THE GIRL OF 
 O K VALLEY 
 
 ROBERT WATSON
 
 THE GIRL OF O. K. VALLEY 
 
 A. Romance of the Okanagan 
 ROBERT WATSON
 
 THE GIRL 
 OF O. K. VALLEY 
 
 A Romance of the Okanagan 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT WATSON 
 
 AUTHOR or "MY BRAVE AND GALLANT GENTLEMAN," ETC. 
 
 NEW >ajTYORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1919, 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 TO 
 A LADY CALLED NAN 
 
 2138693
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER *AGB 
 
 I THE IMMIGRANT . . . . . . . ^ H 
 
 II DAY-DREAMS 28 
 
 III THE LURE OF THE VIOLIN 42 
 
 IV HIGH LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 59 
 
 V AT THE TOOT OF THE FLUTE 80 
 
 VI THE TRYST 9 2 
 
 VII STORM FIENDS IO/ 
 
 VIII THE VICTIM 122 
 
 IX WITCHERY 14 
 
 X ROANSTONE FAIR I $6 
 
 XI OFF WITH THE OLD, ON WITH THE NEW . . 172 
 
 XII THE VOW 184 
 
 XIII THE CANKER OF DOUBT 2O4 
 
 XIV THE MADNESS OF A MAN 221 
 
 XV THE MARTYRDOM OF THE MUSIC WITCH . . 235 
 
 XVI CHANGING LIGHTS 247 
 
 XVII OLD ACQUAINTANCES 259 
 
 XVIII COLD KAIL HOT AGAIN " 2 73 
 
 XIX DISSOLVING SHADOWS . . . '. **".'-% . 285 
 
 vil
 
 THE GIRL OF O. K. VALLEY
 
 THE 
 GIRL OF O. K. VALLEY 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 The Immigrant 
 
 WITH his shaggy brows down and his hands 
 at his back, rancher Jackson was pacing the 
 floor of his large airy kitchen. He was in one of his 
 oft-recurring tantrums of anger-madness over small 
 matters. His gloomy personality was hanging over 
 the farm-house like an impending cloudburst, ready, 
 on the slightest provocation, to break into a torrent 
 of abuse. 
 
 A woman, shabbily clad, her bent back alone vis- 
 ible, was busy over the kitchen range stirring the con- 
 tents of a large pot. This woman was Colin Jack- 
 son's wife a three-quarter witted nobody who was 
 at the beck and call of everybody; of little or no 
 account to anybody, and likely to die as she was liv- 
 ing, in pitiable obscurity. 
 
 ii
 
 12 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Colin, the train should be in soon. Aren't you 
 thinking of sending Jim in with the buggy to bring 
 your niece up?" she ventured timidly without raising 
 her head or slackening in her stirring of the pot. 
 "She's had a long journey and is sure to be tired 
 out." 
 
 Jackson stopped to make sure that he had heard 
 aright, although in reality he had been waiting, al- 
 most anxiously, for some considerable time, for a 
 remark of such a nature. The storm was precipi- 
 tated. To Jean Jackson it was almost more welcome 
 than the tension and the gloom of its gathering. 
 
 "She can walk," he snapped. "It'll do her good 
 after her long rest in the train. If she has managed 
 over the Atlantic and across the Continent, there's a 
 mighty poor chance of her missing her way between 
 Vernock and here. Worse luck! If she happened 
 to get off her track it would be little loss. She repre- 
 sents just another to feed, another to clothe and 
 Lord protect me ! another woman to put up with. 
 Goodness only knows! haven't I worries enough 
 already without her? 
 
 "It beats me to understand," he continued, warm- 
 ing to his tirade as he strode to the window and back 
 again to the kitchen cabinet, "why some men get 
 married, raise a brood, then die as if in their so 
 doing they had attained the height of all possible 
 earthly ambition dying too, generally not worth a 
 corn-cob. Why don't they die first and be done with
 
 The Immigrant 13 
 
 it? It would save their relatives a deal of trouble 
 in looking after their brats later on." 
 
 "I know it, Colin well I know it," agreed his 
 wife in a piping voice, "but the man didn't die inten- 
 tionally. When your sister Mary was alive she 
 never wrote you for any help. It was but natural 
 that she should leave word for her orphan lass to be 
 sent out to the only brother she had. It won't hurt 
 the horse and buggy any to send them in to the sta- 
 tion. It would be a kind of welcome to her besides." 
 
 "Hold your talk, woman!" interrupted the 
 rancher. "I've said 'no' and that's an end of it. 
 The oftener a horse runs the sooner it has to be 
 shod. I don't believe in keeping horse-flesh for the 
 pleasure of my ranch help. And a ranch help is 
 what this lass will have to be so long as she is under 
 my roof. She'll have to work here just as sure as 
 she will want to eat here. The sooner too that she 
 learns where she gets off at the better for her and 
 all concerned with her. She's to be started in right. 
 Do you understand? No ten days* wonder about it I 
 
 "But I tell you, this one thing on the top of an- 
 other is enough to drive a man to the asylum. Here 
 have I been waiting for three years to lease Broad- 
 acres a ranch that can grow as much on one acre 
 as mine can on five and now, when the chance 
 comes, Menteith throws my offer aside and rents 
 Broadacres, with the option of buying, to that inter- 
 loping, sun-baked, retired British Army Captain
 
 14 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 who knows as much about ranching as a dog does 
 about the whooping cough. And has robbed me of 
 Tom Semple besides the best ranch foreman in the 
 whole Okanagan Valley. 
 
 "There's a payment due on the mortgage and 
 nothing to pay it with; interest overdue, wages a 
 month behind, the flume requiring repairs, seed to 
 pay for, new implements to make a first payment on 
 before I can get them. Now this ! the place is to 
 be turned into a damned orphanage. 
 
 "For two peas ay, for a pea and a half I 
 would pack her off elsewhere. And, it's as sure as 
 God made little apples, she'll be of the strawberries- 
 and-cream, ice-drink, afternoon-tea variety, always 
 with a headache or a pain. That's what her father 
 was, I'm thinking. And they say she's him over 
 again. 
 
 "But mark my words into the barn and the 
 dairy she goes, neck and crop, just as soon as she 
 gets here." 
 
 Jackson took a long breath and sighed. 
 
 "Oh, well! there's one grand consolation, she'll 
 be something new for Lizbeth to put her spite out 
 on. That'll maybe give me a rest from that sarcas- 
 tic tongue of hers." 
 
 He sighed again. 
 
 "The Lord alone knows where Liz got her tem- 
 per froml" 
 
 Dull as she was, Mrs. Jackson had her own opin-
 
 The Immigrant 15 
 
 ion on that last point, but she wisely held her peace. 
 She had long ceased to argue with her husband on 
 any matter whatsoever, knowing only too well the 
 futility of it. Colin Jackson's brow-beating, his 
 senseless rage and his niggardliness had taught their 
 lessons years before, had reduced her to the level of 
 a kitchen drudge and, imperceptibly to herself, had 
 sapped her individuality and were now slowly under- 
 mining her reasoning powers. 
 
 Jackson's daughter, Lizbeth, however, was a 
 horse of a different colour. She possessed too many 
 of her father's own characteristics to be easily, if at 
 all, over-ruled by him. He got to know it early in 
 her life and wisely left her to her own devices at 
 least so long as the devices did not clash too openly 
 with his own. 
 
 For a brief moment, the light at the kitchen win- 
 dow was shut off as Lizbeth passed by. She came in 
 at the open doorway, deposited a can of milk on the 
 floor and wiped her hands hastily on a towel. 
 
 She was handsome in a buxom way, with full 
 red lips and deep, expressive eyes; nicely featured, 
 tall and well-formed; in every way good to look 
 at as she stood there, breathing a little heavily 
 from her exertions, her lips apart, her stout, 
 shapely arms bared above her elbows and her full 
 white throat exposed. 
 
 Lizbeth Jackson gloried in her virility and knew 
 full well how to hide the darker sides of her
 
 16 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 nature under the visible charms of her blooming, 
 almost flamboyant, maidenhood. 
 
 "I guess she's here at last, dad," she remarked 
 with a backward nod of her head. "There's a 
 slender slip of a miss, with a grip, coming up the 
 road." 
 
 "Isn't anyone going to lend her a hand?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Jackson, turning round. 
 
 "No, siree!" replied Lizbeth. "She's to be 
 lending me a hand before long. It would be kind 
 of crazy starting her in the wrong way round. She 
 might think she was coming to a sanatorium." 
 
 Mrs. Jackson made to go out, purposely to give 
 the new arrival some assistance. 
 
 "Stay where you are can't you?" commanded 
 the rancher gruffly, barring her progress with his 
 arm. 
 
 The woman drew back with a look of resigna- 
 tion, and resumed her work. 
 
 The sound of nervous feet was heard outside, 
 then came a sigh and a plaintive exclamation. 
 
 "Oh, dearie me!" 
 
 The exclamation bespoke distress, also relief. 
 
 A slender girlish figure, with a pale, eager face, 
 stood in the doorway, and a quiet little voice with a 
 soft accent asked: 
 
 "Is this Mr. Jackson's, Mr. Colin Jackson's?" 
 
 "Yes! you're at the right enough place. Come 
 in," replied the rancher.
 
 The Immigrant 17 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad!" answered the girl wearily. 
 
 She clasped her hands and took a step forward. 
 
 "You'll be my sister Mary's lass?" continued Jack- 
 son. "I've never seen you. You don't favour the 
 Jackson side in face or body. What's your name? 
 Kate, isn't it?" 
 
 "They call me Kathie," she answered, trying 
 bravely to smile and to thaw the iciness of her wel- 
 come. 
 
 "Ah, well! Kate or Kathie, it's all the same. 
 Come over to the window and let's have a good look 
 at you." 
 
 The girl came forward, looking about her timidly. 
 
 Jackson caught up her hands and examined them 
 with the same scrutiny as he would have given to 
 the mouth of a horse. 
 
 "Soft as butter! Never knew hard work, I'm 
 thinking !" he said, more to himself than to his far- 
 travelled niece. 
 
 His stern eyes went to her face and to the long 
 plait of thick, jet-black hair which hung over her left 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Bonny !" he soliloquised again. "Too bonny for 
 your own good." 
 
 He turned to his daughter, who had been survey- 
 ing the scene as one apart. 
 
 "Lizbeth, I'm fearing you'll have to keep her 
 well hidden till you get first pickings of the men who
 
 18 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 have their ranches well stocked and their pockets 
 well lined." He laughed coarsely. 
 
 Lizbeth did not answer, but continued to stare at 
 her cousin in a rude way. 
 
 Colin Jackson resumed his questioning. 
 
 "Hum! Thought you were just a bairn I I see 
 now you must be sixteen or seventeen." 
 
 "I am eighteen, uncle," she answered, looking 
 down timorously before the cold gaze, a blush man- 
 tling her cheeks. 
 
 "Eighteen, eh! Well I guess they don't grow 
 so big or ripen so fast in Ballywhallen, Ireland, as 
 they do here in the West. Lizbeth is only a year 
 older, but she looks twice as big and half a dozen 
 times as knowing as you. 
 
 "Kathie! this is your cousin, Lizbeth," he ex- 
 claimed at last, ignoring the fact that so far he had 
 monopolised the entire conversation. 
 
 "You'll get to know Lizbeth better as you go 
 along," he continued slyly. "That's your aunt over 
 there. I'll leave you with them." 
 
 He strode away, confident that he had performed 
 a duty to the satisfaction of everybody or rather, 
 of himself, which, in his opinion meant everybody 
 else as well. He made for the dairy where Meg 
 Shaw, a Scotch farm lass and Lizbeth's chief help, 
 was hard at work. He watched the girl intently for 
 a while before he spoke. 
 
 "Meg I won't require you after this month."
 
 The Immigrant 19 
 
 The girl looked up in surprise. 
 
 "What's wrang wi' ye noo? Have I no' been 
 doin' my work to please ye? Am I no' worth all I 
 get?" she inquired with just a little aggression. 
 
 Only a year before, with her old widowed mother, 
 Meg had come out West at the urgent request of 
 Jackson, who had known her in the Old Land and 
 had jumped at the chance of obtaining her help on 
 the cheap, for a time at least, until she should get 
 thoroughly wise to conditions. Meg had learned 
 many things during that short year, but with the ex- 
 pense of coming over and of keeping her old mother, 
 combined with the low contract Jackson had made 
 with her, her financial position was tremendously 
 insecure. 
 
 "It isn't that you haven't been doing your work, 
 Meg. I just won't require you that's all." 
 
 "Oh, fine I ken!" cried Meg, throwing down the 
 tin measure she had been using for filling the milk 
 cans. "It's that peely-wally-faced ninny I saw comin' 
 up the road. Another cheap one from the Old Coun- 
 try! Maybe you've managed to get her for her 
 board. Weel you're welcome to her till she gets 
 wise. I'm glad I'm done wi' ye. I hadna the 
 courage to tak' the step mysel', or I would have 
 done it lang syne." 
 
 "That'll be enough from you now. I want none 
 of your cheek." 
 
 "Oh, want or no' want, Colin Jackson, you'll
 
 20 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 just hare to tak* what ye get." Meg's eyes blazed 
 in anger and she shook her fist. "If a woman 
 works her fingers to the bone, you want the bones 
 to pick yersel'. 
 
 "Ay! and God help that new lass if she has to 
 work under you and that she-cat Lizbeth. But I'm 
 fired, as they say oot here, so what the de'il should 
 I care ? 
 
 "Give me my wages to date and I'll gang noo. 
 That'll save you the three weeks o' this month that's 
 worryin' you." 
 
 Meg shot through the weak spot in Colin Jack- 
 ion's armour. The temptation was too strong for 
 him. He grinned to himself as he thought how easily 
 and profitably this would work out for him, for he 
 had feared Meg might hold him to the two years' 
 bargain fraud of a bargain that it was that he 
 had made with her on her coming. Hastening to 
 take her at her word, he pulled out his purse and 
 counted out several dollars and small silver coins 
 into her palm. Meg examined the silver closely. 
 
 "Bide a wee I" she exclaimed, pouncing on a fifty- 
 cent piece. "I've seen this chappie before. It's 
 the same Strait Settlements' one that ye tried on me 
 last month. I wonder at a man like you no' passin' 
 it off on some poor Chinaman lang before this." 
 
 Jackson exchanged the coin without a word. 
 
 "Thank ye for my ain," said Meg pertly. "I 
 kent the plan would suit ye ye cheap-skate.
 
 The Immigrant 21 
 
 Lordie! but you're weel named Colin Split-the- 
 pea." 
 
 The rancher clenched his hands and turned upon 
 her with rising anger. Meg edged away. When 
 she got to the door, she turned for a parting word 
 or two. 
 
 "Here's a bit o* advice. Oh! it's free, so maybe 
 ye'll tak' it. Keep you're weather-eye on Lizbeth. 
 She's no' quite so fine and nice as you think she is. 
 She'll lead ye a de'il's dance yet. You'll have to 
 split two or three mair peas, and skin them too, be- 
 fore you're through wi her." 
 
 When Meg disappeared, Jackson, still in an ugly 
 mood, returned slowly to the house. 
 
 His niece had eaten heartily of the meal which had 
 been placed before her and was just rising from the 
 table. 
 
 "Meg's away," said the rancher curtly, address- 
 ing no one in particular. 
 
 He turned to Kathie. 
 
 "I hope you are strong and able for hard work. 
 There's lots of it here. This is a worker's coun- 
 try. 1 ' 
 
 She looked over at him. 
 
 "Yes! unclev I'm strong. At least kind of 
 strong! I shall soon get stronger and I do want 
 to work hard and be nothing of a burden to any- 
 body. I'll do anything and everything I can to help." 
 
 "That's talking," said Jackson in a more con-
 
 22 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 dilatory tone. "You can make a start with LizbetK 
 in the morning. And mind it will have to be in' 
 coarser clothes than these you have on. Liz will 
 rig you out. 
 
 "We bed early here and we rise early. It's a 
 plan that saves artificial light. Now, you had bet- 
 ter go upstairs with Liz and make the most of your 
 time. You and she are to sleep together I hear." 
 
 Kathie turned obediently and Lizbeth led the way. 
 
 "That reminds mel" he continued off-handedly. 
 "It will be better for everybody concerned and it will 
 save a lot of questions and trouble if you call your- 
 self Kathie Jackson from now on. Forget the 
 other. It never brought you and yours much luck 
 anyway." 
 
 Kathie gasped and her face grew more than ever 
 pathetic-looking. She loved her own surname her 
 father's name. It held many pleasant recollections, 
 many sad ones; but all none the less dear to her. 
 But, somehow, she felt afraid of her big, bullying 
 uncle and she was so anxious to be obedient to all his 
 wishes right from the beginning. She answered him 
 in almost a whisper. 
 
 "Ye-yes, uncle 1 I'll remember." 
 
 "This is our room," said Lizbeth a moment later. 
 "We are to sleep together as father said, although, 
 to tell you the truth, I'd much rather sleep alone. 
 I'm more used to it." 
 
 The room was neatly, though plainly, furnished.
 
 The Immigrant 23 
 
 Kathie went over to the window and sat down. It 
 was a large window and opened to the south, over- 
 looking acres upon acres of fruit trees in faultless 
 rows, among which snugly sat the homes of the many 
 neighbouring ranchers. Beyond the cultivation, 
 Kathie could catch a glimpse of the blue waters of a 
 lake, while, all around, the Valley seemed fringed 
 with undulating ranges, walled in by purple tinged 
 and fir clad mountains. 
 
 To the left, not very far off, a wood of small firs, 
 with grassy lanes running through it planted evi- 
 dently at some time through the eccentric fancy of 
 some wealthy rancher divided her uncle's farm 
 from the others beyond. 
 
 "I have packed my own clothes in the two top 
 drawers of that bureau. You can have the bottom 
 two," remarked Lizbeth in an easy off-hand way. 
 "There's the peg you can hang your hat on. You'll 
 require a bigger one than that if you don't want 
 sunstroke." 
 
 Kathie rose and made use of the vacant peg. 
 
 She was tired almost to stupefaction. 
 
 "Your trunk is in the corner there. It arrived at 
 the station yesterday and was hauled here two hours 
 before you came. Your grip looks heavy. I wouldn't 
 care to carry it as far as you did." 
 
 "Oh!" replied Kathie wearily, "there was noth- 
 ing else for me to do but try with it, as nobody 
 seemed to be coming the road I was coming. I was
 
 24 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 tired long before I was half-way here. I certainly 
 never could have managed it all the way by myself. 
 A gentleman overtook me and carried the hand- 
 bag most of the way." 
 
 "A gentleman 1" exclaimed Lizbeth, full of inter- 
 est. "Who could he be, I wonder? Are you quite 
 sure he was a gentleman? Guess I know most of 
 them round here." 
 
 "Yes, quite sure! The kindly aid of him when I 
 was standing in trouble, his quiet manner of speech 
 and his well-bred way of not asking questions and 
 refraining from unnecessary conversation, proved 
 that he was a gentleman." 
 
 "I wonder I wonder who he was," went on Liz- 
 beth./ "It might have been Bob Crawford, the 
 Provincial Police Chief. No! I don't think it 
 would be, either. Guess Bob couldn't keep his 
 tongue quiet. He would have gabbed to you all the 
 way along." 
 
 "He was tall, with fair hair and big, honest eyes," 
 said Kathie reflectively. "He wore a flower in his 
 buttonhole and he had a book under his arm. He 
 was quite young twenty-three, or twenty-four, may- 
 be twenty-five." 
 
 Lizbeth laughed. 
 
 "Oh, I know I" she cried, "Mr. Simpson, the Prin- 
 cipal of the Vernock High School. He's some 
 favourite in town, especially with the old women. 
 Believe me I Personally, I don't know very much
 
 The Immigrant 25 
 
 about him. He's too sober, too silent, too precise 
 for me, thank you! 
 
 "Still, Miss Kathie, you had better watch out 
 whom you talk to here. You're a Jackson now and 
 you better hadn't forget it. Jackson's don't pick up 
 stray acquaintances. Better not let dad hear of 
 it?' 
 
 "Cousin, please don't think me of that kind," 
 pleaded Kathie. "I never would think such things 
 of you, even if I did not know you; besides, I am 
 so terribly tired to-night." 
 
 "Oh ! I'm not saying and I'm not thinking any- 
 thing," answered Lizbeth, "only putting you wise 
 to some things. It looks bad meeting and talking 
 to men before you are right in the Country. It re- 
 flects back on the ranch, on dad and on me, that's 
 all." 
 
 Kathie refused to continue the argument. She 
 took a few articles from her grip, undressed, tum- 
 bled into bed and soon was fast asleep. 
 
 An hour later, she awoke, startled by a noise. She 
 looked up. The light was still burning. Lizbeth 
 was seated before the mirror, brushing and plait- 
 ing her dark, brown hair and coquetting the while 
 with her own reflection. Kathie lay quietly watch- 
 ing her cousin, who in turn smiled, looked disdain- 
 ful or laughed outright to herself as fancy led her. 
 
 Kathie could not help admiring Lizbeth's round, 
 supple arms as they reached to the longest strands
 
 26 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 of her curling hair; the full white bosom, the grace- 
 ful ripple of her moving shoulders and the easy 
 poise of her shapely head. She envied that healthy, 
 rosy face with the large, languid, hazel eyes. She 
 felt her own thin limbs and wondered if work on the 
 ranch would ever make her so strong and so beau- 
 tiful; and she vowed she would strive hard to at- 
 tain her desire never to be found wanting at her 
 work. 
 
 It was not Lizbeth's wont to linger quite so long 
 over her toilet as she did that night, but she was 
 brooding over this newly-acquired cousin who was 
 sharing her room and now lay, as she thought, asleep 
 in her bed. She did not like this new cousin nor her 
 intrusion, and she had no intention of making be- 
 lieve that she did. 
 
 This Kathie, this poverty-stricken interloper from 
 over the seas, with her quiet, refined manner I She 
 was far too pretty for one thing too apt to share 
 in some of the attentions that had been lavished on 
 her alone. Lizbeth had no love for this sharing 
 business it was too one-sided for her taste. Again, 
 her cousin talked too nicely; too like the well-bred 
 and better class of English ranchers in the neigh- 
 bourhood. She never seemed to have to resort to a 
 localism to express her meaning an accomplish- 
 ment which Lizbeth had tried so hard to acquire but 
 with moderate success and an attainment which she 
 fancied so necessary to the setting of a real lady.
 
 The Immigrant 27 
 
 But as she sat there, Lizbeth found deep consola- 
 tion in the knowledge that Kathie would have to take 
 all her orders from her at all times and would re- 
 quire to execute them in the way she wished them 
 done. It would be a pleasure for her to watch the 
 growth of a tired and care-worn expression in that 
 face which now looked so refined, and to note the 
 gradual appearance of toughness on her white deli- 
 cate hands. Kathie would have few idle moments. 
 She would see to that, for the more Kathie got to 
 do, the less it would leave for Lizbeth. And, in Liz- 
 beth's mind, that was as it should be. Why should 
 she, the only daughter of Colin Jackson, have to soil 
 her hands when there were servants for the work? 
 
 She did not mind seeing that the work was done. 
 Oh, no ! That was something of a pleasure. And 
 she knew how to drive. She had been at it and 
 watching it done long enough to know. She had 
 driven girls, and men, too, away from the ranch. 
 But now she had one at last who would not be driven 
 away, for she was alone in a strange country and had 
 nowhere to go. 
 
 Lizbeth smiled again and forgot her troubles. 
 She passed her hands lovingly over her shapely arms. 
 She raised her firm shoulder and laid her cheek 
 against it. She admired her lips, her eyes and her 
 glossy curls in the mirrored reflection, blew a kiss to 
 herself and smiled again, happy and confident in the 
 security of her apparent and abundant beauty.
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 Day-Dreams 
 
 IT seemed to Kathie as if she had hardly fallen 
 asleep, when the loud, imperative tingling of an 
 alarm clock aroused her. She looked up. Lizbeth 
 already was on the floor. She, at any rate, was no 
 lazy lie-a-bed. 
 
 tf Time to get up !" she shouted. "Work for you 
 starts to-day. It's Sunday, but ranching folks have 
 always something that must be done Sundays. I'm 
 going to church at Vernock at eleven, so we shall 
 have to get good and busy." 
 
 Kathie needed no second bidding. She had had 
 a refreshing sleep and felt that at last she was about 
 to be of some practical use in a practical world. 
 
 Lizbeth threw her an old, kilted petticoat, a 
 sweater and a pair of heavy boots. 
 
 "Get into these," she said. "They're what you 
 need for the work we have to do." 
 
 Kathie dressed hurriedly, laughing gaily at her 
 appearance as she glanced in the mirror. But sud- 
 denly her expression changed, her eyes opened in 
 astonishment and she looked around. 
 
 "Why, Lizbeth!" she cried tremulously, "some- 
 
 28
 
 Day-Dreams 29 
 
 one has been through my trunk. See 1 my things 
 are lying scattered around everywhere. And and 
 
 and " She stopped short as she gazed at her 
 
 cousin and the truth of the whole matter dawned on 
 her. 
 
 Lizbeth laughed. "That's nothing," she replied. 
 "I knew your trunk wasn't full of diamonds, and you 
 were too tired last night to show me what you had, 
 so I just turned the key and raised the lid and had 
 a good look all by myself. Besides," she added, 
 "girls always inspect one another's clothes and 
 trinkets. If you and I are to live together, we might 
 as well be quite free with each other." 
 
 Kathie was too taken aback to say very much. 
 That a stranger should take liberties with her be- 
 longings, liberties that her own mother would not 
 have dreamed of taking the indignity of it over- 
 whelmed her. 
 
 She looked at her dainty, ivory comb and brush 
 lying on the bureau. These were new; a gift from 
 an old Irish lady-friend on her leaving Ballywhallen ; 
 and she had thought so much of them that she had 
 never used them, being content with an older and a 
 plainer set that she had. 
 
 "But you've been using these," she exclaimed. 
 And tears came to her eyes. 
 
 "That's right! Be a grouch and play the kid," 
 replied Lizbeth. Then with some heat: "Do you
 
 30 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 think I injured them even if I did use them. Pm 
 clean skinned and clean blooded. See!" 
 
 She bared her arms and her bosom to Kathie's 
 gaze. 
 
 "Oh, it isn't that! You know it isn't that, I 
 mean. But there are some things like hair-brushes 
 and combs and toothbrushes that we don't like others 
 to use." 
 
 "Well, you needn't get scared about your tooth- 
 brush, or anything else, after this, now I know how 
 touchy you are," remarked Lizbeth, in a tone of 
 slight conciliation. "But it's time we were making 
 a start. It's getting late." 
 
 Kathie followed her down the wooden stairway 
 and out into the gloriously refreshing morning air 
 whose spring crispness had not yet evaporated in 
 the drying sunshine. 
 
 They went across the yard and into the barn, down 
 between the long row of stalls where the cows were 
 lowing and swishing their tajls, impatient to be 
 milked. 
 
 With a little three-legged stool and a pail, Liz- 
 beth taught Kathie how it was done, and soon the 
 latter was bending forward, the pail between her 
 knees, her cheek against the animal's soft, comfort- 
 able flank, and with deft fingers was filling her pail 
 with warm, creamy milk. It was a new and strange 
 experience and so delightful to one who had never 
 seen the inside of a cow-barn before. She enjoyed
 
 Day-Dreams 31 
 
 the labour and worked hard, trying her best to keep 
 up with her energetic cousin, who had already fin- 
 ished her own row and had started at the other end 
 of Kathie's. 
 
 When the last cow was relieved, Kathie rose and 
 stretched herself. It surprised her to discover how 
 stiff and strained her back had become and how 
 cramped, and sore, and almost useless her fingers 
 had grown. 
 
 "That's one good job done," remarked Lizbeth. 
 "I'll mount Jess and take the cows to the range. 
 That's their pasture over there ; up the hill and be- 
 yond the old barn, right on to the fence at the 
 woods. 
 
 "Take this milk into the dairy and fill up the 
 empty cans there ready for Jim to take to Vernock. 
 Dad will see him loaded up himself. That's dad's 
 own job. He likes to keep an eye on what milk goes 
 out, then he can tell what money to expect coming 
 in. 
 
 "Yes! and here's the broom. You can get all 
 the water you want from the pump. Clean up the 
 barn, swill the stalls out to the middle there, then 
 flush everything down the gutters." 
 
 In business-like fashion, Lizbeth loosed the cows 
 from their chain halters and with an encouraging 
 word here and a smart rap there she soon had the 
 barn clear of them. She loosed her horse, Jess, from
 
 32 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 a neighbouring stall, jumped astride, bareback, and 
 was off with a shout. 
 
 Kathie was left to her own devices. 
 
 The work was all such a new experience to her 
 and besides she had not yet got quite over the weari- 
 ness of her six thousand miles journey. But, al- 
 though her poor thin arms were tired and paining, 
 she set-to and kept at it with a will. She did not 
 know just how nicely it had to be done, and, in fear 
 that her work might be adversely criticised, she went 
 at it carefully and laboriously and long before she 
 had finished, Lizbeth was back again. 
 
 "I'm going in now to get ready for the church, 
 Kathie," she said. "Wing does the cooking here, so, 
 when you're through you can tidy up the bedroom 
 a bit; then, if we get the milking done early enough 
 this afternoon, you can go to the church for the 
 evening service : that is, if you care to. On Sun- 
 days we don't do any more work than we actually 
 have to. 
 
 "Kathie!" she continued. 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "I wish to ask you something." She stood back 
 from her cousin and posed in pride and confidence. 
 "Look at my face; look at my arms and at my fig- 
 ure. Kathie, do you think I am pretty: really 
 and truly pretty?" 
 
 The wind was blowing Lizbeth's hair. Her eyes 
 were langourous; her cheeks were aglow with the
 
 Day-Dreams 33 
 
 glories of the morning; her white teeth shone from 
 between her full, parted lips. She had the form 
 of a goddess. 
 
 Kathie replied unhesitatingly and in admiration. 
 "Yes, Lizbeth, you are pretty; you are beautiful. 
 How happy and how thankful you ought to be !" 
 
 "I'm glad you think so, Kathie," replied the co- 
 quette with a condescending smile. "I love to be 
 pretty, to be beautiful. It means everything to me 
 to any woman even away out here in this hum- 
 drum, out-of-the-way corner of the Universe." 
 
 Kathie sighed slightly. 
 
 "You know," went on Lizbeth, "you are pretty, 
 too in a way a sickly sort of prettiness: the 
 prettiness of a hot-house plant or a hospital ward: 
 not the prettiness the men hereabout will go silly 
 over. They're simply crazy on figure and size. No ! 
 I can't say that I am jealous of you, Kathie. I 
 think I love my own loveliness best." 
 
 With a heartless laugh she turned and went off. 
 
 Kathie followed later and partook of her de- 
 layed breakfast, served up by the grumbling and 
 muttering shuffler, Wing, whose slink and creep and 
 general greasiness she felt most repulsive. 
 
 Lizbeth was upstairs dressing, and, half an hour 
 before time for worship, she came down, robed in a 
 clinging white silk gown of the very latest design and 
 crowned with a large, white hat profuse with ostrich 
 feathers. A parasol and her Bible were tucked under
 
 34 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 her arm. She sailed out, buttoning up her gloves 
 with as much of the airs and graces of a lady as she 
 knew how; perfectly conscious of the pleasing pic- 
 ture her fresh, robust loveliness presented. 
 
 Jim, a young ranch-hand, was waiting at the door 
 with the buggy, to drive her in to Vernock. 
 
 After she had gone, Kathie fixed up her bedroom. 
 And when she finished she felt tired and unstrung. 
 
 The next hour or two were her own, so she lay 
 down to rest. She tried hard to sleep, but could not. 
 She had reached that stage of physical exhaustion 
 where sleep is an impossibility. Her brain was busy 
 and her body was weary. From side to side she 
 tossed in a feverish nervousness. Although her win- 
 dow was wide open, she felt oppressed. The air 
 seemed to be closing in and tightening around her. 
 She was seized with a longing to scream out; but 
 she fought against the impulse. 
 
 And it was then that she bethought herself of the 
 old mellow-toned violin upon which her father had 
 taught her to pour out her pent-up feelings. How 
 quickly her troubles would vanish, if she were only 
 able to poise it against her throat and run her fin- 
 gers over the sensitive strings once more I She re- 
 called the miserly love and fond care which her 
 father used to bestow upon it. How eagerly he 
 would lift it from its black case! How transport- 
 ing was his music! How reluctantly and tenderly he 
 would put the violin away again !
 
 Day-Dreams 35 
 
 She felt the thrill of the moments long gone by, 
 when he placed the instrument and the bow in her 
 hands for the first time ; when he taught her some of 
 the wonderful touches by which, as if by magic, he 
 charmed the music from its empty shape. She saw 
 again her father's pale, gaunt face ; the eyes of fire ; 
 the thin, tapering fingers which never tired. 
 
 But, alas! like all else that was dear to her, he 
 was gone ; so was the worn violin. Only her thoughts 
 remained ; bitter in their very sweetness. 
 
 It had been a valuable old violin the costliest 
 and most treasured of all her father's possessions. 
 But it had been taken away and sold, with so many 
 other things that were dear to her in the old home 
 in Ballywhallen. 
 
 She felt the uncontrollable taking hold of her 
 again, for all of her thoughts seemed to lead back 
 to sorrow and tears. Still she might read. Yes! 
 there was no violin, but surely there were books 
 something anything to make her forget. 
 
 She rose and passed slowly down the wooden stair- 
 way in her quest. Half-way, she encountered her 
 uncle going up. She put out her hand and touched 
 his arm. 
 
 "Uncle," she inquired, "is there anything down- 
 stairs that I may read, just for a little while till Liz- 
 beth comes back? I am so tired and I cannot sleep 
 or rest." 
 
 Her uncle grunted.
 
 36 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "We don't go much on reading here, lass we're 
 generally too busy for that. But, if you look, I 
 think you will find a Bible and a ready-reckoner on 
 top of the kitchen cabinet. Take your pick, they're 
 both very good books in their way. 
 
 "But it's funny to hear of anybody tired and not 
 able to rest. It's an uncommon complaint on a 
 ranch." 
 
 Kathie sighed and passed down to the kitchen, 
 where the smell of boiling broth predominated. 
 
 She went through the open doorway and into the 
 bright sunshine. There was a tranquillity in all 
 around. A warm breeze was blowing. It played 
 with her hair and quieted her throbbing temples, 
 soothing her like a mother's touch. She walked on 
 past the barns, through the orchard, up the green 
 incline and on to the crest of the hill, among the 
 flaring yellow sun-flowers. 
 
 It was calm and peaceful up there. 
 
 She lay down on the grassy slope. Away in the 
 distance was the lake ; behind her the densely planted 
 wood of firs. She stretched her limbs and looked 
 up to the great expanse of blue and to the white, 
 rolling clouds. She grew dreamy and languid; then, 
 gently, gently, she floated into that blissful uncon- 
 ciousness she had courted so much in vain up in her 
 bedroom. 
 
 Kathie dreamed of her babyhood; of her mother; 
 of the little village of Ballywhallen by the sea; of
 
 Day-Dreams 37 
 
 the rugged headland which stood bold and defiant 
 against the buffeting of the Ocean. She saw herself 
 snuggling safely in the shelter of the old, shelving 
 rock, with the salt-flavoured wind whistling over- 
 head, the waves booming down on the shingly shore 
 and the seagulls shrieking and complaining. 
 
 Then she fancied someone came and looked down 
 on her as she lay: someone broad, and strong, and 
 handsome; clear-eyed and sympathetic; someone she 
 had seen before, although where, she could not re- 
 call ; someone whom she trusted and with whom she 
 felt secure. 
 
 At last, like a faint echo, a voice floated up from 
 the far away. It came nearer and grew louder. 
 Suddenly, Kathie felt herself jolted and shaken up. 
 She opened her eyes and blinked in the strong light. 
 
 Her disturber was Lizbeth, holding her horse by 
 the bridle; an^ry and rude the reality, so differ- 
 ent from her dreams; Lizbeth in her working garb 
 again, calling her from refreshment to work, de- 
 claiming her laziness ; sarcastic impertinent fu- 
 rious. 
 
 Kathie sprang up with a momentary flash of de- 
 fiance in her eyes, but quickly it faded away. What 
 was the use, she thought? This was the first day 
 of her new life; her cousin was the mistress; she 
 was but the servant. It would never do to start in 
 quarrelsome and rebellious. 
 
 She answered meekly and disjointedly.
 
 38 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "I'm sorry, LIzbeth. It must be late. I've been 
 asleep. I did not mean to but I feel better now 
 and ready. I hope " 
 
 "Oh! cut out the hoping," interrupted Lizbeth. 
 "It is past milking time. You've been asleep for 
 hours, while we've been searching all over the ranch 
 for you. Get back down to the barn quickly!" 
 
 Lizbeth mounted and trotted off to gather in the 
 cows, while Kathie turned humbly toward the house. 
 
 And thus was the work of the morning repeated 
 in the afternoon, as the work of one day was dupli- 
 cated in the next : each day in the weekly cycle with 
 the additions of its own special duties; seldom chang- 
 ing, never ending, until, to Kathie, the novelty be- 
 came a drudgery and the drudgery began to lie upon 
 her young shoulders like the burden of Atlas. 
 
 In a week she was able to ride a horse. In a 
 month she could stick fearlessly on the bare back of 
 Jess when that equine lady was in her most frolic- 
 some mood. 
 
 After all, life on the ranch, with all its labours, 
 was not without its pleasures. To Kathie, the great- 
 est of these pleasures was the growing knowledge 
 that rich, red blood was capering merrily in her 
 veins, where a watery fluid had previously crept slug- 
 gishly onward. Her cheeks no longer held that 
 deathly pallor of a self-condemned invalid; her eyes 
 were clear and bright and her arms were fast becom- 
 ing rounded and firm, in harmony with the new sen-
 
 Day-D reams 39 
 
 sation of suppleness which the dry, clarified air and 
 the open life were fast giving to her entire body. 
 
 Gone from her were the frailty and the little 
 habitual cough; gone was the dread thought of a 
 weakness inherited; the foolish, yes! the criminal 
 thought which creates and nurtures a bastard child 
 to its own vile imaginings and maims and kills where 
 disease has never been. 
 
 Kathie did not assume the dowdy, smug rotundity, 
 so common to many of the ranchers' daughters. She 
 was slender of figure, though full and firm bosomed; 
 her eyes had caught at last the consciousness of the 
 awakening of those luscious charms of womanhood 
 which had been lying dormant within her and had 
 only so lately been aroused by the call of all the 
 nature-beauties surrounding her daily life in this 
 Garden of Eden where everything grew and fructi- 
 fied as in no other land or clime. 
 
 She preferred the quiet tenor of the orchards and 
 the wood to the social atmosphere of Vernock. All 
 her precious, spare moments were spent in nature's 
 solitude. Few indeed were the people privileged to 
 set eyes on Kathie; but young and old alike who 
 caught the glimpse, turned and looked again. Yet, 
 she was modestly unconscious of this effect of her 
 presence on others. She resented the familiar stare 
 of the farm-hand and the impertinent gape of the 
 chinaman, as she did the patronage of the visiting 
 ranchers and the attempted, coarse civilities of some
 
 40 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 of their grinning sons. She shunned their would- 
 be sociability. When they called unexpectedly, she 
 would quietly slip off. If their visits were antici- 
 pated, she kept busy in the dairy or in the barns, out 
 of the way. In her love of retirement, she was ap- 
 plauded and aided by the cousin, Lizbeth, who en- 
 joyed the field to herself and resented even a sur- 
 reptitious glance in any feminine direction but her 
 own, and it was with an ever-increasing sense of an- 
 noyance that she perceived in Kathie a growing 
 beauty which would not long be kept hidden away 
 and an indescribable charm of manner which she 
 knew she, herself, could never hope to acquire. 
 
 In all the petty ways of which only a jealously dis- 
 posed woman is mistress, she vented her wrath. She 
 increased Kathie's work and, in the process, reduced 
 her own. She found fault in everything; she nagged 
 and threatened, and succeeded fairly well in quelling 
 any spark of spirit which Kathie might have pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 With a hopeless kind of fatalism, Kathie bore it 
 all quietly and uncomplainingly, for well she knew 
 she had been reminded only too often the humble 
 position she filled at Jackson's Ranch. 
 
 It never occurred to Kathie that she was earning 
 her own livelihood in a land where woman-help was 
 scarce; that her labour had a considerable market 
 value; that dozens of ranchers would have been glad 
 to give her good wages in return for her services.
 
 Day-Dreams 4 1 
 
 She seemed simply to be looking forward to the time 
 when she would feel that the bread she ate and the 
 clothes she wore were her very own, the fruits of 
 her own labour, won by the skill of her brain and 
 the strength of her body.
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 The Lure of the Violin 
 
 SATURDAY afternoon was the afternoon of the 
 week for shopping, visitation and bargaining 
 among the ranchers of the Valley. 
 
 On this particular day, in the dining room, Colin 
 Jackson was deep in a heated contest for the exten- 
 sion of time and the reduction of another five dollars 
 in the price per head of some cows which he con- 
 templated purchasing from the genial old cattle- 
 breeder, Muir of Saughs Ranch; while, in the sitting 
 room, the only and spoiled son of the worthy visitor 
 was bathing in adolescent admiration of Lizbeth's 
 lusty charms and languishing personality. 
 
 Kathie, as usual on such occasions, had betaken 
 herself to the out-houses. She was seated in the 
 shade and cool of the dairy porch, cleaning and 
 brightening up the utensils which she had recently 
 been using at her work, and she was vaguely won- 
 dering how much longer she was going to be held 
 in her self-imposed banishment, when the tattered 
 but interesting figure of the old, country wanderer, 
 Rube Stahl, hobbled across the yard. 
 
 Rube was a character a strange being who 
 
 42
 
 The Lure of the Violin 43 
 
 seemed to have been uprooted too late in life to 
 change either his manner or his calling, who seemed 
 to have been transplanted, with his peculiarities 
 and disabilities, in a country he did not understand 
 and one that did not understand him. 
 
 As was his habit, he was muttering to himself, 
 with his head bent, as he came along. 
 
 Kathie listened and caught the drift of his solilo- 
 quy. 
 
 "Beezness is punk beezness is punk ain't no 
 damn good. Half a dollar for a golt brooch mit 
 diamonts ach!" 
 
 He kept on repeating his sing-song monotony. 
 
 Kathie eyed him curiously and a little sympatheti- 
 cally, for, although his face showed hardness and 
 dissipation, even cruelty, yet his clothes were in rags, 
 his hair was unkempt and he was very old; besides 
 betraying a growing frailness brought on with the 
 buffetings of time and circumstances. 
 
 Immediately he caught sight of Kathie in the 
 shadows, his movement quickened. With a grunt, 
 he deposited a heavy sack on the ground, for the 
 purpose of giving his hands free play. Without the 
 aid of his hands, Rube was unable to talk convinc- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Ah, gol-darnl" he exclaimed, with a deferen- 
 tial bow, "it is zee pretty kid mit zee night in her 
 hair and zee morning in her eyes. You bet ! I haf 
 sometings ver' ver' beautiful to show zee dame.
 
 44 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Pretty leetle golt brooches mit pearls, golt bangles 
 dat vould make von prinzess gasp; combs for zee 
 hair; ya! and somethings vot will catch a fine hant- 
 zome sveetheart everytimes." 
 
 The Jew swung a box in front of him, and his 
 boney fingers threw up the lid. 
 
 "Now ! you close that box," commanded Kathie, 
 with a smile. "I don't wish brooches, or bangles, or 
 combs. I have no sweetheart and I have no imme- 
 diate desire to be after getting one." 
 
 "Vot!" exclaimed Rube in feigned astonishment. 
 "No sveetheart, and you mit hair and eyes like 
 dat and dese? Ah gol-darn! dat is chust your 
 leetle joke and I von't belief a vord of it; no, I 
 von't belief it. Ah, ya!" he went on. "I savvey. 
 You haf a leetle quarrel mit him. Dat is vot is 
 wrong. But dis leetle ting in dis bottle I haf got 
 vill fix it all up and you vill kiss and be friends again, 
 vonce more, all over, instantly. Ya, you bet!" he 
 croaked. "You vill kiss and be friends and all 
 for " (He threw out his hands) "half-a-dollar. 
 
 "Ah, zee pretty hair!" he continued with a sigh. 
 "Zee pretty, long, black, glossy hair! Tree feet 
 long if it's an inch." 
 
 His fingers almost touched it, ere Kathie shrank 
 away in disgust. "Never mind my hair, Rube, if 
 you please. Keep your distance. I have told you 
 already you are simply wasting your time trying to 
 sell anything to me."
 
 The Lure of the Violin 45 
 
 "Ah, forgeeve me!" fawned the Jew. "But it 
 vas so long, and thick, and so black. Ya 1 it vas so 
 black. Zee very devil could not vant blacker hair 
 dan dat." 
 
