British -- Canada -- Fiction; Love stories; Ranchers -- Canada, Western -- Fiction
"Oh, yes," said Saxton, drily. "Twice, at least. I was three days
without food the last time. One has to take his chances in the ranges,
and you don't pick up dollars without trouble anywhere. Still, we'll
talk of that afterwards. Had enough?"
Brooke said he fancied he had, and Saxton hammered upon the iron roof of
the shanty until a man appeared.
"Give him a pair of blankets, Ike. He can sleep in the lean-to," he
said.
Brooke went with the man, vacantly, and in another few minutes found
himself lying in dry blankets on a couch of springy twigs. He was
sensible that it was delightfully warm, but he could not remember how he
got there, and was wondering why the rain no longer lashed his face,
when sleep came to him.
It was next morning when he was awakened by the roar of a blasting
charge, and lay still with an unusual sense of comfort until the silence
that followed it was broken by the clinking of the drills. Then he rose
stiffly, and put on his clothes, which he found had been dried, and was
informed by a man who appeared while he was doing it that his breakfast
was waiting. Brooke wondered a little at this, for he knew that it was
past the usual hour, but he made an excellent meal, and then, being
shown into a compartment of the little galvanized iron shanty, found
Saxton sitting at a table. The latter now wore long boots and jean, and
there were pieces of discolored stone strewn about in front of him.
He looked up with a little nod as Brooke came in. "Feeling quite
yourself again?" he said.
"Yes," said Brooke, "thanks to the way your men have treated me. This
is, of course, a hospitable country, but I may admit that I could
scarcely have expected to be so well looked after by one I hadn't the
slightest claim upon."
"And you almost wondered what he did it for?"
Brooke was a trifle astonished, for this certainly expressed his
thoughts, but he was in no way disconcerted, and he laughed.
"I should, at least, never have ventured to suggest that anything except
good-nature influenced you," he said.
"Still, you felt it? Well, you were considerably used up when you came
in, and, as I sent you to the Surveyor, who didn't seem to have any use
for you, I felt myself responsible. That appears sufficient?"
Now, Brooke had mixed with men of a good many different stations, and he
was observant, and, as might have been expected, by no means diffident.
"Since you ask, I scarcely think it does," he said.
Saxton laughed. "Take a cigar. That's the kind of talk I like. We'll
come to the point right away."
Brooke lighted a cigar, and found it good. "Thanks. I'm willing to
listen as long as appears necessary," he said.
"You have a kind of grievance against Devine?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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