Books: THE PROSPECTOR
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RALPH CONNOR >> THE PROSPECTOR
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"Well, that may be too strong, Doctor, but you do not understand our
society here. We have a large number of people of good family from
the old country and from the East, and in order to reach them we
require a man who has moved in good society."
"Well, sir," said the Superintendent, "Jesus Christ would not have
suited your society here, for He was a man of very humble birth, and
moved in very low circles." And without further word he turned from
Macfarren to greet Father Mike, who had entered the store.
"Delighted to see you again, Bishop," said Father Mike. "We are
always glad to see you even though you are outside the pale."
"Depends upon which pale you mean, Father Mike," said the
Superintendent, shaking him warmly by the hand.
"True, sir. And I, for one, refuse to narrow its limits to those of
any existing organization."
"Your principles do you credit, sir," said the Superintendent,
giving his hand an extra shake. "They are truly Scriptural, truly
modern, and truly Western."
"But, Doctor, I want to ask you, if I may without impertinence, why
did you do so great an injury to our community as to remove your
missionary from us?"
"Ah, you consider that a loss, Father Mike?"
"Undoubtedly, sir. A great and serious loss. He was a high type of a
man. I will quote as expressing my opinions, the words of a
gentleman whose judgment would, I suppose, be considered in this
community as final on all such matters--General Brady, sir. I think
you know him. This is what I heard him say. 'He is an able preacher
and a Christian gentleman.'"
"Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir," said the Superintendent. "I thank
you for your warm appreciation of one whom, after short
acquaintance, I regard as you do."
It was Father Mike who drove the Superintendent to Loon Lake next
day, only to find Shock away from home.
"We will inquire at the stopping-place," said Father Mike.
"Let us see," said the Superintendent, who never forgot a name or a
face, "does Carroll keep that still? He did five years ago."
"Yes, and here he is," said Father Mike. "Hello, Carroll. Can you
tell me where your minister is?"
"By japers, it's a search warrant you'll need for him I'm thinkin'.
Ask Perault there. Perault, do you know where the preacher is?"
"Oui. He's go 'way for prospect sure."
"Prospecting?" inquired Father Mike.
"Oui," grinned Perault, "dat's heem, one prospector. Every day,
every day he's pass on de trial, over de hill, down de coulee, all
over."
"He does, eh?" said Father Mike, delighted at the description of his
friend. "What is he after? Coal?"
"Coal!" echoed Perault with contempt. "Not mouche. He's go for find
de peep. He's dig 'em up on de church, by gar."
"You see, Doctor," said Father Mike, "no one has any chance here
with your fellow. There's Carroll, now, and Perault, they are
properly Roman Catholic, but now they are good Presbyterians."
"Bon, for sure. Eh, Carroll, mon garcon?"
"Bedad, an' it's thrue for ye," said Carroll.
It was no small tribute to Shock's influence that the ancient feud
between these two had been laid to rest.
"Well, do you know when he will be home?" asked Father Mike.
"I go for fin' out," said Perault, running into his house, and
returning almost immediately. "Tomorrow for sure. Mebbe to-night."
"Well, Carroll, this is your minister's bishop. I suppose you can
look after him till Mr. Macgregor comes home."
"An' that we can, sir. Come right in," said Carroll readily. "Anny
friend of the Prospector, as we call him, is welcome to all in me
house, an' that he is."
That afternoon and evening the Superintendent spent listening in the
pauses of his letter writing to the praises of the missionary, and
to a description, with all possible elaboration and ornament, of the
saving of little Patsey's life, in which even the doctor's skill
played a very subordinate part.
"An' there's Patsey himself, the craythur," said Mrs. Carroll, "an'
will he luk at his father or meself when his riverince is by? An'
he'll follie him out an' beyant on that little pony of his."
The Superintendent made no remark, but he kept quietly gathering
information. In Perault's house it was the same. Perault, Josie, and
Marion sang in harmony the praises of Shock.
