CHAPTER XIV

The Coming of Mary Grant

When first I arrived at Golden Crescent, I was not a little worried as to whether or not there would be sufficient work in the store and on the property to keep two men busy. It did not take me long to discover that there really was not; but then, few people in and around that easy-going little settlement cared about being very busy. Still, when Jake and I wished for work, there was always enough of it at hand; just as, when we felt inclined to be idle, there was no very special reason why we should not, for there seldom was anything calling for immediate accomplishment unless it were the transporting of goods from the up-going steamers to the store and the putting up of camp orders. I did not have to concern myself much over the fixing of leaky boats, the building and repairing of fences, the erection of any small sheds or buildings required, the felling of trees, the sawing and splitting up of our winter supply of fuel, the raising and feeding of our very small poultry family and the tending of the garden. These had been Jake's departments before my coming, and, as he looked after them as no other man I knew could have done, they remained his especial cares.

Jake was never tremendously occupied, yet he always was doing something during the day time,--something worth while, something that showed.

However, when there was a particularly big wash-up on the beach of stray timber logs from some of the booms travelling along the coast, both Jake and I had to knuckle down with a will and an energy in order to push them off with the next out-going tide so as to prevent them jamming and piling on our tidy, clear and well-kept foresh.o.r.e.

Outside of an almost unnecessary supervision, the store was my only care; consequently, once things were running properly, I had lots of time on my hands to fish over by Rita's Isle if I so desired, to shoot in the woods behind when the inclination seized me, to swim, to smoke, or read and daydream as fancy dictated.

I thrived on the life. Maybe, I grew lazy. Anyway, I enjoyed every minute of it, working or idling, waking or sleeping.

I soon got to know the men from the Camps, and they me. With the knowledge of them came an ever-increasing regard and admiration for those simple, uncomplaining, hard-working, easily led world-wanderers, who, most of them, were ever ready to gamble all they had on the toss of a coin or the throw of a die and, if they lost, laugh, and start off afresh.

That there were evilly disposed men among them,--men who would stop at nothing,--men who, already, had stopped at nothing,--I knew, but with most of them, their hearts were good.

Joe Clark did not honour me with a visit for many a day after our first encounter. Almost I had begun to congratulate myself that he had decided to let slumbering dogs lie, when, one afternoon, as I was sorting the newly arrived and scanty mail, I was surprised to find a letter bearing the name of Dow, Cross & Sneddon of Vancouver and addressed:--

Mr. George Bremner, Superintendent, Golden Crescent Trading Co., Golden Crescent Bay, B. C.

h.e.l.lo! I thought; Joe Clark at last has been putting some of his threats into execution. Now for the fireworks!

I opened the envelope and found that my conjecture was a wrong one and that Joe Clark's knife for me,--if he had one,--was not yet sharpened.

"Dear Sir," the letter ran,

"We have received a letter from Messrs. Eldergrove & Price, Solicitors for the property adjoining that of the Golden Crescent Co.'s, informing us that some friends of the owner have permission from him to occupy his house at Golden Crescent. This refers to the house in proximity to the wharf and the store. It is at present boarded up.

"Two j.a.panese women will arrive by the steamer _Cloochman_ at the end of the week to open up, air, clean out the house and put it in order.

These cleaners will return to Vancouver by the same steamer on her southward journey the following week.

"This letter is written simply to inform you of the facts, so that you may know that nothing illegal is going on.

"Of course, we are in no way interested in this property.

"Yours truly, "DOW, CROSS & SNEDDON."

I showed the letter to Jake, who expressed a fear that the Bay was becoming "a d.a.m.ned pleasure resort," as this would make the second time in five years that visitors had been staying in that house. On the strength of the news, he drank an extra half-cup of whisky, then said, for decency's sake he would row out and bring the j.a.ps ash.o.r.e when the _Cloochman_ came in.

Two shy, pretty, little women they proved, who thanked Jake with smiles and profuse bows, much to that old rascal's confusion. They were all bustle and work. They had the boards down from the windows and had the doors and windows wide open five minutes after they got ash.o.r.e.

Morning, noon and night, they were scrubbing, washing, beating, dusting, polishing and airing, until I was more inquisitive than an old maid's cat to view the results of their labours. But my sense of propriety overcame my curiosity, and, for the time being, I remained in ignorance.