 Kathie laughed, and the Jew continued to display 
 his wares: yellow bracelets, blazing rings, paste 
 beads and ribbons galore, all made to charm an 
 Indian maid on a reservation. 
 
 "Now ! there isn't a thing in your whole stock that 
 I need," she reiterated, "and, even if there were, I 
 haven't a cent with which to buy not a single cent." 
 
 Rube looked disappointed. 
 
 "Nein, nein! don't say dat, missy. You haf 
 moneys, plenty moneys; pretty girls alvays haf. I 
 von't belief dat. No, gol-darn ! I vill not belief." 
 
 "Well, it is true anyway," replied Kathie. 
 
 The Jew closed up his box almost in despair, but 
 his nature and upbringing would not allow him to 
 go away empty-handed. Perceiving an empty bottle 
 lying a few feet away, he went over and picked it 
 up, opened a corner of his sack and deposited it 
 inside. 
 
 Kathie watched in amusement. 
 
 "Why, Rube ! what is that you have in the black 
 box?" she asked, rising and peering into the sack 
 curiously. 
 
 "Oh, notings for a girl," he remarked off-hand- 
 edly, "it's chust a coffin; chust a leetle coffin for a 
 leetle kid."
 
 46 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Kathie stepped back with an exclamation of hor- 
 ror. Her inquisitiveness was more than assuaged. 
 
 Rube gave vent to a crackling laugh. 
 
 "Ach I I vas chust funning," he said. "It is only 
 chust an old feedle in a case. I bought him dis 
 morning for ach! never mind vot I paid for him. 
 But I vill sell him for more anyvays. Ya, you bet ! 
 I vill sell him for more or I am no son of Abra- 
 ham." 
 
 Kathie's eyes glowed with freshly awakened in- 
 terest. 
 
 "Oh, won't you please let me look at it?" she 
 pleaded, drawing closer, "just for a little, teeny mo- 
 ment." 
 
 "Certainly, mein tear," replied the affable Rube, 
 "and you may look at him for-efer and for-efer if 
 you give me two dollars, zee bow and zee nice 
 black case into zee bargain. And he is dirt cheap 
 too. 
 
 "But, ah! you are so pretty, an old man can't 
 keep from giving you a bargain." 
 
 Kathie opened the case and took out the violin. 
 She tightened up the pegs and plucked at the strings 
 lovingly. Then she sighed and handed it back. 
 
 "Put it away," she said sadly. "You might as 
 well ask me for two million dollars as for two dol- 
 lars. I have no money." 
 
 "Veil, veil I dat's mighty hard luck," said Rube,
 
 The Lure of the Violin 47 
 
 scratching his head. "I thought I vas going to 
 make a sale. 
 
 "Say! I maybe could loan you dat two dollars 
 and you could pay von extra next month, eh !" 
 
 "No, certainly not!" exclaimed Kathie in annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 "All right, all right!" droned the Jew, packing 
 up again. 
 
 With drooping spirits Kathie watched the return 
 of the black case to the dirty sack. 
 
 "Wouldn't you take something in exchange for 
 it?" she asked. "I could give you this brooch. See 
 it is gold and it is worth far more than two dol- 
 lars. You haven't one in your box nearly so good!" 
 
 Rube scrutinised the proffered article of jewellery, 
 shook his matted grey locks and handed the brooch 
 back. 
 
 "Nein, nein! I could not do it. It vould chust 
 be giving dat fine feedle avay: it vould inteed." He 
 looked at Kathie again with his crafty eyes, and 
 sidled alongside. 
 
 "Mein Gott! vot nice long hair," he crooned. 
 "Black and thick! I know a lady in Vernock a 
 fine, fancy lady, too who haf zee same kint on her 
 eyebrows, but none on her head. Ha-ha! Dat is 
 a joke. Now, if you don't haf no sveethearts, 
 veil den, vhy not let me cut off your hair, snip! 
 and zee feedle is yours for keeps yours to play on, 
 for-efer and for-efer and f or-ef er, see !"
 
 48 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 He produced a pair of scissors from his pocket. 
 
 "Chust von leetle snip, and it is off, up close I 
 It von't hurt a bit. And the feedle is yours, mit zee 
 fine music. Everything is yours all but zee hair. 
 Ha-ha! anoder joke for Rube. But, ach! you can 
 grow more again plenty more. Grow chust like 
 
 coral 1 
 
 Kathie drew away from him. Her blood chilled 
 at his suggestion. What devil was he with his sneak- 
 ing temptations I Exchange her hair which she 
 had cared for so long; which her mother used to 
 stroke and tend so carefully, the pretty rope which 
 people sometimes talked about she would never do 
 that I No, no I it was too horrible. 
 
 She shrank farther away. 
 
 But in a few moments came the reaction. Her 
 great, swelling love for the violin filled her bosom. 
 The music for which she had hungered so long was 
 now within her reach. The charmer which would 
 dispel all her gloom and all her troubles I And she 
 could have it in exchange for what? A plait of 
 hair merely an adornment, and to Kathie, useless ! 
 Something which only attracted attention, and gen- 
 erally attention of an undesirable and questionable 
 nature! Besides, she was merely a drudge on a 
 ranch, without friends. She had no one to feel proud 
 of her appearance. What need she care how she 
 looked! Why should she not trade her hair for a 
 pleasure worth while, now that the chance presented
 
 The Lure of the Violin 49 
 
 itself and she felt so inclined? Then, as old Rube 
 had said, her hair would grow again, and all that 
 time she would have the violin, the music, the old 
 ballads and minuets. Yes, yes, yes ! It was worth 
 the sacrifice, if, after all, it could really be called a 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Her bosom rose and fell rapidly. 
 
 "Here, Rube !" she panted, as the old man was 
 leaving her, "cut it off and give me the violin. But, 
 be quick, do it quick." 
 
 The Jew turned and ambled back, showing his 
 yellow, broken teeth in a miserly grin. 
 
 "Ha-ha!" he exclaimed, "dat's a goot girl. Gol- 
 darn! I knew you vould. I knew you vould. Ya! 
 he-he, and it is such a fine feedle, too." 
 
 Kathie shut her eyes. Rube's dirty hands reached 
 up and his clammy fingers closed on her hair. She 
 could hear the scissors click ominously. 
 
 Rube was, first of all and before everything else, 
 a Jew. He was not quite satisfied with his original 
 position. His fingers were not close enough to the 
 scalp. There was an extra inch in length that he 
 almost missed. He moved the scissors further up. 
 
 A few long hairs were already severed by the 
 sharp blades, when the touch of the cold steel on 
 Katie's skin seemed to awaken her as from a trance. 
 She dashed the Jew's sacrilegious hands away and 
 pushed him roughly from her with a strength and
 
 50 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 frenzy greater by far than she thought she was 
 capable of. 
 
 The old man tottered and fell in a heap on top 
 of his sack, with a cry of bewilderment. Kathie 
 looked at his hands in horror, then she put her own 
 up to her head in terrible fear. She fancied her pre- 
 cious hair was severed, but, oh, joy I it was still intact. 
 She tugged it to make sure, then she laughed tear- 
 fully. She kissed it and kissed it, again and again, 
 burying her face in its silky softness. 
 
 "Ach, mein Gott! vhy are you so rough, mein 
 tear? It isn't goot manners mit an olt man. Vhy 
 are you so rough? I didn't hurt," he remonstrated. 
 
 "Oh, go away, go away, you reptile!" cried 
 Kathie. "I hate the very sight of you." 
 
 "All right, all right!" he muttered in renewed 
 disappointment, gathering his belongings and mak- 
 ing a fresh start. 
 
 "Beezness is punk; beezness is damn punk, 
 damn rotten. Half-a-dollar for a golt brooch mit 
 a diamont, ach !" he chanted again as he pulled his 
 battered hat tightly over his head and crossed the 
 yard. 
 
 Suddenly he turned and came shuffling back. 
 
 "Give me zee brooch, missy, and you can haf zee 
 feedle. It is robbery damn robbery," he grum- 
 bled, "but, ach ! you are so pretty, I chust can't keep 
 from giving you a bargain." 
 
 In unbecoming haste, lest the Jew might be tempt-
 
 The Lure of the Violin 51 
 
 ed to change his vacillating mind again, Kathie 
 made the exchange. Then, with a cry of joy, she 
 darted off, hugging the violin-case to her bosom. 
 
 Across the orchard she skipped, up the grassy 
 knoll and over to the other side, away from sight of 
 the house and near the rough log fence which fringed 
 the wood of firs; out in the sunshine among the 
 singing birds and the bobbing inquisitive gophers 
 which scampered about in the fearless confidence of 
 a proven friendship. Breathlessly, she seated her- 
 self on the mound. She opened the case once more 
 and took out the violin. It was old and dusty, but, 
 still, it was a violin with its strings intact, ready to 
 be played on, and that was all Kathie cared. 
 
 With trembling fingers she turned the pegs and 
 tuned the instrument; and, as she tightened up the 
 bow, she chatted gaily to the quaint, inquisitive, half- 
 rat, half-rabbit, animals, which sat up on their hind 
 quarters at a respectable distance, timid and cu- 
 rious, watching her every movement. She laughed 
 to the birds as they twittered on the branches of the 
 firs around her. 
 
 Soon, however, she forgot all of them; for the 
 first, faint strains which she produced thrilled her 
 through and bore her away, slowly and sweetly, on 
 a flowing tide of memories. Music, grave and gay, 
 quiet and thunderous, poured from the sensitive vio- 
 lin which she fingered. She forgot how long it had 
 been since she played before she only knew that
 
 52 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 she was playing again; that ages could not smother 
 up the dormant harmonies of her being and that 
 her soul was at last experiencing a peace it had not 
 known for ever so long. 
 
 She saw once more the little village of Bally- 
 whallen; she imitated the whistling of the wind and 
 the breaking of the sea on the jagged rocks; she 
 saw the old barn with its flaring lights, and she 
 heard again the merry shouts and jests of the happy, 
 carefree dancers; and, ah! glory of music, in it 
 she forgot her drudgery and her sorrow, her sur- 
 roundings and the fleeting time. 
 
 In her transport, she saw nothing of a shadow 
 which hung over her for a brief moment ere it van- 
 ished, shadowlike, with its substance. For, behind 
 every shadow is substance and behind substance 
 must be the light. When evil befalls, thought 
 flies to the shadow; but with the triumph of 
 good, thought glories in the light. Substance, shut- 
 ting out the light, suggests shadow. With the de- 
 struction of substance, the shadow dies, but the light 
 cannot be destroyed and remains forever, of itself 
 casting no shadow. And, as the creator is ever 
 greater than that which he creates, so also is light 
 greater, and so also must it overcome and govern 
 both substance and shadow. 
 
 Kathie had sought the lea of the hill that she 
 might be alone; alone with her music, alone in the 
 sunshine, near the firs and the sun-flowers which she
 
 The Lure of the Violin 53 
 
 had so loved ever since her coming to the Valley 
 a few short months previously. 
 
 On the other side of the old, log fence, deep in 
 the shade of the firs, prone on the grass, lay another 
 being with kindred fancies. He was scanning the 
 pages of a little book in happy content. Softly the 
 sound of Kathie's music floated on the air toward 
 him, unnoticed at first, for it seemed to be part of 
 the atmosphere and the environment of what he was 
 reading. But ultimately it bore in on him that the 
 fairy notes were from some outward source. En- 
 thralled, he closed his book. He listened, scarce 
 breathing lest he should disturb and thereby end such 
 ethereal transport. The delicacy, the exquisiteness, 
 the rapture, held him spell-bound, and for a long 
 time he lay in abandonment to its witchery. Never 
 had he heard such a co-mingling of laughter and 
 tears interpreted by any human, if human it were. 
 For the listener was a lover of music and had never 
 admitted, even to himself, that there were no fairies. 
 
 At length he raised himself from the grass, bent 
 on discovering whence such harmony came. Noise- 
 lessly, he crept through the brush to the fence, to 
 the point to which his ear guided him, in the full 
 expectancy of witnessing for the first time the prog- 
 ress of a state ball of all the elves and sprites of the 
 surrounding hills and valleys. He peered through 
 cautiously, but found himself still some way from 
 the source of the music whose deceptive notes had
 
 54 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 issued in reality only a few yards on the other side 
 from where he had been lying. 
 
 Although he did not see the dancing fairies, the 
 melodious sweetness still kept them alive in his 
 imagination. He saw what was to him of farther 
 reaching consequence a musician, fair-skinned, 
 elfin-shaped and simply-clad, oblivious of all about 
 her, hypnotised and lost in the ecstasy and passion 
 of her own conception. 
 
 He clambered over the fence and walked toward 
 her. Yet she did not detect his proximity. 
 
 As he drew near his heart stood still, then it thun- 
 dered on again. Never had he felt as he did then. 
 He was almost afraid afraid for himself, afraid 
 for her. He recognised at once in Kathie, the pale, 
 weakly, seemingly helpless creature whom he had 
 encountered and befriended in a small way on the 
 road a few months before, but the change she now 
 presented was scarcely to be believed: the glowing 
 cheeks, the dark eyes asparkle with health and en- 
 thusiasm, the still slender but rounded figure: the 
 perfect, the inexpressible beauty and charm, sug- 
 gestive of sunshine, honey and bursting rosebuds. 
 
 As he gazed, he began to doubt, and doubting, 
 he gazed again then doubted no more. He could 
 never mistake that glorious wealth of jet-black hair, 
 for there was none other like it in all the Valley. 
 
 He doffed his hat and listened almost in reverence 
 to the sweetness of the melodies.
 
 The Lure of the Violin 55 
 
 His was the shadow that hovered over Kathie, 
 covering the ground at her feet. But in neither the 
 substance nor the shadow was there any evil. 
 
 For a time he remained motionless, until he be- 
 gan to think of his intrusion and the embarrassment 
 the discovery of his presence might occasion. He 
 bent down carefully and, at Kathie's side, he placed 
 the book which he had been reading. It was the 
 impulse of a fleeting fancy and had to be obeyed. 
 Then he stole away, softly, quietly, as he had come 
 unheard and unobserved. 
 
 With a sigh, Kathie at last rose and stretched her 
 arms to the feathery clouds that scudded overhead. 
 Her pent-up passion was expended now and she was 
 once more awake to the call of the work-a-day world 
 around her. 
 
 She did not know how long she had been on the 
 mound, but she was aware how swiftly the time al- 
 ways flew by in the old days when she had a violin 
 in her hands. The sun had swung well round over 
 the lake, to the west, too far for her comfort. She 
 trembled in dread of the reprimand which she felt 
 must surely follow the discovery of her long ab- 
 sence. 
 
 In haste, she gathered some dry brush and tangle. 
 She placed the violin in its case close to the fence 
 and covered it over carefully, for she knew she must 
 hide it, not daring yet to let her people into the 
 secret of her newly-found treasure.
 
 56 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 She was hurrying away, when her eyes fell upon 
 the book lying on the ground. With a little cry of 
 surprise, she picked it up. She could not realise 
 how it ever could have got there : she had heard no 
 one, and there was no one now in sight. She began 
 to feel as if the very heavens were raining favours 
 upon her. 
 
 But it was already so late that she could not spare 
 the time to think or reason the matter out. She felt 
 tempted to put the book down again and leave it 
 where she had found it. But books were such 
 friends; such good, kind, uplifting friends. The 
 counter-temptation was too strong; she placed the 
 volume in her bosom, under her heart, warm and 
 snug; then she sped on toward the farmhouse. 
 
 Her good angel favoured her still: farmer Muir 
 had concluded his business and he and his son were 
 just riding off. During all the time of her long ab- 
 sence, Kathie had not once been thought of. 
 
 At the departure of the visitors, Lizbeth hitched 
 up Jess to the buggy and drove in to Vernock. Far 
 down the road, at the avenue of trees leading to 
 the beautiful summer home and wonderful ranch of 
 that old, wealthy Englishman of roving tendencies, 
 David Menteith, who in his early youth had seen 
 the Valley and had possessed himself of as much 
 of it as he could purchase or pre-empt; and now, in 
 his old age, was still held by its ever-changing 
 charms, Lizbeth picked up young Crawford, the
 
 The Lure of the Violin 57 
 
 Police Chief, with whom she had been carrying on 
 a violent flirtation for several months. 
 
 It was nearing midnight when she returned to the 
 ranch for neither Lizbeth nor Bob Crawford re- 
 spected elders' hours; the one did not care and 
 the other boasted of being well able to look after 
 herself, two very dangerous conditions of mind to 
 get driving tandem. 
 
 Kathie had retired at her usual hour and, for the 
 first time since her coming to the Valley, she felt 
 really happy. She sat down on the bed and drew 
 out the warm, leather-bound volume from her 
 bodice. 
 
 She examined it with interest. 
 
 It was Longfellow's "Evangeline" : something 
 she had often heard of but never perused. She 
 turned over the fly-leaf in front and there read in 
 childish hand-writing: 
 
 To Alexander Simpson, M.A., from a few of 
 his scholars. Christmas, 19 > 
 
 Her ears began to tingle as her memory flew back 
 to the first interview she had had with her cousin, 
 Lizbeth, when the latter had informed her that the 
 quiet, manly person who had helped her on her way 
 to the ranch was Mr. Simpson, the Principal of the 
 High School at Vernock. That the book she held 
 was his, Kathie had no doubt. Then she began to 
 wonder again how it could have got on the mound. 
 She had not noticed it when she sat down, although,
 
 58 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 to say truth, her excitement had been so great at that 
 time, that she questioned if she would have noticed 
 a whole library of books set out in rows on the hill- 
 side. 
 
 Then she wondered if, by any chance, he could 
 have been near her and could have heard the semi- 
 starved outpourings of her soul. 
 
 Her face became hot awhile, for in moments such 
 as those she much preferred to think that no one 
 had been within hail of her. She dismissed her con- 
 jecture as an idle fancy. Mr. Simpson was fond 
 of walking; more than likely he had been that way 
 early in the afternoon and had been reading there 
 where she sat, then, in a moment of forgetfulness, 
 had left the book lying on the grass. She wondered 
 if he would hurry back when he noticed his loss and 
 if he would be angry if he knew that Colin Jackson's 
 serving lass had taken it. She thought of replacing 
 it next morning when she took the cows to their 
 pasturage, but, finally, she decided that she would 
 take the pleasure of reading it through first, and 
 after that the school teacher could have it if he ever 
 chanced by way of the mound again. 
 
 She read that night until she heard Lizbeth's foot- 
 steps below, then she placed the book under her pil- 
 low and dropped off to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 High Lights and Shadows 
 
 DURING all the week which followed Kathie 
 had little opportunity for visting the mound. 
 Lizbeth was ever beside her goading her on; grum- 
 bling and complaining at the manner in which she did 
 her work despite the fact that Kathie was putting an 
 energy into it which she had never equalled since her 
 coming West. As soon as the old one was finished, 
 a fresh task was always ready for her. Lizbeth's 
 face the while was masked by a sneering smile of 
 hidden knowledge, which Kathie in her openness 
 failed to notice let alone interpret. 
 
 Once, in the stillness of a sultry night, Kathie had 
 been awakened by the throbbing of her own heart, 
 this organ seeming suddenly to have grown too large 
 for her body to contain ; and the old longing for her 
 violin stole over her. She covered her head in an 
 effort to stifle her desire, but it would not be quieted. 
 At last she rose softly and stepped over her sleeping 
 cousin. The house was still and all was in dark- 
 ness. She threw on a few garments and tip-toed 
 quietly downstairs, groping her way past her uncle's 
 
 59
 
 60 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 bedroom, through the kitchen and finally out into 
 the cooler night air. 
 
 Her nimble feet carried her swiftly across the 
 turfy grass to the old fence, and there, alone in that, 
 lonely place, with the strange silences of the woods 
 around her, she played until the slumbering birds 
 raised their heads from under their wings and twit- 
 tered back to her. 
 
 And it was not until she perceived the softening 
 of the blackness in the eastern sky, bespeaking the 
 early coming of the morning, that she reluctantly re- 
 placed her violin at the foot of the fence, covered it 
 up carefully and retraced her footsteps. 
 
 All was silent when she returned to the house; 
 and, with the same noiselessness with which she had 
 arisen, she crept back into her place behind her 
 cousin, her body aglow with exercise and her mind 
 overflowing with happiness and contentment. 
 
 When Saturday came again and Lizbeth had gone 
 on her usual journey to partake of the pleasures of 
 the town, Kathie resolved to return the school- 
 teacher's book. As she drove the cows to the pas- 
 ture, she ran up over the hill and placed the volume 
 on the grass where she had originally found it. She 
 saw the cows scatter over the range, then she hur- 
 ried back and tethered her horse at the fence, in- 
 tent on a precious hour with her beloved violin. The 
 little book, she observed, still lay on the grass where 
 she had placed it. But, as she looked a second time,
 
 High Lights and Shadows 61 
 
 she gasped and rubbed her eyes to make sure she 
 saw aright, for the copy of "Evangeline" which she 
 had left there had been bound in black leather. The 
 book which now lay before her was in bright red. 
 She picked it up and turned it over, and her aston- 
 ishment increased. The first book had been replaced 
 by a volume of Tom Moore's poems. She almost 
 cried out in her pleasure, for in her heart there was 
 a strong affection for the country of her birth, even 
 if it so happened not to be that of her parents'. 
 And what Irish heart or English heart for that 
 matter does not warm to the universal and search- 
 ing lays of little Tom Moore? 
 
 As Kathie turned over the leaves, a slip of white 
 paper fluttered toward the ground. She caught it 
 smartly before it fell. One side of it bore some 
 writing. She read it over quickly. 
 
 "You love literature and I love music. Music 
 for literature; literature for music; a fair ex- 
 change. Have no fear, I shall be only near enough 
 to hear and to enjoy; far enough away neither to 
 see nor to be seen. A. S." 
 
 A flush surmounted Kathie's cheeks and her 
 breath came unevenly. She suffered at once from 
 a deluge of conflicting thoughts, for she hated to 
 think of anyone spying on her. Her first impulse 
 was to throw the book away, mount the horse and 
 gallop off. But then this was her one best hour
 
 62 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 in all the week, and she could not bring herself to 
 forego it now. 
 
 If the school-teacher only knew what it meant to 
 her to give it up, she thought, he would have con- 
 sidered twice before encroaching on her privacy. 
 As she turned to go away, she reasoned with her- 
 self again. Might it not be selfish in her to desire 
 all the pleasure? Might not this lonely man be hun- 
 gering for music and companionship just as she had 
 been? Then, she had enjoyed his first book so well 
 that she could not bring herself to think of parting 
 with the one she now held in her hand before having 
 read it over. He had enjoyed her music; his note 
 had said that much. Why should her pleasure and 
 his be given up? It really mattered so little after 
 all so long as he did not intrude. And, judging 
 from her slight experience of this man, he was not 
 likely to do that. 
 
 She tossed her hair over her shoulder with the 
 gesture of a wild pony and her dark eyes sparkled 
 as she made the resolve. 
 
 She was going to play for the pleasure of the 
 school-teacher, as well as for her own enjoyment. 
 It would be a small return, after all, for the books 
 he was putting her way. 
 
 She took her violin from its hiding place and 
 played with all the power, passion and abandon of 
 her nature; at times lost entirely in her music, at 
 other times scrupulously careful in her execution as
 
 High Lights and Shadows 63 
 
 she remembered that somewhere in its density the 
 woods held an audience silent and appreciative. 
 
 And so, for a time, the innocent exchange between 
 the man and the maid went on books for music, 
 music for books neither individual seeing the other, 
 only their tokens telling of a friendship in tastes and 
 a harmony of ideas, leaving each to judge, from the 
 nature of the music heard and the books received, 
 how it had fared with the other since the previous 
 communication whether the trend of thought had 
 been toward joy or sadness. 
 
 There was a depth and a solidity, tempered with 
 an abiding love for fellow creatures, in all the books 
 perused by Kathie in those days, and they made 
 her long to talk with the quiet, scholarly man and 
 to know more of the great knowledge with which he 
 seemed saturated. 
 
 And to Alick Simpson as he lay among the dry 
 brush, and moss, and grass, Saturday after Satur- 
 day, the soft strains of that wild, untrammelled, 
 plaintive almost pitiful music hung over him, sug- 
 gesting a lost fairy crying in the woods as it searched 
 and searched in vain for the hollow tree that led 
 to its glittering palace-home in the elfin world far 
 underneath. 
 
 On the one hand was a longing for sympathy and 
 support; on the other a desire to encourage and to 
 sustain: in both the natural call for companionship 
 and love which has gone up from lonely mortals
 
 64 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 since the beginning of time. Then, over all, was 
 the stern face of Mother Convention, glooming on 
 her innocent children, Modesty and Reticence. 
 
 But, as the dry summer days crept toward the 
 autumn, as the green was turning to gold, the dream- 
 ers were awakened swiftly, rudely and sure. 
 
 Kathie had been on the mound for some time ; her 
 thoughts far away, dancing merrily to the tones 
 of her violin. She did not hear the pursing sound 
 of feet on the short grass behind her and, for a 
 while, she did not see the shadow which fell over 
 her. But the shadow was there, dark and fore- 
 boding, and this time there was evil in the shadow 
 and in the substance behind. 
 
 An unusual noise arrested the upward movement 
 of her bow. She ceased her music and sprang to her 
 feet, nervous and alert. 
 
 Before her stood her uncle with a face clouded 
 and hard; beside him her cousin Lizbeth, a faint 
 smile playing around the corners of her ruby mouth. 
 
 Colin Jackson held out his hand. 
 
 "Give these to me," he commanded. 
 
 Kathie's eyes held the ground and her lips trem- 
 bled. The discovery she had so long dreaded had 
 been made at last and, in her fear and dejection, she 
 scarcely heard him. 
 
 "Do you hear me?" he thundered, "give these to 
 
 me." 
 
 Slowly she handed over her precious violin and
 
 High Lights and Shadows 65 
 
 bow. Her uncle looked at them with a sneer, and 
 then at her. 
 
 "So we have found out the secret place at last, 
 you devil's bairn with your lady ways and your evil 
 music; with your modest looks that hide the shame 
 underneath. Thank God you are only my sister's 
 child and not my own." 
 
 He searched around as if looking for someone. 
 
 "This is where you come on your midnight 
 prowls, when decent folks are abed is it? Setting 
 the neighbourhood by the ears with stories and scan- 
 dal and getting my place a bad name! Ay! you 
 may start, but that isn't all. This is where you get 
 the books you hug in your bosom and hide among 
 your bedclothes. This is where you play to your 
 lovers, where your witch's tunes make blackguards 
 of decent men, making honest ranch-hands skulk in 
 the woods like poachers or thieves. Like the fool 
 you are, you thought nobody knew?" 
 
 Kathie's blood ran cold at this torrent of abuse. 
 Something seemed to be clasping over her heart. 
 Her face grew terribly pale. 
 
 She had thought of the discovery of her innocent 
 amusement, but she had not expected this, with its 
 allusions, its insinuations, its horrors. She tried to 
 speak in her defence, but it was long before the 
 words came. The presence of her cousin so cold 
 and cynical did not help her any. 
 
 "Don't, uncle, don't," she wailed at last.
 
 66 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Please, oh, please stop! I cannot bear it. It is 
 all wrong. Let me tell you. You will understand 
 then. Oh! don't look that way believe what I 
 say. I am not bad. I try so hard to be good and to 
 do what is right. But I have nobody nothing 
 oh! listen while I'd be telling you " 
 
 "Not a word," he cried. "Do you want to make 
 bad worse? Would you dare to set your voice 
 against the men in the Valley who have been watch- 
 ing you for months? against Lizbeth here who sleeps 
 in the same bed and uses the senses the Lord has 
 given her? Would you cry 'liar' to the whole Coun- 
 tryside? This is the way you repay respectable-liv- 
 ing folks who have brought you here and kept you 
 when you might have been living in some Poor-house 
 in Dublin or Belfast. If Lizbeth there had half your 
 shame, she would run and hide her face, and you 
 would try to brazen it out. 
 
 "Get out of my sight!" he cried at last in mad 
 fury. "Go away before I lose control of myself I 
 This for your damned music!" he continued, as she 
 turned to go. With a snap he broke the violin, 
 across his knee. 
 
 Kathie screamed like a wounded animal and ran 
 back to her uncle in a futile effort to save her instru- 
 ment. 
 
 "My violin, oh my poor, innocent violin!" she 
 cried, clutching desperately at the broken piece which 
 was still in her uncle's hand.
 
 High Lights and Shadows 67 
 
 Jackson threw her off savagely and with a quick 
 movement struck her across the face with the violin 
 bow, leaving a burning weal on her cheek. The act 
 was sharp and sudden, but it was scarcely done when 
 Colin Jackson measured his length upon the ground 
 and Alick Simpson was standing over him the picture 
 of incarnate vengeance, his body poised, his eyes 
 glittering and his face pale and terribly calm. 
 
 He had noticed the stoppage of the music and 
 had heard the angry words which had followed; 
 and arrived just in time to witness the vicious blow. 
 
 "God forgive me for striking so miserable coward 
 as you," he cried. "I heard your lying insinuations, 
 and forebore, but I will not see that young lady 
 abused not if she is your slave as well as your 
 relative." 
 
 Colin Jackson was a heavy and a powerful man, 
 but he seemed to have little desire to match his 
 strength against his unexpected adversary. Assisted 
 by Lizbeth, he rose, blustering still. 
 
 "Damn you! I'll even up for that blow, you 
 young upstart ! Yes if I have to hound you from 
 Vernock," he shouted. "You and your hero-acting! 
 striking a man twenty years older than yourself! 
 A fine example you are to the boys and girls you 
 teach!" 
 
 "You struck her" put in Alick Simpson quietly. 
 
 "What if I did?" returned the rancher. "Who 
 gave you the right to interfere ? Mind your school
 
 68 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 and your brats, and leave me and mine alone. Any- 
 way, your shame should be deeper than hers, for 
 the world you live in teaches you that it is wrong 
 to meet a young woman in the woods unknown to 
 her people." 
 
 Kathie stepped in between imperiously. 
 
 "Please go away," she said. "Your assistance 
 is not required here. Your high-handed interfer- 
 ence was quite unnecessary." 
 
 She looked coldly at Alick Simpson, and he saw 
 in her face that which told him that it would be bet- 
 ter for him and for her that he obey her request. 
 
 "Ay ! go 1 And never set foot on my land 
 again," interrupted Jackson, "or I'll take a delight 
 in setting the dogs on you. If that doesn't do, some 
 of the lads about the ranch will be glad to kick 
 you off the place." 
 
 The school-master strode up to the blustering 
 farmer. 
 
 "I'm not afraid of your threats, Mister Man, and 
 I'm not going because you have made them. Any 
 fool can threaten. I am going simply because she 
 has asked me. A little bit of advice when you 
 want to use your fists, send for me. Use them on a 
 man who can strike back not on a woman." 
 
 He raised his hat and went slowly away. 
 ****** 
 
 During the week that followed, Alick Simpson's 
 mind re/verted, again and again, to the incident
 
 High Lights and Shadows 69 
 
 which had taken place on Jackson's ranch, and it 
 was with a tingling feeling of indignation. Try as 
 he liked he could attach little blame to himself for 
 what had happened; yet he would have borne all 
 willingly to have saved the hapless girl whose only 
 fault seemed to be a love for the higher and nobler 
 things of life, which the Jacksons, in their narrow, 
 selfish groove, never would be able to understand 
 let alone attain. 
 
 Time and again, in flights of imagery, he sur- 
 prised himself, as he wove round this strange and 
 beautiful creature fairy thotights and fancies, for she 
 appeared so much a part of the elements which sur- 
 rounded her, and yet so very much apart from 
 them. 
 
 He did not blame her for the manner in which 
 she had taken his interference, for the cold dis- 
 missal she had given him; for well he knew as 
 Colin Jackson had said that it was really no af- 
 fair of his, and it would probably have been better 
 had he turned the opposite way at the beginning and 
 minded his own business. 
 
 But, at times, his blood boiled at the insults that 
 this girl's relatives were heaping on her. The whole 
 incident annoyed the even trend of his reasonings, 
 and he tried hard to thrust it from his thoughts, for 
 he was a busy man, and never before had he dipped 
 into the domestic troubles of his neighbours. 
 
 It was common talk in Vernock that Alick Simp-
 
 70 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 son had the makings of a bachelor of stubborn cali- 
 bre. Since his coming there, four years before, he 
 had resisted the charms and wiles of the ladies of 
 the town to an extent bordering upon eccentricity. 
 He was always courteous, always considerate, al- 
 ways deferential; but, although many had tried to 
 get below the unruffled surface of his nature, none 
 had ever succeeded. 
 
 Give Alick Simpson boys rough, uncouth, un- 
 cared-for boys and he would ask nothing better. 
 His whole young life had been engrossed in making 
 men of boys. And he had hopes that in the years 
 to come his success would be stamped on the young 
 farmers, and the business and professional men 
 around him, who, but for his interest and encourage- 
 ment, might have had to labour for a pittance as 
 many of their fathers had had to do before them. 
 
 Little wonder then that he felt uneasy and per- 
 turbed when the vision of this dark-eyed, black- 
 haired, country girl, with her hauteur and her 
 passion for music, arose amid the calm of his every- 
 day life. 
 
 As Saturday neared again, he found himself rest- 
 less and anxious; and, earlier than was his wont, he 
 was out on the Ordlake Road and making up over 
 the hill toward the woods, where he had listened 
 so often to the music which he expected never to 
 hear again. He sat down and waited in forced pa- 
 tience. He heard the lowing of the cattle in the
 
 High Lights and Shadows 71 
 
 hollow, and, hidden among the foliage, he watched 
 them come up over the hill. He looked beyond them 
 for a glimpse of the girl who had so occupied his 
 thoughts. But a pang of keen disappointment shot 
 through him, for instead of her he had hoped for, 
 came riding vigorously her voluptuous cousin, 
 dressed plainly and suitably for her work, but 
 moulded into her clothes more like a goddess in 
 appearance than a farmer's lass. H r cheeks glowed 
 with health and her teeth shone in the sun from 
 between her parted lips as she urged the animals 
 along with a shout and a whirl of her riding whip. 
 
 The very sight of her would have been a delight 
 to most men, but, to Alick Simpson in his then state 
 of mind, she was merely a woman, a name, nothing 
 more. 
 
 Unobserved by her, he turned away. There was 
 rage in his heart again for it was evident to him 
 that Kathie was now no longer trusted out of sight 
 of the farm-house. 
 
 He counselled with himself what was best to do. 
 He thought of going boldly to the house to inquire 
 for her, but he foresaw how foolish such an act 
 would be and he knew it would only tend to bring 
 fresh insult upon himself and probably upon her as 
 well. So he wended his way slowly homeward, dis- 
 pleased with himself and at loggerheads with every- 
 thing around him. 
 
 Next day, the longing to see her, if only for a
 
 72 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 moment, seized him stronger than ever, and the 
 afternoon found him once more in the shelter of the 
 wood above the farm-house. 
 
 Down in the valley, he could hear the rattle of 
 loosened chains and he slippery scramble and clip- 
 clop of cloven feet on the wet, stone flooring of the 
 barn, for the day was one of those, quiet and still, 
 when the slightest sound carries for miles. 
 
 A few minutes later, and the heads and bodies of 
 the cows appeared over the crest of the hill. 
 
 Alick scarcely dared to look further, his fear of 
 fresh disappointment was so keen; but, with a great 
 effort, he did so at last. And his heart bounded like 
 a school-boy's, all his melancholia fled and his blood 
 pulsed and danced in his excitement, for she the 
 cause of all his mental tumult was there, agile and 
 beautiful as ever, hurrying along the cattle and hum- 
 ming softly to herself as she came riding on. 
 
 With an almost uncontrollable impatience he 
 watched her pass on to the range, and, when she 
 had gone, he vaulted the fence and seated himself 
 on the mound, for he felt sure she would come that 
 way, if only for a moment, to linger in the sweet, 
 sad memory of the pleasures that were past. 
 
 He was reading disjointedly when she returned. 
 He did not look up, but he heard her dismount and 
 he felt she was near him. 
 
 She stood, shy and undecided, then slowly and 
 gracefully she walked over to where he sat. He
 
 High Lights and Shadows 73 
 
 sprang up and stood before her, pulling his hat from 
 his head. There was an unusual pallor on his face 
 and his eager eyes shone brightly. 
 
 Alexander Simpson was not the man to be at a 
 loss for words although at all times he spoke with 
 reserve but he was speechless in the presence of 
 this wonderful country-maid. 
 
 Her hair hung over her shoulder in a heavy plait, 
 its jet-black, straying ends tumbling across her white 
 bosom in deep contrast. Her plain, white blouse was 
 turned down around the collar for greater freedom 
 and her neck rose out from it full and beautiful. 
 Her bared arms were partly hidden behind her, and 
 her dark eyes held to the ground demurely. At last 
 she raised them slowly and they met his. Neither 
 one looked away nor was ashamed of the liberty 
 taken. Then Kathie spoke softly and sweetly, her 
 voice trembling a little nervously. 
 
 "I did not know that you were here," she said. 
 "You know, you should not have come." 
 
 "Yes, I know!" replied the school-master, find- 
 ing voice finally. "I tried you cannot tell how hard 
 I tried but I simply could not stay away. You 
 have no idea how much I have missed your music; 
 how I have missed the pleasant thought of you be- 
 ing somewhere around while while I was over 
 there. 
 
 "I was here yesterday and, when your cousin came 
 instead of you, I could not contain myself for the
 
 74 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 fear that there might be something wrong. I came 
 again to-day, determined on I know not what. 
 But I am glad to see that all my fears were ground- 
 less and that all is well with you." 
 
 "There was extra work to do in the dairy yester- 
 day and my cousin kindly volunteered to deprive me 
 of the little pleasure I enjoy in bringing the cattle up 
 here," explained Kathie, looking away from the blue 
 eyes that were searching hers so intently. 
 
 "I wished to tell you," continued Alick, "how 
 sorry I am for my impetuosity last time we met. 
 I had no right to interfere. I should not have done 
 so, but I could not stand idly by and witness what I 
 did. There was something controlling, something 
 impelling me, and I could not help myself. Even 
 now, so far as your uncle is concerned, I am not 
 altogether contrite. If my interference has brought 
 no further trouble upon you, I do not regret the 
 blow I struck in your defence. Can I hope for a 
 full forgiveness from you?" 
 
 Kathie sighed and looked at him again with re- 
 newed interest. 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive," she said, "for, 
 after all, you merely acted as I would have ex- 
 pected a man a real man to act." 
 
 Her voice faltered slightly. "I can assure you, 
 nothing more was said to me by my people. In 
 fact, it has made me almost afraid, the way they 
 have allowed the matter to drop. I have been kept
 
 High Lights and Shadows 75 
 
 close to the house that is all. All except my 
 violin, my music! It is gone, and, oh! I loved it 
 so much." 
 
 She appeared to be speaking beyond Alick Simp- 
 son, and he stood by quietly, not caring to break into 
 her sorrow. She came to herself again and turned 
 away confused. "Oh, what does it matter! I have 
 no right to burden you with my foolish troubles. It 
 is really of no moment at all," she went on bravely, 
 tossing her head and smiling in forced diffidence. 
 
 The school-teacher paused a little, then his eager- 
 ness carried him away. 
 
 "May I bring you a new violin to replace the 
 old?" he asked. "It would be a pity to smother up 
 your talents for so trivial a cause. And I was 
 partly to blame for its loss, you know. Besides, I 
 have selfish reasons too, for I have missed your 
 music more than you can ever guess." 
 
 "Oh, no, no !" cried Kathie in perturbation. "Your 
 motive may be I know it is entirely generous; 
 but, it would not be right." She dropped into her 
 little Irish expressions, as she did once in a long 
 while. "I couldn't be thinking of it, at all, at all. 
 The violin that I used to play on was bought from 
 old Rube, the Jew, and, although I loved it dearly, 
 it was old and inexpensive, and the loss of it does 
 not matter at least, not so very much. There must 
 be no more music that is all it means," she con- 
 cluded. And she sighed again and turned away.
 
 76 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Oh, how foolish I am ! I had almost forgot- 
 ten," she remarked suddenly, facing him again and 
 placing her hand in her bosom. "Here is a book 
 of yours. I have had it for ever so long. I en- 
 joyed it so much. I read it over and over and over 
 again; and now, I have brought it back." 
 
 As Alick Simpson took it from her he could feel 
 its soft leather covers suffused with the warmth from 
 her body. 
 
 "You will not deny me this privilege?" he asked 
 almost sadly, offering her in exchange the book he 
 had been making a pretence of reading on her ap- 
 proach. 
 
 "I will not," she answered with a smile, taking 
 it from him with both hands, "because I cannot deny 
 myself so great a pleasure." 
 
 She turned away once more, as he stood gazing 
 at her, solemn and silent-stricken. 
 
 A distant "coo-ee" floated up from tfie farm- 
 house. 
 
 "That is my cousin calling," said Kathie. "And 
 we are standing right on the ridge, where all the 
 world can see. I have stayed far too long already. 
 I must go now. Good-bye !" 
 
 Her black eyelashes brushed her cheeks and she 
 held out her hand in frank friendliness. 
 
 Alick took it in his. His eyes grew soft and his 
 heart beat furiously.
 
 High Lights and Shadows 77 
 
 "Coo-ee! Coo-ee!" louder and more imperative 
 flew up the call again from the steading. 
 
 "Tell me," he asked anxiously, "may I come some 
 time again and talk with you?" 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" she replied, as warm tints came 
 and went in her face. "I could not forbear from 
 speaking this time, because, because, you misunder- 
 stood. But we must not meet any more. You must 
 not think of It. I have your book. I shall read it 
 then I shall place it here again for you. Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 Alick released her hand hopelessly and she ran 
 over to her horse where it was cropping grass. She 
 threw the reins over its head, vaulted into the sad- 
 dle, shook the reins and galloped off. 
 
 Lizbeth was waiting for Kathie at the door of 
 the barn. She had been a distant witness of part 
 of the meeting on the ridge and her tongue loosened 
 as soon as her cousin got within earshot. 
 
 "For a new-comer, you are making great progress 
 with the men," she sneered. "And the Principal 
 at that, a man who should have more sense than 
 waste his own time, and yours." 
 
 Kathie was stung to retort, an unusual thing for 
 her and a big surprise to Lizbeth. 
 
 "He simply passed a few words and gave me a 
 book to read," she returned. "If that is all the 
 comings and goings you ever have with men, you 
 won't be going very far astray."
 
 78 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "What do you mean?" cried Lizbeth suspiciously. 
 "Spit it out, and don't be hinting and hedging." Then 
 she laughed lightly. "It's all right, Kathie," she 
 went on in a more friendly tone. "It is your own 
 affair, after all. You keep on and mind your own 
 business ; and I'll mind mine. You can have as many 
 fellows as you have fingers for all I care, so long 
 as you don't interfere between Bob Crawford and 
 me, see ! Only, take my advice keep them all out 
 of sight of father Jackson; that is if you want to 
 keep out of trouble." 
 
 This change of mood astonished Kathie and put 
 her on her guard. 
 
 "Kathie," continued Lizbeth, "Bob Crawford 
 said he might come down to the dairy to see me 
 to-morrow afternoon. I like Bob just as much as 
 you seem to like Simpson." 
 
 Kathie flushed indignantly. 
 
 "Now keep your mouth shut and don't say it. 
 You make me tired. I like Crawford as much as 
 dad hates him and Alick Simpson too, and that's 
 saying a whole lot. Say, Kathie, when Bob comes, 
 you beat it for a while and leave us to ourselves. 
 Two's company," she added, with a knowing smile, 
 as if to say, "We understand each other." 
 
 Kathie did not understand. But she made up 
 her mind then and there that she would keep well 
 out of the way of the lovers. 
 
 When she turned to go indoors, she looked across
 
 High Lights and Shadows 79 
 
 the orchard and up the slope, and she saw, still 
 standing on the ridge where she had left him, sil- 
 houetted against the sky, the tall, motionless figure 
 of the school-teacher. He was day-dreaming over 
 this strange creature he had chanced upon wonder- 
 ing where she had received her education, what her 
 environment had been and how she could ever con- 
 form to her present condition of life. 
 
 He knew it must have been necessity which had 
 driven her to make a home with the Jacksons. He 
 knew the relationship. He had heard stray patches 
 of her history down in Vernock and recounted by 
 his talkative landlady, but all of it garbled and 
 unreliable. 
 
 He was interested, more interested than he dared 
 to admit even to himself, and something deeper 
 than mere interest seemed to be catching hold of him. 
 
 Kathie had told him they must not meet again, 
 and he respected her too much to thrust himself 
 upon her, but nevertheless he closed his hands and 
 tightened his lips, and made a resolution that some 
 day he would find out for himself all about her.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 At the Toot of the Flute 
 
 few weeks that followed were dreary and 
 J. unsatisfactory for Alick Simpson. For the 
 time being he lost all interest in the affairs of the 
 town; even his interest for his scholars flagged. 
 Time and again he had to draw himself up as he 
 found himself dreaming at his desk while his pupils 
 worked at their lessons. More and more in his 
 spare hours, he sought the country, the hills and the 
 solitude, but always keeping well away from sight 
 and hail of Jackson's Ranch, in deference to Kathie's 
 expressed wish. He seemed to have forgotten that 
 a book of his was in Kathie's keeping and that he had 
 almost promised to go to the mound and exchange 
 another for it. 
 
