The Gold Trail | Page 7

as a whole. There was something in her dress and manner that he would have described vaguely as style, though it was a style he had not often come across in the west, where he had for the most part lived in the bush. She was evidently a little younger than himself, but she had the quiet air of one accustomed to command, which, as a matter of fact, was the case.
Then he wondered with a slight uneasiness whether she had heard all that he said when he fell down. He fancied that she had, for there was the faintest trace of amusement in her eyes. They met his own steadily, though he was not sure whether they were gray or blue, or a very light brown. Indeed, he was never quite sure of this, for they changed curiously with the light.
Then she came toward him and looked at the valise.
"It was locked when I gave it to you," she said, with a trace of severity.
"Well," answered Weston, "it doesn't seem to be locked now. I think I remember noticing that you left the key in it; but it's gone. It must have fallen out. I'll look for it."
He looked for some time, and, failing to find it, walked back to the girl.
"I'm afraid it's in the river," he said. "Still, you see, the bag is open."
"That," replied Miss Stirling, "is unfortunately evident. I want it shut."
Weston glanced at the protruding garments with which she seemed to be busy.
"I'm very sorry," he said. "I dare say I could squeeze these things back into it."
He was going to do so when Miss Stirling took the bag away from him.
"No," she said a trifle quickly, "I don't think you could."
Then it occurred to Weston that his offer had, perhaps, not been altogether tactful, and he was sensible of a certain confusion, at which he was slightly astonished. He did not remember having been readily subject to fits of embarrassment when in England, though there he had never served as porter to people of his own walk in life. Turning away, he collected a waterproof carry-all, a big rubber ground sheet, another parasol, a sketching stool, and a collapsible easel, which also appeared to be damaged. Then as he knelt down and roped them and the valise together he looked at the girl.
"I'm afraid Miss Kinnaird will be a little angry, for I think that easel thing won't open out," he said. "I'm awfully sorry."
Now "awfully sorry" is not a western colloquialism, and the girl looked at him attentively. She liked his voice, and she rather liked his face, which, since he had not been called the Kid for nothing, was ingenuous. She laughed a little. Then she remembered something she had noticed.
"Well," she observed, "I suppose you couldn't help it. That load was too heavy; and aren't you a little lame?"
"Not always," said Weston. "I cut my foot a little while ago. If it hadn't been for that I shouldn't have fallen down and broken Miss Kinnaird's things."
"And mine!"
"And yours," admitted Weston. "As I said, I'm particularly sorry. Still, if you will let me have the bag afterward I can, perhaps, mend the lock. You see, I assisted a general jobbing mechanic."
Ida Stirling flashed a quick glance at him. He had certainly a pleasant voice, and his manner was whimsically deferential.
"Why didn't you stay with him?" she asked. "Mending plows and wagons must have been easier than track-grading."
Weston's eyes twinkled.
"He said I made him tired; and the fact is I mended a clock. That is, I tried--it was rather a good one when I got hold of it."
The girl laughed, and the laugh set them on good terms with each other. Then she said:
"That load is far too heavy for you to climb over these boulders with when you have an injured foot. You can give me the valise, at least."
"No," said Weston, resolutely, "this is a good deal easier than shoveling gravel, as well as pleasanter; and the foot really doesn't trouble me very much. Besides, if I hadn't cut it, Cassidy wouldn't have sent me here."
He was, however, mistaken in supposing that the construction foreman had been influenced only by a desire to get rid of a man who was to some extent incapacitated. As a matter of fact, Miss Stirling, who had been rather pleased with the part he had played two days ago, had, when her father insisted on her taking a white man as well as the Indians, given Cassidy instructions that he should be sent. Still, she naturally did not mention this, and indeed said nothing of any account while they went on to the canoes.
It was slacker water above the rapid; and all afternoon they slid slowly up on deep, winding reaches of the still,