well, I'll talk while you keep your mouth shut. Are you in charge of Miss Violet Burrows? You are, eh? All right, I'm paying my addresses to Miss Violet, and if she'll have me I'm going to marry her. D'you hear? Yes, marry her. ”

“ Great was the stir and turmoil at Wild Horse Creek. Long before daylight, while all the gear was stiff with a rime of frost, tents were struck, kit bags loaded, blankets rolled; and after breakfast these, together with the Quartermaster's stores, mess kit, nosebags, and all the equipments of a summer camp, were bestowed upon the transport waggons. At noon the troop was to march on the first short stage of a journey across the Rocky Mountains by the Crow's Nest Pass to the winter station, the divisional headquarters on the Great Plains. ”

“ The greater the lord of creation, the more abject his enslavement, the more complete the conquest. There was one story about a young lad, called Una, leading a growling lion around with a string.
"I want my lion to be very growly indeed," said the Burrows girl to the stars; whereat the stars, seeing two young men toiling painfully up the trail, began to wink.
"Why," said the Burrows girl, "there's something moving yonder. ”

“ One of the police boys was sent to recall them, because the snow was waist-deep when once they got off the trail. The way was a sort of lane, with a fence on the left, bush on the right shutting off all view of the main crowd, and a log-house at the end full of loop-holes pouring out a most awful fire. You see, the half-breeds had filled that little house with all their crack marksmen, while our boys had nothing to aim at but logs and smoke. Men were falling thick, the snow was too deep for a charge, and there was no particular use for getting to that house anyway. ”

“ And it feels like life. I've never read a book, but I've lived—you bet, I've lived! Great gods, it's better than books; it's better than London, as you'll see when you get to live. You don't understand things yet. ”

“ Last post was sounding while La Mancha saddled, and in the midst of his work he turned on Dandy.
"Don't look at me like that! It's all your fault for making me turn respectable. It's against Nature. What would the civilians think if all of you turned into brass-mounted saints like me? Why, they would be sending their sons into the Force for convent training, and adulterate the grandest cavalry in the world. There"—he loosed his horse and flung himself into the saddle. "Cut it short," for Dandy could not let go his hand. ”

“ What made you a soldier a-serving the Queen:
God save the Queen,
And God save the duffer who thinks of to-morrow.
God save the man who remembers his sorrow,
God save the man who can think of the past,
Sundown at last:
Here's rest for the past, and here's hope for the morrow!"
That is exactly what the bugle said to a man who was sitting on the edge of the bench-land in the evening calm. He was a very big man, dressed in a grey woollen undershirt, worn-out riding-breeches with a two-inch yellow stripe down the legs, and jack-boots. ”

“ It's always you—'I'll this, or I'll that. It's my wish—I—I—I.' You're made of I's. There's nothing else in you but 'I.' Now, you listen to what little me says—I hate you, and if I marry you I'll make you as miserable as I am, you toad."
"My dear, I love you."
"No, you don't—you only love yourself; but I've got to marry you to get away from my Uncle. He gets on my nerves. Go away!"
Mr. Ramsay stared.
"Go away!"
Mr. Ramsay went mournfully away down towards the mill, where Mr. Burrows was saying his Sunday afternoon prayers to the steel cylinder. ”

“ The Tenderfoot must see the Blackguard a mile or so on his way, but La Mancha took him by a new route which sloped down quickly into the timber. The boy's heart beat high because the Blackguard treated him now as an equal, almost as a chum, and this, which he would have disdained yesterday morning, seemed a great condescension to-day. In his heart of hearts Mr. Ramsay felt a new thing—a craving for the rough frontier life, for the romance of savagery. A real Britisher is never thoroughly civilised ”

“ He saw the half-breeds swarming down from the cabin, Indians swinging their clubbed rifles to make sure of those who were down by cracking skulls. I guess that policeman was too far gone to care; he watched them lazily through a sort of haze, forgetting all about the full revolver slung on his belt. Of course, there were no white men left in sight, but Indians and half-breeds were swarming out from cover as our whole outfit, police and civilian, harnessed their teams for the retreat. ”

“ You see, La Mancha, all my best men have left me one by one. Two of them fell during the Rebellion, one shot himself, Peters died of mountain fever at Battleford, Buster Joe is ranching in Montana, Jones the Less writes to me from London, where he is doing well, and—but you know. One can't take such an interest in the recruits—shave-tails, you call them, and so forth; and now that things are settling tamely down, we're not so necessary as we were. New times, new manners—I don't blame you for taking your freedom. What are your plans, La Mancha? ”

“ The little lady sat with her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, sniffing at the acridness of raw potatoes, staring gloomily the while out into the Sunday stillness of the afternoon. "I wish I was dead," she said miserably, addressing the Rocky Mountains over the way.
"But why?" He sat up on his haunches, the pail in one hand, an earthy vegetable in the other, staring horrified. "You shouldn't say such things. It's wicked. I won't have you say such things. I forbid it."
"You won't?" muttered Miss Violet vindictively ”