 And Kathie lost interest too. In those hot days, 
 when the sun beat down relentlessly, when the grass 
 dried up and the sunflowers were no more, when 
 everything growing would have died but for the 
 artificial irrigation, when blossoms turned to fruit 
 and gradually ripened for the harvest, there seemed 
 to be nothing that would liven the weary drudgery 
 
 80
 
 At the Toot of the Flute 81 
 
 of Kathie's dairy work; nothing to rouse her thoughts 
 to the level to which they aspired: nothing but the 
 monotony of the common-everyday. 
 
 She had taken Alick Simpson's book with her 
 every afternoon and had left it on the mound as she 
 passed with the cattle to the range. She had re- 
 turned, always full of hope and expectancy, only to 
 find the little volume still lying where she had placed 
 it. With a sigh she would pick it up, put it in her 
 bosom again and continue toward the farm. 
 
 But one time, as she sat down on the ridge in a 
 deeper despondency than usual, thinking and dream- 
 ing of the days gone by; unbidden tears came to 
 her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She brushed 
 them away almost in anger, then she threw herself 
 prone on the ground, pulling nervously at the tufts 
 of grass by her head. Something hard caught in 
 her fingers. She picked it out, sat up and looked 
 at it curiously. With a sudden cry she pressed it 
 to her breast, then she kissed it passionately over 
 and over again. In a moment more she was lying 
 again upon the turf, sobbing as if her heart were 
 breaking, as she clutched in her hand the bridge 
 of her broken violin. 
 
 When her emotion had spent itself and she was 
 prone with her head on her arm in that drowsy, 
 tranquil, half-way place between consciousness and 
 insensibility, her mind slowly became awakened by 
 the clear, high-pitched, unfamiliar lilt of some
 
 82 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 strange bird. Almost all the birds had been strange 
 to her at first, but gradually she had grown to know 
 each by his lilt. This note, however, was a new one 
 to her. She roused herself and listened intently to 
 the quivering, flute-like tones. 
 
 The music was too varied for even a meadow- 
 lark; too high and clear for a mavis. As she 
 strained her ears, the lilt changed suddenly into a 
 thousand little trills and ecstasies. 
 
 Kathie's curiosity gained the mastery. She rose 
 quickly and tip-toed to the fence, over which she 
 clambered silently. 
 
 The strange whistling continued, coming from 
 somewhere in the density of the firs. She took the 
 broad, grassy path between the trees. Not a sound 
 did she make as she glided along over the springy 
 turf. On and on she went, peering cautiously about 
 her. Ever the whistling seemed to keep the same 
 distance away from her, luring her on and still on 
 until she began to fancy her warbler a will-o'-the- 
 wisp. She reached almost half-way along the trail, 
 when the whistling ceased. She stood stock-still, all 
 her senses on the alert; her eyes searching the shrub- 
 bery. Then, with a fresh burst, the melodious notes 
 in weird, trilling, little ripples burst out from the 
 trees on Kathie's left. 
 
 Full of curiosity, she parted the bushes and 
 branches, and pushed her way through, careful lest a 
 twig should crackle under her feet. As she worked
 
 At the Toot of the Flute 83 
 
 along, there came into her view a small clearing, car- 
 peted by short grass and flat as a lawn. 
 
 An extraordinary sight presented itself to her as- 
 tonished gaze as she stood there hidden among the 
 foliage. 
 
 In the centre of the lawn, with his back to her, 
 sat a man, his knees bent and his feet crossed in the 
 fashion of an Indian snake-charmer. He was play- 
 ing softly on a flute; his head was swinging slowly 
 from side to side in time with the rhythm of his 
 melody. Scurrying around him, or sitting upright 
 on their hind legs, were hundreds of squirrels, 
 fathers, mothers and old grandfathers and grand- 
 mothers of all sizes, children right down to the 
 tiniest of baby squirrels. They seemed entirely with- 
 out fear of the player and some of the more daring 
 were even jumping over his feet and legs as if he 
 were one of themselves. 
 
 The trees and the air were alive with number- 
 less birds robins, larks, orioles, chickadees, finches, 
 cat-birds and sparrows, all bursting into song time 
 and again as if to show the flutist how he ought to 
 trill and play. 
 
 Kathie watched in breathless interest, held by the 
 peculiar music and by the beauty and novelty of the 
 scene. As she watched, she noticed the flap of the 
 man's jacket pocket rise suddenly and from the depth 
 a little squirrel popped up its inquisitive head and 
 bobbed back again. It was so unexpected, so amus-
 
 84 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 ing, so ludicrous, that Kathie vented an exclamation 
 of surprise. 
 
 The next moment, she felt as if she could have 
 bitten out her tongue, for the effect of her ejacula- 
 tion was instantaneous. Fawn and brown flashed in 
 all directions and in the quickness of a thought not a 
 squirrel or a bird was to be seen anywhere near. 
 
 The flutist sprang to his feet and darted a look 
 around, annoyance showing in his face. 
 
 Kathie gasped. 
 
 The Vernock school-teacher was standing only a 
 few yards from her. 
 
 From his back and from the huddled position he 
 had been assuming on the grass, she had not recog- 
 nized him before. Now, with alarm and confusion, 
 she was overwhelmed. She drew back to screen her- 
 self the more, but the dead branches on the ground 
 crackled and snapped about her. Alick Simpson 
 came forward to where she was standing. There 
 was no escape for her. With her eyes wide, she 
 ceased to breathe. She held her hand to her thump- 
 ing heart. The bushes parted and the school-teacher 
 pushed through. As his eyes fell upon her, his face 
 went deathly pale and he staggered back a step or 
 two. 
 
 "Kathie I" he exclaimed. 
 
 He hardly knew that he had spoken. But Kathie 
 heard, and a flashing thought of wonderment went 
 through her as to how he had learned her name.
 
 At the Toot of the Flute 85 
 
 With her hat swinging in her hand, she came for- 
 ward into the open; out of the shadows into the sun- 
 shine. She hung her head and blushed as she stood 
 before him. 
 
 "I am very, very sorry, sir," she said demurely. 
 "I have frightened all your little playmates away." 
 
 She looked up suddenly at him. There was the 
 faintest twinkle of merriment in her eyes. 
 
 Alick Simpson regained some of his wonted com- 
 posure. 
 
 "Oh, never mind about that," he replied. "They 
 will return as soon as they know a lady visitor has 
 called to see them." 
 
 "They may and again they may not," returned 
 Kathie. "But a moment ago you were angry with 
 me. I could read it in your face." 
 
 "Angry !" he interposed in surprise. "Oh, no, no 1 
 anything but angry. A little astonished at first 
 maybe ; then a little taken aback ; but angry with 
 you " He smiled sadly. "Never angry with you !" 
 
 His eyes spoke his admiration for the simple but 
 pretty picture of feminine daintiness before him; just 
 a little disconcerting to Kathie, who had expected in- 
 stead a reprimand for her intrusion. 
 
 "But really " she went on, "I was not aware 
 that you were here. And now that I know you are 
 not angry, I shall leave you to your music and to 
 your your squirrels and birds."
 
 86 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "And, if I maintain that I am still angry very 
 angry?" he queried. 
 
 Kathie looked at him curiously. 
 
 "Oh ! I might be constrained to wait a few mo- 
 ments until your anger melted," she said. 
 
 "Please stay then," he insisted. "Sit down upon 
 my green table cloth and be introduced to my friends. 
 And talk to me for a little while ; I have so wanted 
 to hear you talk. I have wished to feel, truly, that 
 you are not angry with me for my past interference 
 in your affairs. I have been unable to find this out, 
 really and truly, for, you know, you forbade me." 
 
 There was something compelling, cajoling, in the 
 school-teacher's voice; something akin to the music 
 of his flute; something earnest and sincere; some- 
 thing that seemed to be completely breaking down 
 the cold reserve that Kathie had for so long hedged 
 around herself. 
 
 With a smile, she sat down at his bidding, clasp- 
 ing her hands over her knees. Alick squatted by her 
 side. 
 
 "You are very kind," he remarked. 
 
 "Not kind," she said, "selfish!" 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "Because there are none to talk intelligently with 
 down at the ranch and nothing to talk about but 
 dollars and cents ; crops, cattle and milk. It does get 
 so wearisome. Why! it seems ages to me since I
 
 At the Toot of the Flute 87 
 
 read a book even. The good fairies do not leave 
 books on the mound now, as they used to do." 
 
 She raised her eyes to Alick's and a smile started 
 at the corners of her mouth. She was mistress of the 
 situation. 
 
 "But, you know, you told me we must never meet 
 again." 
 
 Kathie sighed. 
 
 "Yes! and here I am." 
 
 "Oh, this is simply aji accident," put in the 
 school-teacher. "But tell me, how did you dis- 
 cover this secret fairy glade?" 
 
 "Well, when I was coming back from the range, 
 I sat down on the mound. I got to thinking of my 
 poor old violin and the happy times I used to have 
 with it. I was getting very, very disconsolate, when 
 I heard an unfamiliar whistling. I wished, being of 
 an inquiring disposition, to discover what wonderful 
 bird had taken up his abode in the woods without 
 first consulting me." 
 
 Alick laughed. 
 
 "Yes! and you found the wonderful bird; a 
 sort of whistling crow very rare in these parts." 
 
 Kathie laughed in turn, and as she did so all her 
 shyness flew away and she felt completely at ease. 
 
 "Hardly a crow, Mr. Simpson a piper a mod- 
 ern, pied piper." 
 
 "Explain?" 
 
 "Well first you lured the squirrels, instead of
 
 88 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 the orthodox rats, with your piping: next me. I 
 wonder how many other charmed creatures are now 
 on their way here. But really I did not know you 
 were such a musician." 
 
 "Not a musician," returned the school-teacher, his 
 blue-gray eyes still searching and admiring Kathie's 
 elfish beauty, "merely a tooter on the flute !" 
 
 "Ah, but it is music. All harmonious sounds, 
 whether they be the rippling of the water, the rus- 
 tling of the wind in the trees, the thunder in the 
 heavens, the ring of a hammer on an anvil, the soul- 
 searching vibrations of a violin, or the tooting on 
 a flute all are music to me. And, oh ! how I hun- 
 ger for music. Won't you please play again, Mister 
 Music-man, before I go? Won't you show me how 
 you charm your agile friends from their hiding places 
 in the trees?" 
 
 "I am afraid that will be quite a hard matter. 
 They are most timid before strangers. It took me 
 months and months of patient persevering to make 
 them understand that I meant no harm to them. 
 But if you keep perfectly still, I'll try." 
 
 He put the flute to his lips and blew a few, high, 
 staccato notes, then three prolonged, mellow blasts. 
 This he repeated several times. 
 
 The higher branches of the trees immediately be- 
 came animated, as small brown heads with bright 
 curious eyes peeped out from everywhere. But no
 
 At the Toot of the Flute 89 
 
 effort of the whistler would induce them to descend 
 from their high altitudes. Alick Simpson tried again 
 and again; every kind of musical artifice of which 
 he was capable; but all to no purpose. 
 
 At last Kathie sighed and rose to her feet. 
 
 "It is useless, Mr. Simpson," she said. "They do 
 not love me or trust me as they do you. I congratu- 
 late you," she smiled, "for animals are said to be 
 discerning, discriminating, very particular in their 
 choice of friends." 
 
 Her eyes lit up and twinkled mischievously. 
 
 "I have enjoyed myself immensely. It does one 
 good to tumble on something of this nature so unex- 
 pectedly. But I must be off. Already, I have 
 stayed longer than I ought to have stayed." 
 
 The schoolmaster sprang up also. 
 
 "You will allow me to see you to the edge of the 
 wood?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" she answered. 
 
 He pushed ahead, parting the bushes and 
 branches, and clearing the way for her. Twice she 
 gave him her hand for assistance across some fallen 
 timber and twice he thrilled at her touch; while his 
 ears sang at the sweetness of her voice. 
 
 Soon they were together on the level trail between 
 the trees, and only then did Alick Simpson realize 
 how tall she was merely a paltry inch shorter than 
 himself and how graceful 1
 
 90 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 On nearing the log fence she held out her hand to 
 him and smiled, looking into his eyes. "Good-bye," 
 she said. "And thank you." 
 
 He kept her hand in his longer than he felt he 
 should have done. He wished to speak to her of 
 something, but he dared not. Yet his eyes declined 
 to remain dumb and they spoke the message that 
 was in his heart. He bowed to Kathie, then stood 
 silently looking after her as she went before him. 
 
 At the fence Kathie stopped, turned slowly and 
 came back to him. Her cheeks were aglow, her eyes 
 were bright, her bosom was rising and falling riot- 
 ously in sympathy with her feelings. 
 
 "I know what you wish to ask, Mr. Simpson, and 
 it is kind of you to hold back. But I also wish it, 
 for I feel we have so much in common, so much 
 to talk about with little or no opportunity for con- 
 versation. 
 
 "After milking time on Saturday, I shall be at the 
 clump of trees away over there by the Lake. You 
 know the place." She pointed with her finger. 
 "Over yonder I There it is vast and free, with trees 
 behind and the open lake before; with no disturbers 
 but the crows and the jackdaws quarrelling over the 
 berries on the bushes." 
 
 The words fell on Alick Simpson's ears like the 
 tinkle of silver chimes; and before he could speak 
 she had climbed over the fence.
 
 At the Toot of the Flute 91 
 
 He heard her call her horse. He heard it whinny 
 in answer, as it trotted forward. He saw her spring 
 into the saddle and disappear over the crest of the 
 hill.
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 The Tryst 
 
 YOU have come," cried Alick Simpson, rising 
 from a log upon which he had been sitting in 
 the shade of the clump of trees by the lakeside, and 
 holding out his hands in open welcome. "How glad 
 I am and how afraid I was that something would 
 interfere." 
 
 Kathie's hand rested in his for a brief moment 
 as she returned his look of undisguised pleasure. 
 
 "Nothing could have kept me away to-day," she 
 laughed, "for you know this engagement was of my 
 making; and an Irish girl dearly loves to plan once 
 in a while." 
 
 "Yes! it was your making and my suggesting," 
 returned Alick. "I wish all such suggestions of 
 mine were as fruitful. But now that you are here 
 shall we take a row across the lake in the face of 
 the breeze? There is a boat down there on the 
 beach. Or shall we sit upon this old log and talk 
 as fancy leads us?" 
 
 "Oh ! let us sit and talk," decided Kathie. "That, 
 most of all, is what I came for. I have no one to 
 talk to over there on the ranch and you know that 
 
 92
 
 The Tryst 93 
 
 a woman, especially if she is from Ireland, must 
 talk at times or die." 
 
 "And sometimes a man must listen to the melody 
 of a woman's voice or lose his reason," replied the 
 school-teacher. "So you must talk and I shall 
 listen." 
 
 Kathie sat down on the log from which Alick had 
 so recently risen. He stood beside her, his elbow 
 resting on the trunk of a tree. 
 
 "What shall I talk about to you that can possibly 
 interest you?" asked Kathie, looking up at him. 
 
 "Tell me of yourself," he cried impetuously, 
 "nothing can be of more interest to me than that. 
 Tell me of the home you knew across the sea; of 
 the people you met ; of the life you led. Tell me who 
 endowed you with the manners of a lady; who 
 dropped the cloak of a master-musician across your 
 shoulders; whose beauty it is that lingers in your 
 face. Tell me of those people, that I may remem- 
 ber them in my quiet moments." 
 
 Kathie looked up and blushed at his apparent 
 seriousness, then, as she sat there, with her hands 
 clasped before her and her dark eyes looking to the 
 horizon, she told him in simple words of her baby 
 days; of her home by the sea; of the love of her 
 mother; of the genius of her father which was 
 smothered in his physical weakness; of their happi- 
 ness and their poverty. She laughed as she recount- 
 ed the pranks they played, and tears welled in her
 
 94 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 eyes over her childhood losses and disappointments. 
 
 Alick watched her intently, joining in her plea- 
 sure and sympathising with her as she told of her 
 sorrows. His heart swelled in his breast and a 
 great longing filled the soul of him. Her frankness 
 carried him away, her agile beauty captivated him 
 and the hunger in her eyes drew him as a magnet. 
 
 He did not interrupt her as she talked on. She 
 seemed almost to have forgotten his presence in the 
 thrall of her reminiscences. 
 
 She told him how her father had taught her to 
 play on the violin hour by hour, day by day, until at 
 last he had had to confess that he had imparted to 
 her all he knew and that the pupil was now master 
 of the teacher: how, one day, there came a stout, 
 well-dressed, showy, fancy-waist-coated and gold- 
 ringed individual, offering her father and her more 
 wealth than they had known for years if they would 
 only go on tour, and how she had held out against 
 it, because her father's health was gone and could 
 not stand the travel and further because she would 
 never prostitute the art she so loved for the sake of 
 monetary gain, even if, by so doing, she should be 
 thought old-fashioned and should starve in the 
 process. 
 
 Her voice became low and sorrowful as she dwelt 
 on the last sad days of all, when her father and then 
 her mother were taken away from her and she was 
 left alone.
 
 The Tryst 95 
 
 When all was told she sat quiet and still. Her 
 bosom rose and fell unevenly and she looked away 
 before her with swimming eyes. 
 
 The school-teacher sat down on the ground at 
 her feet and looked into her face in heartfelt sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "Kathie " 
 
 His hand clasped over hers. She did not move. 
 
 They remained in silence for a while. Overhead, 
 the crows cawed in protest at the intrusion of the 
 humans. 
 
 "My poor, poor lass!" he whispered at last. 
 "Now I know what the wistful look in your eyes 
 means. You have sounded the depth of all the sor- 
 rows, although to one so young in years as you are 
 life should only be beginning and sorrow should be 
 merely a conjecture. 
 
 "And life is only just beginning, Kathie for you 
 and for me, if only you care to make it so. 
 
 "I did not mean to speak not yet. But the crav- 
 ing of my heart will not be silent. I love you oh, 
 how I love you ! I, who have never held a woman 
 to my breast; I who have grown to manhood and 
 am only now beginning to understand this great and 
 wonderful gift from God. I have loved you since 
 the first sweet strains of your tender outpoured feel- 
 ings sang through your violin in my ears. Ay! I 
 loved you ages and ages before that, only I did not 
 understand. I love you now, Kathie, with all my
 
 96 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 heart and all my soul, with the strength of my body 
 and all the power of my mind; with the great heart- 
 love of my mother, with all the wild and wayward 
 blood of my forefathers which now throbs so fiercely 
 in my veins. 
 
 "Kathie! Kathie! How sweet your name isl 
 Tell me tell me that my first love and my only 
 love is not to be a lonely love? 
 
 "We could be married right away. Or I can wait 
 your own sweet will; ay! I can wait twenty years 
 if only I know that you will love me and be mine 
 in the end. 
 
 "Speak to me, dear heart, tell me you also you 
 also love. 
 
 "Forgive me if I have been daring," he went on 
 softly, "if I have been daring in the great and over- 
 powering love that would dare all, and do all, for 
 you. Kathie Kathie Kathie I" he murmured. 
 
 She rose slowly from her seat, extending her hand 
 and raising him with her. Her eyes were wide with 
 sorrow and dread, and her white throat trembled. 
 
 "You should not have spoken to me so," she said 
 in mournful tones, looking at him intently. "It has 
 spoiled everything. And, I have been so very, 
 very happy oh, so happy. But it is always that 
 way with me," she added almost bitterly, "my happi- 
 ness never lasts. 
 
 "You are a few years older than I am, but I seem 
 to have lived as long as you have. Surely
 
 The Tryst 97 
 
 surely you must know that what you have asked, 
 that the rosy picture you have painted, can never 
 be for us. I have told you of myself and of my 
 past, because I feared the coming of this and I 
 wished to stay it; to warn you if I could." 
 
 Alick held out his hands in protest. 
 
 "No, no!" she continued quickly, "you must listen 
 further. 
 
 "I am only a stray child an odd number one 
 of the many in this world. My father was a stroll- 
 ing player and my mother a poor country woman 
 cast adrift by her people because she loved. But 
 you you are different. You have won honour and 
 respect, you have your work, your boys. You must 
 think of them, and nothing must ever interfere or 
 put one little blot, not even of gossip, upon the name 
 and fame which you have won for yourself in this 
 Province ; for already oh ! I know it ! already you 
 are reckoned the foremost educationalist in the Pror 
 vince, although your educational methods are con- 
 sidered by many as revolutionary. 
 
 "Mr. Simpson, I know my own folly, for I am 
 simply a dreamer, just a foolish little dreamer. But 
 you must forgive me and forget me." 
 
 Alick Simpson hung his head, and a softened look 
 came into Kathie's eyes. 
 
 "Oh!" she supplicated with an intensity of feel- 
 ing, "can't you see can't you understand? I have 
 been brought here because I was homeless and
 
 98 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 friendless, and for many years to come I must work 
 for the people who have taken me in and cared for 
 me. You, yourself, have seen the wildness of my 
 uncle's anger, you know the strength of my cousin's 
 dislike but still, they are all I have. I owe some- 
 thing to them, and I must be loyal. 
 
 "I am young. My uncle's right to be my guardian 
 is the right of relationship. You know, also, he 
 would never consent to a friendship between you and 
 me. Why he has forbidden even that we should 
 see each other again. Please, please forget me. Let 
 me leave you and see you no more. Try to find some- 
 one in your own sphere and there must be some- 
 one who could be all to you that a wife should be. 
 
 "I must go now good-bye, my own, dear, good 
 friend." 
 
 She turned from him. But he ran after her, 
 catching her wrists in his strong hands. 
 
 "Kathie my Kathie I" he called fiercely, "do not 
 go. You must not, you shall not go. It would kill 
 me now. There is something in your eyes that bids 
 me hope and those eyes of yours could never lie if 
 they tried to." 
 
 Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks and her breath 
 came fast. 
 
 She was melting in his hands. He led her back 
 gently to the old log, and she did not seek to resist. 
 
 "You have told me your history and you have 
 spoken of your position and mine. Sit down, my
 
 The Tryst 99 
 
 sweet and let me tell you what is known to one 
 man only in this great Continent. Then you shall 
 judge which of us is the more unworthy." 
 
 Obedient and silent, she sat down. And he stood 
 beside her by the tree. 
 
 "Not so very long ago," he commenced, "there 
 lived in the North of Scotland a proud Squire who 
 could trace his lineage for six hundred years. All 
 the broad acres for miles around, further than hu- 
 man eye could scan, were his. 
 
 "He wooed and married one of the first ladies in 
 the land a tender, noble woman with the heart of 
 an angel. 
 
 "The Squire was a gay, pleasure-loving spend- 
 thrift who in his later years became a drunkard 
 and worse. Bit by bit his estates became mortgaged. 
 His wife's fortune was swept away with that of his 
 own, swallowed up in paying for his banquetting and 
 his gambling debts. At last, she died broken- 
 hearted leaving a husband and an only son, both 
 driving headlong to ruin. 
 
 "What the father had become, he taught his son 
 to be; and, with his father's blood in his veins and 
 the example of his father's wild orgies ever before 
 him, he outran his sire in all that was evil. 
 
 "When the sire died the aftermath of a terrible 
 dissipation his fortune, and the vast lands which 
 had taken centuries to build up and the blood of a
 
 ioo The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 hundred heroes to cement and hold, were gone and 
 the son was left penniless and without a friend. 
 
 "For a time, the shock of all this steadied the 
 young man, and he tried hard to live as a gentleman 
 should. He succeeded in winning the heart and 
 hand of one of the sweetest and gentlest of God's 
 creations. How it ever came about, only the Great 
 Architect of the Universe can tell, for the debauches 
 of the son and the father were known broadcast 
 throughout the land. 
 
 "With his hands and his head, the son worked 
 honestly and soberly for two years, and happiness 
 was his in a little cottage in a country town. But, 
 one day, he was blamed for the act of another and 
 was dismissed with ignominy from his employment. 
 
 "That night he arrived home crazed with drink 
 and never again was he known to be sober. The 
 little home in the country was broken up ; the slums 
 in the city became their habitation. 
 
 "The tender young wife faded like an early flower 
 nipped by the frost in Spring. Lying on a bundle 
 of straw, in a dark corner of a dismal room, she 
 passed away, leaving a little son whimpering at her 
 side for the warmth and comfort his mother could 
 no longer give; while that little boy's father was 
 reeling through the streets in mental oblivion. 
 
 "That baby's first nutriment was gin and water 
 fed through a bottle by a drunken parent.
 
 The Tryst 101 
 
 "Next day, the body of the father was found float- 
 ing on the muddy waters of the Firth. 
 
 "The child was found, cold and almost dead. He 
 was cared for by a kindly woman, who, although 
 already nourishing her own infant, had still a little to 
 spare for a poor, orphan waif. 
 
 "A noble soldier who still lives to witness the 
 results of his kindness heard the story and took an 
 interest in the bairn. He saw to its proper upbring- 
 ing and to its education, never for a moment for- 
 getting his self-imposed charge, although, at times, 
 serving his country at its uttermost outposts. He 
 made a man of this little foundling a man with a 
 heart that is ever ready in the service of every child 
 that breathes. 
 
 "The grandsire of my story was the well-known 
 Alexander Simpson of Glen Uiske; the suicide was 
 his son. And I I was the orphan babe." 
 
 Alick seated himself on the log by the side of 
 Kathie and his earnest face was close to hers. 
 
 For a time they sat thus. Then Alick spoke again. 
 
 "Kathie, dearest. I have nothing to offer you 
 but myself. I am descended from God-knows- 
 what; but this I do know, I love you dearly and 
 I want you for my very own. With me, yours cannot 
 be the ancestral castle and it shall not be the drunk- 
 ard's hovel. I can offer you the happiness of a home 
 in this great and glorious West, a home set up by 
 honest toil, where neither the temptations of the
 
 102 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 castle nor the horrors of the hovel shall ever pene- 
 trate, where happiness shall be our watchword and 
 love our very life." 
 
 Suddenly, with a wild cry which was caught up 
 by the hovering birds as they circled wide, Kathie 
 threw her arms around Alick's neck. 
 
 "Oh! I don't care I don't care," she sobbed. 
 "I love you I love you. You are mine, Alick, you 
 were always mine." 
 
 She laid her head on his shoulder and wept quietly. 
 
 Alick stroked her hair until she became calm 
 again. 
 
 "My little girl I My dear little girl !" he crooned. 
 
 She raised her head and her eyes looked into his. 
 She took his face in her hands and she kissed him 
 on the lips. 
 
 "Now, Kathie, sweetheart," said Alick at last, 
 "however unpleasant the task may be, I must tell 
 your uncle of this." 
 
 But dread showed again in Kathie's face. In 
 those sweet moments she had forgotten the people 
 who claimed her almost body and soul. 
 
 "Oh, no, Alick 1" she said. "Please, not yet I 
 Leave us alone with our love for a while just you 
 and I together in this! 
 
 "You must know that my uncle will never agree 
 to any proposal you may make regarding me and 
 that I must do his bidding in this or wait until I 
 reach the age when I can follow the dictates of my
 
 The Tryst 103 
 
 own heart with a free will and a clear conscience. 
 That was what my father taught me, and, above all 
 things, I wish to live up to my father's teachings, 
 for he was kind and good, and he always knew what 
 was best. 
 
 "Alick, my love, these years will not be lost, for 
 although you and I must not be seen together with 
 the frequency that awakens scandal, we can still 
 meet now and again out here by the lake or up there 
 by the wood. 
 
 "My work is hard and my burdens are sometimes 
 greater than I feel I can bear, because no one at the 
 ranch has any love or friendship to give me; but 
 there goes with it, all the same, a glorious health 
 that I never knew until I came to this wonderful 
 Okanagan Valley. Why! when you saw me first 
 I was pale and thin and worn; the suggestion of a 
 dread disease clung around me like a shroud. That 
 has all gone now. My cheeks glow, my arms are 
 full and firm, my body is supple and strong. It 
 has surely been worth it all, Alick; and more be- 
 sides. And, I must stay by the ranch yet a little 
 while, if only to secure and insure for all time for 
 you and for me the health to which I can now lay 
 claim." 
 
 She laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "You will not be impetuous, Alick, Xou will 
 wait until until I am ready."
 
 104 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Why, yes, my darling, I promise that," he an- 
 swered quickly, with a merry laugh. "I know I have 
 your love, and nothing else matters. I will wait un- 
 til your own good time." 
 
 "Then it is a bargain between us," she cried 
 gaily, "our first bargain. When my difficulties are 
 all swept away and my conscience is clear, I will 
 come to you, I will lay my hands on your broad 
 shoulders, I will look into your eyes and I will say, 
 'Alick, my own, I am ready now/ ' Her clear 
 rippling laugh rang out as she concluded. 
 
 Alick caught her in his arms and sealed the com- 
 pact. 
 
 "Now, my dear," he said, "that relentless sun is 
 hurrying on his western journey and dipping as he 
 goes. Before you leave me, though, I should like 
 to do one service for you. You are a lonely young 
 lady you never have the companionship of a true 
 and loving woman. I know one the dearest, sweet- 
 est and most motherly woman I have ever met. She 
 is getting on in years now and she has no children 
 of her own. If I speak to her of you, will you visit 
 her sometimes and make her your confidant? She 
 would help you if ever you were worried about any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Thanks, Alick! I shall, and gladly, for often I 
 long for a lady friend in whom I can trust. Tell 
 me who she is?"
 
 The Tryst 105 
 
 "Her name is Mrs. Gray," he answered. "Her 
 home is over there on the other side of the wood, at 
 Broadacres. Her husband is Captain Gray, the fin- 
 est gentleman that ever wore the King's uniform." 
 
 Kathie looked away without a word. Her face 
 was solemn again. 
 
 "Why, Kathie dearest what is wrong? Have 
 I said anything to hurt you?" 
 
 She shook her head sadly. 
 
 "No, no ! but, of all places, I dare not go there. 
 Captain Gray is considered by my uncle to be my 
 uncle's greatest enemy. Surely you know that but 
 for his coming when he did we would now be occu- 
 pying Broadacres Ranch, instead of being where we 
 are. My uncle was on the point of closing a deal 
 for it on a rental basis, when Captain Gray stepped 
 in and made a better offer. At least, that is how I 
 understand it. And everyone knows that Broad- 
 acres is the finest Ranch in the Valley; and cheap at 
 any price. Tom Semple left my uncle too, to be Cap- 
 tain Gray's Ranch-foreman ; and everything has gone 
 wrong with us since Tom left. My uncle detests the 
 name of Captain Gray. He will not allow it to be 
 spoken in the house. And it would rouse the demon 
 in him if it ever came to his knowledge that I had 
 visited there. 
 
 "Don't you worry about me, Alick. I shall be all 
 right; no harm shall come to me. All the shadows
 
 106 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 will clear away when the sun comes up again in the 
 morning." 
 
 They kissed each other tenderly, and Kathie left 
 Alick with his newly-found happiness, nursing her 
 own in a clamorous bosom.
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 Storm Fiends 
 
 AS time went on the work of the barn and dairy 
 was left more and more in Kathie's expert 
 hands. And she preferred it so, for it meant relying 
 on her own judgment in the execution of her duties, 
 without the continual dread of unnecessary interfer- 
 ence. 
 
 True, she had the company of Lizbeth in the dairy 
 now and again. But only when Lizbeth had an ul- 
 terior motive for being there. 
 
 The dairy was a favourite rendezvous for Bob 
 Crawford during his clandestine visits. And, when 
 he put in an appearance there, Kathie gladly sur- 
 rendered her place and sought work elsewhere, and 
 that without having to receive any eye-signals from 
 her sly cousin. 
 
 Crawford was not allowed the privileges of a 
 recognised suitor, for Colin Jackson had other and 
 more ambitious plans for his daughter's future. 
 
 Impoverished as the rancher was, he had never 
 begrudged money when it meant dressing Lizbeth 
 out as a lady, for he had constant hopes that sooner 
 or later she would make a match with one or other 
 
 107
 
 108 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 of his more wealthy neighbours, a match which might 
 relieve him of some of his pressing financial difficul- 
 ties. 
 
 And it was because of this that Lizbeth and Craw- 
 ford met in secret when and where they could. Often 
 it was in the dairy, when they knew Colin Jackson 
 would be out of the way for an hour or two. At 
 times it was among the trees in the Avenue leading 
 to Sir David Menteith's great home; and more than 
 once Lizbeth had slipped out from her bedroom in 
 the dead of night, when all the others were sup- 
 posedly asleep, to keep company with Crawford by 
 the lake or in the wood, when he happened to be in 
 cither direction on some night duty. 
 
 Crawford was a tall, broad-shouldered, thin- 
 limbed, well set up young fellow. He had been in 
 the Valley for a number of years and was well 
 known. His picturesque garb and his easy swinging 
 gait as he strode along, or his devil-may-care dash 
 as he galloped on his horse, caused men as well as 
 women to take a second look in his direction. He 
 was swarthy skinned and dark eyed; and he wore 
 that dash of don't-give-a-rip on his face that seldom 
 fails to attract good women and bad alike to its 
 owner. He was a good hearted fellow in the main 
 and he had an inveterate love for animals. But his 
 eyes and lips suggested a recklessness in morals, 
 which, now and again, betrayed itself rather openly 
 in an over-fondness for liquor. Crawford was a
 
 Storm Fiends 109 
 
 man whom a good woman might have moulded into 
 a steady, honest husband, but Lizbeth Jackson was 
 hardly the woman to work a reformation of any 
 kind on anybody. And he would have been a dar- 
 ing man indeed who had attempted a prophecy on 
 the outcome of this friendship which was so rapidly 
 springing up between the pair. 
 
 All too quickly for Kathie, the summer days had 
 flown and the autumn with its fading foliage and its 
 golden sunsets had crept stealthily away in its wake, 
 goaded from behind by the cold rain and chilling 
 gusts of November. 
 
 The fields had long been stripped of their ver- 
 dure and the fruit trees now stood up, stark and 
 naked and gaunt, like an army of skeletons. 
 
 The apple harvest and the small fruits had been 
 gathered, packed and shipped; the barns were full 
 of grain and alfalfa; the hard work of the ranch- 
 ers' busy season was over. And now, the first snow 
 of the winter had arrived, strewing all around with 
 a tiresome monotony of white pure as a winding 
 sheet. The dry snow had been falling steadily and 
 heavily all over the Valley for twenty-four hours, 
 and still there was no sign of an uplift. 
 
 The laden sky hung low overhead like a pall, as 
 a penetrating wind from between the hills swirled 
 around the outhouses with the mournful wail of a 
 banshee. All other sounds were muffled or stifled
 
 no The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 by the oppression of the elements; and all humanity 
 who could were gathered around their fireplaces for 
 warmth and comfort. 
 
 Early that forenoon, Lizbeth had driven into Ver- 
 nock when the roads were more passable. So far, 
 she had not returned. As usual, Kathie was left to 
 look after the cattle. All morning she had been busy 
 in the barn, cleaning, milking and stall-feeding; all 
 afternoon she had gone over the process again, in 
 soul-wearying repetition. And now, in the dairy, her 
 flagging energies were being concentrated in get- 
 ting the milk ready for the evening distribution. She 
 was working hard and rapidly, for the raw cold felt 
 as if it were eating into her flesh and chilling her 
 very heart. Her bare arms were red with exposure 
 and little patches of skin were peeled from her 
 fingers through contact with the clinging, frozen 
 handles of the heavy, bottom-leaded milk-cans. 
 
 She straightened up her back at last with a sigh 
 and rubbed at the dimmed, frosted glass of the win- 
 dow with her apron. She peered through at the 
 storm, but her eyes could not penetrate the feath- 
 ered veil which was driving in the teeth of the wind, 
 hard against the window pane. 
 
 No other sounds disturbed the stillness, save her 
 own laboured breathing and the echoing clang of her 
 tin measure against the buckets and the irritating 
 rattle of the tin cans on the cement flooring. 
 
 The dreary outlook, the ghostly silence, the lone-
 
 Storm Fiends in 
 
 liness and the gathering gloom sent a shiver through 
 the scantily-clad girl. She set to work once more 
 with augmented vigour, in her anxiety to be through 
 with it all and to get to the warmth of the kitchen 
 where she knew the cheery blaze of the open fire 
 would soon counteract the effects of the cold on her 
 drooping pirits. 
 
 Without warning, the dairy door flew back on its 
 hinges, striking the wall in force as a rush of cold 
 air swirled around the dairy. A tall figure strode 
 in, caught the door quickly and swung it closed again 
 full in the face of the storm. A shower of dry, 
 powdery snow tumbled about him on to the floor. 
 
 Kathie looked up hurriedly from her work, and at 
 a glance, even in the semi-darkness, she recognised 
 the tall, sinewy form as that of Crawford, the 
 police chief. Full well she knew that she was not 
 the object of his visit, so she went on pouring the 
 milk from the wooden buckets into the cans, setting 
 the latter, when full, high up on the shelves above 
 her. 
 
 Crawford turned down the collar of his coat and 
 shook himself like a healthy animal. He pulled off 
 his gloves and blew on his hands. Next he swung 
 his arms and stamped his feet in an effort to accel- 
 erate his partially frozen circulation. 
 
 "Ugh I" he exclaimed, "but that's a blizzard for 
 you. The wind bites right through to the bone. I'm 
 thinking, Liz, you will have your work cut out find-
 
 112 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 ing your way back to the kitchen. The snow is two 
 feet deep if it's an inch." 
 
 "Phee-ugh!" he whistled in feigned surprise, as 
 his eyes got accustomed to the altered light, "so it 
 ain't Liz after all. It's the little Music Witch. If 
 this ain't what I call real good luck!" 
 
 Kathie turned and faced him. 
 
 "Lizbeth went to Vernock this morning to make 
 some purchases at The Hudson's Bay Store. We 
 expected her back by this time, so if you go down 
 the road a bit, Mr. Crawford, you are almost cer- 
 tain to meet her," she put in quickly, her woman's 
 intuition detecting something in his tone that she did 
 not like and that she was a little afraid of. 
 
 "You don't say!" he bantered. "Now, ain't 
 that just the broadest kind of a hint. You want me 
 to face that out there again on the mere off-chance 
 of meeting Lizbeth and you in here all by your 
 lonesome. Not on your life ! Not by a jugful ! 
 
 "I'm just going to sit on the bench here and watch 
 you for a while. That is, if you don't mind," he 
 added with an elaborate bow. 
 
 "I cannot prevent you from doing as you wish, 
 Mr. Crawford, but if Lizbeth happens in she may 
 not see it in the same light as you do." 
 
 "Lord! that's no dream either," he answered 
 whimsically, scratching his forehead in thought. 
 "And she's got a devil of a temper too. But I should 
 worry! We'll just forget about her for a while,
 
 Storm Fiends 113 
 
 if you don't mind. I never get a chance to talk to 
 you anyway. Nobody does except maybe the Ver- 
 nock school-man ; you know the fellow you used to 
 play the fiddle to. Eh, little Miss Sly Puss I" 
 
 Kathie's cheeks flushed scarlet as she wondered 
 what he knew about her music and her meetings. 
 
 "If you wish to remain here, Mr. Crawford, you 
 will please talk of something else. Better still, you 
 won't talk at all," she retorted with dignity. "I 
 have work to do and I am anxious to get it done 
 quickly. It isn't too enjoyable out here in the cold; 
 even you should know that." 
 
 "By gosh I You are right, Kathie," he said a lit- 
 tle sympathetically, swinging his legs. "It's a damned 
 shame to have you puddling around here among this 
 freezing stuff, and these pretty little arms of yours 
 all exposed and on a day like this too." 
 
 Kathie was moving across the dairy floor, as 
 Crawford spoke. He put out his hand as she passed 
 him and touched her bare arm, as if merely to em- 
 phasise his remarks. Kathie sprang away with the 
 same loathing as she would have done from an ad- 
 der. Her eyes flashed and she clenched her hands. 
 But she suddenly swallowed her anger and contin- 
 ued her work in silence. 
 
 "Quite a little spit-fire, eh!" he went on sarcas- 
 tically. "Runs in the blood." 
 
 Kathie felt uneasy; primarily for herself, but 
 for her cousin as well for it was long past Lizbeth's
 
 114 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 time to be home and it was within the bounds of 
 possibility that she had been caught in the storm 
 somewhere and was unable either to proceed with' 
 the buggy or go back. Furthermore, Kathie felt 
 that there had been a secret arrangement between 
 Lizbeth and Crawford to meet in the dairy. And 
 when her cousin did ultimately get home she knew 
 the dairy would be the first place she would make 
 for. 
 
 Kathie had no desire to be found alone in the com- 
 pany of her cousin's sweetheart. 
 
 "Don't you think you ought to go and meet Liz- 
 beth?" she suggested. "If I were a man, I would. 
 Not expecting the snow so soon nor so much of it, 
 she did not take the cutter. Likely as not, the buggy 
 is causing her trouble on the road. There is no say- 
 ing what may happen to her on an afternoon like 
 this." 
 
 "Yep! You're right there," he agreed easily, 
 "there's no saying and I've as good a chance of 
 meeting her here as I have out in that snowstorm I" 
 
 His remark merely confirmed Kathie's previous 
 conjecture, and it was the means of increasing her 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Guess you're scared she might be jealous," he 
 continued, following her admiringly with his eyes. 
 "And what if she were? 
 
 "You're not such a big cheery armful as Liz," he 
 said coarsely, "but, by gosh I there's the same differ-
 
 Storm Fiends 115 
 
 ence between you and her as there is between a peach 
 and an apple and you're the peach, you bet. I 
 prefer a peach to an apple any day. Ha-ha ! That's 
 pretty good now for a lout of a country cop like me. 
 Isn't it now, Kathie?" 
 
 She felt her blood go hot and cold alternately. 
 
 "You must not speak to me like that," she said 
 quietly. "You profess to be a gentleman in your 
 own way. Act like one, and so make me believe it 
 too." 
 
 "Ho-ho, hoity-toity, saucy-sally!" he droned, not 
 in the slightest way perturbed and looking her over 
 impudently. "Damned if I don't like you the bet- 
 ter for it. Say! I'll go right back to Sunday school 
 again if you'll only promise to be my teacher. And 
 you might make something of me too. Wouldn't you 
 like to try to make me a good little boy, Kathie?" 
 
 Kathie continued her work. She felt his gaze 
 upon her and her heart was beating fast. 
 
 "Ain't you going to be friends and talk to a fel- 
 low?" he asked. "Why, I might as well go outside 
 and talk to the hitching post." 
 
 "You might as well," answered Kathie, "and the 
 post would probably have no objections !" 
 
 Crawford laughed. "Quick in the uptake too, 
 eh! Quicker even than Liz!" 
 
 Kathie hurried on with her task. She was near- 
 ing the end of it ; only one more can to fill and she
 
 Ii6 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 would be out of reach of Crawford's glib tongue and 
 his unwelcome presence. 
 
 Well she understood the subtle power this man 
 possessed with womankind, and, despite his imper- 
 tinences, she found herself admiring his peculiar 
 attractive appearance and his impelling tone of voice. 
 But she hated and almost feared the searching look 
 of his mastering eyes. 
 
 "By gosh!" he exclaimed suddenly and passion- 
 ately, "I would throw Liz over this minute if I 
 thought I could have you for a steady. The way 
 you have; your hair and your black eyes; your tempt- 
 ing lips and the silky white of your skin they would 
 provoke the devil that sleeps in the saintliest saint. 
 To look into your face, you little devil, one would 
 think it was farthest away from your thoughts to 
 dress to attract men like me, but, Good Lord! you 
 could do it with a petticoat and shawl. It's a way 
 some of you women have. Your skirt is just the 
 right height to show the neatness of your ankles 
 your sleeves are rolled up just far enough to expose 
 the dimples on your elbows and your hair is plaited 
 and twisted as if it wanted to twine around a man's 
 soul. Your collar turns down to where the rise of 
 your throat shines the whitest, your eyes say 'Keep 
 away,' and your lips say 'Come on.' Which am 
 I to believe? Do you wonder that a man wants to 
 stay inside this place beside you and to look at you 
 and keep right on looking at you until he gets
 
 Storm Fiends 117 
 
 pretty near drunk? You're not a woman, damn it, 
 you're a witch, a damned, elusive, tantalising, glor- 
 ious little witch." 
 
 Kathie did not speak. Her throat was parched 
 with an unknown terror. Even if words could have 
 come she knew they would have been impotent, use- 
 less, with such a man as Crawford. 
 