Late at night Shock returned bringing the doctor with him, both
weary and spent with the long, hard day's work. From Perault, who
was watching for his return, he heard of the arrival of the
Superintendent. He was much surprised and mortified that his
Superintendent should have arrived in his absence, and should have
found no one to welcome him.
"Tell Josie and Marion," he said to Perault, "to get my room ready,"
and, weary as he was, he went to greet his chief.
He found him, as men were accustomed to find him, busy with his
correspondence. The Superintendent rose up eagerly to meet his
missionary.
"How do you do, sir, how do you do? I am very glad to see you," and
he gripped Shock's hand with a downward pull that almost threw him
off his balance.
"I wish to assure you," said the Superintendent, when the greetings
were over, "I wish to assure you," and his voice took its deepest
tone, "of my sincere sympathy with you in your great loss. It was my
privilege to be present at your mother's funeral, and to say a few
words. You have a great and noble heritage in your mother's memory.
She was beautiful in her life, and she was beautiful in death."
Poor Shock! The unexpected tender reference to his mother, the
brotherly touch, and the vision that he had from the
Superintendent's words of his mother, beautiful in death, were more
than he could bear. His emotions overwhelmed him. He held the
Superintendent's hand tight in his, struggling to subdue the sobs,
that heaved up from his labouring breast.
"I suppose," continued the Superintendent, giving him time to
recover himself, "my last letter failed to reach you. I had expected
to be here two weeks later, but I wrote changing my arrangements so
as to arrive here to-day."
"No, sir," said Shock, "no letter making any change reached me. I am
very sorry indeed, not to have met you, and I hope you were not much
inconvenienced."
"Not at all, sir, not at all. Indeed, I was very glad to have the
opportunity of spending a little time at the Fort, and meeting some
of your friends. By the way, I met a friend of yours on my journey
down, who wished to be remembered to you, Bill Lee of Spruce Creek.
You remember him?"
"Oh, perfectly. Bill is a fine fellow," said Shock,
enthusiastically.
"Yes, Bill has his points. He has quit whiskey selling, he said, and
he wished that you should know that. He said you would know the
reason why."
But Shock knew of no reason, and he only replied, "Bill was very
kind to me, and I am glad to know of the change in him."
"Yes," continued the Superintendent, "and I spent some time at the
Fort meeting with some of the people, but upon inquiries I am more
puzzled than ever to find a reason for the withdrawal of our
services, and I am still in the dark about it."
Shock's face flushed a deep red.
"I am afraid," he said, in a shamed and hesitating manner, "that I
was not the right man for the place. I think I rather failed at the
Fort."
"I saw Macfarren," continued the Superintendent, ignoring Shock's
remark. "He tried to explain, but seemed to find it difficult." The
Superintendent omitted to say that he had heard from Father Mike
what might have explained in a measure Macfarren's opposition. But
Shock remained silent.
"Well," continued the Superintendent, "now that I am here, what do
you wish me to do?"
"First," said Shock, "come over to my house. Come to the manse.
Carroll will not mind."
The Superintendent put his papers together, and Shock, shouldering
his valise and coat, led the way to the manse.
As they entered the big room the Superintendent paused to observe
its proportions, noted the library shelves full of books, the organ
in the corner, the pictures adorning the walls, and without much
comment passed on upstairs to Shock's own room. But he did not fail
to detect a note of pride in Shock's voice as he gave him welcome.
"Come in, come in and sit down. I hope you will be comfortable. It
is rather rough."
"Rough, sir," exclaimed the Superintendent. "It is palatial. It is
truly magnificent. I was quite unprepared for anything like this.
Now tell me how was this accomplished?"
"Oh," said Shock, diffidently, "they all helped, and here it is."
"That is all, eh?"
And that was all Shock would tell. The rest of the story, however,
the Superintendent heard from others. And so, throughout his whole
visit the Superintendent found it impossible to get his missionary
to tell of his own labours, and were it not that he carried an
observant and experienced eye, and had a skilful and subtle
inquisitorial method, he might have come and gone knowing little of
the long, weary days and weeks of toil that lay behind the things
that stood accomplished in that field.
