Ranching for Sylvia | Page 9

could not have been
resented. Presently Ethel West crossed the room to where he was rather
moodily standing.

"I believe our car is waiting, and, as Edgar won't let me come to the
station to-morrow, I must say good-by now," she told him. "Both
Stephen and I are glad he is on your hands."
"I must try to deserve your confidence," George said, smiling. "It's
premature yet."
"Never mind that. We're alike in some respects: pretty speeches don't
appeal to us. But there's one thing I must tell you--don't delay out
yonder, come back as soon as you can."
She left him thoughtful. He had a high opinion of Ethel's intelligence,
but he would entertain no doubts or misgivings. They were treasonable
to Herbert and, what was worse, to Sylvia.
Going to bed in good time, he had only a few words with Sylvia over
his early breakfast in the morning. Then he was driven to the station,
where Edgar joined him; and the greater part of their journey proved
uneventful.
Twelve days after leaving Liverpool they were, however, awakened
early one morning by feeling the express-train suddenly slacken speed.
The big cars shook with a violent jarring, and George hurriedly swung
himself down from his upper berth. He had some difficulty in getting
into his jacket and putting on his boots, but he pushed through the
startled passengers and sprang down upon the track before the train
quite stopped. He knew that accidents were not uncommon in the wilds
of northern Ontario.
Ragged firs rose, dripping, against the rosy glow in the eastern sky,
with the narrow gap, hewed out for the line, running through their
midst. Some had been stripped of their smaller branches by fire, and
leaned, dead and blackened, athwart each other. Beneath them, shallow
pools gleamed in the hollows of the rocks, which rose in rounded
masses here and there, and the gravel of the graded track was seamed
by water channels. George remembered having heard the roar of heavy
rain and a crash of thunder during the night, but it was now
wonderfully still and fresh, and the resinous fragrance of the firs filled

the chilly air.
Walking forward, clear of the curious passengers who poured from the
cars, he saw a lake running back into the woods. A tall water-tank stood
on the margin with a shanty, in which George imagined a telegraph
operator was stationed, at its foot. Ahead, the great locomotive was
pouring out a cloud of sooty smoke. When George reached it he waited
until the engineer had finished talking to a man on the line.
"What are we stopping for? Has anything gone wrong?" he asked.
"Freight locomotive jumped the track at a wash-out some miles ahead,"
explained the engineer. "Took the fireman with her; but I don't know
much about it yet. Guess they'll want me soon."
George got the man to promise to take him, and then he went back until
he met Edgar, to whom he related what he had heard.
"I'm not astonished," remarked the lad, indicating one of the sleepers.
"Look at that--the rail's only held down by a spike or two; we fasten
them in solid chairs. They're rough and ready in this country."
It was the characteristic hypercritical attitude of the newly-arrived
Englishman; and George, knowing that the Canadians strongly resent it,
noticed a look of interest in the eyes of a girl standing near them. She
was, he imagined, about twenty-four years of age, and was dressed in
some thin white material, the narrow skirt scarcely reaching to the tops
of her remarkably neat shoes. Her arms were uncovered to the elbows;
her neck was bare, but this displayed a beautiful skin; and the face
beneath the turned-down brim of the big hat was attractive. George
thought she was amused at Edgar's comment.
"Well," he said, "while we put down a few miles of metals they'd drive
the track across leagues of new country and make a start with the traffic.
They haven't time to be particular, with the great western wheat-land
waiting for development."
The girl moved away; and when word went around that there would be

a delay of several hours, George sat down beside the lake and watched
the Colonist passengers wash their children's clothes. It was, he thought,
rather a striking scene--the great train standing in the rugged wilderness,
the wide stretch of gleaming water running back among the firs, and the
swarm of jaded immigrants splashing bare-footed along the beach.
Their harsh voices and hoarse laughter broke discordantly on the
silence of the woods.
After a while an elderly man, in badly-fitting clothes and an old
wide-brimmed hat, sauntered up with the girl George had noticed, and
stopped to survey the passengers.
"A middling sample; not so many English