 Her one desire was to get away. She bent down 
 and lifted the last of the heavy, lead-bottomed cans, 
 and raised it slowly above her with both hands. Her 
 figure was tense, and the graceful poise of her sup- 
 ple body displayed its curving lines. Her swelling 
 bosom, her shapely limbs and her bewitching neat- 
 ness roused the slumbering furies in Crawford. With 
 the quiet, slippery movement of a snake he slid from 
 the bench and tip-toed behind her as she stretched 
 to place the can of milk securely on the shelf. Her 
 thoughts were all of Crawford, but she was all un- 
 conscious of his proximity. 
 
 "Come on a kiss if it kills me," he shouted sud- 
 denly, catching her round the waist. 
 
 With a startled exclamation, Kathie lost her hold 
 of the can which was resting on the edge of the shelf. 
 In the flash of a moment it toppled over, crashing, 
 with a sickening sound, on to Crawford's head. 
 Without even a moan, he crumpled to the floor and 
 lay at Kathie's feet still and senseless, with a little 
 stream of blood trickling slowly over his brow. 
 
 Kathie staggered back against the bench, looking
 
 n8 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 down at the man, fascinated and horror-stricken. 
 She knelt down beside him and tried to rouse him, 
 and failing, she endeavoured to wipe away the blood 
 from his wound. In the process, her hands became 
 red and moist, and clammy. A shudder passed 
 through her, leaving a feeling of faintness in its 
 train. 
 
 She was still bending over Crawford when the 
 door opened softly and Lizbeth, snug in furs and 
 storm-proof garments, stood surveying the scene. 
 
 She threw her robes aside and with a cry ran for- 
 ward. 
 
 "What are you doing? What have you done? 
 Oh, my God! it's Bob it's my Bob I" 
 
 With all the frenzy of a grief-stricken woman, she 
 caught Kathie by the shoulder and threw her across 
 the place like a toy. Tearing off her gloves, she bent 
 over her lover. She held him to her breast. She 
 smoothed his matted hair, she laid her cheek against 
 his, she crooned his name lovingly and tenderly. 
 But Crawford's eyes remained closed and he showed 
 no signs of returning consciousness. 
 
 "You did this you she-cat," shouted Lizbeth, 
 jumping up suddenly and confronting Kathie. "See I 
 his blood is wet on your hands, fear is showing in 
 your face. You with your damned daintiness and 
 your double-scheming. Tell me why you did it?" 
 
 She swayed unsteadily. Her voice broke and her 
 demeanour changed.
 
 Storm Fiends 119 
 
 "Why did you do it?" she cried in piteous tones. 
 "Couldn't you let him be? He didn't need your 
 looks and smiles. Even if you are pretty you 
 didn't want him. But I loved him. I loved him 
 I tell you. Wasn't Simpson enough for you? Oh, 
 I hate you," she railed on, stamping her foot in 
 
 her anger and grief. "I could I could He was 
 
 mine before you came here. You knew he was mine 
 you knew he was mine." 
 
 Kathie stood back dazed and stupid. She heard 
 her cousin's voice afar off and she felt as if she 
 were passing through some evil dream. 
 
 "What the devil are you two quarrelling over?" 
 cried a gruff voice; and it brought both girls back 
 to their normal senses. 
 
 Colin Jackson lunged through the doorway in a 
 cloud of snow. 
 
 "Isn't it enough to have a storm outside, without 
 creating another inside? Hello! What's this?" 
 
 He looked at the two women questioningly. Then 
 he bent down. "Why it's Crawford. What the 
 devil was he doing here? Good Lord I he's in a 
 bad way too. What does it mean? Who did this?" 
 he asked, looking up sharply. 
 
 "She did," replied Lizbeth, pointing with her fin- 
 ger at Kathie. 
 
 Colin Jackson glared at his niece, and without a 
 word he placed his hand on Crawford's wrist. He
 
 120 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 threw it from him and put his ear to the prostrate 
 man's heart. 
 
 "My God!" he exclaimed in a trembling voice, 
 "the man's dead." 
 
 "Oh, no ! no ! no 1" cried Kathie hysterically, "not 
 that, uncle; he can't be. He was speaking to me a 
 moment ago. He isn't dead. Oh, uncle, uncle, 
 please say he isn't dead." She wrung her hands 
 distractedly. 
 
 "I tell you, he is dead," repeated Jackson with 
 decision. 
 
 Kathie, poor distraught Kathie, could bear no 
 more. Pressing her fingers against her ears, she ran 
 to the door, and sped out into the storm, uttering 
 a wild, despairing cry. 
 
 "Lizbeth, pour some cold milk on that cloth 
 there," commanded her father in a businesslike way, 
 "and hold the cloth against his temples. If I know 
 Bob Crawford, I have something here that'll bring 
 him round, if a spark of life remains in him. This 
 is a bad business though. The whole countryside 
 will be scandalised." 
 
 He pulled a flask from his back pocket, withdrew 
 the cork with his teeth and poured some of the con- 
 tents of the bottle down Crawford's throat. 
 
 With a heavy sigh the injured man opened his 
 eyes and looked round him stupefied. Lizbeth and 
 her father raised him to a sitting posture.
 
 Storm Fiends 121 
 
 "Yep !" he murmured thickly, "something fell and 
 I But where is she?" he broke in anxiously. 
 
 "Oh! that's all right, Bob," soothed Lizbeth. 
 "She's gone she won't trouble you any more." 
 
 Crawford struggled to his feet, his body swaying 
 unsteadily as he clutched at the woodwork for sup- 
 port. 
 
 "No ! she won't trouble me," he said with a sick- 
 ly smile. "She's too darned good for that. Say!" 
 he continued, eyeing them suspiciously, "you ain't 
 blaming her for this, you two, are you? Because 
 she didn't do it see! She was hoisting that can 
 up and I Oh, hell! never mind what I did. 
 But anyway, she let it go and it came down and 
 struck me. I got what was coming to me all right, 
 so don't be putting any blame on to her, that's 
 all."
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 The Victim 
 
 THE wind was still high and biting, the moon 
 was bursting through the clouds and only a 
 belated snowflake, crisp and scintillating, was fall- 
 ing here and there, as Captain Gray got off the main 
 road and trudged up the hill on his way home from 
 a neighbourly call on Doctor Orr, the kindly though 
 busy old bachelor who lived in his little bungalow on 
 the outskirts of Vernock. 
 
 A long-haired, sharp-nosed collie trotted at his 
 heel, with a grudge in her canine substitute for a 
 soul against wintry weather in general and powdery, 
 unpacked snow in particular. 
 
 The Captain did not seem to mind the elements 
 so much, and his weather-beaten face betrayed an 
 usage to the forces of nature in all her wildest va- 
 garies. Nevertheless, he preferred the warmth of 
 his own fireside to the sharp stinging air which had 
 already begun to put a hard crust on the broad ex- 
 panses of white which spread before him in all di- 
 rections. 
 
 "Come on, Flora," he said to the dog. "Let's 
 jump the fence and take the clearing through the 
 
 122
 
 The Victim 123 
 
 wood. It is harder going, but it is only half the dis- 
 tance and it will bring us home in far less time. It 
 isn't a night for man or beast to be out in, and your 
 mistress will be getting as anxious as a tabby-cat 
 with a lost kitten. We should not have left her, you 
 know, Flora lass, but you can bear witness Doctor 
 Orr was waiting for us and had his cribbage-board 
 set out on the table, ready to begin. It would have 
 been a sore disappointment for the Doctor if we 
 hadn't turned up. Wouldn't it now, Flora?" 
 
 The dog wagged her tail, hung out her tongue and 
 gasped, smiling assent with her eyes and with the 
 corners of her mouth. Then she took the fence 
 with a bound, snapping at the snow in annoyance as 
 she rolled over and over in the soft drift beyond. 
 
 "It is pretty deep, Flora, but we'll just make the 
 best of it," said the Captain, struggling along, up 
 to the legging tops at every stride. 
 
 They went up over the hill behind Jackson's 
 ranch, then through the clearing between the closely- 
 set firs, and down the other side. The dog ran on 
 ahead, occasionally lost to view altogether in the soft 
 snow as she progressed along by leaps and bounds. 
 
 Suddenly she stood still and listened with her 
 head tilted toward the ground. Then she barked 
 sharply once or twice. 
 
 Her master came up alongside and walked round 
 her. 
 
 "Come on, lass, come oal We've no time for
 
 124 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 gopher chasing or any of that kind of nonsense to- 
 night," he remarked. "They are all snug at home 
 wise like where we should be ourselves. Come 
 on here I" 
 
 And he started off again. 
 
 But the dog remained behind. And as the Cap- 
 tain was disappearing in the distance, she whined 
 piteously, like a lonely wolf in a winter famine. 
 
 "What has got into that dog, anyway?" remarked 
 the Captain impatiently. "I suppose to please her 
 I shall have to go back and unearth an old pail, or 
 a dead chicken, or something equally as foolish." 
 
 He trudged slowly back. Flora in her excitement 
 commenced to throw up the snow with her feet. Cap- 
 tain Gray prodded around with his walking cane, and 
 just as he was giving up, the end of the cane came 
 in contact with something unyielding but soft. He 
 had no idea what it could be, but his curiosity was 
 sufficiently aroused by this and by the behaviour of 
 his sagacious collie that he was spurred to further 
 investigation. 
 
 He cleared away the snow with his hands and 
 feet, and soon was on his knees, working furiously. 
 
 With startling suddenness his fingers brushed 
 aside a piece of clothing. It was part of a woman's 
 skirt. In a moment more, two well-shod feet ap- 
 peared. Working like one possessed, he quickly un- 
 covered the entire body. 
 
 "Why! Flora, it's a woman," he cried, " and
 
 The Victim 125 
 
 all so cold and stiff. She's young: just a lassie. 
 Poor thing caught in the storm somehow, like 
 many another I have seen." 
 
 He threw off his coat and wrapped it round the 
 head and shoulders of the unconscious girl. 
 
 "Run home, Flora. Run and warn them," he 
 cried. "I'll be at your tail." 
 
 He lifted the girl up in his strong and willing 
 arms and pushed his way after the dog through the 
 deep drift, with an energy equal to his brightest 
 subaltern days. 
 
 The lights of Broadacres soon showed in the dis- 
 tance. In a few moments more he broke in upon 
 his wife's reveries as she sat on a couch before a 
 blazing fire. 
 
 Mrs. Gray rose quickly to meet her husband. She 
 raised her hands in alarm as her eyes fell on the bur- 
 den he bore. 
 
 "Oh, Allan, Allan, what is wrong?" she cried. 
 "And it's a lassie, too!" 
 
 "Yes, Margery dear! Hurry with something 
 warm. Flora found her buried in the snow on the 
 trail in the wood." 
 
 Gently he laid the senseless form on the couch and 
 unwrapped his coat from the head and shoulders. 
 Mrs. Gray dispatched her terrified-looking Indian 
 maid for warm drink and warm blankets, while she, 
 herself, chafed the limp hands and arms.
 
 126 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "She's a bonny lass, Margery," said the Captain 
 looking down admiringly. 
 
 "Yes, Allan, bonny as she can be. Look at her 
 hair; look at her face; there's breeding there that 
 belies her dress. I wonder who she is and what she 
 was doing out in a night like this. It seems queer 
 unless, maybe, she fell and hurt herself." 
 
 Mrs. Gray turned to her husband in alarm, as he 
 staggered back and supported himself by the mantel- 
 shelf. "What ails you, man? Am I to have two 
 invalids on my hands instead of one?" 
 
 "I I hardly know, Margery. There's some- 
 thing I don't know what and I can't explain it 
 but it makes me feel as if I knew that poor, helpless 
 lass. Yet, to my knowledge, I have never seen her 
 before. It's an uncanny kind of sensation. I dare- 
 say it is just the shock of finding her so suddenly in 
 the wood. I am not so strong as I once was, Mar- 
 gery, I'll be all right in a minute or so. 
 
 "The lass is alive though, Margery? You don't 
 think it is anything very serious with her?" he in- 
 quired anxiously. 
 
 "Alive ! of course she's alive. She'll live to 
 laugh at an old soldier like you for his folly. She's 
 coming round now and here's Zella with the blan- 
 kets." 
 
 The Indian girl came forward and looked curious- 
 ly at the white girl on the couch. She turned almost 
 pale under her tan and stepped back a bit, nervously.
 
 The Victim 127 
 
 "Goodness Gracious I" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, 
 "have you all gone silly at the look of a poor, storm- 
 stressed young woman? Zella, have you ever seen 
 her before? Do you know who she is?" 
 
 "Ya! mam, I see her before, ya!" replied the 
 maid. "I see her long time, long way. She Missy 
 Jackson. She work down Jackson ranch. She heap 
 good work. Crazy, me think! She no speak much 
 just little bit, sometime. No same other white girl." 
 
 "What do you mean, Zella?" asked her mistress, 
 still chafing the semi-conscious girl's hands and push- 
 ing the hair back from her forehead. "She looks a 
 good girl." 
 
 "Ya, mam I Nobody speak to her. She no spe?ik 
 anybody much. Indian no like ver' much. She go 
 into wood, play music, heap magic. What you call 
 devil, he come dance see! She make me plenty 
 scare. She what you call, witch, mam. 
 
 "Maybeyou wrap her up, give her hot drink you'- 
 self. No me do it." 
 
 "Zella, you talk lots of rubbish," reprimanded 
 Mrs. Gray. "I am surprised a sensible girl like you 
 believes in devils and witches. 
 
 "Don't you know this early part twentieth century 
 not the middle ages? Witch indeed! just a 
 poor, helpless bairn. 
 
 "Zella!" 
 
 "Ya, ya, mam!" 
 
 "Take these blankets into the spare bedroom
 
 128 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 and the tray as well. Allan ! lift up the lass and 
 bring her in here. Then you can send Tom Semple 
 for Doctor Orr. Tell him to leave word at Jack- 
 son's on his way back. After that, just sit down 
 quietly and recover your senses." 
 
 With the gentleness of a mother, the old soldier 
 raised the limp form of Kathie and carried her into 
 the adjoining room. 
 
 "You're quite sure she is all right, Margery 
 dear?" he inquired again. 
 
 "She'll be all right once the Doctor gets here," 
 his wife replied pointedly. She closed the bedroom 
 door on his anxiety, leaving him to dispatch his fore- 
 man for the Doctor. 
 
 When he was satisfied that his man was well on 
 the way, Captain Gray sat down by the fire and 
 mused for a while. He seemed to feel himself go- 
 ing through all the tortures of being buried alive 
 and frozen to death, as he thought of the peril of 
 the girl he had rescued. 
 
 How strangely the sight of her had acted on him 
 and how swiftly a thousand doors in his memory 
 had opened and closed again, giving him a fleeting 
 glimpse of something within; but leaving him on a 
 sea of conjecture as to what that something was! 
 He, who had spent two-thirds of his life in foreign 
 lands and always in times of surprises and excite- 
 ment! He smiled at the thought of his foolishness, 
 for in all the wide world he was without a living
 
 The Victim 129 
 
 link of any kind that he knew of likely to awaken 
 such fancies. 
 
 He rose and began to pace the floor in impatience. 
 He went to the bedroom door and listened, but as he 
 seemed to obtain little relief from this, he raised his 
 hand to' knock. Eventually, he thought better of 
 it, and started to wear out the carpet again. 
 
 His courage grew with his anxiety. This time 
 he knocked gently, but with no uncertainty. 
 
 The maid opened the door. 
 
 "How is she now, Zella?" he asked, almost def- 
 erentially. 
 
 "Please, you wait. I ask Missy Gray, if you be 
 told," she replied, still in a state of nervousness. 
 
 Mrs. Gray came out and held up her hands in 
 dismay. 
 
 "My dear husband, whatever is the matter with 
 you? The girl has had something to drink and is 
 wrapped up snugly; and I believe she will be all 
 right soon." 
 
 "Good good!" ejaculated the Captain. 
 
 "Now go and sit down and try to be the digni- 
 fied, imperturbable, cold-blooded Captain Gray of 
 the Black Watch." 
 
 "So long as you say she is all right, my love 
 I'll do anything. Yes! I'll even sit down. But 
 you must admit it is very trying on the patience to be 
 out here by one's self, with nothing to do, when 
 one might be assisting."
 
 130 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "I quite agree with you, Allan, but surely you do 
 not expect me to enlist you in the service as a hos- 
 pital orderly. You are taking more interest in this 
 case than would the girl's sweetheart himself. I 
 sincerely hope you haven't switched your affections," 
 she added severely. 
 
 "Now, Margery! You know quite well " 
 
 "Yes, yes I I know Allan, that you never did love 
 anybody, or anything, half so well as you love me 
 not even your nightcap. There ! " 
 
 She kissed him affectionately. "Now, go and sit 
 down again, and when you get tired sitting, walk 
 about and have a little exercise. But, for the sake 
 of somebody, try to have a modicum of patience. 
 And don't forget to send the Doctor in the very mo- 
 ment he gets here." 
 
 The Captain had hardly been left alone again, 
 when Doctor Orr came in. 
 
 The little man, rubbing his hands together, was 
 all geniality and energy. 
 
 "What do you mean, sir, by hustling a respectable 
 man out of his home on a night like this?" he asked, 
 addressing the Captain. 
 
 "It is just tit for tat, Doctor. You hauled me 
 out for a game of cribbage and a glass of punch. 
 But I don't grudge the journey, Doctor, for it meant 
 the saving of a poor lassie's life." 
 
 "I haven't heard anything yet, Captain. What is 
 the trouble?" asked the Doctor, growing serious.
 
 The Victim 131 
 
 "On my way home, I found one of the Jackson 
 girls covered up in the snow, cold and frozen. You 
 had better hurry in. I know you will do your best, 
 Doctor. I am particularly interested in the case: 
 I don't know why exactly. So, everything that can 
 be done for her must be done." 
 
 "She's a young lass, isn't she?" asked the Doctor. 
 
 The Captain nodded. 
 
 "And a a good-looker?" 
 
 The Captain nodded once more. 
 
 "Um 1 I thought so," remarked the Doctor with 
 a twinkle in his eyes. "It's the old story: 'No fool 
 like an old fool,' eh!" 
 
 He turned the handle of the door and entered 
 the sick room. 
 
 But Captain Gray was not to be left long undis- 
 turbed. The Doctor had no sooner disappeared than 
 the sound of a gruff voice on the outside broke in 
 on his reveries: and the owner of the voice put an 
 end to any further solitary meditation. 
 
 "It's a wintry night, Captain Gray," he remarked. 
 
 "It is indeed, Mr. Jackson." 
 
 "I understand my niece met with an accident of 
 some kind in the wood: sprained her ankle or some- 
 thing, and got caught in a drift. I'm obliged to you 
 for the help you gave her. I've brought the cutter 
 round to drive her home ; although a night like this is 
 mighty hard on man or beast. Here's some extra
 
 132 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 clothes for her. Tell her to throw them round her 
 and hurry; for I'm anxious to get back." 
 
 The Captain tugged his mustache the while and 
 looked curiously at the sour-visaged rancher who 
 stood, with spread legs, before him. 
 
 "I'm afraid, my friend, you hardly realise the ex- 
 tent of the injury to your niece. It would hardly be 
 wise even to think of moving her to-night." 
 
 "Tuts rubbish!" replied Jackson testily. "She's 
 coming home, where she should be. She's none of 
 your milk-and-bread babies; she's a Jackson. 
 
 "Tell her I'm here : that'll be sufficient." 
 
 "Do you know that the girl is nearly dead?" 
 asked Captain Gray with rising anger. "Are you 
 aware she was buried under the snow in the wood 
 God only knows how long and was frozen and 
 unconscious when found? Do you know what it 
 would mean to move any sick person on a night like 
 this?" 
 
 "I didn't come here to be curtain-lectured or bull- 
 dozed," replied rancher Jackson. "I came to take 
 my niece home, and, by the Lord ! I'll do it in spite 
 of the contrary opinions of you and all the malaria- 
 saturated Captains in the English Army or out of 
 it." 
 
 Allan Gray may have been easy-going with 
 women-folks, but when dealing with men of the kid- 
 ney of Colin Jackson, he became a different type;
 
 The Victim 133 
 
 and his stern, unbending, military dignity proved not 
 a little disconcerting to his visitor. 
 
 "You will please bear in mind, neighbour, that 
 you are in my house where my word goes. I am 
 responsible meantime for the safety of your niece 
 and I will not allow her to suffer for the sake of a 
 foolish whim or a little personal feeling. Assuredly, 
 she shall not go out of here to-night." 
 
 "Stand aside, sir," commanded Colin Jackson 
 furiously. "If you won't bring her out I'll fetch 
 her myself." 
 
 "Get back!" cried the Captain. "If they will not 
 allow me in there, I certainly shall not allow you. 
 Get back or I'll " 
 
 "Easy easyl What's all this to-do?" said Doc* 
 tor Orr in a conciliatory tone, coming out of the 
 bedroom opportunely. 
 
 The fact was he had had his hand on the door- 
 knob for the past five minutes and had been enjoying 
 the altercation immensely. 
 
 "Allan, you look positively furious. Colin, be- 
 fore you work yourself up any more go home and 
 put on a larger collar. If you don't, I'll have to 
 treat you for apoplexy. 
 
 "Now look here, you two, that poor maid in 
 there is in a serious plight. She is conscious now, 
 and there is practically no danger to her from the 
 exposure ; but there is something on her mind that 
 she is fretting over. I am the more certain of this,
 
 134 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 because she has met with no physical accident that 
 could cause her to fall down in the snow. There are 
 no cuts, no knocks, no sprains, no broken bones; 
 but, there are stains, like blood stains, on her 
 hands. Now, if this mental condition does not get 
 removed soon, there will be a brain-fever to contend 
 with. She has tried to speak several times, but can- 
 not. She seems to have lost the power. I have 
 heard of such cases before. And it takes a severe 
 shock, indeed, to strike a person dumb, more espe- 
 cially if the person be of the feminine gender. 
 
 "This is a desperately serious business, all the 
 same. She may never speak again." 
 
 "My God, Doctor, do you mean this?" asked 
 the Captain in grief-stricken tones. 
 
 "Most assuredly I do, Allan ; although I am hop- 
 ing for a change soon." 
 
 "Then she cannot come home to-night?" queried 
 her uncle. 
 
 "No, Colin nor to-morrow night, nor the next 
 night," replied the Doctor. 
 
 Captain Gray gesticulated. 
 
 " Nor even next week! It will be many a day 
 before she can be moved from here," continued the 
 Doctor imperiously. 
 
 "She might speak if she saw me," said Jackson, 
 moving again in the direction of the door. "I guess 
 there will be no objection to me seeing her?" 
 
 "She must not be disturbed to-night by any one.
 
 The Victim 135 
 
 You shall see her after I have seen you, Colin," was 
 the little Doctor's suggestive rejoinder. 
 
 "You have to go my way for a bit anyway; and, 
 as the cutter of every rancher in the Valley is at 
 the service of Doctor Orr, you shall have the plea- 
 sure of driving me right home. We can have a nice, 
 quiet, little, friendly chat on the way." 
 
 There was nothing left for Colin Jackson to do 
 but to obey, which he did with bad grace. 
 
 "Good night, Allan," cried the genial Doctor. 
 "Take care of the lass and send for me if anything 
 goes wrong. In any case, I'll be back early in the 
 morning." 
 
 Through all the long night Kathie tossed from 
 side to side in a maddening fever of unrest. No 
 sound escaped her parched lips; not even a moan 
 formed in her throat. She seemed, however, quite 
 conscious of her surroundings, and her grateful 
 eyes, bright with fever, followed the tender, loving 
 little woman who smoothed her pillow and stilled 
 the throbbing at her temples with a soothing hand, 
 moving about patiently and noiselessly, hour after 
 hour, bestowing her sympathy and whispering words 
 of cheer when the tension seemed straining to the 
 unendurable. 
 
 Daybreak brought a dazzling sunshine upon a daz- 
 zling sea of crystalline white, but it brought no re- 
 lief to the silent, restless sufferer.
 
 136 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Doctor Orr was in attendance before the robins 
 were astir, but in response to Mrs. Gray's tearful 
 inquiry he could only shake his head sadly. 
 
 "She cannot stand the strain twelve hours longer. 
 And she shall not be allowed to do so if I have to 
 drag the information from the very vitals of that 
 cantankerous, old skinflint, Jackson," he said, with 
 rising anger. "He told me nothing last night. He 
 knows the girl is likely to die, yet he refuses to say 
 a word of what happened in the dairy before she ran 
 out into the storm. Whether he is shielding her or 
 someone else, I cannot say, but his sympathy, if he 
 has any at all, does not seem to be with her. How- 
 ever, I must I shall have the truth before this day 
 is gone or my name isn't Orr." 
 
 At noon that day, the maid, Zella, ran in with a 
 note. 
 
 "Please, mam," she said, "big chief Crawford 
 he bring this. He say, from Doctor Orr and it very 
 special. He wait now outside." 
 
 "Bring him in, Zella," replied Mrs. Gray, tearing 
 open the envelope. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Gray," the note ran, 
 
 "I have reached the truth at last. Crawford was 
 lying in wait for me, to inquire how my patient was. 
 I asked him what he knew about the matter, and 
 he told me all. It seems he had gone into the dairy 
 and had found Miss Jackson alone. He tried to kiss
 
 The Victim 137 
 
 her. There was a struggle, in which he came off 
 second best. A heavy can fell from a shelf on to 
 his head. He dropped unconscious and she thought 
 she had killed him. She still thinks so. 
 
 "Crawford is contrite. He will gladly do any- 
 thing he can to repair the wrong he has done. 
 
 "Now, it is for you to tell your patient quietly that 
 Crawford is alive and well. You can do it better 
 than I. If necessary, take Crawford in to her so 
 that she may be thoroughly convinced. 
 
 "The girl's reason is at stake, so do your best. 
 
 "I shall run in early in the afternoon. 
 
 "William Orr." 
 
 Mrs. Gray braced herself for the ordeal and en- 
 tered the sick room. The sight of the poor, suffer- 
 ing girl, tossing in a mental unrest like one of 
 Dante's tortured souls, went to her heart and 
 opened up the way for her. She sat down beside 
 Kathie and spoke softly and gently. 
 
 "My dear, someone has called to see you and to 
 ask your forgiveness. Whatever made you think 
 that a little knock on the head would kill a big, 
 strong man like Crawford?" 
 
 At the mention of Crawford's name Kathie's eyes 
 lit up with an uncertain fear. 
 
 "Poor girl," continued the kindly old lady, "how 
 foolish to worry so much over so little 1 Why I he
 
 138 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 was all right again in a few moments after you ran 
 'out into the snow." 
 
 Although Kathie understood what was being said 
 to her, she only shook her head doubtfully. 
 
 "If I show Crawford to you healthy and well 
 will you promise to go to sleep?" 
 
 Kathie smiled faintly and nodded assent. 
 
 Mrs. Gray went to the door and beckoned the con- 
 stable. 
 
 He came in with his head down. Penitent tears 
 welled in his eyes as he gazed on Kathie's pale face. 
 He stood helplessly at the bedside, twisting his hat in 
 his hands. 
 
 "I'm mighty sorry, miss, for what I did," he said 
 huskily. "You didn't hurt me you really didn't. I 
 ain't hurt so easy. I've stood twenty times that much 
 many a time. Please forgive me, miss, and I'll 
 never say a wrong word to you as long as I live." 
 
 A sigh escaped the invalid. She nodded her head 
 to Crawford in token of forgiveness. Her eyes 
 flickered and closed, opened, flickered, and closed 
 again; and she dropped into a deep, health-giving, 
 life-sustaining sleep. 
 
 When Doctor Orr arrived the house was wrapped 
 in silence. 
 
 "You need not tell me the result," he remarked to 
 Mrs. Gray. "I can see it in your eyes. Did she 
 speak?" 
 
 "She did not," answered Mrs. Gray. "That is the
 
 The Victim 139 
 
 one sad feature. Her lips moved and she tried hard, 
 but no sound came not so much as a whisper." 
 
 The Doctor's face fell in disappointment and he 
 shook his head. 
 
 "It was the only chance," he answered with a sigh. 
 "I am afraid now she will never speak again. Still, 
 we must be thankful that her reason is saved. It 
 was touch and go."
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 Witchery 
 
 KATHIE'S convalescence was quick as it was 
 surprising. In a few days she was up and 
 going about the house, to the delight of the Captain 
 and his wife, whose interest in their enforced guest 
 grew deeper and more affectionate with every hour 
 she remained under their hospitable roof. Their 
 love went out to this happy, though sad-eyed girl, 
 and they sorrowed in the loss of her power of speech 
 even more than she did, for she bore her new afflic- 
 tion with a bright smile and a stout heart, conveying 
 all her thoughts and fancies through the agency of 
 paper and a pencil, and suggestive gestures. 
 
 One day, on a prowl of discovery, she ventured 
 timidly into the Captain's den. It was her first visit 
 there. She looked round the quaint, mannish place 
 with inquisitive interest. The Captain's strong, 
 ivory paper-knives; the gruesome Hindoo gods he 
 used for paper-weights; the grotesquely wrought, 
 brass inkstand; the cunningly designed pipe-rack; the 
 beautiful inlaid, Japanese card-table all came in 
 for their measure of her scrutiny and admiration. 
 
 Here and there, aimlessly and dreamily, she 
 140
 
 Witchery 141 
 
 turned in the little room until something hanging 
 from a hook in the wall sent her blood whirling and 
 chasing from her toes to her face and back to her 
 toes again, in a tingling, gleeful swirl, making her 
 forget all else that the world contained. She did 
 not even hear the footsteps of Zella, the Indian help, 
 nor did she observe that individual peeping into the 
 den, watching her suspiciously and intently, albeit 
 fearfully poised and ready to run on the slightest 
 alarm. 
 
 It was an old violin that had caught Kathie's eye 
 and had so absorbed her interest. It was a violin 
 which had travelled with Captain Gray on most of 
 his journeyings. Not that he ever fancied he could 
 bring dulcet tones from its shapely body: he had 
 given up that idea years and years before. But he 
 liked to scrape and twang when the door of his den 
 was closed and his pipe was going well, when all 
 the world, including his wife, was shut outside. 
 
 With trembling fingers, Kathie took it down from 
 the wall and gazed upon it with admiration. 
 
 What a violin it was! A glance was enough to 
 her practiced eye to tell her that she had never be- 
 fore had the opportunity of playing upon such an 
 instrument. She felt almost afraid to handle it. 
 But the temptation was too strong to be overcome 
 by any little trembling scruples. 
 
 She turned the pegs and tightened up the bow, 
 then she floated away in a whirl of entrancing music;
 
 142 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 melody tumbling over melody in the mad hilarity of 
 their new creation, charging the very air with vi- 
 brant harmonies. 
 
 In the adjoining room, Zella stood spellbound, 
 wide of eye and open-mouthed, held by the thrill- 
 ing and universally understandable ecstasy; but all 
 the time shaking with an inexplicable terror and un- 
 able to cry out and move away. 
 
 Suddenly the music ceased. Kathie pressed the 
 violin to her cheek with a radiating smile of plea- 
 sure. 
 
 "Oh, you dearest, sweetest of human creations! 
 What a violin you are to be sure I How I love 
 you!" 
 
 The sound of Kathie's voice, following the stop- 
 page of the music, broke the spell. Zella did not 
 wait for anything more. With a bound and an in- 
 articulate noise in her throat she ran out into the 
 garden and into the conservatory where the Cap- 
 tain and his wife were examining some plants. 
 
 "What on earth is wrong with you, girl?" cried 
 Mrs. Gray in alarm at the terror-stricken look of 
 Zella. 
 
 "Oh, Missy Gray," she moaned, "she do it again 
 she do it again. I tell you she witch. You no 
 b'lieve. You b'lieve me now, him heap true. She 
 play Mister Gray music box she play dreadful. 
 Dish all jump up little god up mantelshelf he nod 
 his head and do witch-dance.
 
 Witchery 143 
 
 "She no good. She raise what white man call 
 Hell before she stop see! She kiss music-box all 
 same kiss man. She talk music-box all same other 
 girl talk you, talk me." 
 
 "Talk!" put in the Captain, catching Zella and 
 shaking her up a bit. "Did you say she was talk- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Ya, ya, Mister Gray! She talk music-box. Me 
 scared. Me go away, me no stay along her." 
 
 "Look here, Zella pull yourself together. You 
 talk nonsense," exclaimed Mrs. Gray. "Come along 
 with us and we shall see for ourselves what all this 
 silly commotion is about." 
 
 "Please, mam please, I just stay right here 
 see ! I no much good help inside." 
 
 "All right," said her mistress, "stay here like 
 the foolish girl you are." 
 
 As the two neared the house, the strangest, soft- 
 est, sweetest melody floated around them, seeming 
 to issue from nowhere and to penetrate everywhere. 
 They went quietly inside and remained in the room 
 next to the den, where they could hear and not be 
 seen, as Kathie was still in the den and was again 
 playing in a transport of enjoyment. 
 
 The Captain's heart beat loudly. 
 
 "Did you ever hear anything so thrilling; so wild, 
 so plaintive?" he whispered. "It isn't music it's 
 witchery. Zella wasn't very far wrong after all." 
 
 "Hush!" commanded his wife. And they listened
 
 144 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 in silence for a longer time than they ever dreamed 
 of. 
 
 At last Kathie stopped and came running lightly 
 into the room where they were. Her face was aglow 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Oh, it's just glorious," she cried. "You sweet 
 old violin I could play on you for ever and ever." 
 
 She started back as she observed her two friends; 
 yet she did not appear at all abashed. 
 
 "Captain Gray you are not angry with me?" 
 she asked. "I simply could not keep from playing 
 on it. What a violin it is, to be sure! What a 
 dear old, dear old violin!" 
 
 They looked at Kathie in bewilderment, surprised 
 to hear the sound of a voice which they had never 
 heard before and had given up all hope of ever hear- 
 ing. 
 
 "Why! you are crying. Oh, whatever have I 
 done? What have I said?" she asked innocently, her 
 voice aquiver with distress. 
 
 Mrs. Gray took her in her arms and kissed her 
 cheek, leading her slowly over to the couch. 
 
 "My darling girl," she said, "I am weeping be- 
 cause I am very happy. Can't you understand what 
 it is? Don't you know the great, good change that 
 has come over you ? Don't you know that you have 
 been dumb since your accident and that you are 
 speaking again just as if your dumbness had never 
 been?"
 
 Witchery 145 
 
 Kathie laughed a tinkling little laugh. 
 
 "So I am," she replied, "and I never thought 
 of it, I was so taken up with the music. But 
 when all around is harmony, how could I possibly 
 remain dumb and in discord? I just had to tell that 
 violin what a dear old thing it was. 
 
 "Yet," she mused thoughtfully, "I am glad my 
 voice has come back. I am glad if only for Alick's 
 sake." 
 
 The words slipped out, suddenly, almost uninten- 
 tionally; more in soliloquy than in conversation. She 
 stopped short, a rosy tint flooding her cheeks. 
 
 "Well now! and who may Alick be?" asked 
 Mrs. Gray, sitting up primly. "Allan I do be- 
 lieve we have stumbled across something at last. 
 This young lady has a sweetheart." 
 
 Kathie blushed and kept silent. 
 
 "Now, Margery, my dear, we must not pry into 
 a young lady's secrets. She shall tell us all about 
 it some day maybe." 
 
 "Oh, I am not ashamed of his name," put in 
 Kathie. "But it is our secret yet. Some day may- 
 be as the Captain says I'll tell you, although I 
 cannot just now not yet." 
 
 "In your own good time," said the Captain kind- 
 ly. "There is something else I wish to ask you, 
 however. Where did you learn to play the violin 
 as you do? At times you play just what you seem 
 to feel and just as your fancy leads you. I knew
 
 146 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 only one other person who could do that. It brings 
 back strange, uninvited, half-forgotten memories to 
 an old man. Tell me, my dear who was it who 
 taught you?" 
 
 "I can hardly tell you that," replied Kathie 
 thoughtfully, gazing at the crackling logs in the fire- 
 place. "I just feel and play. You know, a real 
 artist in his own particular art, ought to be able 
 to translate his every feeling and emotion through 
 his art so clearly and plainly that even one who 
 has no knowledge of art cannot fail to interpret cor- 
 rectly what the artist has endeavoured to express. 
 If he falls short of this, he has not mastered his art. 
 
 "I seem to have grown up expressing myself 
 through the violin. True, my father showed me all 
 he knew. He was only a strolling player, but those 
 who heard him said they never listened to such music 
 as he could produce. I never found out who it was 
 who taught him. His past, to the time of his meet- 
 ing my mother, seemed to us to be a room with the 
 door locked and the blinds drawn down over the 
 windows and we never tried to pry inside. 
 
 "Poor father! his music did not bring him much 
 outside of happiness and oblivion of time. But we 
 were always happy then, boisterously happy almost." 
 
 "Well, Kathie," put in Mrs. Gray, "we must not 
 dwell upon sad subjects to-day, for we are all so 
 glad to hear your voice among us; a voice which we
 
 Witchery 147 
 
 thought had been stolen away from you for all 
 time." 
 
 "But I am not sad," interjected Kathie, "far from 
 it. I am very, very happy. And my voice has had 
 a long rest. 
 
 "Captain Gray was just about to tell us of the 
 memories my playing brought back to him. I won- 
 der now what those memories were?" 
 
 "There isn't very much to tell, lass ; only the story 
 of genius misunderstood. It is as common as the 
 milk-weed. 
 
 "When I was but a boy, I had a brother, a little 
 brother, who could play like you do. A rum little 
 chap he was too. Music was born in him from 
 some far back ancestor, no doubt. It seemed to 
 grow with him, out of him and over him; a terrible, 
 over-mastering passion for music nothing but 
 music. 
 
 "My father was a stern Scot of the old stock. 
 For me he mapped out a career in the army. He 
 planned my brother for the ministry. When my 
 father mapped and planned anything, that settled 
 the matter definitely and for all time so far as he 
 was concerned. 
 
 "He never allowed music of any kind in our 
 home. He said it was the destroyer of time and 
 the slayer of ambition. He hated the very sound 
 of the 'devil's tuning fork,' as he styled the violin; 
 and he maintained in no uncertain tones that no son
 
 148 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 of his should ever be a common, three-penny fiddler. 
 
 "And my poor little brother would have swapped 
 his immortal soul for a violin. 
 
 "The youngster learned the rudiments of music 
 from an old Italian who lived in a garret in a back 
 lane of the little town near to which we lived. And 
 he used to steal away there at all hours, striving and 
 struggling to express his genius under the tuition of 
 this kindly old foreigner, who grew to love my 
 brother as his own son. 
 
 "Not once but a thousand times did my father 
 issue his mandate against music, and a thousand 
 times was his mandate ignored. 
 
 "When the time came for my brother to choose 
 between 'the call of the devil and the call of the 
 Lord' as my father put it the little fellow slipped 
 away with his violin under his arm. And we 
 never heard of him again. 
 
 "At least, not while he lived; and that was only 
 the matter of some five or six years. There was a 
 shipwreck on the Solway Firth and my brother's 
 poor, emaciated body was discovered on a lonely 
 part of the beach, washed up by the sea. His 
 features were unrecognisable, but his violin, wrapped 
 in a water-proof bag, was buttoned up firmly inside 
 his ragged coat. My father knew the violin there 
 was no mistaking it. It was given my brother by 
 that old Italian master as he lay dying. It is that 
 very violin you are holding now, Kathie. See the
 
 Witchery 149 
 
 peculiar grain it has on the back of it, forming the 
 face of a grimacing man. 
 
 "Well, my father died soon afterwards, mourn- 
 ing his harshness when it was all too late. That is 
 a way the world has we are sorry afterwards, when 
 we should have been forbearing before. 
 
 "I was in India, a young officer, at the time of my 
 brother's 'death. My father wrote me, sending me 
 the violin ; the only relic left of him who might have 
 accomplished great things had he but been under- 
 stood." 
 
 Kathie put her hand into that of the old soldier. 
 
 "So few people seem to understand the soul of 
 the artist, whether the artist be a musician, a paint- 
 er, a poet or an inventor," she said, "how highly 
 the fibres of his heart are keyed, how sensitively his 
 nerves are strung, how the lure of his art, with its 
 mysterious, hypnotising influences, draws him away 
 and away from all the world 1 his deep hurt at the 
 slightest word or gesture which another would 
 brush aside laughingly and, above all, the sacri- 
 fices he will make and the sufferings he will endure 
 for that relentless art which lies, ever famishing, 
 never satisfied, down in his innermost self!" 
 
 "Yes," mused Mrs. Gray, "and we have always 
 had so much more of this world's goods than we 
 really required for we had his share as well as our 
 own and now we have neither kith nor kin to leave 
 it to when we go; while he, poor lad, was an outcast,
 
 150 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 tramping from town to town, trying to exchange his 
 music for bread, until his worn-out body found 
 peace on the flow of the tide." 
 
 They sat in silence, watching the reaching flames 
 in the fireplace and thinking of the sorrow which 
 lay deepest in their hearts. 
 
 "Come, Kathie!" said Mrs. Gray at last. "We 
 are all sad now. You must rest after this eventful 
 afternoon. For our lives, we dare not incur the an- 
 ger of that little, volcano, Doctor Orr." 
 
 "Before you go, lass, play to us once more : some- 
 thing measured and merry; something stately and 
 dignified," asked the Captain. 
 
 Ever ready, Kathie rested the violin under her 
 chin and with a graceful movement capered into 
 those bewitching, ear-haunting, old English dances 
 of Edward German modern, but bringing with 
 them, as on a cinema screen, pictures of fair ladies 
 and gallant dandies; silk gowns, patches and pow- 
 dered wigs; ruffles and silver buckled shoes; the po- 
 lite bow, the dainty minuet; the flirting fan, the hon- 
 eyed phrase and the merry laugh; an atmosphere of 
 wealth, gaiety and friendly rivalry; an undercurre.it 
 
 of intrigue. 
 
 ****** 
 
 And, on the still wintry air, those sweet strains 
 floated high and clear through the slightly opened 
 window, across the bare orchards, until they reached 
 the edge of the wood, where they became mere whis-
 
 Witchery 151 
 
 perings of the fairies more imaginary than real. 
 
 Faint and elusive, they reached the ear of one 
 who sat on the low fence, in gloomy despondency. 
 He raised his head and looked around quickly, like 
 a startled stag; then he gave vent to a hollow laugh. 
 But, as he listened again, he knew that he had not 
 been deceived the first time. He bent anxiously to 
 catch the direction of the notes. 
 
 What ethereal will-o'-the-wisp was this that haunt- 
 ed his fancies? It was Kathie's music his Kathie's 
 but where was she? Was she in the woods 
 in the hollow at Jackson's ranch over by the lake 
 on the mound where she used to play to him? 
 
 "Kathie, Kathie!" he cried to the solitude 
 around him. "Tell me where to find you; oh, my 
 love, tell me where I may find you." 
 
 In the quiet that ensued, the notes came clearer 
 and louder. He caught at their source, and with a 
 glad shout he ran forward to Broadacres, his heart 
 filled with thankfulness and his eyes blurred with 
 tears. He bounded through the orchard and into 
 the house, bursting among the little group without 
 ceremony, ignoring his old friends for the girl in 
 the midst of them. 
 
 He held out his arms to her. 
 
 "Kathie, Kathie, my darling my own dear 
 heart," he cried. "They told me you had gone and 
 they would not tell me where." 
 
 His voice was strained with the depth of his emo-
 
 152 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 tion. She rose to meet him, put her face to his and 
 kissed him full on the lips. He held her close, look- 
 ing long and searchingly into her steady eyes. 
 
 Quietly, unobtrusively, the old couple slipped out 
 of the room, leaving their young friends with their 
 love. They knew now who was the Alick of Kath- 
 ie's day-dreams, and they rejoiced in the knowledge. 
 
 "My darling!" exclaimed Alick, "how I have hun- 
 gered for you ! how I have hungered I I went over 
 to the old trysting place by the lake, but you did not 
 come. I stayed long, but at last had to return home, 
 sad and troubled. I could not rest; I could not eat; 
 I could not think properly. My mind seemed to be 
 filling with some dreadful foreboding. At last in 
 desperation I called at your uncle's, but they laughed 
 at me and refused to tell me where you were. Day 
 after day, as soon as school was over, I have wan- 
 dered about aimlessly, hoping I might find you or 
 hear of you, yet despairing of ever seeing you again. 
 Strange, I never called here. 
 
 "But tell me, Kathie what has happened? Your 
 cheeks are pale and your arms are thin. Tell me 
 all? And if you have been wronged, as I fear you 
 have, I will right the wrong if it takes me a life- 
 time to do it in." 
 
 Kathie placed her hand lightly over his lips. 
 
 "Hush, hush I How could I tell you if I thought 
 by so doing, evil would come of it? I met with an 
 accident on the night of the blizzard. I was found
 
 Witchery 153 
 
 buried in the snow and was brought here by Captain 
 Gray. Mrs. Gray has nursed me through all my 
 illness and both have brought me back to health 
 again by their kindnesses and their generous sym- 
 pathies although they never saw me before in all 
 their lives. 
 
 "Once, Alick, you asked me to come here and I 
 refused, but fate has intervened for my own good 
 and has given me these friends who now are dearer 
 to me than any of my own people." 
 