It was the same at the Pass. There stood the hospital equipped,
almost free from debt, and working in harmony with the camps and the
miners. There, too, was the club room and the library.
"And how was all this brought about?" inquired the Superintendent.
"Oh, The Don and the doctor took hold, and the men all helped."
The Superintendent said nothing, but his eyes were alight with a
kindly smile as they rested on his big missionary, and he took his
arm in a very close grip as they walked from shack to shack.
All this time Shock was pouring into his Superintendent's ear tales
of the men who lived in the mountains beyond the Pass. He spoke of
their hardships, their sufferings, their temptations, their terrible
vices and their steady degradation.
"And have you visited them?" inquired the Superintendent.
He had not been able to visit them as much as he would have liked,
but he had obtained information from many of the miners and
lumbermen as to their whereabouts, and as to the conditions under
which they lived and wrought. Shock was talking to a man of like
mind. The Superintendent's eye, like that of his missionary, was
ever upon the horizon, and his desires ran far ahead of his vision.
It was from The Don that the Superintendent learned of all Shock's
work in the past, and of all that had been done to counteract the
terrible evils that were the ruin of the lumbermen and miners. Won
by the Superintendent's sympathy, The Don unburdened his heart and
told him his own story of how, in his hour of misery and despair,
Shock had stood his friend and saved him from shame and ruin.
"Yes, sir," The Don concluded, "more than I shall ever be able to
repay he has done for me, and," he added humbly, "if I have any hope
for the future, that too I owe to him."
"You have cause to thank God for your friend, sir," said the
Superintendent, "and he has no reason to be ashamed of his friend.
You are doing noble work, sir, in this place, noble work."
A visit to the nearest lumber camp and mines, a public meeting in
the hospital, and the Superintendent's work at the Pass for the time
was done.
As he was leaving the building The Don called him into his private
room.
"I wish to introduce you to our nurse," he said. "We think a great
deal of her, and we owe much to her," and he left them together.
"I asked to see you," said Nellie, "because I want your advice and
help. They need to have more nurses here than one, and no one will
come while I am here."
The Superintendent gazed at her, trying to make her out. She tried
to proceed with her tale but failed, and, abandoning all reserve,
told him with many tears the story of her sin and shame.
"And now," she said, "for the sake of the hospital and the doctor I
must go away, and I want to find a place where I can begin again."
As the Superintendent heard her story his eyes began to glisten
under his shaggy brows.
"My dear child," he said at length, "you have had a hard life, but
the Saviour has been good to you. Come with me, and I will see what
can be done. When can you come?"
"When the doctor says," she replied.
"Very well," said the Superintendent, "I shall arrange it with him,"
and that was the beginning of a new life for poor Nellie.
The last meeting of the Superintendent's visit was at Loon Lake,
after the Sunday evening service. The big room was crowded with
people gathered from the country far and near, from the Fort to the
Pass, to hear the great man. And he was worth while hearing that
day. His imagination kindled by his recent sight of the terrible
struggle that men were making toward cleanness, and toward heaven
and God, and the vision he had had through the eyes of his
missionary of the regions beyond, caused his speech to glow and
burn.
For an hour and more they listened with hearts attent, while he
spoke to them of their West, its resources, its possibilities, and
laid upon them their responsibility as those who were determining
its future for the multitudes that were to follow. His appeal for
men and women to give themselves to the service of God and of their
country, left them thrilling with visions, hopes and longings.
In the meeting that always followed the evening service, the people
kept crowding about him, refusing to disperse. Then the
Superintendent began again.
"Your minister has been telling me much about the men in the
mountains. He seems to have these men upon his heart."
"Sure," said Ike. "He's a regular prospector, he is."
"So I have heard, so I have heard," said the Superintendent,
smiling, "and so I should judge from what I have seen. Now, what are
you going to do about it?"
They all grew quiet.
"You know about these men, no one else does. Are you going to let
them go to destruction without an attempt to prevent it?"