One night, after the little workers had gone back to Vancouver, I was lying in my bed enjoying Robert Louis Stevenson's "Virginibus Puerisque," when I fancied I heard the throbbing of a gasoline launch.

I rose and looked out at the open window; but it was one of those inky-black nights, without either moon or stars, a night when even the sea became invisible,--so I saw nothing.

When the throbbing ceased, I heard the sound of oars and, as a small boat evidently neared the sh.o.r.e, there came a sound of voices, both male and female.

Two trips were made from the launch, one bearing the people, I presumed, the other conveying their baggage. I had no doubt in my mind that my new neighbours were arriving, although I might have been stone-blind so far as anything being visible was concerned.

It was chilly standing there at the window, in the night air, in my pyjamas. The nights were always chilly at Golden Crescent. So I went back to bed, determined to wait and see what the morrow would disclose.

My first glance out of doors, early next morning, materialised what I had a vague notion might have been a dream. There was no sign of any stir in the house across the little, wooden, rustic bridge that connected it, over a narrow creek, with the roadway leading to the store. That was only natural, as, in all probability, the travellers were journey-weary. But a freshly painted rowing boat, with light oars, was made fast to the off side of the wharf, while several leather travelling bags and other packages were piled on the veranda of that house over the way.

I had shaved, parted my hair at its most becoming angle and dressed myself with particular care that morning, going to the extent of sewing a burst seam in my breeches and polishing my leggings; all in antic.i.p.ation of a visit from the new arrivals, thinking they would be almost certain to call at the store that forenoon to arrange for their supplies.

I dusted the shelves, polished the scales, put the sacks of potatoes where they belonged, mopped up some mola.s.ses that had escaped to the floor from a leaky can and swept out the store; then I waited in blissful antic.i.p.ation for my new customers.

I caught a glimpse of Jake in the distance. In some strange, wireless-telepathic manner, he must have got wind of what had occurred during the night, for I noticed that he had been suddenly attacked by the same fever for cleanliness and smartness as I had been. He had turned his neckcloth, and the clean side of it was now trying to delude the innocent outside world that it (the neckcloth) had been freshly washed. Mike,--bad luck to his drunken carca.s.s,--looked sick and appeared to be slowly recovering from the evil effects of a bath.

As the morning wore on I saw an elderly, rotund lady come out to the veranda and take the baggage inside. That was the only bit of excitement that happened, after all my preparations.

Later, a launch called from Camp No. 1, with an order for a thousand and one different commodities, and all required right away. That put idle, inquisitive thoughts out of my head for the remainder of the forenoon.

I got out of my best clothes, donned a half-dirty shirt, a suit of overalls and a pair of old boots, then got busy selecting, sorting and packing until my brow was moist and my hair was awry.

I had just got rid of the men and was standing surveying my topsy-turvy store, with everything lying around in tremendous confusion and all requiring to be set to rights again before I would know where to lay my hands on a single article; when a melodious, but rather measured, feminine voice, in the vicinity of my left shoulder, startled me into consternation.

A young lady, almost of a height with me, was standing by my side, while a stout, elderly lady,--the same lady I had seen on the veranda over the way,--was filling the doorway.

I was messy all over with flour dust, brown earth from the potato sacks, grease and grime. I had slipped at the water edge while a.s.sisting the loggers to load their goods, and this did not contribute to the improvement of my personal appearance. I wiped my hands on my damp overalls, and my hands came out of the contact worse than before.

"I wish to see the manager," demanded the melodious voice, its owner raising her skirts and displaying,--ah, well!--and stepping over some excelsior packing which lay in her way.

"Your wish is granted, lady," I answered.

"Are you the manager?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in unfeigned astonishment.

"I have that honour, madam," I responded with a bow, but not daring to look at her face in my then dishevelled state.

"I am Miss Grant," she said.

"Miss Grant! Pleased to meet you."

I shoved out a grimy paw, like the fool I was. When it was too late, I remembered my position and brought the paw back to my side.

The young lady had already drawn herself up with an undefinable dignity.

It was a decided snub, and well merited, so I could hardly blame her.

I saw, in the hurried glimpse I got of her then, that she was hatless and that her hair was a great crown of wavy, burnished gold, radiating in the sunlight that streamed through the doorway despite the obstruction of the young lady's companion.

"It is our intention to live at Golden Crescent for some time, sir. I understand we may purchase our supplies here?"

"Yes! madam,--miss."