 "Aren't they just splendid?" returned Alick. 
 "Now I owe a double debt to Captain Gray. It was 
 Captain Gray who pulled me out of the slums in a 
 city in the Old Land. It was he who made me what 
 I now am. And now he has saved for me the great- 
 est treasure the world holds. 
 
 "But you have not told me of the accident which 
 befell you. I must know all about it, dear, before 
 I can ever hope to rest with a peaceful mind again." 
 
 "Alick, if I tell you everything, will you promise to 
 bear no grudge? You must promise, for it was all 
 a mistake and I have forgiven. Now that all is well 
 again, why should we dig up the troubles that have 
 been buried?" 
 
 Reluctantly, Alick passed his word and Kathie 
 told him of the scene in the dairy, of her grief and 
 her stricken sense, of the return of her voice and of 
 her present happiness. 
 
 He sat quietly listening until she had finished.
 
 154 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "My sweetheart," he whispered when all was 
 told, "we must put a stop to all this. There need be 
 no more of it not in this free West. You are not 
 safe down there; you are not loved. 
 
 "It is evident that even your life counts for noth- 
 ing with them. Let me take you away from it all. 
 I need you and you need me. Why should you work 
 like a slave and stand whatever abuse they care to 
 heap on you? You are worth far more to them than 
 they are to you. You are under no obligation to 
 them. They have no claim upon you but that of 
 relationship. They are simply using you for their 
 own ends. Come, my dear, and we shall be happy- 
 just you and I together." 
 
 "Oh, Alick, Alick! Do not make it harder for 
 me to bear. You promised that you would wait and 
 be patient until I was ready. This has brought that 
 time nearer than it was, but I cannot do as you ask ; 
 not until the breaking strain has been reached. They 
 are not to blame for what happened so recently; be- 
 sides, they are my mother's people. I must stand 
 by them until I feel that I have paid the debt I owe 
 to them for making a home for me when I was prac- 
 tically homeless." 
 
 Kathie took Alick's face in her hands. Her eyes 
 were moist and her voice was pleading. 
 
 "Kiss me, my lover, and let us be content in the 
 happiness of our love for each other just as we 
 are. I could go on and on and on neither hop-
 
 Witchery 155 
 
 ing nor expecting in the knowledge that I had your 
 love. Bear with me, boy, just a little longer, for I 
 must go back and help. There is trouble dowa 
 there. There are difficulties which they shall never 
 be able to surmount and there are debts which shall 
 never be paid. Not that the ranch doesn't pay! 
 but there are other debts, oil speculations and min- 
 ing speculations of my uncle in his foolishness when 
 he should have devoted his every cent to his ranch. 
 These are eating the family up like a cancer. Every- 
 thing has been mortgaged for them. I have seen 
 some of it and I know. 
 
 "A cloud of ruin is gathering over their heads, 
 growing bigger, darker, as the days go by. And 
 it must never be said that I deserted them in their 
 trouble. 
 
 "They have given me a home, no matter how un- 
 homelike it may seem. They will need me. It is 
 my duty to stand by them until the worst is past. 
 Then, Alick, I shall be free. 
 
 "And, if our love be unselfish in between times, 
 we shall be happy then; for there is deep and last- 
 ing satisfaction to the sailor after he has been saved 
 from the sea, when he knows that he stood by his 
 ship until she went down."
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 Roanstone Fair 
 
 THE mare's silky coat glistened in the Spring 
 sunshine and her brass-mounted harness 
 trappings shone like burnished gold, as Lizbeth and 
 Kathie sprang into the newly varnished buggy and 
 drove away with a flourish of whip and a merry 
 good-bye. 
 
 It was the first day of Roanstone Fair, the annual 
 Saturnalia of the Ranch hands, when the meanest 
 rancher in the Valley had, perforce, to declare a 
 Holiday; for even his youngest help the moment he 
 crawled out of bed proceeded with undue haste to 
 deck himself out in his best cow-boy trappings and 
 went off without as much as "by your leave." 
 
 The person who did not know that Roanstone 
 Fair was on, was indeed a dullard. All roads that 
 day led to Roanstone, seven miles north from Ver- 
 nock; and all traffic seemed to be wending in that 
 direction from old, four-wheeled, broken-down 
 outfits, with their father-and-mother-and-eight-of- 
 a-family loads to automobiles and the smart single 
 and tandem buggies of the well-to-do, bearing their 
 gaily clad and happy, care-free sweethearts. 
 
 156
 
 Roanstone Fair 157 
 
 Now and again, a young rancher on a prancing 
 horse would dash up alongside, with a cheery greet- 
 ing, proud to be on speaking terms with the Jack- 
 son girls, whose contrasting beauty full and volup- 
 tuous; sylph-like and graceful stirred their feel- 
 ings in most perplexing uncertainty as to which was 
 the more beautiful of the two. But, as Kathie's 
 quiet reserve was more often misconstrued than 
 understood, Lizbeth's ready tongue and careless 
 freedom generally won the verdict for herself. 
 
 After a joyful morning ride, Lizbeth and Kathie 
 put up the, horse at the Kalahalla Hotel at Roan- 
 stone and made for the Fair Grounds; having cheer- 
 fully endured the inane jests of relay escorts in the 
 shape of the many galloping gallants who were evi- 
 dently intent on making every moment of the day 
 contribute its quota to the general good time. 
 
 Thus early, the scene which the Fair presented 
 was lively and kaleidoscopic. Resplendent showmen, 
 elevated on high platforms, in front of great placard- 
 ed tents, were already lustily drawing attention to 
 the marvellous wonders inside; Fat Ladies; Wild 
 Men from Borneo who ate raw meat; Snake Charm- 
 ers; Armless Wonders; Freaks; Performing Ani- 
 mals; Vaudeville Entertainments; languishing Orien- 
 tal Dancers, and a hundred other dime-catchers 
 emphasising their glib harangues with an occasional 
 resounding whack of a riding whip on the lurid can-
 
 158 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 vas illustrations at their backs, or a heavy thump 
 on a big drum. 
 
 Sight-seers in their hundreds were thus early push- 
 ing their way to the pay-boxes and up the rickety 
 stairs leading to the entertainments ; taking the loud- 
 mouthed Miinchausens at their own estimates, hav- 
 ing made up their minds that this was a day on 
 which they must necessarily be swindled and duped 
 right from the beginning and it was useless holding 
 back. 
 
 Others, particularly the young local fry, less fortu- 
 nate in their possession of worldly wealth, gaped 
 from below, staving their unsatiated appetites on 
 the short-winded, short-skirted, gum-chewing, smirk- 
 ing, fat and lean advertisements for powder and 
 rouge, who pirouetted disdainfully on the creaky 
 platforms in front of the show-entrances, endeavour- 
 ing vainly to keep time to the shrieking music of a 
 steam calliope attached to the merry-go-round. 
 
 Here and there, husky, red-cheeked and sun- 
 tanned ranch-hands were exhibiting their ability be- 
 fore admiring and lusty wives and sweethearts, in 
 knocking down fuzzy dolls, toppling over cocoanuts 
 and trying to cover impossible, red, circular patches 
 on a board with tin discs. 
 
 A huge iron-bound mallet was being swung with 
 unceasing regularity, at five cents a time, thumping 
 a peg and throwing a metal mark high up a pole to 
 within hailing distance of a bell at the top, every
 
 Roanstone Fair 159 
 
 inch of the way up the pole emblazoned with be- 
 wilderingly increasing numbers, productive of a feel- 
 ing in the minds of the performers that they were 
 executing prodigious feats of strength. 
 
 The young men, to a man, were armed with paper 
 and feather ticklers, while the girls gigglingly 
 strewed confetti by the handful upon their own and 
 other girls' male escorts. 
 
 Once in a while, sweethearts embraced, unabashed 
 by the glare of the noon-day sun ; while, at one end 
 of the show-ground, on a specially erected platform, 
 an orchestra was endeavouring to make itself heard 
 to a bevy of hilarious and buxom two-steppers and 
 fox-trotters. 
 
 Over all the wildest noise of pandemonium 
 reigned, making it impossible to hear other than the 
 loudest shouts and the most discordant sounds. 
 
 Kathie gazed upon this scene with a co-mingling 
 of surprise, amazement and curiosity. It was her 
 first visit to Roanstone's Annual Fair or for that 
 matter, to any other Fair, outside of the Bally- 
 whallen Market Fair where a merry-go-round, some 
 swing boats, a ghost-show and a shooting gallery 
 comprised the amusements and all was so very 
 new to her. 
 
 She felt she merely wished to stand idly by for 
 hours to come, and watch the panorama. 
 
 But suddenly and unexpected by her, the deep,
 
 160 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 bass voice of Bob Crawford roused her from her 
 reverie. 
 
 Crawford was smartly set out in real Western 
 police fashion and looked every inch a man. 
 
 At his repeated insistence, she and Lizbeth fol- 
 lowed him to another part of the extensive grounds, 
 where the better-class had already foregathered for 
 the exhibition of live stock and horse-racing. All the 
 early part of that afternoon, from one point to 
 another, with the polished manners of a gentleman, 
 Crawford escorted the two young ladies round, pro- 
 tecting them when the throng became too great and 
 explaining a thousand-and-one things to them which 
 they did not fully understand. 
 
 Many were the soft glances that passed between 
 him and Lizbeth. Endearing phrases were ex- 
 changed, and, once in a while when the crowd gath- 
 ered closely, their fingers touched and pressed in 
 passionate ignition. 
 
 But, in her deep interest in the novelties on every 
 side of her, Kathie was oblivious of the flirta- 
 tion. 
 
 Only when they were all seated in the large, mar- 
 kee tent at dinner time, did it occur to Kathie that 
 the intimacy between Crawford and Lizbeth had 
 grown to avowed love. All through the meal, their 
 heads were together in whispered converse, and 
 Kathie's presence seemed almost forgotten by them.
 
 Roanstone Fair 161 
 
 Ere she had finished, the two rose as if moved 
 by a common impulse. 
 
 "Don't hurry, Kathie," said Lizbeth, leaning over 
 her shoulder, "we are going for a quick run over to 
 Menstone to see a friend of Bob's. We'll be back 
 in an hour or so." 
 
 "You won't mind staying here will you?" asked 
 Crawford. 
 
 "Not a bit," replied Kathie innocently. "Go 
 along. There are heaps and heaps to amuse me 
 here until you come back." And she spoke sin- 
 cerely, for there were many little things at the Fair 
 that she had wished to investigate but had not been 
 able to, while the others were with her, with their 
 special likes and dislikes to be considered and their 
 constant hurrying away here and there. 
 
 "We'll meet you at the Kalahalla Hotel at six 
 o'clock," continued Lizbeth. "But if we should 
 happen to be a little late, harness up and drive home. 
 We won't be long behind you and Bob can easily 
 get us a conveyance of some kind." 
 
 Kathie did not relish the idea of driving home 
 alone, but as she had no say in the matter one way 
 or the other, she accepted the instruction with good 
 grace, hoping there would be no necessity for her 
 having to meet such a contingency. 
 
 The few intervening hours passed all too quick- 
 ly. Kathie sauntered over to watch the last of the 
 horse races ; she examined the butter and baking ex-
 
 162 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 hibits and she witnessed the judging of the Beauty 
 Show, where tittering local girls stood on a plat- 
 form, before their joking swains, and were gone 
 over by a committee of respectable townsmen, who 
 surely had accepted their appointments without con- 
 sidering what they were letting themselves in for. 
 
 She heard the decision, which was accepted amid 
 a volley of protests from the men and was the occa- 
 sion of much heart-burning among the girls. How- 
 ever, it was all in the day's enjoyment and had to 
 be swallowed with the rest. 
 
 At the approach of six o'clock Kathie was at the 
 hotel corner, awaiting the return of Lizbeth and 
 Crawford. She was tired out with so much walk- 
 ing and sight-seeing and was ready and anxious to 
 begin her homeward journey. 
 
 The clock on the old town hall opposite clanged 
 out the hour, then, in monotone, it signalled half an 
 hour more but still there was no sign of her cousin 
 and her cousin's lover. 
 
 One after another, the various parties returned to 
 the Kalahalla Hotel on foot, harnessed up and drove 
 merrily away. 
 
 Kathie walked up and down impatiently until an- 
 other hour had flown. Rancher Muir that kindly 
 old neighbour saw her and offered to drive her 
 home with him, but she declined, feeling sure that 
 the truants would soon put in an appearance. 
 
 But after he had gone, misgivings began to assail
 
 Roanstone Fair 163 
 
 her. There was a ten-mile journey ahead, darkness 
 was gathering, and she was not at all certain of her 
 way. 
 
 She wandered aimlessly back to where the cattle 
 exhibit had been held. Here and there in the dis- 
 tance the gruff voices of departing ranchers and their 
 men were audible. Still farther away the hoot of 
 an automobile and the laughter and singing of a 
 joyous party starting out for home struck her ears 
 and gradually died away until the sounds faded into 
 silence. 
 
 The scene of the afternoon's gaiety was now lone- 
 ly-looking and almost deserted. 
 
 Kathie turned from the place, back again to the 
 Hotel, where the glow of the electric lamps presented 
 a slightly cheerier aspect than the darkness and 
 empty benches of the Show Grounds. She had little 
 hope now of meeting her cousin, yet she hesitated to 
 go in and prepare for her homeward journey. 
 
 She sauntered to the other side of the little 
 town. 
 
 The discordant music of the steam calliope, the 
 rattle of musketry in the shooting galleries and the 
 raucous shouts of the showmen all seemed to be 
 struggling in a deadly conflict with the approaching 
 night, madly endeavouring to hold the local roister- 
 ers still a little longer. Flaring oil lamps hung from 
 poles alongside the various stands; the ground was 
 trodden and somewhat miry. But the crowd was still
 
 164 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 gathered there, and it was more emphatic in the 
 little forgiveable flagrancies with which it had be- 
 spread the day. The tireless dancers still threw 
 themselves with a careless abandon into each other's 
 arms, wiggled and side-stepped, bandied jests and 
 chewed gum amid hilarious laughter. 
 
 Somewhere else wftd and angry voices would 
 start up in altercation, the sound of a blow would be 
 heard, a mad rush, a circle all animated and ex- 
 cited; encouraging shouts, then a scattering in all 
 directions; telling Kathie of another phase in the 
 life of the day. 
 
 She shrank back into one of the many looming 
 shadows, timid and horrified, yet fascinated by the 
 strangeness of the scene. A man swung round the 
 booth behind her. To fly would have been to show 
 herself in the glare of the lights. She gathered close 
 against the woodwork. The man came up, peered 
 into her face, tipped her chin up and passed on with 
 a laugh. He was followed by another of his kind 
 slouching and singing a maudlin chorus who pushed 
 against her as by accident and clutched at her in a 
 befuddled manner, without even raising his head 
 from his chest where it swung helpless. Kathie's 
 nostrils became filled with the nauseating fumes from 
 his foul breath. She struck out in loathing. She 
 wrenched herself from the man's grasp as he stag- 
 gered back, and with a cry and with cheeks afire,
 
 Roanstone Fair 165 
 
 she ran from the nightmare of a place back to the 
 mai.i street and the Hotel. 
 
 The sound of loud voices, popping corks and 
 clinking glasses issued from the busy bar-room. A 
 stable-boy was leaning lazily against the corner 
 hitching-post. 
 
 "Would you please let me have Mr. Jackson's 
 horse and buggy?" Kathie asked, approaching him 
 nervously. 
 
 "Guess there ain't no horse and buggy of Jack- 
 son's here, miss," he answered, without changing 
 his position but squirting some tobacco juice through 
 a hole in his front tooth on to the plank sidewalk. 
 
 "Oh yes there is I" she reiterated positively. "I 
 saw them put up myself." 
 
 "Maybe you did, miss. I ain't contradictin'. But 
 the stable is empty now, thank the Lord ! The last 
 horse beat it for home-and-mother an hour ago." 
 
 Kathie stood in utter despair. Her alarm and 
 anxiety grew great indeed, so much so that it aroused 
 the sympathy of the stable boy. 
 
 "Say! cut out any faintin' stuff, miss. The road 
 ain't very clean. 
 
 "Now I recTect," he went on, scratching his head 
 as an aid to his memory, "Crawford, the Police 
 Chief, and Miss Jackson drove away in their buggy 
 this afternoon. They were the very first to go." 
 
 "You must be making some mistake," remonstrat- 
 ed Kathie, tapping her foot on the ground nervously.
 
 166 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "They said they were going to walk and would come 
 back later for the buggy." 
 
 "Guess the dame must have changed her mind, 
 miss. That's a habit with them high-steppers/' re- 
 joined the boy, his air and tone that of one who had 
 been through the mill. "And they didn't come back 
 neither. 
 
 "Say! what's the mat ? Been left at an auc- 
 tion sale?" 
 
 "Is that the Vernock Road?" she asked, ignoring 
 his inquisitiveness. 
 
 "You bet it is 1 But, say ! lookee here, a young 
 lady like you ain't going to leg it there at this time 
 of night." 
 
 "Oh yes, lam!" 
 
 "Oh no, you ain't! not until IVe told the boss, 
 anyway," he persisted. "You just freeze to this spot 
 a minute, miss. They've got to fix you up some- 
 how." 
 
 He turned into the bar-room, but the moment he 
 disappeared Kathie hurried off into the darkness. 
 
 For a time her trust in herself was gone, so was 
 her faith in her fellow beings; and the loneliness 
 and the darkness were more welcome to her than 
 the doubtful kindness of others. So she made along 
 the road which she knew must bring her in time to 
 Vernock and ultimately to her uncle's ranch. 
 
 There was a rebellious feeling in Kathie's heart 
 at the deceit of her cousin, but, as she trudged along,
 
 Roanstone Fair 167 
 
 its bitterness got washed away by an inflow of 
 anxiety, as it gradually bore in on her that there 
 might have been an accident perhaps a runaway 
 or an overthrow. The more she thought of it the 
 more she became convinced that that, and that only, 
 could account for the non-appearance of Lizbeth and 
 her escort at the time they had appointed. 
 
 On and on she trudged, steadily and almost list- 
 lessly: behind her, the fading lights of Roanstone; 
 before her, darkness and uncertainty; with her, fore- 
 bodings with which she had not the strength to 
 battle. 
 
 The way felt interminable, as seemingly hour af- 
 ter hour dragged on. Her heart would start off 
 beating furiously at the barking of a dog. The dis- 
 lodging of a stone with her foot would send her 
 trembling to the side of the road. The pathway 
 before her was deserted and the night air was un- 
 cannily quiet. Of humanity, she encountered only 
 one, a tattered hobo who passed in the opposite di- 
 rection and after he had gone a few yards turned 
 back and looked after her. But Kathie's flying feet 
 left him with nothing but the gloom of night to gaze 
 upon. 
 
 Time and again, as a light gleamed ahead, her 
 spirits would revive with the hope that it would 
 prove to be Vernock at last, and time and again she 
 encountered the same disappointment, as only a
 
 168 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 a rancher's barn or a labourer's house would loom 
 up, strange and unknown. 
 
 When her hopes were almost gone, a number of 
 twinkling lights came to view at a turn of the road. 
 As she drew nearer, familiar steeples and buildings 
 loomed up, and Vernock more welcome than she 
 could ever express came within hail. She hast- 
 ened forward and was soon trudging along through 
 the quiet, sleeping, little town, past the Post Office 
 and the Hotel, then on to the Ordlake Road, which, 
 after three miles more, must bring her home. 
 
 She walked on and on with the mechanical move- 
 ment of an automaton. A lethargy settled over her, 
 killing her weariness; and almost before she was 
 aware of it, the angry but familiar and welcome 
 voice of her uncle aroused her. He was standing 
 at the road-end which she would have passed in her 
 semi-stupor. 
 
 "What the devil does this mean?" he demanded. 
 "One o'clock in the morning. Where's Lizbeth?" 
 
 In her weakness, Kathie almost collapsed, and 
 her uncle went to her aid and assisted her into the 
 house. 
 
 "Where's Lizbeth?" he asked again with consid- 
 erable concern. 
 
 "I I don't know, uncle. I thought she might be 
 here. They left me early in the afternoon to visit 
 someone in Menstone. They promised to be back 
 for me at six o'clock. I waited and I waited but
 
 Roanstone Fair 169 
 
 they did not come. Finally, I had to walk home 
 alone." 
 
 "And you mean to tell me you walked home that 
 road, on this night of all nights?" he inquired. 
 
 Kathie nodded listlessly. 
 
 "What did you mean, Kathie, when you said they 
 left early in the afternoon. Who was with Liz- 
 beth?" 
 
 "Crawford." 
 
 "Damn and blast that man anyway," he exclaimed 
 angrily. "Some of these days I'll be the death of 
 him or he'll be the ruin of me." 
 
 "But you go up to your bed, lass," he continued 
 almost kindly. "You've had more than enough for 
 one day. I'll stay up till Lizbeth gets here." 
 
 All night long Colin Jackson sat at the fire, wait- 
 ing Lizbeth's return. But it was not until Kathie 
 had the cows milked and pastured; not until the rigs 
 were distributing their contents in Vernock, that the 
 buggy dashed up the road leading to Jackson's, with 
 Lizbeth and Crawford chatting pleasantly in evi- 
 dent unconcern. 
 
 Colin Jackson met them at the door. 
 
 Lizbeth jumped down and ran toward him, throw- 
 ing her arms on his shoulders. 
 
 "Aren't you awfully glad to see me, dad?" she 
 asked with a pout, as if her feelings were hurt at his 
 apparent cold reception. "Do you know, you might 
 never have seen me again?"
 
 170 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Colin Jackson little knew how near the truth 
 she spoke. 
 
 "Why the deuce didn't you come home with 
 Kathie?" he asked. 
 
 "Is she home?" asked Lizbeth. "Oh good! I'm 
 so glad. You see, dad, Bob and I went for a 
 drive to visit some friends of his. On the way back 
 for Kathie, the buggy slipped, a tire and we were 
 thrown into the ditch. We had to lead the horse 
 back to Menstone and had to put up there over 
 night. We had the tire refixed first thing this morn- 
 ing by the blacksmith and here we are." 
 
 Lizbeth patted her father's cheek playfully. 
 
 "Don't be angry, dad," she reproached. "I was 
 well looked after, and it is all right now." 
 
 All this time Crawford was standing holding the 
 horse by the head. Jackson went over and examined 
 the tire. It had been repaired, bearing out the ver- 
 bal evidence of Lizbeth. He turned to Crawford. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you, Crawford, for see- 
 ing this through and for looking after Lizbeth. 
 I'll be still more obliged if you say nothing about 
 this mishap to anybody." 
 
 "Sure thing, boss!" replied Crawford good- 
 naturedly. "I won't say a word." 
 
 Colin Jackson put his face close to Crawford's. 
 
 "But the biggest obligement you can do me, Craw- 
 ford, is to turn your back and go and never let me 
 hear of you or see you again."
 
 Roanstone Fair 171 
 
 He took the reins from the police chief and 
 pointed to the side road. 
 
 "Nothin' like asking a lot when you are at it," 
 remarked Crawford, laughing sarcastically. He 
 turned on his heel. "I'm sorry, old man, but I can't 
 oblige."
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 
 
 KATHIE awoke with the cool night air blowing 
 on her face. The moonlight was streaming into 
 her bedroom. Lizbeth was amissing from her side. 
 This latter, however, was no new experience for 
 Kathie, so she gave the matter little thought. She 
 rose to pull down the blind. As she got up close 
 to the window she stumbled over a rope which had 
 been attached to the bedpost and led to the open case- 
 ment. She looked over the sill and saw that the rope 
 was attached to a crude rope-ladder. 
 
 She smiled as she thought how old the scheme was 
 and how often it had been used by lovers in the 
 centuries long gone by. 
 
 The sound of voices from below caught her ear 
 and arrested her attention. She looked out and 
 saw two figures standing in the shadow of the spread- 
 ing Manitoba Maple whose branches reached to 
 within a few yards of the window. She could see at 
 a glance that the two were her cousin and her 
 cousin's sweetheart. 
 
 Lizbeth was clinging round Crawford's neck and 
 172
 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 173 
 
 straining her face to his. Her voice was raised in 
 anxious entreaty. 
 
 "You mustn't go, Bob," she pleaded. "It isn't 
 right it isn't fair to leave me here now." 
 
 "Then why won't you come with me ?" he replied. 
 "I have asked you until I am sick of asking. You 
 won't let me speak to the old man not that speak- 
 ing would make any impression on him. You tell me 
 I've got to make a home for you first. I can't do that 
 decently here, so what else can I do. I've got to 
 go. You know that as well as I do. I'm too well 
 known here to run a bluff the way so many strangers 
 can do. 
 
 "I'm no damned good in this Valley. I've tried it 
 for a good number of years now and I give it up. 
 I've got to get out to some place where nobody 
 knows me ; I've got to cut old acquaintances and old 
 boozing habits. See here, Liz ! you've got to be 
 reasonable about this. For God's sake! don't kill 
 the only little bit of good there is in me. If I stay 
 here I'll never get any better. Too many would-be 
 good sports around here! If I stay here I won't 
 be able to have you; for to have you I've simply 
 got to save. Oh, I know ! Now this kind of a dog- 
 in-the-manger life we've been living can't go on. If 
 I go away, I'm going for you. You know that. 
 There ain't anybody else I would go for. Do you 
 hear, Liz, for you, for you and for " 
 
 Lizbeth quickly clamped her hand over his mouth.
 
 174 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Shut up !" she exclaimed fiercely. "Don't be a 
 fool even if there isn't anybody about." 
 
 "It will be only for a year or two, Liz," he went 
 on, ignoring her interruption. "Then I'll send for 
 you and you can come after me. It'll be a fine life 
 there, and we are both suited for it. I was brought 
 up on a sheep farm in Oregon. You know something 
 of stock-raising. They tell me it's a great country 
 over there in Australia; that it can't be beat for 
 sheep raising. My uncle there is willing to show me 
 the ropes, and later, start me in on my own. It's the 
 chance of a life-time. God, Liz! it's my only 
 chance our only chance. I'm not going to miss it. 
 Understand me, Liz it's got to be." 
 
 His force and power held Lizbeth for a while. 
 
 "Oh, Bob," she cried tremulously, "you know I 
 love you. You can make me agree to almost any- 
 thing. But I don't feel so keenly on this as you do. 
 Maybe what you say is true but I like the Valley 
 here. Maybe it is a wonderful country but you are 
 going away from here and I have to remain and do 
 the weary waiting. Two years is a long time. One 
 year is a long time. Too long! Anything might 
 happen." 
 
 Her emotion carried her away and her passion 
 blazed out again hysterically as she pushed him from 
 her. 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Bob if you go away there, 
 bad is going to come of it. I know it as surely as
 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 175 
 
 I know you. You have no right to leave me. You 
 would not do it if you really cared for me. Oh, 
 I know you. YouVe been the same since the first 
 time I heard your name mentioned. The woman you 
 are with is the only woman for you for a time, till 
 you get tired of her. Then, she is like all the 
 others, and, if you can't slip out of it with a fair 
 front, you slink away by the back door. But I 
 won't keep you back. You can go. When you do 
 go stay. That's all!" 
 
 Crawford caught her by the shoulders almost 
 angrily. His face was tense and close to hers. 
 
 "Good God! Liz, do you know what you are 
 saying. You're crazy-mad, stark mad. I ain't like 
 that not now. You know I ain't. But you keep 
 on driving at me and driving at me. I love you, Liz. 
 Love " he laughed bitterly, "Hell ! love ain't the 
 word; it ain't half strong enough. I used to love 
 you, but ever since the Roanstone Fair, two months 
 ago, I would roast in blazes for you and you know 
 it, too. You're mine. Liz mine; from the top of 
 your curls to your toes. And the good God help any 
 man that says you ain't, or tries to come between 
 
 us." 
 
 He caught her and crushed her to him with his 
 powerful arms, showering kisses on her face and her 
 hair, until she cried out in protest. She laid her 
 head on his shoulder at last and sighed contentedly, 
 with the purr of a satisfied kitten.
 
 176 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Bob I know you love me and that no one will 
 ever love me better. I'll wait for you only, you 
 must not keep me waiting too long." 
 
 What a chance, thought Kathie, as she turned 
 away from the window, for a good woman with a 
 man who could love like that. It was the love of 
 the savage ; the love that would kill whatever came 
 between, and glory in the killing; the love that would 
 become criminal and would rot in prison at the com- 
 mand of the beloved ; and, better still, the love that 
 would strive and achieve, and rise to immeasurable 
 heights, all at the call of a woman. 
 
 A few moments later, Lizbeth climbed over the 
 sill, released the ropes and cast them free, closing 
 the window softly. Kathie was already abed. Liz- 
 beth threw herself into a chair and sobbed in utter 
 dejection. 
 
 Kathie rose again to comfort her. 
 
 "What is the matter, Lizbeth?" she asked kind- 
 ly. "You must not cry like that. Come to bed! 
 It will be all right." 
 
 "Oh, no it won't," said Lizbeth bitterly. "He is 
 going away on Saturday and I won't see him again 
 I know I won't." 
 
 "Yes! I heard him tell you," answered Kathie 
 quietly and innocently. "Your voices awakened me." 
 
 Lizbeth sat up at once. 
 
 "Say! You haven't been spying on us?"
 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 177 
 
 "No! not a bit of it. I could not help hear- 
 mg." 
 
 "You heard him saying he was going away. Well I 
 what else did you hear?'* 
 
 "Nothing only that; and that he loved you, Liz- 
 beth, nothing more. If I had, and it was not in- 
 tended that I should know it, I would have made it 
 my duty to have forgotten it by this time." 
 
 "You're a pretty deep one, you are, Kathie. 
 There's no knowing just what you know. But I 
 don't mind you, for you know how to keep your 
 mouth shut. That's one good thing about you any- 
 way. 
 
 "When Bob Crawford is here beside me, I love 
 him every woman does every woman but you. 
 You're too smart for his kind. But, when he's 
 away, I hate him like poison." 
 
 "All the same, there's something good in Craw- 
 ford," remarked Kathie, "and a good woman could 
 make a good man of him." 
 
 "That's as good as saying I'm not good," was 
 Lizbeth's quick retort. "All right! you have a go 
 at him and we'll see what kind of a job you make. 
 I'm through with him. As sure as he goes away 
 from here, he sees the last of me. There are other 
 men beside Bob Crawford better men, too. The 
 quicker he understands that the better for him. 
 
 "Maybe it is as well that he is leaving the Coun- 
 try. I had a letter yesterday from young Tom
 
 178 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Menteith. You don't know him. He's been on his 
 father's tea plantation in Ceylon since he left school, 
 but he's in Winnipeg now and is coming home next 
 week. Tom and I used to play at being sweethearts. 
 He liked me then maybe he'll like me now. We'll 
 96t* 
 
 She sat for a while, carried away by her new 
 train of thought, then she sprang to her feet, throw- 
 ing her arms in the air with a despairing cry. 
 
 "Oh, I hate you, Crawford. I hate you as I hate 
 the devil himself. Would to God I had never seen 
 your face." 
 
 She threw herself on her knees at the bedside, 
 burying her face in the sheets and sobbing as if her 
 
 heart would break. 
 
 ****** 
 
 And thus it was; when Crawford went away to 
 make a place on an Australian sheep-farm for Liz- 
 beth Jackson, Tom Menteith returned to his old 
 home after a long sojourn abroad in the interests 
 of his father's business. 
 
 Tom Menteith drove to the church at Vernock 
 with his old father, behind a pair of prancing greys. 
 He looked about him for familiar faces and he saw 
 one, like the face of the older sister of one he. had 
 once known. The bloom on the ripening cheek, the 
 large languorous eyes with the long, drooping eye- 
 lashes, the blood-red lips and the perfectly formed 
 bosom these were the sermon he listened to that
 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 179 
 
 morning; and the impressions that that sermon left 
 were deeper and more refreshing to him than any 
 he had ever before listened to, making him wish that 
 every day were Sunday and that every hour were 
 the hour of worship. 
 
 When the service was over, he drove back from 
 church in Lizbeth's buggy. In the quiet of that Sun- 
 day evening, he dropped in to shake hands with the 
 oldest neighbouring rancher and he stayed for tea 
 just for old acquaintance's sake. 
 
 Next day, a new man was working on Jackson's 
 Ranch, and Lizbeth was temporarily relieved of all 
 her farm duties. 
 
 The last link was being forged, and many were 
 the eventualities which depended on that last link's 
 ability to hold the entire Thain together. 
 
 Tom Menteith called for Lizbeth early in the 
 afternoon and took her driving. He feasted his 
 eyes on her fresh beauty. He gloried in her small- 
 talk. He smiled at her gossip and laughed at the 
 caricatures she drew of old, known faces. 
 
 She accelerated the sluggish flow of his sun-boiled 
 blood and roused him to his best just as she used 
 to do, years before, when she taunted him to take 
 the fences as high as his pony, showing him the way 
 herself and laughing him to ridicule and emulation. 
 
 By an accident during that little journey, her hand 
 touched his. And it set the spark. The contact 
 thrilled him like wine of some rare vintage. He
 
 i8o The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 longed for the touch again, and when it did not 
 come, manlike, he longed the more. 
 
 How temptingly her hand lay on her lap! too 
 near to be resisted. He placed his own over hers 
 and toyed with her fingers for the briefest of sweet- 
 est moments. She withdrew her hand from his and 
 looked away to the uplands. He begged forgive- 
 ness, but she did not speak again not until they 
 were nearing home. Then she granted him full par- 
 don for his daring, bestowing on him a smile of 
 tenderness which remained with him long after she 
 had gone indoors. 
 
 And he liked her the more for her reserve, for he 
 felt then that she was no light-o'-love to be wooed 
 by a glance and won by a stolen kiss. 
 
 Next forenoon he called for her once more. But 
 she had gone off early in the morning on a visit 
 to a friend somewhere on the other side of Ver- 
 nock. He departed with a careless laugh, and spent 
 the remainder of the day in irritability and gloom. 
 
 A note, delivered by a ranch-hand, awaited Liz- 
 beth's return. She read it, and kissed it, and placed 
 it in her bosom. 
 
 The anger of her father at the apparent slight she 
 had given to young Menteith, when she must have 
 known he would call, frothed and bubbled over. 
 
 "Are you going to let this chance slip by like a 
 fool?" he asked, "when you know you'll never get 
 another like it. Tom Menteith is the man, and the
 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 181 
 
 only man at that, who can twist the old man round 
 his little finger. He's a man who can make you a 
 lady and who can lift the burden from your old 
 father's shoulders with a snap of his thumb and 
 finger." 
 
 "Now, dad, if you want things to run smoothly 
 just leave me alone and mind your own affairs," Liz- 
 beth replied. 
 
 "Yes, yes, lass!" he went on in ruffled excitement. 
 "But I sold the stallion a month ago you know 
 that. I sold six of my best milkers yesterday. One 
 thing after another is going and will have to go if 
 matters don't mend. There's a threat from the 
 makers of the new reaper that they will take it back 
 if the payments are not kept up. They're talking of 
 closing me out of the ranch because I am away be- 
 hind. There are debts as high as the Court House. 
 It can't last but a few months more. For God's 
 sake, Lizbeth, don't fail me this time. I've done my 
 best by you and I am at my wits' end and at the end 
 of my resources." 
 
 "Well, then, leave me alone," she retorted. 
 "What do you know about managing a lover? 
 Can't you see I love Tom Menteith so much that it 
 takes all that is in me to make him believe that I 
 don't? Do you think I wanted to be away from 
 him to-day? I did it only to make him the more 
 keen. He'll be here again, more anxious than ever. 
 Leave me alone. Leave him to me, and whatever
 
 182 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 I do I do with my head screwed on and my eyes 
 wide open? Don't you forget it. Give me credit 
 for being a little more than an idiot. 
 
 "But there is one thing you can do. Keep Kathie 
 hard at work and out of the way, for if Tom Men- 
 teith sees her he may be like others and transfer his 
 fancy. That would be the end of Jackson's Ranch 
 and everything else connected with it. But, if that 
 ever happens," she added bitterly, "I'll mark her, 
 so that she'll never attract another." 
 
 Lizbeth went up to her room, leaving her father 
 scratching his head in perplexity, as many another 
 man had done before him at the ways of women. 
 
 But Colin Jackson did not interfere again. He 
 saw that, with all his astuteness, his daughter was 
 more than his equal and was perfectly able to con- 
 duct her own love affairs without any outside aid. 
 
 When next young Menteith called, he was astride 
 a sprightly mare and he held the reins of Jess as he 
 waited for Lizbeth. He sprang down to meet her; 
 he helped her into the saddle, mounted again, and 
 they cantered gaily away. On their way back, they 
 tethered their horses on the outer fringe of the 
 wood. He assisted her over the stile. As she 
 jumped down, her wayward curls brushed his cheek. 
 He caught the sweetness of her breath and the lin- 
 gering perfume from her hair. 
 
 That was the day he tied the string of her shoe : 
 the day he pressed her hand against his lips : the day
 
 Off With the Old, On With the New 183 
 
 she ran from him and he followed far into the deep- 
 est shade of the firs: when he caught up with her, 
 panting, her eyes wide and her bosom straining tight 
 for greater freedom, her ivory-like teeth gleaming 
 round a gurgling laugh: the day he called on his 
 God and caught her in his arms, unresisting, against 
 his breast, with his lips on hers, her breath min- 
 gling with his, and the green world whirling dizzily 
 around both of them.
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 The Vow 
 
 LIZBETH came in by the open doorway, her 
 face aglow with the enjoyment of her home- 
 ward gallop. She threw her riding switch into a 
 corner, sat down with a sigh of relief and started to 
 peel off Jier gloves. 
 
 "Where's mother?" she asked. 
 
 Her father looked up from the papers which lay 
 spread before him on the table. 
 
 "You're getting out of touch with the work around 
 here. This is washing day, Lizbeth, and your 
 mother is in the basement among the wash-tubs." 
 
 "That means she won't be up here for a bit," re- 
 marked Lizbeth. 
 
 "That's exactly what it means, lass." 
 
 "Dad, Tom Menteith has asked me to marry 
 him." 
 
 Colin Jackson jumped up, scattering his papers 
 and over-turning his chair in his excitement. 
 
 "Eh I has he? Thank the Lord for that!" he 
 cried, going over to his daughter and catching hold 
 of her hands. "Eh, Lizbeth, but you're a lass. I 
 knew you could make it. I knew it from the start. 
 
 184
 
 The Vow 185 
 
 "Tell your old father all about it. When is it 
 going to be, and where, and everything else? This 
 is the best news I've heard for years. Say I but it'll 
 create a stir among our neighbours. Colin Jackson's 
 daughter a lady 1 Think of it I 
 
 "Let me look into that bonny face of yours. Yes I 
 it's just perfect. He couldn't help but fall in love 
 with it. If I were a young man and eligible, I'd 
 want to marry you myself. Fine I knew when I 
 laid out the money on you that it was money well 
 spent. Lizbeth, you're the best paying investment 
 I ever went into. 
 
 "Phew! but this is a relief though," he went on, 
 mopping his brow with his handkerchief. "I was 
 just wondering, when you came in, what new lies I 
 could invent to stall off these damned, persistent 
 creditors of mine. I can manage them now all right, 
 all right. It will be a cheery smile and open defi- 
 ance. You know, Lizbeth, it beats all how the 
 very men who would hound you to death at the 
 slightest show of the white feather, are ready to 
 cringe, and smirk, and apologise before a bold front. 
 I feel twenty years younger already, and you're the 
 lass that has worked the miracle." 
 
 Lizbeth watched him coldly for a time, almost 
 enjoying his exhibition of unconcealed delight. 
 
 "Gee! but you're running fast, dad," she ex- 
 claimed. "I just said he had asked me." 
 
 Colin Jackson looked at her. His brows wrinkled
 
 186 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 in perplexity, then they cleared again and he laughed 
 boisterously. 
 
 "It won't do, lass. You were always keen on a 
 bit of fun, but you can't fool your old father this 
 time. I see it in your face, and you're happy as a 
 jenny-wren in springtime." 
 
 She leaned back lazily on the arm of the couch. 
 
 "Guess I'm not fooling this time, dad. It is too 
 serious for fooling. I haven't accepted Tom Men- 
 teith." 
 
 "What?" gasped her father. "You haven't ac- 
 cepted him? Well, the idea! You had better go 
 right now and do it then. When did you become 
 so mighty particular? Have you gone crazy all at 
 once?" 
 
 He shook her roughly by the shoulder. 
 
 "Keep your hands off me," she ordered. "Go 
 and sit down!" 
 
 He stood for a second dumfounded, then he 
 obeyed her like a child. His nerves were more than 
 a little jangled and he was hardly in a fit condition 
 to stand very much discussion. "Don't keep me on 
 the nettles," he begged. "I'm not feeling too good. 
 But I fancy I see your reason, Lizbeth ; you haven't 
 accepted Menteith, but you haven't said, 'No!' 
 You're just thinking it over, the way the grand 
 dames do. Quite right, too! He'll know you are 
 not sitting waiting for him. 
 
 "But you'll take him all the same, Lizbeth ehl"
 
 The Vow 187 
 
 he went on rather anxiously. "You could tell him 
 to-morrow or maybe, to-night. 
 
 "Don't wait too long. He might change his 
 mind. Independent young customers like him do 
 that sometimes." 
 
 "I haven't said, 'Yes!' and I haven't said, 'No!' 
 But unless I have your help, dad, my answer to Tom 
 Menteith will be 'No I' It must be 'No !' Now do 
 you get me?" 
 
 The old man shook his head vaguely. 
 
 "There's no 'getting' you, Lizbeth. I've tried 
 that for twenty years, but I've never managed it 
 yet." 
 
 Lizbeth's face grew suddenly pale. Her bosom 
 was aflutter in suppressed excitement, and her eyes 
 glistened with unshed tears. She went over to her 
 father, caught hold of his arm and whispered a few 
 words into his ear. 
 
 "Guess that's speaking plain enough," she ex- 
 claimed. "Tell me now what am I to do? I 
 want Tom. I don't want to give him up." 
 
 Colin Jackson furrowed his brows again. But 
 he did not appear altogether displeased at what he 
 had heard. 
 
 "And why should you give him up ? Eh, Lizbeth ! 
 but you're a sly lass to trap your hare and then to 
 tie it up in case it might run away. All the same, 
 it's taking big chances. It isn't safe taking chances 
 now-a-days with the,se young gentry. But don't
 
 i88 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 fret about it, lass," he went on, with a wave of his 
 hand as if dismissing care forever. "It's past now, 
 and it'll be all right. He's different from other 
 fellows. He's as straight a lad as ever trod shoe- 
 leather. The very fact that he asked you to marry 
 him proves that. 
 
 "Lizbeth take an old man's advice," he contin- 
 ued, patting her on the shoulder, "give him your an- 
 swer at once and get married as soon as you can. 
 The sooner the better for all concerned ! Then you 
 two can go somewhere on a good long holiday, and 
 nobody will be any the wiser. Then you can come 
 back and snap your fingers at the whole community." 
 
 "Oh, for goodness sake I Stop your raving or 
 you'll drive me silly," groaned Lizbeth, rising and 
 walking across the room in her excitement. "You 
 men are all alike dull as dust. Do you think I 
 would hold back a minute if I could lay this at Tom 
 Menteith's door? He's not to blame. Can't your 
 slow brain guess that Crawford is the responsible 
 party, Crawford, he and no other? And he is 
 in Australia, safe away from all trouble, damn 
 him I" she panted between her teeth. 
 
 She stood clutching the edge of the table and 
 watching her father, who seemed to have shrivelled 
 in his seat, the personification of stupid despair. He 
 did not speak. Only gradually did the poignancy of 
 the real situation break through his befogged mind. 
 
 "That's right 1" sneered Lizbeth. "Sit there and
 
 The Vow 189 
 
 nurse your anger. Why don't you say something? 
 Why don't you do something? Anything would be 
 better than that. Do you think I am made of granite 
 and can stand anything everything? I know it's 
 a muddle, a muddle from beginning to end it's all 
 a muddle, and I wish to God I were dead or a 
 thousand miles away. But it's too late now for wish- 
 ing. You bet it is. And we've just got to put it 
 through see ! I've been planning and scheming to 
 find a way. You're a man. Why don't you wake 
 up and say you'll help me? Have I ever failed yet? 
 Do you think I'm going to fail now? No, siree! 
 But you've got to help me. Do you hear? You've 
 got to rouse yourself and help me." 
 
 Lizbeth's talk sounded hysterical, but, neverthe- 
 less, a vigorous, virile fire was running behind it and 
 lending it life. 
 
 "Don't say another word to me, you shameless 
 hussy," groaned her father, his head between his 
 hands. "To think that a daughter of mine would 
 land herself in a muddle like this with the chance 
 you had, too. The richest and handsomest man in 
 the Okanagan ! And lost, lost, all over that drunken, 
 blackguardly, ne'er-do-well. Oh, to think of it just 
 to think of it!" 
 