The silence deepened.
"Now, listen to me. This will cost money. How much can you give to
send a man to look them up? Two hundred and fifty dollars?"
"Count me," said Ike.
"Me, too," echoed Perault. "And me, and me," on all sides. In ten
minutes the thing was arranged.
"Now, there is something else," said the Superintendent, and his
voice grew deep and solemn. "Can you spare me your man?"
"No, sir!" said the Kid, promptly.
"Not much!" echoed Perault, and in this feeling all emphatically
agreed.
"Do you know where we can get such a man?" said the Superintendent,
"such a prospector?"
There was no answer. "I do not either. Now, what are you going to
do?"
Then Sinclair spoke up.
"Do you mean, Doctor, to remove Mr. Macgregor from us? That would
seem to be very hard upon this field."
"Well, perhaps not; but can you spare him for six months, at least?"
For some minutes no one made reply. Then Ike spoke.
"Well, I surmise we got a good deal from our Prospector. In fact,
what we aint got from him don't count much. And I rather opine that
we can't be mean about this. It's a little like pullin' hair, but I
reckon we'd better give him up."
"Thank you, sir," said the Superintendent, who had learned much from
Ike throughout the day. "Your words are the best commentary I have
ever heard upon a saying of our Lord's, that has inspired men to all
unselfish living, 'Freely ye have received, freely give.'"
XX
THE NEW POLICY
It was still early spring when Shock received a letter from Brown, a
letter full of perplexity, and love and wrath.
"Something has gone wrong," he wrote. "You have got to come down
here and straighten it out. I can plainly see that Mrs. Fairbanks is
at the bottom of it, but just what she is at I cannot discover.
Helen I do not now see much. The changes in our life, you see, have
been very great. I cannot bear to go to the house now. The
associations are too much for me. Besides, Lloyd seems to have taken
possession of the whole family. The old lady flatters and fondles
him in a manner that makes my gorge rise. It is quite evident she
wants him for her son-in-law, and more than evident that he entirely
concurs."
"Just what Helen thinks of it I am at a loss to know, but I cannot
believe she can stand Lloyd any more than I can. Up till recently
she was very open with me and very loyal to you, but of late a
change has taken place, and what in thunder is the matter, I cannot
make out. Have you done or said anything? Have you been guilty of
any high-falutin' nonsense of giving her up, and that sort of thing?
I fear she is avoiding me just now, and I feel certain she has been
misled in some way, so you must come down. You really must. Of
course you will say you cannot afford it, but this is too serious a
thing for any excuse like that. Will not your confounded Highland
pride let me loan you enough to bring you down. Anyway, come, if you
have to walk."
It must be confessed that Brown's letter produced little effect upon
Shock's mind. The bitterness of his surrender was past, so, at
least, he thought. The happy dream he had cherished for a year was
gone forever. He was quite certain that it was not Brown's but the
Superintendent's letter that determined him to accept appointment as
a delegate to the General Assembly.
"I have no right to command you in this," the Superintendent wrote.
"I wish I had. But I need you, and for the sake of the men you and I
know, I wish you to come down to the Assembly and meet the
Committee."
It was undoubtedly the Superintendent's letter, and yet that sudden
leap of his heart as he read his chief's entreaty startled him.
"Nonsense!" he said, shutting his jaws hard together. "That is all
done with." And yet he knew that it would be a joy almost too great
to endure to catch a glimpse of the face that still came to him
night by night in his dreams, to hear her voice, and to be near her.
So Shock came down, and his coming brought very different feelings
to different hearts, to Brown the very news of it brought mad, wild
delight. He rushed to find Helen.
"He is coming down," he cried.
"Is he?" replied Helen, eagerly. "Who?"
"I have seen his chief," continued Brown, ignoring the question. "He
has had a wire. He'll be here day after to-morrow. Oh, let me yell!
The dear old beast! If we could only get him into a jersey, and see
him bleed."
"Don't, Brownie," said Helen, using her pet name for her friend.
