"Helen seems to have been pretty awkwardly situated when you appeared on the scene. Sit down and smoke while I get supper."

They talked gaily during the meal.

"Is there any means of sending back the horse I brought?" Kermode asked after a while.

"I've been thinking about that," Foster replied.

"I have a neighbor who is going east on business. He'll strike the new line where you left it, and he'll be glad to have the horse."

Then they talked about other matters, but when the men sat smoking some time later, Foster said cordially:

"You'll stay here a while?"

Kermode said that he would remain a few days.

"Where will you make for then?" his host asked. "There's nothing doing round here except a little cattle-raising."

"For the mountains, I think. I hear the railroad people are busy in the pa.s.ses; but I'll try to strike something softer than handling rails."

"I can fix that," Foster declared. "They've been advertising for haulage tenders--there are a lot of piles and building logs they want brought in.

Now I've two good horses I've not much use for and I'd be glad to let you have them. You could bring them back when the frost stops work."

"Thanks," said Kermode. "What's your idea of shares?"

The rancher declared that he did not expect a share, but when Kermode insisted, they arrived at a satisfactory understanding, and soon after Helen appeared the party broke up.

Kermode spent three or four pleasant days with his new friends, and when he left the ranch one morning, leading two strong horses, Helen Foster walked with him some distance up the valley. She had not known him long enough to recognize his failings, which were plentiful, but his virtues were obvious, and she knew that she would miss him.

"So you are going out on the trail again," she said. "Where will it lead you?"

"That," he answered with a gay laugh, "is more than I can tell. No doubt, to fresh adventures and strange experiences."

"But you know your first stopping-place, the railroad camp. When you have finished your work there, you could come here again and rest a while."

"No," he said, more gravely; "I'll send your brother his horses, but I don't think I'll come back. It's nice to feel that we have been pretty good friends, but it might spoil any pleasant impression I'm leaving if you saw too much of me. Besides, I'm a wanderer; the long trail beckons."

"It runs through swamps and many rough places into the lonely wilds.

Aren't you afraid of weariness?"

Kermode smiled, falling into her mood.

"You may remember that there are compensations," he said; "glimpses of glory on the untrodden heights. It's true that one never gets there, but they lead one on."

"But you can see them from the valley."

"No; the farmer's eyes are fixed on the furrow; he must follow the plow.

His crop and his stock are nearer him; he cannot see past them. The wanderer's mind is free."

"When you had that glimpse of glory, you turned away and looked for household smoke."

"There you have me," he laughed. "Inconsistent, wasn't it? But we're only human: one needs rest and food."

Helen changed the subject.

"Well," she declared, "I'm grateful; and if it's any comfort, you won't be forgotten."

He stopped the restive horses.

"That's good to hear," he told her. "But the ground is rough ahead and you have come some way."

"Good-by," she said, and gave him her hand.

He held it for a moment, and then, getting into the saddle, turned and swung off his hat. After that he rode on into the waste, leading one horse; and Helen Foster watched him for a while before she went back, slowly and thoughtfully, to the ranch.

CHAPTER XVI

THE MISSIONARY'S ALLY

On reaching the railroad camp, Kermode was engaged by the contractor to haul in logs cut in a neighboring forest for constructional purposes. The line ran into a wild valley, clinging to the rocks that formed one side of it, with a torrent brawling hoa.r.s.ely among the stones beneath. Above rose vast slopes, streaked in some places with small firs, in others ground to a smooth scarp by sliding snow. Farther back were glaciers and a chain of glittering peaks.

The mouth of the valley had been laid out as the site of a future town, but so far it was occupied by rows of tents and rude wooden shacks, inhabited by the construction gangs. A large proportion of them were orderly, well-conducted men: industrious immigrants who had seized the first opportunity for getting work, small farmers attracted by high wages, skilled artisans. There were, however, some of a rougher type; and the undesirable element, was, as usual, well represented. On the whole, the camp was sober, largely because no licenses had been issued, though this did not prevent men who came up from other points from bringing liquor in, and the authorities suspected another source of supply.

Kermode had little trouble with his work, which he found profitable, and he rapidly made friends. Among them was a young Presbyterian missionary whom he met for the first time on the hillside, engaged on a squared log with a big jack-plane. He wore knee-boots and a threadbare suit of gray, while his hat had suffered from exposure to the weather. Kermode stopped his team near-by and the clergyman looked around.

"If you have a good eye, you might tell me whether this chamfer's running true," he said.

"You want a bit off here." Kermode laid his finger on the spot. "Except for that, it's good."

The clergyman sat down and pulled out a tobacco pouch.

"I'll attend to it presently, but I feel I'm ent.i.tled to a rest. Take a smoke; you're not paid on time."

"I'm not sure it would matter if I were." Kermode's eyes twinkled as he filled his pipe. "An idea of the kind you suggested doesn't go far in a construction camp, unless, of course, a foreman happens to be about.

However, you made one rash statement, didn't you?"

"I'm afraid I make a good many," replied the clergyman good-humoredly.

"But you are right. It would be very rash to claim all that one was ent.i.tled to; in other words, one's deserts. You're Mr. Kermode, I believe; you must know my name is Ferguson."

Kermode bowed.

"What are you going to do with this log?" he asked.

"It's to be a door-post in the new church. I wonder if you would be willing to haul it in?"

Kermode said that he would be glad to do so.