 He sprang to his feet suddenly in uncontrolled 
 irritation. 
 
 "So this is the end is it?" he stormed. "I 
 ruined, the ranch let over our heads, you disgraced,
 
 190 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 and all of us hounded out of the district, or remain- 
 ing in it to be sneered and jeered at by every com- 
 mon-ordinary about the place and all by the do- 
 ings of that sneaking, gambling thief." 
 
 He raised his fists over Lizbeth's head in a burst 
 of passion. "Get out of my sight," he fumed, "get 
 out before I strike you where you stand." 
 
 Lizbeth did not flinch under his anger. She re- 
 turned his glare for a moment, then she laughed 
 in his face contemptuously. 
 
 "Go on!" she cried, "and in another minute I'll 
 take you at your word. Guess maybe you think I'm 
 not sick of it sick and tired of it and ready to 
 throw it up for two pins? If you do, change your 
 mind. 
 
 "I have a plan that can fix all this a plan to 
 marry Tom Menteith and so pay off every dollar 
 you owe but another threat from you and you'll 
 never set eyes on me again. Crawford is not likely 
 to come back here, but there's nothing to prevent me 
 going to Crawford. He wants me. He's ready to 
 welcome me with both arms. I don't want to go 
 unless I have to. You know that as well as I do. 
 I prefer to be with Tom Menteith. Life with Tom 
 would be easier for me a deal easier. 
 
 "Are you going to help me with my plans? Yes 
 or No is what I want from you. For months I have 
 been lying awake at nights scheming and plotting. 
 Do you think I have been doing this for no end?
 
 The Vow 191 
 
 Not if I know it I Listen to me I I've already prom- 
 ised to marry Tom Menteith. He wishes me to be 
 ready to go out to him to Ceylon in six months' 
 time. He would leave here sometime before me 
 in order to get a house built for us to his liking and 
 to prepare for my coming. He's got to wait ten 
 months. He'll be none the worse for the waiting. 
 All the same a careless word would frighten him 
 away like a scampering squirrel. He mustn't hear 
 the slightest whisper of my connection with this 
 business. 
 
 "Now here's the plan, and you'd better agree 
 to it, for it's your last chance: You've got to get 
 someone else at once to take Kathie's place in the 
 dairy, then you must send her and me away without 
 delay to some quiet place on the coast, up from 
 Vancouver a-ways. The farther away you send 
 us the better. When it is all over we can come back 
 again. Kathie can play nurse. That will leave me 
 free. Savvy?" 
 
 Her father looked at her stupidly. 
 
 "Do you think young Menteith will have you with 
 another man's youngster tagging at your heels?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No, I'm not so foolish as to think that. And 
 that's where you come in. Can't you see that when 
 we're away Tom will be inquiring for me. You 
 must tell him that I have gone to nurse Kathie and 
 that he must not go for good until I return. Oh,
 
 192 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 I'll blaze the trail before I go. I know where I 
 stand with him. I have him where I want him and 
 you needn't be scared that he won't wait. 
 
 "You've got to get Kathie to agree to act as 
 nurse to the child, and if necessary get her to swear 
 that she will not mention to a living soul who its 
 father and mother are until until I am safely mar- 
 ried away in Ceylon, or until you give her permis- 
 sion. How you are going to manage her is your 
 affair. But it has to be done. Tell her of the ruin 
 that is hanging over us. Impress it upon her as a 
 duty. Let her know what it will mean if she doesn't 
 help out now. Tell her anything. Promise her 
 anything. Coax her; threaten her; only get her 
 into it. After she's in, it'll be easy to keep her 
 there. 
 
 "It is a simple matter to get gossip going. A 
 word here and there is all that is necessary. There 
 are lots of women, and men too, in this Valley just 
 gasping to carry a tale, especially if there's a flavour 
 to it. And why, I should like to know, couldn't it 
 be she as well as I? 
 
 "Now, dad this is all for yourself, remember. 
 You are not doing it for me. And, if you fail with 
 Kathie, I shall still be free, for I'll beat it to Craw- 
 ford." 
 
 "My God, Lizbeth I believe you are in league 
 with the devil. I can't do this I won't do it. 
 Kathie is only a child herself and a better one
 
 The Vow 193 
 
 than ever you have been. I would sooner let every- 
 thing go," he answered with a spark of his old 
 determination. 
 
 "All right, dad I That ends it. I'm going to 
 Australia on Saturday's boat sailing from Van- 
 
 couver." 
 
 Colin Jackson immediately began to relent. 
 "Wait a bit, Lizbeth wait a bit. Give an old 
 man time to think. You go along too fast for 
 
 me." 
 
 "Oh, I have no patience with you. Haven't I 
 told you that it need only be for a time. After I 
 am safely married, Tom will do as I want. 
 
 "Now, think of yourself for a moment. Think 
 what my marriage with Tom will mean to you: 
 freedom from debt, freedom from worry; inde- 
 pendence. And for me it will mean Tom Men- 
 teith and respectability, instead of nobody and dis- 
 grace," she contended cunningly. 
 
 "No!" he complained. "A secret like that is 
 sure to come out somehow. Some busybody will 
 get wind of it. Kathie might tell it herself. She 
 might run off at my first suggestion of it." 
 
 "Oh, no she won't! Not if you go about it in 
 the right way. Only tell her what will be good for 
 her to know. And later on, if it should so happen 
 that I am unable to persuade Tom to take the child 
 under his protection what would there be to pre- 
 vent Kathie keeping it as if it were her own? She
 
 194 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 has no friends here to whom she could go ; and you 
 know as well as I do that she will do anything under 
 the sun if she thinks it is a duty. And after all, 
 she's nothing to us. Can't you see how this would 
 all work out to your advantage? Simpson would 
 have nothing more to do with her. No one else 
 would want her to work for him. You would have 
 a good, cheap servant on the ranch as long as she 
 lived. It takes a man, dad, to be blind to his own 
 interests." 
 
 Jackson stopped his impatient walking across the 
 floor and Lizbeth read from his face that she had 
 gained the victory. She exulted inwardly. Her 
 father looked into her eyes. 
 
 "You she-devil," he cried, half in passion and 
 half in admiration, "to think that I could have 
 fathered your like 1 I'm going to try this though 
 and if I fail blame yourself. Yes, I'll try it. It's 
 for me and mine, and I and mine come first." 
 
 Lizbeth laughed, but it was a laugh of relief 
 more than of merriment. 
 
 "I am going upstairs now," she said. "Kathie 
 should be in soon. You and she will be better alone 
 for a while." 
 
 Her skirts had hardly disappeared round the turn 
 of the stairway when Kathie stepped in, humming 
 good-naturedly and bringing with her the sugges- 
 tion of rich cream, new butter and young clover. 
 Her eyes were radiant and she portrayed the pliant
 
 The Vow 195 
 
 embodiment of health as she raised her shapely, 
 bared arm to her head in an endeavour to gather 
 up the rebellious strands of her hair, scented and 
 blown awry by the warm, fragrant breeze of that 
 midsummer's day. 
 
 She filled the kettle, cleared aside her uncle's 
 papers and spread the table cloth for the evening 
 meal, for she knew her aunt would be worn out 
 after her hard day over the wash tub; and Wong, 
 the Chinaman, was off burying one of his numerous 
 cousins. 
 
 Colin Jackson watched her narrowly, admiring 1 
 the quiet deftness with which she went about her 
 work and almost sorrowing that such a splendid 
 creature would have to be sacrificed on his family 
 altar. Sentiment, however, was an emotion some- 
 what foreign to Jackson and he dismissed it sum- 
 marily. 
 
 "Kathie!" 
 
 "Yes, uncle I" 
 
 "Come and sit down beside me for a minute. I 
 have something of importance to tell you." 
 
 Kathie obeyed, looking into her uncle's face in 
 perfect frankness. 
 
 "Things have been in a pretty bad way here, 
 Kathie, and they don't seem to be mending any. I 
 am pressed on every side by debt and I don't know 
 where next to turn. I sold the Percheron stallion
 
 196 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 some time ago and since that I have sold a number 
 of the cows." 
 
 "Yes, uncle I know, and I am very, very sorry. 
 We girls arc poor helpless things at that part of 
 ranch work. It must be the most harassing of all 
 to do the financing. I only wish I could help you. 
 If I can do anything by getting up earlier in the 
 morning I shall gladly do it, for you are my uncle 
 and my nearest living relative. You gave me a 
 home when I had nowhere to go. I have grown 
 strong and healthy since I came out here. I can 
 never forget these things. 
 
 "Lately I have noticed your hair turning grey. I 
 have watched the wrinkles gather in your face and 
 the alert look fade from your eyes, and I have wor- 
 ried at these signs. Unfortunately, I am a girl and 
 I can do only a very little to help in such a dilemma." 
 
 She put her hand over his, and her sympathy 
 awoke within him a mighty surge of self-pity which 
 filled and almost overwhelmed him. 
 
 "You are right, Kathie. As long as I can remem- 
 ber, I have always been the willing horse that bore 
 the load. I have had to bear the burden of others, 
 too. But it cannot be much longer now," he sighed. 
 "In a few months we shall be auctioned off, bag and 
 baggage, out of house and home. You shall have 
 to go your way then, lass, and we shall have to go 
 ours. For me, it will be down the hill and under, 
 for I am too old now to start over again."
 
 The Vow 197 
 
 He dropped his head on his chest. 
 
 "I didn't think it would come to this after all 
 these years of hard work both here and in the 
 Old Land," he added. "I didn't deserve it." 
 
 Tears welled in Kathie's eyes. 
 
 "Oh ! I wish I could help you, uncle. Is there any- 
 thing that can be done? Surely surely there is 
 some way?" 
 
 Her uncle looked up. 
 
 "Kathie, would you help me if you thought by so 
 doing it would put everything right?" 
 
 "Would I? Would I? Oh, uncle," she answered 
 sincerely, "you know that I would. I would do 
 anything everything that I possibly could do. 
 But I don't know how. If you do tell me." 
 
 "It is surprising what a girl of your good sense 
 can do. There is one way out, but I shall never 
 find it without your aid." 
 
 "Tell me the way, then," she cried enthusiastically, 
 "and I'll do it if I die." 
 
 "Well first and foremost, young Tom Men- 
 teith wants to marry Lizbeth. When he does marry 
 her, all our troubles will be over, for Lizbeth has 
 promised to see them right and so has he," he 
 added as an afterthought. 
 
 Kathie sat in silence, wondering where her as- 
 sistance was to be required. 
 
 "Unfortunately, Lizbeth and he have been a bit
 
 198 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 too fond of each other," he went on slyly, "and the 
 result is, Lizbeth is in trouble." 
 
 Kathie's face paled and her eyes grew large. 
 
 "I always thought that Mr. Menteith was a gen- 
 tleman," she said simply. 
 
 "Tuts! and so he is one of the best. But he 
 is young and just a little bit rash at times. And, of 
 course, he isn't altogether to blame. Lizbeth is as 
 much at fault as he is. It has just been a little bit 
 of foolishness on the part of both. It is a great 
 pity, all the same," pursued her uncle, wagging his 
 head. "Old David Menteith would be in a great 
 way about it if he knew. Tom has got his father 
 to agree to their marriage, but this new phase would 
 certainly be the means of putting an end to it. Tom 
 feels that his father must be kept in the dark re- 
 garding their their impetuosity, until after they 
 are nicely settled down in Ceylon. Then, of course, 
 Menteith senior can fret and fume as much as he 
 likes it won't make any difference. 
 
 "Now, Kathie you have promised to help us. 
 It is only a little thing we want you to do, but it 
 means a great deal to us. I was thinking of sending 
 you and Lizbeth to some quiet little town or settle- 
 ment up the Coast from Vancouver. You could look 
 after Lizbeth and nurse her. It would be a grand 
 change for both of you. 
 
 "Then we were thinking that when you came 
 back you could take charge of the baby, just until
 
 The Vow 199 
 
 Lizbeth and Tom are away and married. It could 
 follow them later in charge of a competent nurse. 
 
 "I'll get someone else to do the dairy work and 
 you will be free to give it all your attention. Do 
 you see the idea?" 
 
 "Yes, uncle, I see it, but, but I can't say I like 
 it at all," said Kathie. "It seems so mean and so 
 deceitful to that straight, high-minded, honourable 
 old gentleman, not to tell him. Why does not Tom 
 Menteith be a man, make a clean breast of it now 
 and save a hundred heart-burnings later on?" 
 
 "It wouldn't do at all," declared her uncle with 
 emphasis. "You must give us credit for having 
 thought of all that already. You know the repu- 
 tation David Menteith has and the stand he takes in 
 all matters of this kind. You know how unforgiving 
 he can be. All he would do would be to bundle Tom 
 off right away to Ceylon, and settle some small al- 
 lowance on Lizbeth. And what good, think you, 
 would that do us? There's Lizbeth to think of, 
 there's the poor innocent child to think of. It would 
 be nameless to the end of its days. 
 
 "When they are married, the old fellow cannot 
 play any such tricks. He will have to come to the 
 mark and be forgiving and generous. They all do 
 it finally. They have to, to save their name." 
 
 "Oh you must not think I do not want to help, 
 uncle," she interposed, clutching her fingers nervous- 
 ly, "but there seem to be so many different outlets
 
 200 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 to this thing, and I do hate the very thought of it. 
 Would it not be better and cheaper to give the child 
 out to someone else to nurse? There are lots of 
 kindly, motherly women in Vernock who would be 
 glad of the chance to earn a little. And I am sure 
 I can be of far more use to you in the dairy and 
 around the ranch, especially if Lizbeth is not to be 
 helping any more and is going away soon." 
 
 "Kathie you seem to understand neither your 
 own sex nor the gentry. If you were a mother, 
 would you like your child to be sleeping under a 
 strange roof at nights? Do you think young Men- 
 teith would allow it to be farmed out where there 
 would be the slightest chance of anything going 
 wrong? It has to be properly nursed and well 
 looked after in every way, and in the safekeeping 
 of relatives. That can only be done here. We 
 cannot take any neighbours into our confidence be- 
 cause it would set up a nest of gossip. The fewer 
 people who get their eyes on the babe, the better for 
 our plans. 
 
 "Now, Kathie, are you or are you not going to 
 take on this simple little duty? It is not a question 
 for argument? If you are not, it means the end 
 of everything for us." 
 
 "Oh, don't put it that way, uncle," she interposed 
 in deep concern. "You know I'll do it. I promised 
 to do anything I could. I'll do this, much as I dis- 
 like it."
 
 The Vow 201 
 
 "There, there, girlie, I knew you would," he 
 said, patting her on the shoulder, surprised and de- 
 lighted at the slight opposition he had experienced 
 to his proposals. "It is only a little thing I am ask- 
 ing of you, but you are the only one who can do it 
 properly. Besides, it is Tom Menteith's express de- 
 sire that you should do this for him, although he is 
 not likely, personally, ever to mention this to you 
 in any way. 
 
 "But, mind you, it is a serious business and the 
 slightest word or suggestion from you would utterly 
 ruin everything. You must not open your mouth 
 about it not to your dearest friend." 
 
 He let the words sink in, as Kathie busied herself 
 about the kitchen. 
 
 "Kathie, you might bring me that book that is 
 lying at the back of the dresser," he said, breaking 
 the silence suddenly. 
 
 "Which one," she asked, "the ready-reckoner?" 
 
 "No ! The one below it the Bible." 
 
 Kathie brought the Book to him with a look of 
 surprise. As he took it from her he held her hand 
 on it with both his own, looking at her in a man- 
 ner that was intended to be reassuring. 
 
 "You must not think that I mistrust you, my dear, 
 but we've got to be so careful. I have let you into 
 a great secret, so I wish you to swear that you will 
 keep it a secret. It is just a kind of form, but it 
 helps to impress the memory."
 
 202 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Kathie shrank away. 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" she cried hurriedly, "not that." 
 
 "Don't be silly, woman," retorted her uncle, 
 smiling grimly. "Lizbeth and I have done it, so 
 surely you can." 
 
 It was a brazen lie, but it carried the additional 
 weight he had intended it should. 
 
 "Oh, please don't ask me to swear on the Bible. 
 I have never done that and it seems so much like 
 a sacrilege. Surely you can take my word for it?" 
 she pleaded. "I have always kept my word without 
 force and I give it now to you, without reserve." 
 
 "I don't doubt you a bit, Kathie, but temptations 
 come sometimes to all of us and, anyway, if you are 
 so sure about keeping your word, you needn't be 
 afraid that harm will come to you by swearing to 
 it. It is only those who are not sure of themselves 
 who are alarmed at an oath. Why, it is done every 
 day in the Courthouse, and it is a grand thing, too 
 one of the sensible things a Bible can be used for." 
 
 Kathie's resistance crumbled away. After all, it 
 did not really make very much difference to her. A 
 promise was a promise, whether given lightly or on 
 oath. 
 
 "Hurry, then please," she protested, "and let 
 me back into the open air for a few minutes." 
 
 "Don't be nervous, Kathie. It is only a trifle. 
 You are a good lass, and your uncle won't forget it 
 either."
 
 The Vow 203 
 
 Jackson was more than elated at the success of 
 his eleventh hour scheme, Into which he now entered 
 heart and soul. 
 
 "Just put your hand on the Book again, and re- 
 peat after me," he said solemnly, imitating, as well 
 
 as he knew how, the Court Official whom he had 
 
 t 
 
 heard on more than one occasion. 
 
 "I swear that until I am released from this vow 
 by my uncle Colin Jackson or until my cousin, 
 Elizabeth Jackson is married I will not divulge to 
 anyone what I know regarding the parentage of 
 Elizabeth's child. So help me, God." 
 
 Slowly and mechanically, as if heart weary, with 
 dry lips and staring eyes, Kathie repeated the 
 formula after her uncle; and when the last solemn 
 clause was ended she dropped into a chair and threw 
 her arms on the table before her, sobbing unre- 
 strained.
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 The Canker of Doubt 
 
 GOOD morning, Mr. Jackson! I should like 
 to speak with Elizabeth if she is disen- 
 gaged. I thought she and I might take a ride over 
 to Grange Ranch. I have some business to do there 
 for the dad and I hate to go alone when there is 
 the chance that Elizabeth might come with me," re- 
 marked young Menteith, accosting the rancher on 
 the Avenue leading from the house to the main 
 road. 
 
 "Morning, Mr. Tom. But I guess you'll have to 
 go alone to-day. We've had rather a trying time 
 here lately a bad business. Didn't Lizbeth men- 
 tion it to you?" 
 
 "Mention what, Mr. Jackson?" asked Tom Men- 
 teith, a little perplexed. 
 
 "Oh, I thought maybe she had said something to 
 you about it. But it being a delicate subject no 
 doubt she didn't like to approach it. 
 
 "You see, it's like this: there's a girl I have 
 working in the dairy you may have noticed her. 
 She's a far-out relative of mine. All her people 
 are dead. I brought her out from Ireland and made 
 
 204
 
 The Canker of Doubt 205 
 
 a home for her here. Well, you know how it always 
 goes when a man tries to do a good turn. She's gone 
 and got herself into trouble with some lad about the 
 district, and I have had to send her away until it's 
 all over." 
 
 "Well, well ! That's too bad," sympathised Men- 
 teith. "Now I come to think of it, Elizabeth did say 
 something or other about it, but I did not give it 
 much thought." 
 
 "Well, Tom, If I had had my way I would have 
 turned the baggage out neck and crop, but Lizbeth 
 has quite a fancy for the girl, besides being naturally 
 soft-hearted and generous ; so she would not hear of 
 such a thing. Instead, she insisted on going away 
 with the girl to the Coast and up to some quiet little 
 settlement where she could nurse her until it was all 
 over. It is going to be an expensive business for me, 
 Tom, but then I didn't feel like trying to crush out 
 the charitable feelings that seem always to be part 
 of my Lizbeth's very nature, so I just let her have 
 her way, knowing you would soon be taking her 
 away from me. She left with the girl on yesterday's 
 train. She gave me a note for you and she says that 
 when you read it you will know she is doing her 
 duty, and that you will be willing to wait patiently 
 for her for a few months. 
 
 "If you have time to come up to the house for a 
 few minutes, I'll let you have the letter." 
 
 Tom Menteith followed the rancher up the
 
 206 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Avenue and into the house. He did not seem very 
 well pleased at the sudden stoppage of the pleasant 
 times he had been having of late and he was in- 
 clined to blame his sweetheart for impetuosity and 
 lack of consideration for him; but, as he read Liz- 
 beth's letter through, his face cleared, he pressed 
 the paper to his lips and put it into his breast pocket. 
 
 "It is all right, Mr. Jackson," he said more cheer- 
 fully. "Liz is the dearest, most kind-hearted woman 
 in the world, and I'll wait as many years as she asks 
 months, if she says so only I hope she won't say 
 so. 
 
 "I have an invitation to Los Angeles and 'Frisco, 
 to spend the winter there with some old friends, 
 so I shall take advantage of it until Liz gets back. 
 Then I can shoot out to Ceylon and pave the way 
 for her. But I won't go until I see her again on 
 this side; we have so many things to talk over and 
 so many plans to make. I have no doubt the dad 
 will chafe at my delay in getting back to the planta- 
 tions, but he'll just have to chafe till I'm ready, or 
 go himself. It isn't every year that I get a holi- 
 day." 
 
 As young Menteith went down the road, Colin 
 Jackson rubbed his hands and chuckled. 
 
 "That girl of mine is a perfect genius," he solilo- 
 quised. "If she had been a man she would have 
 been another Napoleon. But it's maybe just as well 
 for me," he reflected, "that she's only a woman.
 
 The Canker of Doubt 207 
 
 "Well I guess it's about time now that I was 
 setting the news quietly around, here and there, 
 where it will have the best effect and the widest 
 circulation." 
 
 He told it casually to the ne'er-do-well son of a 
 neighbouring rancher. He mentioned it, in an off- 
 hand way, to the woman who kept the little candy 
 store at the corner of Orchard Street in Vernock. 
 
 The minister's wife missed Lizbeth from her usual 
 pew in church and called down one afternoon to in- 
 quire about it. Colin Jackson sent her off in a per- 
 fect buzz of excitement, tingling from head to heels 
 in the enjoyment of the tit-bit she had received 
 straight from the baker's oven, as it were, and 
 bursting to unburden herself upon the first member 
 of the Ladies' Guild whom she might happen to en- 
 counter. 
 
 And it was almost common property before it 
 reached the ears of him who was most concerned. 
 He had it thrown to him by his landlady when she 
 was serving the dinner on the afternoon of his usual 
 walk to meet Kathie down by the Lake. 
 
 "That's sure some business up there at the Ranch, 
 Mr. Simpson," she remarked by way of introduction, 
 adjusting her hair and clasping her hands in front 
 of her under her apron. 
 
 Alick Simpson looked up in mild inquiry. 
 
 "What! you didn't hear about it? For the Land 
 Sakes!" she commented. "One hardly knows what
 
 208 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 the world is coming to now-a-days, especially among 
 the young folks. You that's a school principal will 
 know that indeed you will. And to think that the 
 hussy would keep her head so high in the air and 
 never speak to a soul, as if she was a cut above the 
 rest of us. But it's just what I've always said." She 
 bent over the table confidentially. "The quiet ones 
 are always the worst, Mr. Simpson they are in- 
 deed. You bet they are. 
 
 "If you will take the advice of a woman up in 
 years, you will marry a cheery, free-and-easy 
 woman, for 'Still waters run deep,' Mr. Simpson. 
 You bet they do." 
 
 How long she would have rattled on in this strain 
 it is hard to tell, but Alick Simpson interrupted the 
 flow. 
 
 "You forget, Mrs. Halford, I am quite in the 
 dark as to what all this refers." 
 
 "Oh, didn't I tell you? I completely forgot. 
 You'll excuse me but it is such a disgrace to the 
 neighbourhood, and it's enough to make any respect- 
 able woman ashamed of her sex, let alone keep in 
 mind what she says and what she doesn't say, and 
 what she intends to say." 
 
 "I quite agree with you," put in the teacher drily. 
 
 "Well, well, Mr. Simpson it is that black- 
 haired, mealy-mouthed girl at Jackson's. She's been 
 carrying on with some of the young fellows and 
 they're expecting "
 
 The Canker of Doubt 209 
 
 The school teacher rose unsteadily from the table, 
 pale to the lips. He held up his hands before his 
 astonished landlady. 
 
 "Don't you dare finish that sentence," he com- 
 manded fiercely. "It is a lie a damned, slander- 
 ous lie." 
 
 Mrs. Halford gasped in astonishment and wrung 
 her hands. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Simpson, Mr. Simpson, I I am 
 sure I wouldn't have mentioned it at all only 
 only you seemed to encourage me to go on? 
 
 "All the same," she continued, a little belligerent- 
 ly, "there seems to be truth in it, for I got it from 
 Mrs. Gordon, my next door neighbour a very re- 
 spectable person and she got it from her milk- 
 man the day before yesterday." 
 
 Alick Simpson could not trust himself to speak. 
 He walked to the door and pointed downstairs with 
 no uncertain gesture. Mrs. Halford marched out, 
 indignant. 
 
 "Shown out of my own rooms, indeed! If that 
 doesn't beat all," she exclaimed, as the door closed 
 behind her and the handle turned sharply, throwing 
 the lock securely into the socket. 
 
 Simpson fancied that in closing the door on his 
 scandal-mongering landlady he had secured himself 
 against her gossip, but she left something with him 
 of which he could not rid himself so easily. 
 
 In a few minutes he hurried out, leaving his din-
 
 210 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 ner untouched. The fresh air and the sunshine, 
 however, brought with them a reaction. His mor- 
 bid thoughts took flight, and soon he was laughing 
 at his foolishness in having allowed such idle prat- 
 tlings to influence him in the slightest way in regard 
 to the pure, sweet girl who, some day, would be his 
 wife. 
 
 In fancy, but in all humbleness, he bent before her 
 and offered to her his deepest apologies. 
 
 He took out his watch. It still wanted an hour 
 and a half to the time of his appointed meeting 
 with Kathie. He went back to his rooms at Mrs. 
 Halford's and ate his dinner. He then dressed him- 
 self in his gayest attire, pinned a flower into his but- 
 ton-hole and strolled out leisurely, swinging his 
 cane and whistling "The Soldiers' Chorus," from 
 William Tell; much to the bewilderment of the 
 goodly Mrs. Halford, who was watching him covert- 
 ly from behind the drawn curtains. 
 
 He reached the quiet of the trees by the Lake, 
 and there he waited long and patiently. But Kathie 
 did not come. 
 
 Only once had she disappointed him before and 
 that was the time of her accident in the snow. 
 
 He tried to put away all thought of ill, but always 
 the question kept arising within him : why did she 
 not come? why did she not come? 
 
 An hour flew by, but still he walked forward and 
 backward, loth to leave without some sign: some
 
 The Canker of Doubt 21 1 
 
 word from her In explanation. Back again to him 
 came the gossip of the landlady. 
 
 "God!" he thought, "what if there be some truth 
 in it?" 
 
 The rush of the idea of such a terrible possibility 
 sent a stab through him which made him gasp. He 
 could hear distinctly the uneven beating of his throb- 
 bing heart, going faster and faster as it called up his 
 reserve forces to its aid, then gradually slowing 
 down again as his mind grasped at the hope that the 
 alarm was a false one leaving him limp, and cold, 
 and unsatisfied. 
 
 The gaunt skeleton was grinning in the dark cor- 
 ners of his brain cells. And this time all the ex- 
 hilaration of the sunshine and the open air were 
 unavailing to dispel it. He conjured up a thousand 
 forms and fancies from this one, prolific, spectral 
 thought; forms and fancies of which he would have 
 blushed to think only a few short hours before; 
 spuming, bastard conjectures which for the moment 
 crowded out all good, tore his idol from the pedes- 
 tal upon which he had placed her and shattered his 
 dreams. 
 
 He laughed again, but his laugh failed to ring 
 true. It was tainted with some of the poison which 
 was working silently and surely within him. 
 
 He looked at the old, weather-worn log, upon 
 which Kathie and he had so often sat together. He 
 beat his fist upon it until the skin peeled away from
 
 212 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 his knuckles. It was then that he saw the flash of a 
 scrap of white paper which seemed to have been 
 inserted into a crack under the broken bark. He 
 pulled it out. It was a note hastily scrawled and 
 containing only a few words, but words enough sure- 
 ly to recall a strong man to himself and to the 
 duty he owed to himself and to the woman he pro- 
 fessed to love. He read them over: 
 
 "Alick I have to go away. Bear with me yet 
 a little while. Kathie." 
 
 A mist came over his eyes. He threw himself on 
 the ground. He wrestled long with the evil thoughts 
 that had possessed him, and in the end he was vic- 
 torious. 
 
 He rose, taking the trail to the edge of the Lake, 
 then over the hill to the wood, through the grassy 
 pathway there, and straight on to the house of his 
 old friends at Broadacres. 
 
 The kindly, motherly old lady met him at the 
 door. 
 
 "Alick, my dear boy! Come right in. We have 
 missed you lately. Allan has been looking for you 
 every day and wondering where you have been hid- 
 ing yourself," she greeted warmly. "Allan is over 
 at Doctor Orr's just now, but you shall stay a while 
 with me." 
 
 She could read in Alick Simpson's face the effects 
 of internal conflict and her heart softened toward
 
 The Canker of Doubt 213 
 
 him, for she also had heard of his sorrow, and his 
 sorrow was hers as well. 
 
 "Poor boy!" she said, laying her hand lightly on 
 his. "We have all been badly hit by this awful news. 
 And you must feel it worst of any." 
 
 Alick looked at her in utter despair, as all the 
 ghosts and shadows with which he had fought on 
 the moor came back again and assailed him. 
 
 "Do you believe this thing too?" he asked slowly 
 and desperately. "If you believe it it must be 
 true." 
 
 He pulled the tiny scrap of paper from his vest 
 pocket, tore it into shreds and tossed the pieces into 
 the fire with the deliberation of a man who had made 
 a final decision. 
 
 "I am afraid, Alick, I cannot help myself. Wher- 
 ever I have turned and I have turned many ways 
 it is confirmed. It has been a heavy blow to me, 
 but heavier still to Allan, for he loved her as he 
 would have loved a daughter of his own. He could 
 talk with her by the hour and never weary. He 
 seemed to grow young again when she was in the 
 house, and he worshipped the very air she breathed. 
 He refuses to speak of this trouble, and he looks old- 
 er than ever before, these last few days. I doubt 
 if even now he really believes that she is anything 
 but pure, and sweet, and innocent, although it wor- 
 ries him greatly, and I think he would still maintain 
 that if there is any evil, it is not in her. Nor do I
 
 214 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 think he will condemn her until her own lips acknowl- 
 edge her guilt. 
 
 "I wish I had his faith. But, my boy, this is some- 
 thing that we women place high above all else, and 
 we cannot turn in love to one who has failed to pre- 
 serve her true womanliness. I cannot think how I 
 should ever be able to talk calmly with her again." 
 
 Alick listened nervously until she had concluded. 
 
 "Would to God," he cried, "that I had insisted 
 on our marriage when she was swaying in the bal- 
 ance. All this would have been prevented." 
 
 "No, no, Alick I But, in the light of what we 
 now know, rather thank your Maker that he con- 
 trolled your will and guided your destiny as he did. 
 
 "Yet there is another to blame equally with her 
 in this. And, do you know, Alick oh, my boy, for- 
 give me, but I cannot keep this back from you " 
 she cried, tears springing to her eyes, "some are 
 coupling your name with hers." 
 
 "Oh, God in Heaven!" cried Alick, passing his 
 hand over his brow and rising, "What next what 
 next? I wish that all of those canting, cavilling, 
 gossiping scandal-mongers were stricken dumb for 
 all Eternity." 
 
 Mrs. Gray's restraining hand was on his arm, 
 for she had never seen this quiet, studious man in 
 such a passion before. 
 
 "Alick Alick!" she whispered in chiding tones. 
 
 "Do you give credence to this?" he cried.
 
 The Canker of Doubt 215 
 
 "AH, Alick God forbid that you should ever 
 come to that. Still, I think it would be better if 
 you went away for a little while, until the worst 
 has blown over." 
 
 He caught her hands, and their eyes held each 
 other. 
 
 She threw her arms around his neck and kissed 
 him as his own mother would have done. 
 
 And Alick turned and went away. 
 
 Back over the hill he climbed, with the leaden 
 steps of a man who had heard the pronouncement 
 of his doom. He dipped into the wood, through 
 the tangle of underbrush of berry bushes and vines, 
 aimlessly and carelessly, until he found himself upon 
 the grassy plane, near the fence where he had lain 
 so often listening to the bewitching strains of Kathie's 
 music. And his heart grew tender in protesting con- 
 fliction with his sterner reason. 
 
 He stood, peeling the loose curling ends of bark 
 from a birch tree, his thoughts far away and all 
 unconscious of his surroundings. A voice at his 
 ear startled him with uncomfortable suddenness. 
 
 "You sure are a hummer to ferret out the silent 
 places, Mr. Simpson!" 
 
 It was Copley, the gamewarden, who spoke. 
 
 "I saw you by the Lake an hour and a half ago, 
 and I hardly expected to stumble across you here 
 next. But it's the dandiest time of the year now, 
 and I don't wonder at you taking it all in."
 
 216 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "I like to be in the open and in the solitude, Cop- 
 ley," replied Alick shortly. 
 
 "Say! it's too bad about that young girl down 
 at Jackson's," went on the warden with a jerk of 
 his head. "Just heard it the other day. She was 
 a swell-looker and a real nice, quiet kind of a kid 
 besides. If I was her big brother, or if she was any- 
 thing to me, I'd find the man and strangle the mis- 
 erable life out'n him the cowardly brute. That 
 blackguard, Crawford, knows more about it than 
 anybody else or I'm an injun. What did he beat 
 it for, if he wasn't skeered? What happened in the 
 dairy, the night of the first snowfall last winter, 
 was, I'm thinking, more serious than some folks 
 imagined at the time. But guess time will tell, Mr. 
 Simpson and all the gossips in the Valley are busy 
 with an eye on the calendar." 
 
 The school-teacher underwent a strange tumult 
 of emotion. Here was another phase in the case 
 which had not occurred to him before. And it set 
 him at opposites again. Simpson was a well-bal- 
 anced man, but he felt that he would be unable to 
 stand much more of the strain he had been put to 
 these last few hours. 
 
 "You ain't lookin' too well, Mr. Simpson if I 
 might mention it," said Copley. 
 
 "Nor am I feeling well," replied Alick, "and I 
 want to be alone." 
 
 The game warden took the hint, disappearing
 
 The Canker of Doubt 217 
 
 into the thicket and throwing back a final sentence 
 as he went. 
 
 "Crawford was nothing but a damned, sneaking 
 blackguard, and I hope he gets what's comin' to him 
 before he's through." 
 
 Alick Simpson was now past all doubting. His 
 mind had accepted the inevitable, but, nevertheless, 
 he determined on a talk with Colin Jackson before 
 he shook himself entirely free from the place which 
 had now lost all charm for him. He walked down 
 to the ranch and inquired for the owner. 
 
 "You'll find him at the front gate," said Meg 
 Shaw, who had lately been reinstated in her old po- 
 sition as maid of all work, but with a considerable 
 raise in wages. "Take it from me, though you're 
 wastin' your time, for you'll no' get muckle oot o' 
 him that'll help you ony," she added drily. 
 
 Alick did not reply, but hastened to where the 
 rancher was leaning against the gate-post, lazily 
 admonishing a vicious-looking bull terrier which 
 looked up into his master's face familiarly, with 
 open jaws, slithering fangs and lolling tongue. 
 
 "Mr. Jackson," Alick asked curtly, "I would like 
 Kathie's address. Where can I find her?" 
 
 The stout, dour rancher looked him over with- 
 out making a move. 
 
 "Guess that's a like you'll have to do without, 
 teacher. And, what's more you can't find her. 
 She's being well looked after; better than she de-
 
 218 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 serves: if that's any comfort. But she's not for 
 the likes of you to be inquiring after." 
 
 "Mr. Jackson it is little use you and I mincing 
 matters. I know what is being said about her and 
 I mean to know more before I am through with 
 it and, by God ! if she is the victim of any of your 
 underhand scheming, I'll tar and feather you and 
 set you on fire on your own rubbish heap." 
 
 Colin Jackson winced at the vehemence of the 
 school-teacher's onslaught, but he felt too secure 
 within the breastworks which he had built about him- 
 self to trouble much over threats ; and he knew that 
 Alick Simpson was labouring under a strong excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "If you are going to be insulting, Simpson, the best 
 thing you can do is to git. I threatened once to put 
 the dog on you. The Lord save you if that brute 
 ever takes you in tow." 
 
 The farmer turned as if to leave him. Simpson's 
 lips tightened to a narrow line. He laid a detain- 
 ing hand on Jackson's coat sleeve. Jackson pulled 
 himself free, roughly. 
 
 "Look here, young fellow," he cried, "keep your 
 hands off." 
 
 "I wish to know Kathie's address," repeated 
 Simpson determinedly. 
 
 "And you are not going to know it," replied Jack- 
 son. "It is none of your damned business where 
 she is. Although maybe, after all, it is " he went
 
 The Canker of Doubt 219 
 
 on craftily, "for either you or Crawford know more 
 about this than all the rest of us." 
 
 The rancher vented a hoarse laugh. 
 
 Alick sprang at him, but quickly controlled him- 
 self again. 
 
 "Here, Pat!" yelled Jackson to his dog, in a 
 considerable fear. "Fix him fix him quick 1" 
 
 The brute, surly and ill-tempered like his master, 
 seemed to be yearning for such an unusual pleas- 
 ure. Without even a warning growl, it flew at Alick 
 and embedded its sharp teeth firmly in the fleshy 
 part of his leg. 
 
 Colin Jackson grinned and encouraged the dog 
 with a word now and again. 
 
 Simpson bent down and tried to disengage it, 
 but it was like trying to pry apart the teeth of a 
 bear trap. The pain was excruciating, and great 
 drops of perspiration began to come out on his fore- 
 head. His pent-up madness broke loose on this 
 sullen, vicious, clinging animal. He caught it firmly 
 by the throat with both hands, burying his fingers 
 among the cords and tubes that lay under its soft, 
 loose skin. 
 
 Then commenced a struggle for the mastery. 
 
 Still retaining its grip, the dog, growling savage- 
 ly the while, fought and struggled with its feet and 
 body. Jackson laughed boisterously at the apparent 
 futile efforts of the school-teacher, who, goaded by 
 pain and anger, was exercising every ounce of his
 
 220 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 strength and straining every fibre of his well-trained 
 muscles to overpower his brute antagonist. 
 
 The grin slowly began to fade from Colin Jack- 
 son's face as the well-nigh incredible took place be- 
 fore his eyes. 
 
 From some of Simpson's hero-worshipping 
 scholars, Jackson had heard of the physical prowess 
 of the Principal, but he never could have believed 
 that such strength was possible in any man; and 
 he stood gaping in helpless amazement at the dis- 
 play. 
 
 Slowly but surely Alick was working his fingers 
 into the animal's throat, and moment by moment 
 the dog was finding it increasingly difficult to 
 breathe. It struggled fiercely and violently, but the 
 clamping fingers held tight. Its jaws relaxed at last 
 and it snapped at the air in futile madness. 
 
 Alick rose from the ground, holding the squirm- 
 ing object at arm's length before him. Gradually, 
 its struggles ceased; its eyes turned inward, its under- 
 jaw fell and a violent shudder passed through its 
 body; then it hung from his hands, limp and harm- 
 less. 
 
 With a look of unbridled contempt, the Principal 
 hurled the dead thing full in the face of the as- 
 tonished rancher; leaving him in stupefaction, wip- 
 ing his face and surveying the lifeless object at his 
 feet.
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 The Madness of a Man 
 
 ON reaching home that evening, Alick Simp- 
 son sat in his upstairs rooms and wrote to 
 his School Trustees, asking an extended leave of 
 absence. He had made up his mind that he was 
 going away somewhere, anywhere, from the familiar 
 scenes and the disturbing memories which they 
 aroused. 
 
 He decided to go away the following noon, before 
 there would be any time either to grant or to re- 
 fuse his request. It mattered little to him now any- 
 way, and the sooner he was off the better for him 
 and his peace of mind. 
 
 He turned down the lamp and retired to his plain, 
 but spotless and cosy, little bedroom. 
 
 He felt a horrible throbbing at his temples and 
 behind his eyes a new sensation to one who, from 
 his birth, had never known a moment's illness. He 
 knew that if he could only sleep he would be all 
 right. He courted sleep long and earnestly, but 
 hour after hour he lay awake, wooing a loved one 
 who would not respond. A fever was surging in his 
 veins, increasing as the time wore on. 
 
 231
 
 222 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 His brain refused to rest. It had been over- 
 worked. Now it had passed the stage where, by 
 throwing off the driving belt, the machinery would 
 cease its revolutions. He, a strong man, began to 
 feel afraid of himself. He could not lie still. He 
 wanted to scream aloud. He could hear his land- 
 lady in the room below chopping her kindling wood 
 for the next morning. Every chop was like the beat 
 of a drum in his ear. She coughed and to him it was 
 an irritation. He heard her retire to rest and, al- 
 though he was almost waiting for her to close her 
 door, the noise of it caused him to start up nervous- 
 ly. The creaking of the flooring boards, under the 
 effect of the cooling temperature, annoyed him un- 
 mercifully. Somewhere outside, a cat wailed dis- 
 mally with the cry of a peevish child. The clock in 
 his sitting room chimed twelve and its chiming 
 seemed eternal and like the thundering of mighty 
 cannon. Every tick thereafter was the loud, clear 
 ring of a blacksmith's sledge on the anvil of his 
 brain. The heat in his room became overpowering. 
 The air felt stifling. 
 
 At last, in desperation, he threw the bedclothes 
 aside and sprang up. He walked into the adjoining 
 room, turned up the lamp light and gazed at his 
 own reflection in the mirror. It was gaunt and 
 haggard, with glaring, blood-shot eyes. 
 
 "Oh God I Why cannot I rest?" he groaned, 
 passing his fingers through his ruffled hair. "I, who
 
 The Madness of a Man 223 
 
 am as innocent as the yet unborn baby, must suffer 
 while the guilty one rests. Why can't I stop think- 
 ing if only for a little time? Why don't I drop 
 senseless dead anything but this continued think 
 think think and the clamouring, hammering, 
 thumping in my head? I am losing my grip on 
 things. I am conscious of that much. It is more 
 than I can stand this thing is driving me insane." 
 
 He laughed strangely, as he walked nervously up 
 and down the room in his slippered feet. 
 
 "Yes, Alick Simpson, you Ithought yourself a 
 mighty strong man, and self-reliant; but a woman 
 comes along and the strong man is no more. It 
 isn't the first time in history that has happened; and, 
 so long as there are women, It won't be the last 
 time. But I don't want to be strong any more! 
 What's the use? Weak and evil men seem to be 
 happier, after all, than the men who fight and strive 
 for what is right. What the evil man desires, gen- 
 erally comes to him. When it doesn't come, he 
 takes it. It is all the same he gets it. 
 
 "Men who strive after good seldom attain it, and, 
 when they do, they find the good which they have 
 striven for is impregnated with evil. 
 
 "Tush ! Good is a byword for children and old 
 wives. I am sick of the very word heart sick of 
 it." 
 
 He sat down and poked at the smouldering fire. 
 He reached across the table for a book. He tried
 
 224 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 to read it, but, with an ejaculation of disgust, he 
 tossed it across the room and jumped up wildly, 
 clenching his fists and closing his jaws tightly. 
 
 For a second, he glared at the clock on the mantel- 
 shelf, as it kept on its monotonous, maddening tick- 
 tick-ticking; then, with an oath on his lips, he drove 
 his fist into its dial, putting an end forever to the 
 clock's usefulness. 
 
 This action seemed to arouse some demon with- 
 in him a demon which he had held in chains all his 
 life; the demon of evil before whom he had bowed 
 in his soliloquy. He moved across the room, and 
 suddenly threw wide open the doors of the buffet, 
 displaying an assortment of liquors that might have 
 done credit to the wine-cellar of a Railway Mag- 
 nate or a Pork-packing Millionaire. 
 
 "Ho!" he exclaimed callously, "I've kept you 
 there, year in and year out, just to show your master, 
 the Devil, how well I have beaten his mad myth 
 called hereditary taint. All these years I have 
 proved that the powers of my mind are greater than 
 the physical weaknesses inherited and that I, the 
 mind part of me, am the real master of Alick Simp- 
 son. 
 
 "You have outlived your usefulness for that pur- 
 pose though. I have long ceased to dread you and 
 I am now going to make friends and take you to 
 my bosom purer than any maid and always true 
 to the one who buys you.
 
 The Madness of a Man 225 
 
 "They say you are the* Mother of Oblivion. Bet- 
 ter that than harrowing, maddening, damning wake- 
 fulness. Oblivion that's the word. That's what 
 I'm seeking that's what I require. Just a few 
 hours of Mr. Oblivion, then I shall be able again 
 to fight all the Devils in hell and out of it and beat 
 them at their own game." 
 