They had grown to be much to each other during the experiences of
the past year. "It suggests too much."
"I forgot," said Brown, penitently. "Forgive me. It will be hard for
you."
"And for him. Poor Shock," said Helen. "Don't let him go to his
home."
"Not if I can help it," replied Brown.
"And don't--don't--talk about me--much."
"Not if I can help it," replied Brown again, this time with a
suspicion of a smile.
"Now, Brownie, I want you to help me," said Helen. "It is hard
enough. There is nothing between us now. He wishes it to be so, and
after all, I do too."
"You do? Look me in the face and say you do."
Helen looked him steadily in the face, and said, quietly, "Yes, I
do. In all sincerity I believe it is far better so. Mother is quite
determined, and she has only me. It is the only thing possible, so I
want you to help me."
"And all that--that--that thing last spring was a farce--a mistake,
I mean?"
"Yes, a mistake. An awful mistake. You see," explained Helen,
hurriedly, "I was dreadfully excited, and--well, you know, I made a
fool of myself. And so, Brownie, you must help me."
"Help you--how? To keep him off? That won't be hard. Tell him it was
all a mistake last spring and that you regret it, and you won't need
to do anything else, if I know him."
"I have--at least mother has told him."
"Your mother?" gasped Brown. "Then that settles it. Good-by. I did
not expect this of you."
"Come back, Brownie. You know you are unkind, and you must not
desert me."
"Well, what in heaven's name do you want me to do? Keep him off?"
"Oh, I do not know," said Helen, breaking through her calm. "I don't
know. What can I do?"
"Do?" said Brown. "Let him tell you." He had great faith in Shock's
powers.
But the next two days were days of miserable anxiety to Brown. If
Shock would only do as he was told and act like an ordinary man,
Brown had no doubt of the issue.
"Oh, if he'll only play up," he groaned to himself, in a moment of
desperation. "If he'll only play up he'll take all that out of her
in about three minutes."
The only question was, would he play. Brown could only trust that in
some way kind Providence would come to his aid. On the afternoon of
the second day, the day of Shock's arrival, his hope was realized,
and he could not but feel that Fortune had condescended to smile a
little upon him.
Shock's train was late. The Superintendent had sought Brown out, and
adjured him by all things sacred to produce his man at the committee
meeting at the earliest possible moment, and this commission Brown
had conscientiously fulfilled.
Toward evening he met Helen downtown, and was escorting her homeward
when they fell in with Tommy Phillips, a reporter for the Times. He
was evidently in a state of considerable excitement.
"I have just had a great experience," he exclaimed. "I was down this
afternoon at your church committee, and I tell you I had a circus.
There was a big chap there from the wild and woolly, and he made 'em
sit up. Why, you know him, I guess. He's that 'Varsity football chap
the fellows used to rave about."
"Oh, yes, I know," said Brown. "Macgregor. Shock, we used to call
him."
"Yes, of course. I remember I saw him last year at the McGill
match."
"Well, what was up?" said Brown, scenting something good. "Let us
have it. Do the reporter act."
"Well, it's good copy, let me tell you, but I don't want to allow my
professional zeal to obliterate my sense of the decencies of polite
society."
"Go on," said Brown, "I want to hear. You know, I played quarter
behind him for three years, and Miss Fairbanks is interested, I
know."
"You did? Well, if he bucked up as he did this afternoon, you must
have had good hunting. Well, then, when that committee met you never
saw a more solemn-looking bunch in your life. You would think they
had all lost their mothers-in-law. And when they broke up they
didn't know but they were standing on their heads."
"What was the matter?"
"Oh, there was a big deficit on, and they had to go up to your big
council--conference--what do you call it in your pagan outfit?
Assembly? Yes, that's it--and take their medicine. Twenty thousand
dollars of a debt. Well, sir, on the back of all that didn't their
Grand Mogul--archbishop--you know, from the West--no, not Macgregor-
-their chief pusher. Superintendent? Yes--come in and put an ice
pack on them in the shape of a new scheme for exploration and
extension in the Kootenay country, the Lord knows where, some place
out of sight. Well, you ought to have heard him. He burned red fire,
you bet. Pardon my broken English, Miss Fairbanks."