 A high-pitched, unearthly, rippling, gloating laugh 
 invaded the room, issuing evidently from the far 
 recesses of the cupboard. The school-teacher closed 
 the door quickly and sprang back. 
 
 "Good God!" he cried soberly. "What was 
 that? It sounded like the laugh of some hell-fiend 
 with an eternal soul fast in its clutches." 
 
 He looked around suspiciously, as great beads of 
 perspiration oozed out on his forehead. 
 
 "It came from the cupboard," he whispered 
 hoarsely. "I feel sure of that but how on earth 
 could it? That receptacle could not hold anything 
 larger than a cat, with all these bottles in it. How 
 foolish I am ! Nervous as a school-girl I" 
 
 He laughed a little uneasily. 
 
 "What strange tricks imagination can play with a 
 tired mind! Hallucinations! What next I wonder? 
 Yes, Alick old chap you are sure losing your 
 grip. A few hours more, a few more fantastic fan- 
 cies, a snap and madness. Ah well! What of 
 it? Who cares? Anything would be more welcome 
 than sanity gnawing, festering, bloated sanity."
 
 226 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 He laughed again, and as he did so the weird, 
 haunting laugh, which he had heard before, replied 
 quickly and loudly; dying gradually in muffled 
 tones to a far distant echo. 
 
 Alick, after all, was not a coward, and he jumped 
 to the cupboard and threw wide the doors. 
 
 "Devil or fancy," he cried, "you shall not hold 
 me from the rest I require." 
 
 He took out a large bottle and some glasses. 
 
 "With this inside, Illusion cannot frighten me," 
 he muttered, looking through the bottle against the 
 light. "I cannot say much about you, old fellow, 
 from personal contact," he soliloquised, "but I've 
 heard plenty, and I've seen your work. One thing 
 I do know; you cannot harm me as you harmed my 
 father, and my father's father ; for it is long, long 
 ago since I mastered you. And if I am the master, 
 you're the servant. What's the good of keeping 
 servants when one never makes use of them. Ho, 
 my minion I To-night you must work for me. Lead 
 me by the hand to the land of Oblivion the land 
 of No-One-Cares, the haven for tormented mortals." 
 
 He seated himself at the table and poured out a 
 glass of the raw spirits. 
 
 As he did so, the door opened noiselessly and the 
 calm, soldierly figure of Captain Gray, muffled to 
 the neck, silhouetted itself against the impenetrable 
 black beyond him. With a grim, set look he sur- 
 veyed the situation, and pulling out a small, silver
 
 The Madness of a Man 227 
 
 revolver from his vest pocket, he stood stock-still 
 with his finger on the trigger, closely watching every 
 movement of the school-teacher, and ready to act in 
 a moment. 
 
 Simpson neither heard nor saw him. He was 
 too intent upon the new sensation which he was 
 about to experience. 
 
 He held up the glass in roystering fashion. 
 
 "Tush!" he exclaimed. "That isn't enough to 
 obliviate a cat." 
 
 He filled the tumbler to the brim, and smiled as 
 he looked at it. 
 
 "Whole hog or nothing!" said he, with a dash of 
 devil-may-care. "It is worth a toast. I have never 
 given a toast before, so I must give a real good one." 
 
 He stood up. 
 
 "Here's to the eternal confusion of all women, 
 and of all men who are fools enough to have any 
 thing to do with them." 
 
 He raised the glass to his lips. The fumes filled 
 his nostrils and sought his brain. 
 
 Something within him which had previously 
 given way seemed to clamp together again. With 
 a wild oath he dashed the glass of liquor from him, 
 shivering it in fragments against the fireplace. 
 
 He passed his hand over his brow and sank limply 
 into a chair. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" he cried despairingly. "What 
 was I doing what was I doing?"
 
 228 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 A new tone crept into his voice a tone of tri- 
 umph. 
 
 "But I didn't.. No, no, I didn't 1" 
 
 He sat for a while in silence, with his head resting 
 on his hand, the picture of dejection. 
 
 "What would my boys have said to that the 
 boys who hold me up as an example to the whole 
 district; the boys whose parents tell them to follow 
 me in all things- if they would do well; the dear little 
 fellows who look to me to help them on to becoming 
 men, real men with brains, instead of simple beasts 
 of burden? 
 
 "They have been true to me, and, by God! if I 
 die doing it, I'll be true to their ideal of me." 
 
 He collected the bottle and the remaining glasses, 
 raised the window and tossed the lot far out into the 
 darkness of the garden. 
 
 As he turned again, his eyes fell upon the silent 
 witness at the door; his head dropped on his chest 
 and he stood, ashamed. 
 
 The Captain came forward with outstretched 
 hand, and, placing the other on Alick's shoulder, 
 made him look up. 
 
 "Shake hands, my lad," he cried, almost cheerily, 
 "Allan Gray is proud of you. I have seen fighting 
 all over the Empire, but that was the greatest vic- 
 tory I ever witnessed. I was ready to help whether 
 you desired it or not but you didn't know that;
 
 The Madness of a Man 229 
 
 and you fought, single-handed, and won. Good boy t 
 Alick! 
 
 "Maybe you never thought of it, but, for you, that 
 meant life or death. So bravo again !" 
 
 Tears were in the old fellow's eyes as he gripped 
 Alick's hand and led him over to the fireplace, for 
 he dearly loved the young fellow. 
 
 "Alick, I've something to tell you regarding a dis- 
 covery I made to-day. I could not keep it until 
 to-morrow, and, as I felt anxious for you anyway, 
 I stepped over, late and all as it is. I saw the light 
 in your room, and knew from it that you were still 
 awake. The back door was open. I did not have 
 to disturb anyone I walked in, and here I am." 
 
 "Yes and what a miserable weakling you must 
 think me," put in Alick. "I have been a fool 
 foolish and almost mad but that is all over now. 
 It was the thought of those little school-fellows of 
 mine that turned the trick. Thank God! I still 
 have them to work for." 
 
 "Yes, my lad!" replied the Captain, "and, who 
 knows, but there may be yet another to work for as 
 well. 
 
 "I have little wish to open up the wound which 
 we all feel, but I cannot rest until I have satisfied 
 myself on every point. 
 
 "I was going through the path in the wood this 
 afternoon, and I was thinking of Kathie I always 
 seem to be thinking of her, poor lass. I passed the
 
 230 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 spot where I found her in the snow last winter, and, 
 as I stood for a moment, ruminating, I caught sight 
 of this, half-buried in the soil. It must have lain 
 there all this time. See, Alick! it is a little baby 
 brooch. Do you know whose name that is?" 
 
 Alick scrutinised it carefully. 
 
 "Kathie Gray," he read. "Why, yes, Captain! 
 that is her real name. She told me this in con- 
 fidence once. But she was always Kathie Jackson 
 to me, and to everyone else." 
 
 "That is just the point,'* replied the Captain with 
 suppressed excitement. "Her name couldn't be 
 Jackson for that is her mother's maiden name. 
 Her mother was Jackson's sister. And it is right 
 there, in the first place that I have had strange fan- 
 cies. 
 
 "Kathie Gray is her real name, Alick. And, that 
 being so, she bears a name that is very dear to me 
 for my dear mother bore that name before her 
 Kathie Gray." 
 
 A light began to dawn on Alick's understanding. 
 
 "Surely you don't mean ?" he queried 
 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I really don't know what I mean, my boy, and 
 I don't know exactly what to think. I am simply 
 groping around. But ever since the first time I saw 
 her, I have had strange feelings of ownership over 
 that girl. And this has given me stranger feelings 
 still. I am interested more than interested: I am
 
 The Madness of a Man 231 
 
 anxious. Now I shall never rest until I have satis- 
 fied myself that my vague surmises are true, or 
 merely silly notions. 
 
 "You know that my brother was a musician and 
 was found drowned when only a lad: at least his 
 violin was discovered in the clutch of a dead person, 
 supposed to be he. The features of that drowned 
 being were unrecognisable; but the violin was the 
 clue. Nothing has ever happened to disturb these 
 original Conclusions nothing until Kathie came into 
 my life. Now I fancy I can trace little traits in her 
 peculiar to my boyish memories of my little brother 
 although these memories are somewhat faded and 
 blurred. But, more than anything else, she reminds 
 me of my mother the same dark eyes; the same 
 sad face; the same perfect form; the same kind of 
 nature and the same proud bearing. Only one other 
 person could handle a violin as she can, and that one 
 was my little brother. Such genius as hers could 
 only have been brought to perfection through 
 genius. 
 
 "Margery is inclined to laugh at me but I tell 
 you, Alick, I am going to probe this to the bottom, 
 and I am anxious to begin right away. It may mean 
 months of search in the South of Scotland and as 
 long in the East Coast of Ireland, but I shall never 
 let up until I know. 
 
 "You must apply for leave of absence. It is due 
 you after these years of ceaseless service. Your
 
 232 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 health demands it. You must come with me. It 
 will do both of us good. Will you come, Alick? 
 I shall require your assistance, as well as your com- 
 pany." 
 
 "I had intended going away," replied Alick. "I 
 have a letter here, written, addressed to the Trus- 
 tees. I might as well go with you as anywhere else, 
 even if I can give but slight credence to your strange 
 fancies. It is of little use or moment to me now 
 where I go. And you seem to have forgotten, Cap- 
 tain, that even if what you surmise proves true, it 
 will mean nothing but fresh sorrow to all of us. At 
 one time, it might have been a glorious discovery, 
 )but that time has gone." 
 
 The old soldier stared at his young friend in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Mean nothing, do you say, Alick! Look here, 
 my boy if this proves true and she is really my 
 brother's daughter, then, were she the most degraded 
 woman in the country, I still would be her uncle and 
 her guardian, and as responsible for her well-being 
 ay, and more so than that tight-fisted, scheming 
 scamp, Jackson; and I shall look after her and care 
 for her, and bring her back if I be ostracised by 
 every family in the Okanagan Valley." 
 
 Captain Gray's excitement grew apace. 
 
 "But it is all a lie," he cried vehemently. v Alick, 
 I tell you it is a lie." 
 
 He shook the teacher by the arm.
 
 The Madness of a Man 233 
 
 "Why don't you agree with me? Why don't you 
 stand up and say with me that it is a lie? You are 
 as much interested in her as I am. You have con- 
 demned her without a trial, never giving her a fair 
 chance to defend herself. That dear, sweet, pure, 
 innocent girl, without an evil thought let alone an 
 evil action : what do you know about her ? Nothing ! 
 nothing but the garbage talk of the neighbourhood. 
 Ask her yourself and get her answer before you play 
 so sure. 
 
 "I am getting to be an old man, Alick, but by 
 God ! my faith in women hasn't wavered yet. I know 
 a good face when I see it : and so do you. I know 
 a pure woman when I am in her company: and 
 so should you." 
 
 Alick listened to the outburst, and his old feeling 
 of confidence tried to reassert itself. 
 
 "Look here!" continued the Captain, "what was 
 your first thought when you heard of this?" 
 
 "That it was a vile, slanderous lie," responded 
 Alick quickly. 
 
 "Precisely! And your second thought?" 
 
 "That I should never believe it until her own lips 
 acknowledged her guilt." 
 
 "Yes! and your next?" 
 
 "That even with her acknowledgment, she might 
 still be suffering silently for another; and that I 
 would find the man if I searched a lifetime and ex-
 
 234 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 tract the truth from him if I had to pick it from 
 his bones with pincers." 
 
 "Yes, yes!" nodded the Captain, "and here she 
 is, banished from your mind in disgrace ; condemned 
 and put out of your life forever; all on talk, talk, 
 mere old wives' talk with not a solitary proof in 
 your hands. 
 
 "Do you think she would have treated you that 
 way? For shame, Alick! 
 
 "Buckle to, man and stand by me, and by her, 
 until this new evidence is complete. By the time we 
 have discovered all about her parents, she will be 
 home here again. Time enough then to hear her 
 defence." 
 
 Alick Simpson looked up with a faint, but new 
 hope in his face. 
 
 "All right, Captain! I shall be ready to go with 
 you to-morrow morning." 
 
 "No sir!" replied the Captain. "I am not losing 
 sight of you any more. Push a few things in your 
 bag now, come with me and spend the night at 
 Broadacres. We can be up with the lark, and off 
 by the afternoon train for Sicamous, then East, and 
 over the sea to the Tight Little Island.' "
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 The Martyrdom of the Music Witch 
 
 THE early springtime, with its rapidly depart- 
 ing snow, its chinook breezes, its bright sun- 
 shine and its warbling birds, spread its cheery glow 
 and its whispered promise over the fair and fertile 
 Valley of the Okanagan. 
 
 A new Principal still temporarily filled the posi- 
 tion of Alick Simpson, M.A., at the Vernock High 
 School. Tom Semple, that able, shrewd and honest 
 ranch-foreman, with the aid of the indefatigable 
 Mrs. Gray, kept Broadacres in garden-like order in 
 the absence of the genial Captain who, with Alick, 
 was still over in Britain. 
 
 Jackson's ranch wore a strange, hectic flush of 
 unnatural prosperity, born of a willingness on the 
 part of certain creditors to grant extra time con- 
 cessions, in the hope, thereby, of coming out of a 
 shady jack-pot with something approaching that 
 with which they went in. Colin Jackson was now 
 known to smile upon occasion. 
 
 Twice already had Tom Menteith run up from 
 the South, in anticipation of the return of Lizbeth, 
 but twice he had to go away disappointed; for Liz- 
 
 235
 
 236 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 beth was still somewhere up the Coast, nursing her 
 unfortunate cousin, Kathie. 
 
 Though impatient, young Menteith's love merely 
 waxed the warmer in his sweetheart's absence, and 
 he vowed a vow, much to his despairing sire's annoy- 
 ance, that all Ceylon and all Ceylon's tea-plantations 
 could "fade away and gradually die," but they should 
 never shelter him until he had'had a few more days' 
 sweethearting in the Valley with her who would fol- 
 low him so soon after his departure and wed him 
 in real plantation style away there in far Ceylon 
 although why she would not marry him in the Valley 
 and go with him was still, to him, an irritating 
 enigma. 
 
 The spring gave way to the maturing heat of the 
 summer, and the summer sweltered on. But only 
 when the cooler nights and the ripening fruits of the 
 orchards heralded the early coming of the golden 
 fall was Tom Menteith's great longing satisfied and 
 was he at last able to welcome the returning runaway 
 love. 
 
 Lizbeth somewhat pale, to be sure, from her 
 alleged nursing, yet fresh, and full, and lovely as of 
 yore was whisked away, here, there, everywhere, 
 by that impetuous and long-suffering lover of hers; 
 while Kathie snuggling to her breast the rein- 
 forced evidence of an unconscious shame sought 
 the byways and the quiet places; the woods, the 
 orchards, the solitude of the Lakeside.
 
 k The Martyrdom of the Music Witch 237 
 
 Kathie had nursed her cousin, and now, faithful 
 to her promise, she was tending her cousin's child. 
 
 All innocent of the scandal which had been spread 
 about during her absence and guilty only of hiding 
 the secret of two others if that be guilt she did 
 not at first understand the meaning of the fingers 
 which were pointed in her direction, nor the action 
 of the local girls when she met them on the road- 
 way in the drawing in of their skirts as she passed 
 them by. She did not grasp the innuendo contained 
 in the chuckle and side-long looks of the young 
 ranch-hands and helpers. She was perturbed, it is 
 true, by the increased show of familiarity on the 
 part of old Wong, her uncle's Chinese cook, but she 
 was unable to find a reason for it other than that of 
 length of service. The sad head-wagging of the old 
 ranchers and the chin-tilting of their righteous wives 
 were, for a time, entirely lost on her, and she went 
 on her way holding her head high and her eyes level, 
 thus unconsciously adding fresh fuel to the fire which 
 was already well ablaze. 
 
 But it was not very long before the whole truth 
 of the position she had assumed was forced upon 
 her rudely and with an emphasis that could not be 
 denied. 
 
 One evening, shortly after her return, as the sun 
 was going down behind the spreading hills, as she 
 sat quietly and lonely on a grassy bank at the foot 
 of the orchard, resting in the welcome, cool, rising
 
 238 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 breeze a bright flame sprang up from a vacant field 
 on the great ranch of David Menteith. It was lurid 
 and high-reaching for a few minutes, then gradually 
 it settled down to the steady glow of a well-tended 
 bon-fire. 
 
 Several times within the past two weeks, she had 
 watched it and on each occasion she had listened 
 to the cheery voices and the merry laughter, to the 
 sweet songs and the hearty choruses of girl voices as 
 they wafted up the hill from those light-hearted, 
 clean-minded, healthy, young fruit-gatherers, stu- 
 dents from the colleges and teachers from the 
 schools of far distant towns and cities, all banded 
 together, organised, housed and chaperoned, during 
 the weeks they had arranged to lend their valuable 
 aid to the ranchers in the garnering of the Valley's 
 bountiful fruit crop; pioneers of an organisation 
 that, in later years, was to prove of such great ser- 
 vice in saving the food supply of the country, when 
 the men who looked after it, ordinarily, were doing 
 sterner work. 
 
 Kathie had often longed to be down among the 
 girls, talking, and laughing, and singing as they 
 were; but her inborn reticence had so far kept her 
 away. 
 
 This evening, however, the ache at her heart for 
 the companionship of those healthy girls gnawed so 
 persistently that she found herself, almost uncon-
 
 The Martyrdom of the Music Witch 239 
 
 sciously, at the fringe of the bon-fire ere she awak- 
 ened in her shyness to her apparent daring. 
 
 A merry dance tune, played by a girl violinist, was 
 ending, and the nimble-footed girl couples were just 
 returning to their seats on the fallen logs around the 
 fire. 
 
 Kathie stood shyly in the shadows, until the bright- 
 eyed little violinist, doubtless drawn by that strange, 
 magnetic kinship that all artists feel, ran over to 
 her and drew her quietly and lovingly with her to a 
 place on one of the hewn trees. 
 
 "What's your name?" asked Bright Eyes. "Mine 
 is Dorothy. I come from Vancouver. I go to the 
 Normal there. We are spending our holidays fruit- 
 gathering and we're having the time of our sweet, 
 young lives." 
 
 She laughed. And Kathie laughed too. And she 
 told Dorothy Bright Eyes her name. Before three 
 minutes had gone, Kathie heard the names of a 
 dozen of Dorothy's friends. In five minutes more 
 she forgot her sorrows, and in ten she was laugh- 
 ing and singing and dancing, as merry as the mer- 
 riest there. 
 
 But ever she kept near to little Dorothy Bright 
 Eyes : sometimes with a hand in hers, sometimes an 
 arm round her waist. 
 
 And the evening skipped gaily along to the joy of 
 the dance and the song. 
 
 As Dorothy sat chatting her little gay tongue
 
 240 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 away, Kathie's hands went lovingly to the violin 
 that lay, for the moment idle, on Dorothy's lap. 
 She picked it up, and by the very movement in so 
 doing she betrayed herself. Dorothy turned on her 
 quickly and excitedly. 
 
 "You play I Don't tell me I You do! I just 
 know you do. 
 
 "Say, girls! Here's a find! Kathie can play the 
 violin. She's just aching to do it, too." 
 
 Kathie blushed. 
 
 "No, no!" she remonstrated, "I haven't played 
 for ever so long." 
 
 "All the more reason," cried Bright Eyes. 
 
 "It's your turn to do something, anyway," shout- 
 ed someone else. 
 
 "Yes, yes! Come on! Come on be a sport!" 
 put in half a dozen, as they gathered round. And 
 before she realised it, she was standing in the ring, 
 in the glow of the fire-light, with the violin of 
 Dorothy Bright Eyes under her chin and all ready 
 to begin ; her eyes wide in a distant and dreamy con- 
 templation, her black, curling hair playing over her 
 brow with the evening's breeze, her lips apart in a 
 contented smile and her tall, graceful figure poised 
 and motionless. 
 
 With the first sweet notes, the chatter and laugh- 
 ter ceased and a hush fell over that merry, boister- 
 ous crowd, which was not broken until the player 
 had finished.
 
 [The Martyrdom of the Music Witch 241 
 
 They were the dear home songs that Kathie 
 played that night, and she played them as they had 
 never before been played by any human. 
 
 "Killarney," and all the home-hunger and heart- 
 rending love of an emigrant for the days of long 
 ago, for the scenes of happy childhood, for the dear 
 land of birth, welled up and overflowed. 
 
 A pause, then the player's mood changed and she 
 glided into that swinging, lilting, Irish melody, "The 
 Low Backed Car," and such was her interpretation 
 that many of the college girls around her, who had 
 never been out of British Columbia in their sweet 
 young lives and who knew Ireland only from their 
 Geography books, got their first real glimpse of The 
 Emerald Isle : the white-washed stone houses, the 
 thatched roofs, the railed village fountain and the 
 market place; the cows tethered to the iron rails; 
 the squealing and grunting pigs in the high carts; 
 the ducks and geese and chickens; the delf set out 
 on the side streets for sale; the pretty colleens and 
 the bargaining Pats; the jarvey in his jaunting car: 
 and PEGGY, the "girl wid the way wid her." 
 
 From that sweet song of Irish love which is the 
 same delightful, old-fashioned, never-satisfying, all- 
 absorbing love that they have in other lands, only 
 more so Kathie tossed her head, banished the 
 memory and pattered into the "Irish Washerwoman" 
 until every foot around that bon-fire was an Irish 
 foot and beat in true Irish fashion; until every
 
 242 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 heart became an Irish heart and gave an extra beat 
 in every three for Ireland; until the very sparks 
 from the crackling fire flew upward with greater 
 light and gusto, as if glad to die to such an abandon- 
 ment of rollicking melody. 
 
 When at last Kathie stopped, there seemed to be 
 a hollow place somewhere in the earth; a hollow 
 place where Ireland had been. And that hollow 
 was felt until Kathie had seated herself once more 
 by the side of Dorothy Bright Eyes, and they were 
 holding hands in sympathy. 
 
 Then the girls cheered, and shouted, and laughed 
 in their delight; the hollow filled up again, and Ire- 
 land, though Ireland still, was to them but a mem- 
 ory of some aching folksong. 
 
 When the noise and the hand-clapping abated, it 
 was echoed a few yards away from the fire, away 
 in the part-shadows where David Menteith and 
 young Tom were standing, having been drawn, evi- 
 dently, by the witchery of Kathie's music. 
 
 And from out the part-shadows came the awaken- 
 ing. 
 
 A haughty, imperious dame, with the garb of a 
 Pilgrim Mother, the eye of a hawk and a mouth 
 firm-set and relentless David Menteith's Old Coun- 
 try house-keeper and the self-appointed Keeper of 
 Morals for the Okanagan Valley; and all Canada 
 if she had been permitted came forward to where 
 the two chaperons of the girls were seated. She
 
 The Martyrdom of the Music Witch 243 
 
 spoke to them quietly, then she crossed over to 
 Kathie like an avenging she-devil. 
 
 She stood in front of the girl and her words 
 came sharp and cutting. 
 
 "What are you doing here among innocent girls? 
 Go home I" 
 
 Kathie stared in surprise, then she sprang up in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 Most folks in and near Vernock were afraid of 
 this goodly Keeper of Morals, but not so Kathie, 
 for she had never encountered her before, and fur- 
 thermore, had nothing to be afraid of. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked, suppressing her 
 excitement. 
 
 "What do I mean! You ask me that? Haven't 
 you a spark of shame left, woman? Go home to 
 your child ! Don't say a word ! Get from here and 
 home. 
 
 "Don't dare set your shameless feet on this ranch 
 again." 
 
 Kathie's face turned pale and she clutched at her 
 throat for a greater freedom in breathing. 
 
 The terrible truth of the insinuation was at last 
 dawning on her. 
 
 Already the chaperons were calling the girls 
 around them. Kathie turned to go. But Dorothy 
 Bright Eyes was at her side in a moment and her 
 eyes were flashing defiance at Sir David's house- 
 keeper.
 
 244 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Hush, my dear!" commanded the house-keeper. 
 "Don't be carried away in your childish ignorance." 
 
 "I won't hush," cried Dorothy, stamping her feet. 
 "You go away and mind your own affairs. Leave 
 us alone. She's as good as we are you you sour, 
 old, spoil-sport I" 
 
 Dorothy's words made no impress upon the cold 
 nature of the Keeper of Morals. 
 
 "You are a very ignorant little girl and very 
 foolish. That woman has a child and no husband. 
 Never had a husband." 
 
 "It's a 1 ," flashed Kathie, but she stopped ere 
 the word came out, for she remembered her prom- 
 ise to her uncle. 
 
 Innocent little Dorothy stood back and gasped. 
 
 "If you're wise, Miss Jackson you'll go home 
 quick," put in the house-keeper coldly. "This is 
 something that can't be lied out of." 
 
 "Say! Mother Anne," interposed the genial 
 voice of Tom Menteith, "what's all this to do? 
 Can't you leave the girl alone for a few hours' 
 amusement?" 
 
 "And contaminate the whole neighbourhood, 
 Tom?" she asked composedly; "no, my boy!" 
 
 "Oh contaminate fiddlesticks I Contaminate 
 nothing!" 
 
 "Allow me to know better, Tom I We are respon- 
 sible for the welfare and the well-doing of these 
 young ladies."
 
 The Martyrdom of the Music Witch 245 
 
 "Anne, it's a beastly shame," he continued. 
 
 "Yes, Tom, I agree shame is the correct word." 
 
 "Oh, shame be damned! There are lots worse 
 than she, only they haven't been found out," he ex- 
 ploded unguardedly. 
 
 As the words fell, a feeling of scorn and loathing 
 arose in Kathie. 
 
 To think, as she did, that she should be suffering 
 for his misdeeds, and yet he should seek to shield 
 himself by referring to the shame of it as her own 
 i the deceit, the hollow sham and the devilish mock- 
 ery with which she seemed to be connected, filled 
 her with dismay. 
 
 "Let me see you home," said young Menteith 
 courteously, addressing her and placing his hand 
 lightly on her arm. 
 
 She stepped away from him with flashing eyes and 
 panting bosom. 
 
 "Keep away!" she cried. "Don't touch me, 
 please: you you beast. I hate you. I despise 
 you. You are not a man you are a coward." 
 
 Tom Menteith threw out his arms and shrugged 
 his shoulders as if relieving himself of further re- 
 sponsibility. Then he turned and walked off. 
 
 The girls were still standing in a cluster at tha 
 other side of the fire, as Kathie made to leave. 
 
 Dorothy Bright Eyes was at Kathie's side. 
 
 "Dorothy!" called one of the chaperons. "Doro- 
 thy come away please I"
 
 246 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "No!" defied Dorothy. 
 
 "I'm coming to walk part of the way with you, 
 Miss Jackson : just to show them. See 1" 
 
 "Oh, you dear I" cried Kathie, sweeping little 
 Bright Eyes into her arms and kissing her lovingly 
 on the lips. 
 
 Then she released her and ran off, leaving the 
 girl surprised yet sadly happy.
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 Changing Lights 
 
 GRIEF-STRICKEN and almost afraid, Kathie 
 left the bon-fire and the merry crowd behind 
 her, never looking aside, never stopping until she 
 had reached the ranch and had broken into the 
 kitchen where her uncle was. 
 
 "What the devil's wrong now?" he inquired, sur- 
 veying her, as she stood before him all breathless 
 and excited. "Have you been chased by a ghost?" 
 
 She dropped at her uncle's feet and cried as if her 
 heart would burst. 
 
 "Come come !" he exclaimed. "What's all this 
 about?" 
 
 She clung to him in supplication. 
 
 "Uncle, uncle surely you have heard what the 
 people are saying about me? They say I am bad 
 I have done wrong. They say that Lizbeth's baby 
 is mine. I have been insulted before all the girls 
 down at Menteith's. Oh, uncle! the shame of it 
 is burning me up. I feel as if I were really guilty. 
 You must tell them that I am not bad. You will tell 
 them, uncle. Oh, I know you will tell them, for 
 I have never done anything wrong: I have only tried
 
 248 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 to help you, as you wished me to. Please, uncle, 
 please tell them. If you don't, I think I shall die. 
 
 "I have obeyed you always even in this but 
 you did not let me know that it would mean this > 
 what they would infer. And I I never thought. 
 
 "I can't bear it. Oh, I can't bear it." 
 
 The cry of that innocent heart for justice would 
 have met with a feeling of response from a beast; 
 but Colin Jackson, coldly calculating, had already 
 anticipated the outburst and had been gradually pre- 
 paring himself to meet it: his only surprise was that 
 it had not taken place sooner. 
 
 He raised Kathie and set her on the couch. 
 
 "Tut-tut, woman! I am surprised at you, work- 
 ing yourself into a state like this for nothing. Can't 
 you see that it is only inquisitiveness on their part, 
 and nothing more ; that they are just trying to guess 
 at something they do not understand? You are do- 
 ing the very thing that would make them think they 
 are right in their surmise. Keep your mouth shut 
 and say nothing absolutely nothing as you prom- 
 ised you would; and they will be none the wiser. 
 Keep out of their way. In two months' time this 
 will be all over; Lizbeth will be in Ceylon and 
 married, and you will be free from your charge. 
 
 "Surely you are not the one to spoil our plans 
 for the sake of a few idle words by a few idle wo- 
 men? What difference does it make what they say, 
 anyway? You know within yourself that it is un-
 
 Changing Lights 249 
 
 true. You are the same now as you were before 
 they spoke. In a few months, they will be saying 
 something else about somebody else, and will have 
 forgotten all about you. 
 
 "Lizbeth has a far harder part to play than you 
 have, yet she is doing it without a grumble, just be- 
 cause she vowed she would. You made a vow too, 
 a Jackson never goes back on her word. Fie, 
 Kathie! 
 
 "It isn't for long now. Stick to your promise. 
 I have no patience with people who don't know 
 their own minds two minutes. You knew at the time 
 that it wasn't a picnic we were arranging. 
 
 "For shame, to trouble me over these silly notions, 
 when you know I am so harassed over more im- 
 portant matters." 
 
 This was meant as a dismissal of the subject; 
 but, as an apparent afterthought, he added: 
 
 "By the by here is something I got for you when 
 I was at the Coast last month." 
 
 He threw a little package into Kathie's lap, and 
 went out, leaving her alone. 
 
 Kathie undid the wrappings. It was a gold locket, 
 with a fine linked chain. She opened the locket me- 
 chanically. It contained a scroll, in the small, skil- 
 ful penmanship of which Colin Jackson was so just- 
 ly proud: letters of bright scarlet on a background 
 of black: "I swear, that until I am released from 
 this vow by my uncle, Colin Jackson, or until my
 
 250 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 cousin, Elizabeth Jackson, is married, I will not 
 divulge to anyone what I know regarding the par- 
 entage of Elizabeth's child. So help me, God." 
 
 As she read the remembrance of her vow, the 
 words seared into her brain like the brand of a red- 
 hot iron. She groaned at her first folly in having 
 given way to her uncle's coercion : but now that she 
 had sworn to secrecy, that vow was a promise to her 
 Maker and it would have to be carried out and 
 obeyed as a command from God himself, even 
 should it bring suffering, pain and dishonour. That 
 was how she had been trained by her father to look 
 upon a vow. There was no evading it there was 
 no going back. It must it would be kept. 
 
 "God give me strength and courage," she ex- 
 claimed piteously, as she hung the gold chain round 
 her neck and slipped the locket into her bosom. 
 
 ****** 
 Next day when she arose, there was a yearning 
 
 in her heart for a word of comfort from someone 
 even a look of sympathy. But there seemed to 
 be none to whom she could turn. It was the one 
 day in the week which had been set apart, so long 
 a g> by her and Alick, as their trysting time; and 
 she longed as she had never longed before just for 
 a word from him that he trusted her still. Even 
 a glimpse of his figure in the distance would have 
 satisfied, for, under the shadow of her vow, she had 
 refrained from that weekly tryst since her coming
 
 Changing Lights 251 
 
 back, and, during all the weary months of her en- 
 forced absence, she had not communicated with him 
 in any way. 
 
 Away out there on the ranch, she had not heard 
 that there was a new School Principal at Vernock. 
 
 As the hours of that day wore on, she could not 
 contain herself longer. She hushed Lizbeth's child 
 to sleep, placed it in its little cot, and stole away to 
 the Lake. With beating heart and scanning eyes she 
 waited for him whom she had known as her lover 
 as he had once waited for her. Hour after hour 
 sped quickly on, but he did not come to her. Her 
 hopes sank and her soul became loaded down with 
 sorrow. At first she feared then fear grew to a 
 surety that he had been tried too long and had, 
 human-like, wearied in the waiting and had gone 
 away out of her life. She looked to see if the note 
 she had left for him was still in the crevice under 
 the bark of the log, but the bark was peeled away 
 and the note was gone. 
 
 Surely then, she reasoned, when he read her 
 message he would understand. Surely he would 
 wait and trust. He had promised to do that when 
 first she had timidly opened to the warmth and 
 strength of his ardorous wooing, when for all Time 
 and all Eternity she had given him her unblem- 
 ished love. 
 
 She would have trusted him, and stood by him 
 in the face of all the world.
 
 252 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Then Kathie did as Alick had done it was her 
 last flickering hope. She thought of the dear, old 
 people who had been so kind to her and who had 
 shown their love for her before she had gone away. 
 She hurried over to the ranch at Broadacres. 
 
 Her hand was on the door, ready to push it open 
 and to go in unannounced, as had been her privi- 
 lege, when Zella, the maid, blocked her entrance: 
 not timidly and afraid, as she once had been, but 
 bold and impudent, and altogether fearless. 
 
 "Zella I wish to see Mrs. Gray," exclaimed 
 Kathie quickly. "I have only lately got home 
 again." 
 
 "Mrs. Gray, she not home, see!" came the cold 
 reply. 
 
 "Oh, Zella! That isn't true, you know. I saw 
 Mrs. Gray go indoors as I came along the path from 
 the main road." 
 
 "Well, Missy Jackson, you think maybe you 
 know. But she no be in to you see! She tell me 
 tell you see!" 
 
 Once again Kathie's face flushed scarlet and she 
 became overwhelmed with the shame which she was 
 bearing in her cousin's stead. But this time only 
 she was aware of her embarrassment, for her eyes 
 were looking into the woodwork of a door tightly 
 closed against her. 
 
 Her last hope was gone. All who had loved her 
 now believed in her guilt and shunned her. They
 
 Changing Lights 253 
 
 did not love her any more. Insulted, ostracised, 
 and all because of an innocent mind, a kindly heart 
 and an anxiety to be useful to those who had given 
 her a home when she had none: there was nothing 
 left for her now but the ashes of dead memories, 
 a broken heart and a life of sorrow-laden drudgery. 
 
 With despair in her face and lagging footsteps, 
 she retraced her way to her uncle's ranch. 
 
 A plaintive little cry came from the cot beside 
 the fireplace in the dining room. She went over, 
 lifted up the innocent cause of all her sorrow, kissed 
 it tenderly and carried it out into the open. 
 
 She sat down on a bench, under the very tree 
 where the leave-taking of Lizbeth and Crawford 
 had taken place, and she tried to hush the little child 
 to sleep. 
 
 Everything was quiet and there was no one in 
 sight, until Meg Shaw, that happy-go-lucky, easy- 
 going farm lass, came out of the doorway of the 
 dairy, drying her hands on her haunches. As soon 
 as she espied Kathie, she sauntered over. 
 
 "I've never seen this wonderful bairn yet, Kathie. 
 Let's ha'e a squint at it?" 
 
 Kathie drew back. 
 
 "No, no, Kathie ! I'm not like the fools you ran 
 up against last night," she remarked, noting Kath- 
 ie's timidity. 
 
 She opened up the cashmere shawl and scrutinised 
 the child carefully.
 
 254 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Uhm! It's no' very like you," she remarked 
 bluntly. She scratched her head. "Do you feed 
 it yoursel' ?" 
 
 "No," said Kathie, "I don't." 
 
 "Huh! I thought so. They say bairns look 
 mair like their mithers when their mithers feed them 
 themsel's. If I only kent its faither, maybe I could 
 tell better who it's like." 
 
 Meg spoke with the confident air of one who knew 
 more than she ventured to let out. 
 
 "Your uncle and the rest o' them turned mighty 
 good to you when you got tangled up in this 
 trouble," she continued, with a jerk of her head. 
 "Many a man would ha'e shown you the door. Some 
 dae that wi' their ain daughters, and often they 
 are the very men who are misbehavin' themsel's 
 at the same time." 
 
 Kathie could feel her resentment rising at Meg's 
 critical observations, but she tried to hide it. 
 
 "It was real nice o' Lizbeth too, going away to 
 nurse you for such a lang time, especially when 
 young Menteith was hanging roon' her skirts. It 
 was the brawest thing she ever did. In fact, it was 
 the only braw thing she ever did in her life if she 
 did it." 
 
 Kathie rose, but Meg pushed her back into her 
 seat. 
 
 "Oh sit still and don't excite yoursel'," she went 
 on in her rough, Scotch way, but not unkindly. "I
 
 Changing Lights 255 
 
 kent Lizbeth before you kent her and I'm up to the 
 maist o' her tricks. I ken too that there's little love 
 lost between you and her especially on her side 
 so you needna pretend to be so terrible annoyed at 
 what I'm sayin'. It's for the good o' your health 
 onyway. 
 
 "She wants to marry Tom Menteith. And if looks 
 go for onything, Menteith wants to marry her. If 
 it's a fair question, Kathie when is it going to 
 come off?" 
 
 "In two months, I believe," said Kathie unguard- 
 edly. 
 
 "And what's going to happen then?" asked Meg. 
 
 "I don't quite understand," said Kathie. 
 
 "Who's going to look after the bairn then?" 
 
 "Look here, Meg," returned Kathie, somewhat 
 ruffled, "I don't pretend to know what you are driv- 
 ing at and you have no right to question me in this 
 way, at all. I'm not in a fit condition to stand very 
 much more of it at present. Will you please go 
 away? I wish to be alone." 
 
 Tears struggled to Kathie's eyes, and Meg's soft, 
 honest heart melted at the sight of them. 
 
 "Kathie," she said, sitting down beside her, 
 "when you first came here I didna like you, because 
 it meant me lookin' for anither job with maybe a 
 month or two idle, which I could ill afford, for I 
 had my widow mither to look after, but since that 
 time I've learned a wheen things and I don't mislike
 
 256 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 you ony mair. I'm sorry for you and I like you 
 forby. But you are one o' the kind that will suffer 
 and slave and starve, and go in tatters, just because 
 you imagine it is a duty you owe. You fancy every- 
 body is as honest as you are yoursel' ; and you never 
 admit the truth to yoursel' even when you ken you 
 are being imposed on. 
 
 "I've seen one or two like you before in the Auld 
 Country although they're getting mighty scarce 
 even there; but all the same, your kind gets the 
 worst o' it every time. 
 
 "Colin Jackson has been imposin' on you since 
 the first day you came here. He's a liar and a cheat 
 and the whole Valley kens it. Maybe you feel 
 like askin' me why I work for him then, but I'm 
 workin' for him just because it suits me at the minute 
 to work for him that's a'." 
 
 Kathie looked in helpless remonstrance at the ro- 
 bust, indignant girl before her. 
 
 "Oh, fine I ken he's your uncle. Mair's the 
 pity I Lizbeth is his right-hand helper in fact, I 
 wouldna wonder if it is the ither way aboot she's 
 the boss and he's the helper. 
 
 "But they can scheme and plan as much as they 
 like, and they can fool you, and Tom Menteith, and 
 auld Menteith, the kirk folks, and a' the rest o' 
 them: but here's one they can't fool so easy." 
 
 Kathie sat and stared before her in dreamy stupe- 
 faction, as she held the child tightly to her bosom.
 
 Changing Lights 257 
 
 Meg went on. 
 
 "That bairn is as like you as it's like me and 
 I'm no' its mither. It is as much my bairn as it is 
 yours." 
 
 "I cannot listen to any more," protested Kathie, 
 rising and holding out her hand as if to ward off 
 something. 
 
 Meg pulled her to her seat again. 
 
 "Sit doon, lassie. I'm no' finished yet. It's bad 
 manners to interrupt when folk are talkin'. As I 
 was going to say that bairn is a Jackson through 
 and through with a touch in it o' somebody else 
 I ha'e seen before. Look at it's een, and tell me 
 it's no' like Lizbeth! Look at the lobes o' its ears, 
 look at its chin, ay ! and look at that birthmark on the 
 back o' its wee hand then tell me you've forgotten 
 what Bob Crawford was like! There!" she con- 
 cluded, preparing to return to the dairy. "I've said 
 my say, and I'm done only, you're a damned fool 
 that didna see it for yoursel' long before this." 
 
 Kathie was stunned by the suddenness of the in- 
 telligence, and the more she looked at the child the 
 more she became convinced of its strong resem- 
 blance to Crawford. 
 
 She could now forgive Tom Menteith for what he 
 had said of her to the fruit gatherers, knowing that 
 if this were really true, he was being duped and 
 tricked as well as she. Further than forgiving 
 him, however, she refused to allow her mind to go.
 
 258 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Her emotions were stupefied. She deliberately 
 thrust all reasoning aside. Crawford or Men- 
 teith it was of no moment to her. In two months 
 or so, she would be released from her vow, and then 
 she would be done with them all. She would go 
 away to some place where no one would know her, 
 and start afresh to work out her own salvation. 
 But, meantime, and until that time, her vow held 
 good. Come what may, she would keep it.
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 Old Acquaintances 
 
 MEG SHAW was hurrying along the narrow 
 trail leading to the little, old, vine-covered 
 bungalow where her mother lived, at the edge of the 
 Lake. She generally ran over there in the evening 
 when she had half an hour to spare, in order to ex- 
 change the gossip of the day and read the chief 
 items of the previous day's newspaper, for, like all 
 Scots, Meg and her mother were deeply interested 
 in the affairs of their own and all other countries. 
 
 Meg was trudging through the sticky mud which 
 always lay in that shady, dismal part of the way for 
 days after a rain-fall: more a swamp than a trail. 
 Her mind was dwelling on nothing in particular, 
 and, when a tall figure stepped out from behind a 
 tree and slapped her across the shoulders as she 
 passed, her heart jumped. 
 
 "Hullo, Meg!" cried a hearty voice. 
 
 She turned round quickly. There was no mistak- 
 ing the owner of that voice, nor was there any mis- 
 taking the man who stood beside her : not even in the 
 gathering darkness of the evening with the accel- 
 erated gloom caused by the close, overhanging trees. 
 
 259
 
 260 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "My God!" she exclaimed. "Crawford!" 
 
 He nodded and snapped his eyes. 
 
 " 'The girl guessed right the very first time'; up 
 to the top of the class, Meg." 
 
 "But I never thought ye'd come back here," she 
 said. "Why, man! it's not so very many months 
 since ye went away." 
 
 "Well ! did you think I would stay there after I 
 got the message you sent me?" asked Crawford. 
 
 "Didn't you ask me to let you know quick if any- 
 thing extraordinary was going on at Jackson's?" 
 
 "Yep!" said Crawford. "And I'm darned glad 
 you did too. But, say! Come on under the trees 
 here. I don't want to be seen not just yet. 
 
 "Meg what did you mean by that message?" 
 
 "Och! you had better ask Lizbeth aboot that; 
 she'll tell you maybe," was the tantalising rejoin- 
 der. "Have you no' been to visit her yet?" 
 
 "No, not yet! Nobody knows I'm here : not even 
 the police. I'm staying in Roanstone for quietness. 
 I only arrived in the Valley from Vancouver yes- 
 terday. 
 
 "Now, Meg I know nothing. Tell me all about 
 it. There's a good kid!" 
 
 "Don't kid me, Bob Crawford, for you can't do 
 ft. Keep your kidding for them that like it. 
 
 "But there's no' much to tell," continued Meg. 
 "The spicy bits have been told so often that they 
 have lost their nippy taste.
 
 Old Acquaintances 261 
 
 "Well ! first and foremost, Tom Menteith came 
 home the day you went away, and Lizbeth is follow- 
 ing him out to Ceylon in a week or so to marry him. 
 He goes the end of this week I think." 
 
 "Good Lord ! You don't mean " 
 
 "Don't interrupt, Bob. I'm no' through yet. 
 There's a bairn on the scene, and, if I may say it, 
 that shouldna, it's mighty like yersel'." 
 
 Crawford's lips relaxed and His face softened. 
 
 "Poor little beggar!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Ay, poor little beggar is right," answered 
 Meg. "But this is the first time I ever heard you 
 wi' a tear in your voice. Maybe you've been drink- 
 
 in'.' 
 
 "No, no, Meg! I have had no time for that, 
 even if I had the inclination. Go on !" 
 
 "Go on, yersel'," exclaimed Meg pertly. 
 
 "Lizbeth is going Scot-free as usual. Kathie 
 Jackson the lassie that put that mark on your 
 brow and spoiled your good looks is nursin' your 
 bairn and is takin' the blame of it besides." 
 