"Go on," said Helen, "I like it," and Brown gave himself a little
hug.
"I am glad you do," continued Tommy, "for it is bad enough to write
copy without having to speak it. Well, the war began, some in favour
of the scheme, some against, but all hopeless in view of the present
state of finances. Better wait a little, and that sort of talk.
Then, let's see what happened. Oh, yes. The question of the man came
up. Who was the man? The Superintendent was ready for 'em. It was
Macgregor of some place. Frog Lake? No, Loon Lake. Then the
opposition thought they had him with a half-nelson. Old Dr.
Macfarren jumped on to the chief with both feet. His man was no
good, a flat failure in his field, no tact. Beg your pardon, Miss
Fairbanks. What did you say?"
"Oh, never mind," said Helen. "Go on."
"He appealed for corroboration to his friend, the chap up at Park
Church, you know, that sleek, kid-gloved fellow."
"Burns?" asked Brown, innocently, delighted in the reporter's
description of Lloyd and desiring more of it.
"No. You know that orator chap, liquid eyes, mellifluous voice, and
all the rest of it."
"Oh, Lloyd."
"Yes. Well, he took a whirl and backed up Macfarren. Evidently
didn't think much of the Superintendent's choice. Remarked about his
being a Highlander, a man of visions and that sort of thing."
"What else did he say?" inquired Brown, who was in a particularly
happy mood.
"Oh, a lot of stuff, in his most lordly, patronizing tone. Macgregor
was a very good, earnest fellow, but he should judge him to be
lacking in tact or adaptability, fine sensibilities, and that sort
of rot. But never mind. Didn't he catch it! Oh, no. My Sally Ann!
Boiling lard and blue vitriol, and all in the chief's most sweet-
scented lavender style, though all the time I could see the danger
lights burning through his port-holes. I tell you I've had my
diminished moments, but I don't think I was ever reduced to such a
shade as the Park Church chap when the Superintendent was through
with him. Serve him right, too"
"What did the Superintendent say?" continued Brown, delighted to
find somebody who would express his own sentiments with more force
and fulness than he could command.
"Say! Well, I wish I could tell you. 'Mr. Lloyd says he is a
Highlander. Yes, he is, thank God. So am I. He is a man of visions.
Yes, he has vision beyond the limits of his own congregation and of
his own native cross-roads, vision for what lies beyond the horizon,
vision for those men in the mountains who are going to the devil.' A
quotation, Miss Fairbanks, I assure you. 'These miners and
lumbermen, forgotten by all but their mothers, and God.' Say, it was
great. If I could reproduce it there would be a European trip in it.
Then he turned on Dr. Macfarren. It seems that Macgregor somehow had
to quit some place in the West on the plea that he was not
adaptable, and that sort of thing. 'Dr. Macfarren says he was a
failure,' went on the old chief, using at least five r's, 'Mr. Lloyd
says he is not adaptable, he is lacking in fine sensibilities. It is
true God did not make him with sleek hair'--which, by Jove, was true
enough--'and dainty fingers. And a good thing it was, else our
church at Loon Lake, built by his own hands, the logs cut, shaped
and set in place, sir, by his own hands, would never have existed.
He was a failure at the Fort, we are told. Why? I made inquiries
concerning that. I was told by a gentleman who calls himself a
Presbyterian--I need not mention his name--that he was not suitable
to the peculiarly select and high-toned society of that place. No,
sir, our missionary could not bow and scrape, he was a failure at
tennis, he did not shine at card parties,' and here you could smell
things sizzling. 'He could not smile upon lust. No, thank God!' and
the old chap's voice began to quiver and shake. 'In all this he was
a failure, and would to God we had more of the same kind!' 'Amen,'
'Thank God,' 'That's true,' the men around the table cried. I
thought I had struck a Methodist revival meeting."
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