 "My God! Meg what do you mean? Am I be- 
 ing blamed for this?" 
 
 "Some folks are blamin' you; others are blamin' 
 Mr. Simpson, the School Principal, but the women 
 folks, woman-like, are blamin' her." 
 
 "Say! I'm all at sea, Meg," put in Crawford, 
 in bewilderment. "I don't get the hang of this thing 
 at all."
 
 262 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "No! I never expected you would. You're as 
 thick in the haid as the rest o' them. 
 
 "First of all, that bairn is yours, and you can't 
 deny it, for it's your born image. And, what's more, 
 Lizbeth is its mother." 
 
 Meg watched him closely and saw that what she 
 had surmised was only too true. 
 
 "So, you see, Meg Shaw isn't so green as she is 
 cabbage looking. Lizbeth and Kathie were away 
 from here all winter and most of the summer; and 
 before they came back, old Split-the-Pea Jackson had 
 all the gossips of Vernock busy. When they did 
 come back, Kathie had the bairn. The Jacksons 
 have that lassie in their clutches, that's sure, and 
 she's no' wise enough to see it hersel'. 
 
 "It is all being kept dark from Tom Menteith. 
 Colin Jackson is in debt up to the neck, and I 
 think he is relyin' on Lizbeth pullin' him oot after 
 she gets married. How they are ever going to man- 
 age to straighten it all oot afterwards, the Lord only 
 knows and the de'il has no business." 
 
 Crawford had been standing staring at Meg in 
 sheer amazement as she gave him the whole story. 
 
 "Meg, do you know that you have been talking 
 sheer bunk for the last five minutes?" he asked sar- 
 castically. "You're clean nutty, woman. There's 
 a bee buzzing in your head. Wake up 1" he urged. 
 
 "Maybe there is a bee buzzin'," retorted Meg,
 
 Old Acquaintances 263 
 
 "but I'm no* the one that's going to be stung, any- 
 way." 
 
 "But is all this the real dope, Meg?" he inquired. 
 
 "It's the best I can make of it, Bob. If you can 
 improve on it, go ahead." 
 
 "Well, I guess I must not see Lizbeth," argued 
 Crawford, "not just yet. But Tom Menteith won't 
 get her not so long as I'm alive, that's sure." 
 
 "What's to hinder him?" 
 
 "The youngster will. Do you think he would 
 marry her if he knew of it?" 
 
 "It's hard to say," retorted Meg, "men are such 
 a pack of damned fools. What are you going to do 
 if he takes her, bairn and all?" 
 
 "There's one thing I will do, Meg, and you can 
 bet your sweet life it'll put a bigger crimp on this 
 marriage than was ever put on anything you ever 
 heard of I I can't tell you what it is " 
 
 The sound of voices arrested his talk. The fad- 
 ing light was blotted out from the far end of the 
 double row of trees and a man and woman saun- 
 tered on toward them. They were Lizbeth and Tom 
 Menteith, out having an evening airing. Tom was 
 tapping his leggings with his riding switch and was 
 twitting Lizbeth about getting mud on her shoes. 
 
 "I think I had better carry you, my dear," said 
 the man's voice. 
 
 "No, indeed you won't 1" braved the woman. "I
 
 264 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 am not afraid of mud: I'm well used to it. I've 
 been among it more or less all my life." 
 
 It was an unintended double entendre, but Tom 
 Menteith was too much in love to notice it. Liz- 
 beth raised her skirts high and daintily, and Tom 
 tapped her playfully above the ankle and whispered 
 to her. 
 
 She gave a rippling laugh, and it was only then 
 that Crawford recognised them. The hiss of his 
 breath informed Meg Shaw of the recognition and 
 of the excitement under which Crawford was la- 
 bouring. Meg pulled him into the deeper shadows. 
 
 When Lizbeth and the young tea-planter were 
 almost opposite, Tom caught her up in his arms and 
 kissed her vigorously. She immediately returned 
 his caresses with a sigh of abandoned pleasure. A 
 noise in the shadows caused them to break apart 
 quickly. An old wooden rail which Crawford had 
 gripped desperately had given way under his pres- 
 sure. Words were on his lips, but Meg Shaw 
 clapped her hand over his mouth. 
 
 "Shut up ! Don't be a fool !" she whispered. 
 
 In the middle of the trail, Lizbeth clung to Tom 
 Menteith's arm. 
 
 "Why I they are only two lovers like ourselves 
 silly little sweetheart," said the latter. "Don't 
 you know that in the evening around here every tree 
 is a pair tree?" And with the little jest, he turned 
 her fears aside.
 
 Old Acquaintances 265 
 
 They wandered on, and the crisis was over. 
 
 "You nearly put your foot in it that time," re- 
 marked Meg. 
 
 "What if I did?" replied Crawford truculently. 
 "I have no scrap with young Menteith he's a gen- 
 tleman: all the same she's mine. But he is wel- 
 come to her for an hour or two longer," he contin- 
 ued. 
 
 "Do you mean that, Bob? Do you really mean 
 to say you would have anything more to do with 
 her after all this?" 
 
 "What do you think I came all the way back from 
 Australia for? Just to watch the show! Nothing 
 stirring! 
 
 "See here, Meg! I made Lizbeth's cousin suffer 
 once and she's not going to suffer again on my ac- 
 count if I can help it. That's one reason why I'm 
 going to butt in. 
 
 "Tom Menteith is too good a sport to be allowed 
 to marry Lizbeth under present conditions. That's 
 another reason. 
 
 "Reason number three: I love Lizbeth and I 
 would love her if she were the devil himself. 
 
 "Now, you run along and see your mother. Don't 
 mention to anybody that I'm here. If I need you 
 any time, I know where to get you. 
 
 "Meg, you're a decent sort of a scout, and I'm 
 darned grateful to you."
 
 266 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "You don't look it," remarked Meg as she left 
 him still standing there under the trees. 
 
 Crawford remained for a long time in deep 
 thought. He was in a quandary as to what was best 
 to do. Should he leave everything over until the 
 morrow, then endeavour to see Kathie and find out 
 what she knew? Should he way-lay Tom Menteith 
 to-night and thrash the matter out with him, or 
 should he wait for the first favourable opportunity 
 of confronting Lizbeth and surprising her? 
 
 But, as his impatience would not permit him to 
 wait, he moved slowly toward Jackson's ranch, and 
 sat on a fence near the house, dangling his legs, 
 watching the shadows on the window blinds and lis- 
 tening drowsily to the hum of voices and the sound 
 of Lizbeth's laughter. He was in no hurry; the 
 night was fine, and Tom Menteith was still inside. 
 
 At last the front door opened and Lizbeth came 
 out to the veranda to kiss her lover good night. 
 
 Soon all was dark again. But the sound of foot- 
 steps on the Avenue told Crawford that Tom Men- 
 teith was coming his way. He slid off the fence 
 and walked slowly down the roadway in front of 
 the man who had unwittingly usurped him; and it 
 was not until they reached the main road that the 
 two came abreast. 
 
 Several years had passed since Tom Menteith had 
 last seen Crawford, but the familiar figure of the 
 picturesque fellow was inextricably entwined in
 
 Old Acquaintances 267 
 
 Menteith's boyish memories and he recognised the 
 other in an instant. 
 
 "By jove !" he cried, peering into the face of the 
 man beside him. "Bob Crawford, as sure as I'm 
 alive 1" 
 
 He held out his hand and shook the other's 
 heartily. 
 
 "Man, man I heard you were in Australia. Got 
 tired of it, eh ! and back to the old haunts. Well, 
 Bob, if you want a job, I'll bet the dad will place 
 you the minute you show your face, for he talks 
 well of you sinner and all as he says you are." 
 
 Crawford was overwhelmed by the sincerity of 
 the greeting of his young friend and was almost 
 tempted to evade the issue: at least for the time 
 being. But, with the darkness and the quiet, he knew 
 he would seldom have such a favourable opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 "Thanks, Tom! You have some memory for 
 faces and figures. I would not have known you. 
 You were only a bit of a kid when you went away. 
 You're a full-grown man now." 
 
 "Yes, Bob a few years abroad make a differ- 
 ence in a fellow," said Menteith genially. "What 
 went wrong with the sheep-farming in Australia, 
 though? Didn't you like it?" 
 
 "Oh, I liked it all right enough," replied Craw- 
 ford. "Guess I'll be back there in another couple
 
 268 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 of months. I just took a trip over about a little 
 business matter I wanted to straighten out." 
 
 Tom laughed. 
 
 "Ha, ha! Bob I'll bet I know what it is too. 
 Looking for a wife! And you might do worse too, 
 old man. A wife must be a mighty big comfort 
 over there in that bachelor-land." 
 
 "Maybe I am, Tom. And, as you say, I might 
 do worse." 
 
 The two walked along the road together. 
 
 "They tell me you are on the same tack yourself," 
 continued Crawford cautiously. 
 
 "Well not exactly, Bob! On the same course, 
 maybe, but on a different tack." 
 
 "I might not have been in such a gol-durned 
 hurry myself," pursued Crawford, "only there's a 
 little shaver on the scene and it is hardly fair to stay 
 away under these conditions." 
 
 "Ah, Bob, Bob !" put in the younger man admon- 
 ishingly. "You always were a harum-scarum devil. 
 But it was the manly thing for you to come back 
 and face the music though; and I admire you for 
 it. Who is the lady, if I may ask?" 
 
 "Oh, her up at the farm !" replied Crawford in 
 an offhand way. 
 
 "You don't say!" was Menteith's rejoinder. He, 
 like most young men, was fond of a little bit of 
 scandal told on the sly. "Well, by gad, Bob ! she's 
 a peach what I've seen of her, and I don't wonder
 
 Old Acquaintances 269 
 
 at you coming all the way from Australia to claim 
 her. I would do the same myself." 
 
 "Oh, she's a good enough looker," conceded 
 Crawford. 
 
 "There are all kinds of stories floating around 
 about her," said Menteith. "If we are to believe 
 all we hear, she is able to tell our past and foretell 
 our future; and conjure up ghosts and goblins, 
 witches, demons and sprites, and do all kinds of 
 uncanny things all simply by striking up a few bars 
 on an old violin. I did hear her play once, and I'll 
 never forget it. It was wonderful. Say! I should 
 like to hear her again sometime, for she's a perfect 
 witch on the instrument and can draw you along, 
 against your will, even if you are a mile away. Be- 
 fore you go away with her, Bob, bring her over and 
 get her to play for us down home. Will you?" 
 
 "Easy, Tom! Don't you think you are a bit 
 mixed up in the women?" 
 
 "How do you mean? Didn't you say it was the 
 girl at Jackson's who had the child?" 
 
 "Yep!" 
 
 "Well there are only two of them at Jackson's. 
 I'm mighty certain Elizabeth isn't a violinist," 
 laughed Tom Menteith. 
 
 "She might not be a fiddler, but there's nothing 
 to prevent her being a mother, is there, Tom?" 
 
 Menteith looked at Crawford curiously, without
 
 270 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 replying, while Crawford seemed to be interested 
 in his own thoughts for a brief moment. 
 
 "It's a queer kind of a world this," went on Craw- 
 ford at last. "Sometimes it is hard to find a father 
 for a youngster, but generally you can lay your 
 finger on the mother." 
 
 "That's so I" agreed Menteith. 
 
 "What would you say if somebody tried to make 
 you believe that Liz Jackson was the mother of that 
 baby up at the ranch?" 
 
 "I would push the suggestion back down the man's 
 throat," retorted Menteith. 
 
 "And what if the man could prove it?" 
 
 "Look here, Crawford," put in Menteith angrily, 
 "I used to like you, but either you have been drink- 
 ing or you are trying to make trouble. What's 
 your game? What are you driving at?" 
 
 "Just what I've been trying to tell you, Tom." 
 
 "Crawford, you're a damned liar, and you know 
 it," flamed Menteith, his temper giving way as 
 he stepped up in front of his companion. "Take 
 back what you've said, and don't dare to breathe 
 her name long with your own, or, by God, I'll . 
 Take it back, will you?" he commanded, opening 
 and closing his hands excitedly. 
 
 Crawford watched him in a lazy kind of way, 
 standing with his legs slightly apart and twisting a 
 piece of straw between his fingers. 
 
 "Crawford, you are asking for it, and, by God,
 
 Old Acquaintances 271 
 
 you shall have it," cried Tom Menteith, rushing 
 at him impetuously. 
 
 Without any apparent effort, Crawford caught 
 him by both arms and almost lifted him against a 
 tree. 
 
 "Don't be a fool, man!" he muttered. "I could 
 twist you like this piece of straw. I have no quar- 
 rel with you, Tom, so, damn it, forget that part of 
 it. Do you think I would say what I have said if 
 I couldn't produce the goods? That youngster up 
 there is mine. Liz is its mother. I'm here to take 
 them both back with me to Australia. Now, the 
 best thing you can do is to beat it quickly and quietly 
 away for a while, until the wind has died down." 
 
 He released his younger antagonist, who stood by 
 his side helpless and dumfounded, with white lips 
 and a clammy ooze of perspiration on his face. 
 
 "Say, Crawford!" he said brokenly. "Don't 
 fool me any more. Tell me this isn't true that it's 
 only a yarn you're stringing. Crawford I can't 
 believe it. I " 
 
 "Look at this then, Tom," interposed Crawford 
 in a kindly tone. "I'm sorry for you, old sport, 
 damned sorry, and I would spare you if I could. 
 Your own good heart and good nature have been 
 made fools of. Brace up! Do you think you can 
 manage to read this?" 
 
 Crawford handed him a document.
 
 272 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "I'll strike a match as you glance over it," he 
 went on. 
 
 With trembling fingers, Menteith took the paper 
 from Crawford and read it through. Then he fold- 
 ed it up again and handed it back. 
 
 "That's sufficient, Bob," he said firmly, bracing 
 his shoulders and facing Crawford boldly. "I'm 
 sorry I spoke and acted as I did. I didn't know. 
 It's a bit of a shock to me. Forgive me, old fellow, 
 and forget all about my part in this." 
 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 "Good-bye!" he said, "and, good luck I I won't 
 see you again, I guess. I'll take the train out to- 
 morrow. In a week I'll be on the way back to old 
 Ceylon." 
 
 Crawford held Menteith's hand for a moment, 
 and the hand was cold and limp.
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 Cold Kail Hot Again 
 
 NEXT forenoon early, when Lizbeth and Colin 
 Jackson were alone in close conversation in 
 the ranch kitchen, the noise of grinding footsteps 
 on the gravel outside better than any burglar- 
 alarm or electric push-button warned the pair of 
 the approach of a caller. 
 
 Something familiar in the measured tread caused 
 Lizbeth to start up, and scarcely had she done so 
 when the door was unceremoniously pushed open 
 and Crawford entered. With the old, well-remem- 
 bered, easy-going, devil-may-care swagger, as dis- 
 concerting as it was exasperating, he doffed his Stet- 
 son. Colin Jackson stood staring at him as if turned 
 to stone; and the draperies which JJzbeth had been 
 showing to her father fell from her hands to the 
 floor. 
 
 "Crawford!" was all she could gasp. 
 
 "You don't seem to be particularly glad to see me, 
 Liz," he remarked, a trifle bitterly. "It's quite a 
 time since you last saw me." 
 
 "What the devil are you after anyway?" cried 
 Colin Jackson, compressing his mouth in his rage. 
 
 273
 
 274 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Nobody wants you here. Get out of this, you 
 damned virtue-thief, and don't dare to show your 
 face in the neighbourhood on the peril of your life." 
 
 "Whoa! Steady up! Go easy, Jackson, old 
 man!" cried Crawford. "Why don't you offer an 
 over-seas visitor a chair?" 
 
 "What do you want here, you unhung black- 
 guard? Aren't you content with the havoc you have 
 already wrought, without coming back to gloat over 
 it? Can't you leave the girl alone who has suffered 
 through you and your slippery wiles, and give her 
 a chance to make good instead of coming here to 
 crow over your misdeeds?" 
 
 "Oh, I just dropped in while passing to offer 
 my congratulations," exclaimed Crawford sarcasti- 
 cally. 
 
 With fear in her eyes, Lizbeth stared, unable to 
 speak and almost unable to move. 
 
 "What do you want?" snarled Jackson. "If it's 
 money I haven't got any: if it's the brat you are 
 welcome to it, and good riddance : if it is Lizbeth 
 then she'll give you your answer in double-quick 
 time." 
 
 "Say, Jackson if I wanted money, I have the 
 good sense to know that this isn't the place to come 
 for it. As for the kid, I'll pay you for its keep, so 
 you needn't worry on that score. When I want Liz, 
 I'll tell her. Then it'll be time enough to get her 
 
 answer."
 
 Cold Kail Hot Again 275 
 
 Colin Jackson walked over to the door and held 
 it wide open. 
 
 "There's the door, Crawford! Get out!" 
 
 "No!" replied Crawford in defiance. "I won't! 
 Not on your tin-tacks!" 
 
 The rancher was beside himself. He clutched at 
 a heavy cudgel which stood in the corner by the 
 door; and there were madness and fierce hatred in his 
 eyes. 
 
 Lizbeth sprang between and intervened. 
 
 "Dad! surely you have sense enough to know 
 that this is not the way to settle matters with Bob 
 Crawford. This is between him and me. Why not 
 go yourself, and leave us alone for a bit?" 
 
 "All right!" replied her father savagely, throw- 
 ing the club back again in the corner. "But tell him, 
 and tell him straight, where he is getting off at. 
 There must be no half measures with that skunk. 
 And if I find him here when I come back, don't 
 blame me for what happens." 
 
 He went out, shutting the door noisily behind 
 him. 
 
 In the next moment, Lizbeth's whole nature 
 changed. She ran to Crawford, threw her arms 
 round his neck and in tones of softness and tender- 
 ness she supplicated him. 
 
 "Oh, Bob, Bob ! Why did you not leave me here 
 as I was? Why did you come back? I did not 
 know that I would ever see you again. I did not
 
 276 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 know you loved me really and truly. Everybody 
 told me you only loved for the time being, and I felt 
 I had been made a fool of. 
 
 "Tom Menteith is going out to Ceylon. I am to 
 follow him there and marry him. It is my own ar- 
 rangement. Bob, won't you go away and forget 
 me altogether? Forget what has passed between us. 
 Take the kiddie if you wish him, and go away. 
 Please, please, Bob, if you ever really loved me, 
 go away." 
 
 Crawford looked at her and his hands sought her 
 hair, as they used to do. He caught her arms and 
 held her from him, looking into her eyes. 
 
 "Liz you've done me a great wrong almost the 
 greatest wrong a woman can do to any man. But, 
 because I love you more than ever I did and be- 
 cause my love makes me forgive you, I am not going 
 away not until you consent to come with me. 
 
 "You're not all bad, Liz, not nearly all bad; you 
 are mostly good. The little bad in you is what you 
 have been taught by that rascally father of yours. 
 You never had a chance a real chance. You have 
 been with him too long. You are mine. You are 
 coming with me. It's a great country out there, 
 Liz. We'll start all over again. Yes! you are 
 coming with me if I have to carry you there. I 
 crossed the Pacific to get you and I'm going to take 
 you with me.
 
 Cold Kail Hot Again 277 
 
 "Do you hear that, Liz? Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 He spoke with the deliberation and the assur- 
 ance of one who had no doubt as to the outcome 
 of his plans. 
 
 Lizbeth threw her head on his breast in a con- 
 flict of uncertainty. 
 
 "No, no, Bob I I can't go with you. Don't you 
 see it is too late now?" she said at last. "It means 
 too much for me. It means giving up a beautiful 
 home in Ceylon ; a position of importance for which 
 I have craved all my life; and all that money can, 
 buy. It means ruin for those left here; it means 
 getting out of the ranch, selling up the remaining 
 stock, for father hasn't a dollar to call his own. Oh 
 go away! If you really love me as you say you 
 do go away and leave me. 
 
 "Our secret need never be known, Bob! Only 
 one person knows it now, for the others do not 
 know who we are. Go, Bob, go! Do this much 
 for me. I will send you money when you need it. 
 I will see that you have horses, sheep, everything 
 you need. Won't you go?" she pleaded. "And I 
 might come to you out there, once. Yes, Bob! 
 I will come to you, alone, away out there; and we 
 can be happy together for a little while. Tom need 
 never know. Oh, I can find a way," she went on, 
 "if you only let me live as I feel I must live se- 
 cure in my new position for the balance of the time."
 
 278 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Mercurial in temperament, her manner changed 
 again as he looked at her, obdurate and earnest. 
 
 "Oh, Bob I" she cried, in a breaking voice, "I can- 
 not resist that look in your face. I thought I was 
 strong, but I am not strong enough. What am I 
 to do? I don't feel sure; I want to stay with Tom 
 I want to be with you. Oh, I don't know I don't 
 know I" 
 
 She leaned on his breast and sobbed. And Craw- 
 ford knew that his old power with her still held. 
 
 Quickly he made up his mind how to act to se- 
 cure her wavering allegiance. Her admission of 
 indecision was an admission that she had loved him 
 in his absence and that she would never let him go 
 away again without her. 
 
 He threw her from him, almost roughly: and she 
 cowered away in fear and surprise. 
 
 "All right!" he cried. "If you cannot make up 
 your mind, I'll do it for you. Stay with your new 
 lover; eat his grub and love him in exchange for 
 it; be his doll for that's all you can ever be to him 
 anyway. 
 
 "I'm going. You'll never see me again. You've 
 had your chance. I've done my part. I'm through 
 now so don't blame me." 
 
 He turned quickly away from her and strode to- 
 ward the door. But, with a terrified cry, Lizbeth 
 the imperious, masterful Lizbeth ran after him. 
 All her affectation and all her insincerity were gone.
 
 Cold Kail Hot Again 279 
 
 She clung to him a woman frail and weak, crying 
 for peace and shelter from the only man in all the 
 world from whom she felt she could ever obtain 
 them. 
 
 "Don't go, Bob! Oh, don't go! I could never 
 bear that now." 
 
 He turned to her again. 
 
 "Yes, yes, wait!" she cried, her anxious face 
 searching his, as she patted him with her hands. 
 "Wait for me, Bob ! I'll go too ! 
 
 "We'll hurry away from this hell on earth, for 
 that's what it is. I can't stand any more of it. I 
 didn't love him. I see that all now. I only loved 
 what he owned. He always" did as I wanted him to. 
 But you are a man the only man who ever forced 
 me to do what he wanted me to do and, Bob, I 
 love you for it. Yes! I love you. Oh, Bob, Bob, 
 I want you, I want you !" 
 
 Her voice rang out, wild, unfettered, sincere ; and 
 all the wrong she had done Crawford was obliterat- 
 ed in that heart-hungry cry. His arms went round 
 
 her and their lips met passionately. 
 
 ****** 
 
 A slender, girlish figure came slowly down the 
 stairs from the room above and stood at the turn, 
 almost hidden from view yet surveying the entire 
 room. She had heard the sound of voices; and the 
 high-pitched cry of Lizbeth had brought her down, 
 startled and wondering.
 
 2 8o The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 For a time she could not understand what her 
 eyes beheld, but soon all was made clear to her and 
 she drew back again, unheard and unseen. 
 
 Slowly Lizbeth led Crawford over to the little 
 cot by the fireplace and, lifting the coverlet, she 
 showed him his little son, she looking upon the babe 
 for the first time with real feelings of motherly love 
 and tenderness. 
 
 And thus stooping together and laughing over 
 their little child Colin Jackson found them on his 
 return. 
 
 "In the name of thunder! Isn't that man out of 
 here yet?" he growled. "Stop this fooling, you 
 pair of silly idiots. 
 
 "I see you are up to all the tricks of your trade, 
 Crawford trying the sentimental stuff. Well I 
 it isn't going to work this time. 
 
 "Lizbeth send that man about his business, and 
 look sharp. It's mighty poor respect you show for 
 the gentleman you are going to marry." 
 
 "I never will marry him," cried Lizbeth, defiantly. 
 
 "What? What? What? Do you tell me that 
 to my face, at this hour?" he yelled, turning livid 
 with rage. "You'll be telling me next that you are 
 going to marry this scoundrel." 
 
 "No, that won't be necessary either, dad," said 
 Lizbeth quietly. 
 
 "We are married already."
 
 Cold Kail Hot Again 281 
 
 Swift as a shot from a gun the words flew out 
 and penetrated the mark. 
 
 "It's a lie ! It's a trick !" cried Jackson in a futile 
 endeavour to persuade himself, if not the others, 
 that it was not true. 
 
 "It isn't a lie," remarked Crawford, "but you bet 
 it was a pretty fine trick. We were married the 
 day of the Roanstone Fair, a year ago last April. 
 There's the certificate! There were just ourselves, 
 a little, old, retired minister who was doddering at 
 the brink of his grave, and a couple of witnesses 
 who never saw us before. Quite safe if we didn't 
 want it to come out, but everything absolutely O. K. 
 all the same." 
 
 Colin Jackson read the certificate through, then 
 tore it into scraps which he threw in Crawford's 
 face. 
 
 Crawford laughed. 
 
 "I guess that means you've divorced us, Jackson. 
 But you shouldn't tear up papers that don't belong 
 to you," he remonstrated. "It'll cost me five dollars 
 for a fresh copy of that certificate so you see it's 
 a damned expensive temper that of yours." 
 
 There was little mirth in the situation for Colin 
 Jackson, and he ignored entirely the sarcasm of his 
 newly-discovered son-in-law. His hands trembled 
 and his face became haggard. He seemed to have 
 lost control over his words and his actions, as he
 
 282 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 turned to her upon whom he had staked so much, 
 and lost. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me about this before, Liz- 
 beth? You owed that much to your old father. 
 I may have wronged others, but, God knows! I 
 never denied you what you wanted." 
 
 "Don't start hi to lecture me," she replied in de- 
 fiance. "What I did, I did in the hope of helping 
 you, and it never would have happened if you hadn't 
 urged me to marry Tom Menteith. It looked easy 
 then, with Bob in Australia and the chances that he 
 would never come back, no witness who knew us, 
 and somebody to foist the youngster on. But I was 
 a fool to think that it would never come out; and 
 I'm glad now that it has been stopped before it got 
 too far." 
 
 "Yes, yes, smooth tongue and fine excuses!" 
 complained her father impatiently. "You were al- 
 ways good at that. But there is only one word for 
 what you were going to do, it's an ugly word, 
 maybe you've heard it before." 
 
 He threw up his hands in disgust. 
 
 "Oh, for God's sake, get out of my sight ! You, 
 and your brat, and your sneering fancy-man ! Never 
 let me see your face again. You are a disgrace to 
 the lowest drab in any Chinatown. Get out, before 
 I curse the day you were born !" 
 
 His face grew drawn and bloodless as he hounded 
 them before him.
 
 Cold Kail Hot Again 283 
 
 Lizbeth picked the child up from the cot, and 
 Colin Jackson bundled them toward the door. His 
 voice rose in a hysteria of passion. 
 
 "I wronged a good girl for you," he cried, "a 
 good girl, I tell you who would not harm a fly. 
 You are going to turn tail and run away from it 
 all, and leave me among the ruins. But she'll stay 
 and help me the best she can. Would to God she'd 
 been mine instead of you!" 
 
 Lizbeth turned and looked at him appealingly. 
 
 "Go away!" he yelled. "Don't speak a word I 
 Go away go away!" 
 
 When the door closed on them, he tottered over 
 to the table with the gait of an old, worn-out man, 
 and buried his face in his hands. All his courage 
 and venom were gone. Years seemed to have rolled 
 suddenly on top of him, burying him as under a 
 funeral pyre. 
 
 When his grief had spent itself, he raised his head 
 slowly and, with an effort, got to his feet, moving 
 aimlessly around the kitchen, with his hands out in 
 front of him. 
 
 "Yes ! Kathie is a good girl," he murmured. "I 
 did her wrong but I'll go to her; I'll make it up 
 to her ; I'll tell her all about it. She won't run away 
 and leave me. She won't be angry with an old man. 
 She won't bring fresh ruin on top of old. Yes! 
 she's a good girl.
 
 284 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "Kathie, Kathie!" he cried. But his voice scarce- 
 ly rose above a whisper. 
 
 "Kathie, Kathie!" he called louder. 
 
 He went to the turn in the stairs, still shouting. 
 
 "Kathie, Kathie, are you there?" 
 
 From room to room he tottered only one word 
 on his lips, the name of the girl he had bullied, and 
 wronged, and almost broken. 
 
 But Kathie did not answer. She was far from 
 the reach of his voice, and he was alone and help- 
 less amid the ruins of his crumpled ambitions.
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 Dissolving Shadows 
 
 LIZBETH'S confession to her father sounded 
 like the sweetest music to Kathie standing 
 there at the turn of the stairway. She experienced 
 no wild surge of maddening anger or resentment, 
 nor had she any declamation to make before those 
 who had wronged her so cruelly. All she knew and 
 all she cared was that at last she was free from the" 
 horrible nightmare which had so long beset her. 
 
 Like hoar frost before the morning sun all the 
 clinging shadows melted away and the brightness 
 of a great peace radiated through her. Lizbeth 
 was married, so she was free now always had been 
 free, in fact to throw back the lie in the teeth of 
 the world; free to shout gladly her innocence to the 
 wind, the trees, the birds; free to defy those who 
 had held her in bondage and, above all, free to vin- 
 dicate herself in the eyes of those who once had 
 been so kind to her although their faith had wavered 
 because of her silence. 
 
 Kathie slipped quickly upstairs and into her bed- 
 room. She swung herself over the window sill and 
 dropped lightly to the turf below. Like the wind, 
 
 285
 
 286 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 she sped up over the hill, through the broad, green 
 trail in the wood and over the other side to Broad- 
 acres, an aggressive defiance in her eyes, a wild tu- 
 mult in her bosom and a gloriously untrammelled 
 freedom dancing through the whole being of her. 
 
 This time, there was no Indian maid to block 
 her way at the door. Had there been, it would 
 have been of little consequence, for half a dozen 
 maids could not have barred her entrance then to 
 the people she loved. 
 
 Mrs. Gray was comfortably seated on a couch 
 before a bright fire. On a wooden stand by her 
 side rested a book from which she was reading. 
 A ball of wool lay in her lap and she was plying 
 her knitting needles with an amazing ease and dex- 
 terity. Like many another lady of her upbringing, 
 she considered that to read without knitting at the 
 same time was a waste of time, and, therefore, an 
 unpardonable sin. 
 
 Kathie broke in on the quiet of her afternoon, 
 with her heart-wrung cry of freedom, carrying with 
 her a contagious thrill of excitement. Running for- 
 ward with her arms outstretched, she threw herself 
 at the feet of the elderly lady. 
 
 "I am good I am good!" she cried wildly. 
 "They said I was not; they said I was bad; but, 
 oh, I am good I am good!" 
 
 She looked up into the face of her old friend,
 
 Dissolving Shadows 287 
 
 clutching at the sleeves of the old lady's gown with 
 nervous fingers. 
 
 "Tell me you believe me now?" she pleaded. 
 "Tell me you still love me; oh, tell me you love 
 me! I am dying to be loved again!" 
 
 Mrs. Gray was startled by the sudden appearance 
 of Kathie, and the girl's pleading cry resounded 
 through to her very soul. Tenderly she caught the 
 wet face between her hands. 
 
 "Let me look into your eyes, lassie, and I'll tell 
 you," she said with motherly gentleness. 
 
 In that brief moment the truth shone out bright 
 and clear, chasing away the last lingering shadow 
 of a doubt. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" she went on decidedly, "you are good, 
 my own, sweet lass. Good as gold and pure as the 
 snow you once were buried in! A face like you 
 have now can never lie. And I love you, my dear, 
 with all my poor, old, weak, throbbing heart." 
 
 She kissed Kathie on the forehead and then 
 looked into her face again. 
 
 "If I only had had you beside me and had looked 
 at you as I do now, I never could have doubted 
 not for the tiniest moment. Ah! how you have 
 been slandered and misjudged my sweet, innocent 
 lamb! And I am one of the worst of the sinners, 
 for I should have known better." 
 
 The old lady's eyes were dimmed with tears and, 
 as Kathie rose, Mrs. Gray drew her on to the couch
 
 288 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 by her side. And thus, with her head on the old 
 lady's breast, Kathie cried in happy relief from her 
 long, pent-up feelings. 
 
 "We condemned you without a trial," said Mrs. 
 Gray. "Tell me all you know, Kathie, so that I 
 may help you to straighten out the terrible tangle : 
 for, you see, I know so little." 
 
 Kathie felt in her bosom for the locket which her 
 uncle had given her, and, with a vigorous tug she 
 broke it from its fastenings and handed it to Mrs. 
 Gray. 
 
 "Crawford is back from Australia," she sobbed. 
 "Lizbeth and he were married long ago, and the 
 child is theirs." 
 
 "And they made you take this vow to hide their 
 duplicity?" asked the horrified lady. "But Lizbeth 
 was to marry Tom MenteithI What of him?" 
 
 "My uncle and Lizbeth told me the child was Mr. 
 Menteith's; and I believed them," faltered Kathie. 
 "They said they wished to hide the fact from old 
 Mr. Menteith until after their marriage. They de- 
 ceived me into helping them; they threatened me, 
 they played on my feelings, they said it would mean 
 ruin to them if I did not consent and that I was 
 the only one who could help them. They were my 
 only relatives and I felt I owed them my assistance 
 where possible. I consented. Then they tricked me 
 and spread those horrible lies around. 
 
 "Oh, what a miserable fool I have been! I have
 
 Dissolving Shadows 289 
 
 almost missed my way. It has almost made me bad, 
 for my belief in my fellows was nearly dead and I 
 thought the evil in this world by far outweighed 
 the good; and that it was useless to fight." 
 
 Kathie took back the locket and made to cast it 
 into the fire. 
 
 "Steady, my dear! You must not do that," in- 
 tervened Mrs. Gray. "We may need this. Give it 
 back to me and I will keep it safe for you." 
 
 Kathie looked around the familiar room, and a 
 feeling of something amiss came to her. 
 
 "Where is Captain Gray?" she asked. "Did he 
 also lose faith in me?" 
 
 "Ah no, my dear I He, among all of us, has main- 
 tained your innocence. He shouted it from the hill- 
 tops and down in the valley in the town. He has 
 quarrelled and fought over it until the people are 
 afraid to mention your name in his hearing. 
 
 "He and Alick have been away for months and 
 months, trying to prove a theory he has regarding 
 you. I am not very hopeful for the success of their 
 mission, but, if it should prove true; oh, my dear I 
 what rejoicing there will be in Broadacres this night. 
 
 "I had a telegram last week saying they had ar- 
 rived in the East. 
 
 "They are due here to-day. Tom Semple has 
 gone in to meet them at the train. The train is sev- 
 eral hours late, but they are due here any minute 
 
 now."
 
 290 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 Kathie could scarcely contain herself. "But what 
 is it," she inquired, "that has taken them away 
 from home so long? What is it connected with me 
 that could be of such importance to busy men?" 
 
 "Probably I should not tell you, Kathie, for it 
 is likely to be only an old man's strange fancy, after 
 all; but, do you know, you bear the same name, 
 Kathleen Gray, as Captain Gray's mother did? He 
 discovered that from a little brooch belonging to 
 you which he found in the wood some time ago. He 
 says you remind him of his mother in voice and 
 manner. Your strange and wonderful talent for 
 music brings back memories of his brother who ran 
 away from home and was supposed to have been 
 drowned supposed, because his body never was 
 really properly identified." 
 
 As well as she could, Mrs. Gray told her eager 
 young listener all she knew of the story, and she 
 tried her best to impress on her its improbability 
 and what little chance there was of the investiga- 
 tions proving anything more than that they were 
 fruitless. 
 
 But Kathie's more romantic nature would not let 
 go of the possibility of the connecting links being 
 forged no matter how small the chances might be. 
 
 "But it might be true," she maintained, trying to 
 discover a trace of hope in her less impressible com- 
 panion. "Why couldn't it be true?"
 
 Dissolving Shadows 291 
 
 "My dear, we must just wait quietly until they 
 come back, then we shall know all about it.'* 
 
 "But was there no word in the telegram as to 
 what progress they had made?" continued Kathie. 
 
 "Not a word ! That is what makes me think they 
 have discovered nothing. But, my dear, do not be 
 downhearted, for it shall make no difference one 
 way or the other. You are still our little foster 
 daughter and you must stay with us always now, for 
 we want you. You know you can never go back 
 under the roof where you have been so outrageously 
 treated." 
 
 "But yet it might be true!" harped Kathie, en- 
 couraging the faint, flickering hope. "I feel that 
 my father was more than he pretended to be; that 
 there was something great, and good, and noble in 
 him born in him which no buffering, nor pri- 
 vation, nor even despair could entirely obliterate." 
 
 In her impatience, she rose and walked across 
 the floor, time and again soliloquising: 
 
 "But what if it be true I Oh, what if it be true !" 
 until Mrs. Gray's heart was pained to think of the 
 disappointment which must surely be hers. And 
 she wished she had held her peace and had kept her 
 secret. 
 
 At last the well-known clip-clop of her favourite 
 mare resounded from the roadway, and Mrs. Gray 
 knew that her husband and Alick were being driven 
 up the avenue, home once more.
 
 292 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 She rose to go to meet them at the door. Kathie 
 followed. 
 
 "No, my dear I" said Mrs. Gray kindly. "I think 
 you had better remain here. I wish to see them 
 first, to tell them in a few words what has trans- 
 pired since they went away; to prepare them for 
 the joy of meeting you without a cloud between." 
 
 She left Kathie walking the floor in a fever of 
 unrest. 
 
 Along the hallway, at the wide-open door, she 
 welcomed her boys back again, and in a few brief 
 sentences she told them the glad news. 
 
 "Is she with you now?" interposed Alick excit- 
 edly. 
 
 "She is in the sitting room," smiled Mrs. Gray. 
 
 Alick did not wait for any more. He bounded 
 along the hallway and disappeared. He stood at 
 the door for a moment, gazing at the woman he 
 loved so dearly. She turned and saw him and, with 
 open arms, they ran toward each other. 
 
 Not a word was spoken. Their emotions were 
 too great for that. Alick held her to his fast-beat- 
 ing heart in his strong embrace. Their lips met 
 in the silent eloquence of their love. 
 
 "Tell me, Alick, tell me," said Kathie at last, 
 "is it true, oh, is it true?" 
 
 "That I love you, dearest?" he asked. 
 
 "No, no, no, Alick! That I know. But is it true 
 that "
 
 Dissolving Shadows 293 
 
 "Hush, sweetheart! I am not at liberty to tell. 
 You must ask that of your Uncle, Captain Gray." 
 
 With a glad shout she broke from his arms and 
 clasped her hands together in ecstasy. 
 
 "Then it is true! It is true!" she cried. "Oh, I 
 am so happy ! How glad I am ! The world seems 
 a perfect Paradise!" 
 
 The jovial voice of Captain Gray heralded his 
 approach. His tall figure was framed in the door- 
 way and his arms were also outstretched in welcome 
 for the woman in whom his trust had never wavered. 
 
 "My own, dear, little niece I" he exclaimed. 
 
 She threw herself into his arms. 
 
 "My Uncle, my Uncle !" she murmured. And the 
 room became strangely quiet for a time. 
 
 "But is it really, and truly, and irrevocably true?" 
 she asked anxiously, looking up at him. 
 
 Captain Gray smiled. 
 
 "Yes! it is really, and truly, and irrevocably 
 true, even 'cross-my-heart-and-may-I-die' true," he 
 added, laughing. 
 
 "Then you must tell me all about it at once," she 
 cried, still clinging to him. "I am dying to hear." 
 
 "I'll give you some of the headings, little sweet- 
 heart. The details must wait until after supper, for 
 Alick and I are hungry as bears waking up after 
 their winter sleep and having fed on nothing but 
 sucked paw all the time. 
 
 "First of all, the man who was found drowned
 
 294 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 in the Solway Firth was not my brother. He was a 
 travelling musician who had stolen my brother's vio- 
 lin from him at a wayside inn some months before. 
 I traced my brother your father to Ireland, to 
 the watering place where he first met your mother. 
 All the rest lies proven there," he continued, pro- 
 ducing a bundle of papers from his pocket and 
 throwing it on the table. "Your parents' marriage 
 certificate; the proof of your birth; and, best of all, 
 a full and lucid diary of your father's doings and 
 wanderings from the time he ran away from home 
 until a week before his death. Alick found them, 
 in the home of an old woman who had got some 
 of your mother's belongings after her death. The 
 old woman had not known their worth but had not 
 cared to get rid of them." 
 
 Kathie could not speak. Her joy was complete 
 and tears ran down her cheeks as she listened, as in 
 a dream, to the wonderful story. 
 
 In the midst of their happiness, Zella appeared. 
 She addressed the Captain. 
 
 "Mister Jackson he at door. He want see you 
 quick." 
 
 "The devil 1" testily exclaimed the Captain. "I 
 don't want to see him. If I met that man now, I 
 feel I would knock him down and tramp on him. 
 Zella, tell him I won't see him. 
 
 "It would be like bringing to a feast a man who 
 had no stomach."
 
 Dissolving Shadows 295 
 
 "Wait a moment, Zella !" interposed Mrs. Gray. 
 "Allan," she continued, turning to her husband, "see 
 him; let him know what we know; get this cleared 
 up now and done with for all time. The sooner the 
 better!" 
 
 Reluctantly, the Captain gave assent. 
 
 "Tell him to come in, Zella. But, if he says a 
 word out of place, I'll wring his neck," he added. 
 
 But all the Captain's anger faded at the sight of 
 the old, done man who tottered into the room. They 
 could scarcely believe that he who stood before them 
 now was the strong and vigorous old rancher they 
 had known and seen only a few months before. 
 
 Jackson's eyes travelled around the room, resting 
 finally on Kathie. 
 
 "Kathie, my dear," he whimpered, in a trembling 
 voice, "I knew you would not go far away. I have 
 come for you. They have all gone and left me 
 all but you. 
 
 "There's a lot of work to be done and nobody to 
 do it, so you must hurry. Come ! We mustn't disturb 
 the good folks here any longer than we can help." 
 
 He turned and hobbled toward the door as if he 
 entertained no idea that she would not follow. 
 
 "Aren't you coming?" he exclaimed a little irri- 
 tably, looking back over his shoulder. 
 
 "No, I am not coming, Uncle Jackson, not any 
 more," replied Kathie in a voice aquiver with emotion.
 
 296 The Girl of O. K. Valley 
 
 "What!" screeched the old rancher. "Talk like 
 that to your old uncle who has kept you all this 
 time when no one else would have you I Say 'No' 
 to me you ungrateful young baggage I" 
 
 He advanced, shaking his stick in menace. 
 
 "That'll do, Jackson," interfered the Captain. 
 "Get about your business. Kathie shall never set 
 foot inside your door again not with my sanction." 
 
 "With your sanction," screamed Colin Jackson, 
 "did you say with your sanction? If that isn't the 
 brightest! When did you get the power to sanc- 
 tion?" 
 
 "There's the sanction on the table," said Captain 
 Gray calmly. "Kathie is my brother's daughter." 
 
 "I don't believe it. It's another lie a damned 
 lie. It's another scheme. You're all scheming to 
 
 ruin me." 
 
 "Read for yourself then," went on the Captain. 
 "As for the schemes and all such dirty work I 
 leave that to you. Your sister married my brother 
 years ago. Kathie is the child of that marriage. 
 The proofs are all there read them I 
 
 "My brother's express desire is that I should be- 
 come the guardian of his daughter." 
 
 The news fell almost unheeded on Colin Jack- 
 son's ears. His mind seemed to be clouded and 
 unable to grasp with the swiftness of old times. He 
 did not read the papers; he merely nodded his head 
 as if accepting a final judgment.
 
 Dissolving Shadows 297 
 
 "Everybody has turned against me," he exclaimed 
 bitterly. "But still, you have no right to force my 
 Kathie to leave me and to live with you here, when 
 she does not want to go. Let her choose. I'll be 
 content with her decision, for I know she still loves 
 her old uncle. Don't you dear?" he doddered, look- 
 ing at Kathie in supplication, his voice sounding hol- 
 low and sham. 
 
 "Tell him your choice, lass," said the Captain, 
 "and let us be rid of him." 
 
 Kathie went slowly over to the old rancher. 
 
 "Uncle, I can never forget the terible wrong you 
 have done me," she said, "but, because you are my 
 uncle my dear mother's brother I forgive you 
 gladly. For my own safety, though, I could never 
 live under your roof again. 
 
 "Captain Gray is my uncle also; and I love him 
 almost as much as I loved my dear father. I should 
 love to live with him, but that can't be either. There 
 is someone else who has waited long and patiently, 
 someone who has suffered for my sake." 
 
 She turned to Alick Simpson. 
 
 "His claim on me is my claim on him and these 
 claims must come first." 
 
 Gently she laid her hands on the broad shoulders; 
 and, looking with confidence and tenderness into his 
 blue eyes, she murmured: 
 
 "Alick, my own, I am ready now." 
 
 THE END
 
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