Harding of Allenwood

"Bee!" Lance called back to them. "Mrs. Broadwood wants you to verify what I'm telling her about the collie pup."

Beatrice loved her brother for the interruption.

CHAPTER XII

THE ENEMY WITHIN

It was getting late, but the Allenwood Sports Club prolonged its sitting at the Carlyon homestead. The institution had done useful work in promoting good fellowship by means of healthful amusements, but recently its management had fallen into the hands of the younger men, and the founders contented themselves with an occasional visit to see that all was going well. Some, however, were not quite satisfied, and Mowbray entertained suspicions about the Club. He was an autocrat, but he shrank from spying, or attempting to coerce a member into betraying his comrades. Some allowance must be made for young blood; and, after all, nothing that really needed his interference could go on, he felt, without his learning about it. Nevertheless, he had a disturbing feeling that an undesirable influence was at work.

Carlyon's room was unusually well furnished, and several fine London guns occupied a rack on the matchboarded wall. The cost of one would have purchased a dozen of the Massachusetts-made weapons which the prairie farmers used. The photograph of a horseman in English hunting dress with M.F.H. appended to the autograph was equally suggestive, and it was known that Carlyon's people had sent him to Canada with money enough to make a fair start. Unfortunately, he had not realized that success in farming demands care and strenuous work.

He sat with a flushed, excited face at a rosewood table, upon which the cigar ends, bottles, and glasses scarcely left room for the cards he was eagerly scanning. Gerald Mowbray leaned back in his chair, watching him with a smile. Emslie, the third man, wore a disturbed frown; opposite him, Markham sat with a heavy, vacant air.

"Your luck's changing, Carlyon," Gerald said; "but we must stop at this round. Markham's half asleep – and I'm not surprised, considering what he's drunk; and the Colonel will wonder where I've been, if I stay much longer."

Carlyon drained his glass.

"Very well," he consented, with a harsh laugh and a glitter in his eyes. "As I've a good deal to get back, I'll double and throw my Percheron team in. Does that take you?"

Markham immediately became alert.

"I think not. Go on, Gerald!"

Gerald put down a card, Emslie followed with a deepening frown, but Markham chuckled as he played. Carlyon started, and then with an obvious effort pulled himself together. For the next few moments all were quiet, and the stillness was emphasized by the patter of the falling cards. Then Carlyon pushed his chair back noisily and looked at the others, his face pale and set.

"I thought it was a certainty; there was only one thing I forgot," he said in a strained voice.

Markham leaned forward heavily.

"Fellows who play like you can't afford to forget, my boy. Know better next time; let it be a lesson."

Carlyon glanced at a notebook and took out a wad of bills which he tried to count.

"Sorry, but I seem to be five dollars short; don't know when you'll get it, but I'll send the horses to the next Brandon sales. I dare say somebody will help me with my plowing."

"Don't be an ass!" said Gerald. "Throwing in the team was a piece of silly bluff. We're not going to take advantage of it."

Emslie nodded agreement; and Markham drawled:

"Don't want his splay-footed beasts, and won't lend him my good Clydesdales to spoil. Count out the bills, Gerald; his hand is shaking."

Carlyon protested that he was a sportsman and paid his debts, but they overruled him.

"Silly thing to do, unless you're made," Markham declared. Then he turned to Gerald. "What's become of the younger brother? Never see him now."

"Oh, he's reformed. On the whole, it's just as well, for there's not room for two gamblers in the family. Besides, the Americans seem to have got hold of him: they live like Methodists."

"You mean the girl has? Devilish handsome; has a grand way of looking at you. Ask Carlyon; he knows."

Carlyon colored under Markham's broadly humorous gaze.

"Miss Harding won't trouble herself about Lance," he said. "I may add that she doesn't appreciate a graceful compliment."

"Smacked your face?" suggested Markham with a chuckle. "Must be going. Give me my coat."

A newspaper and some letters fell out of a pocket as he put it on, and he picked them up.

"Quite forgot. Met the mail-carrier as I was driving in. Better look what wheat is doing."

Carlyon eagerly opened the paper.

"Down again two cents at Chicago! Winnipeg will follow."

"There's a certain cure," said Markham thickly. "All stop plowing. If you do nothing long enough, 'must send the market up. Call it a brilliant idea; wonder nobody else thought of it. You look sober, Emslie. Come and help me into my rig."

They went out, and a few minutes afterward a furious beat of hoofs and a rattle of wheels rang out across the prairie.

"I hope he will get home without breaking his neck," Carlyon said to Gerald.

"Oh, Markham can take care of himself. But we have something else to think about now."

"That's true," Carlyon agreed with a depressed air. "I took your advice and told that fellow in the Pit to buy wheat; but I wish I'd heard Harding's speech at the council before I made the deal. Now it's clear that I'm dipped pretty deep." He picked up the letters that were scattered among the cards and started as he saw the embossed stamp on one of them. "It's from my broker; I'll soon know the worst."

Gerald, lighting a cigarette, watched the tense expression of the boy's face as he read the letter, and for a few moments nothing was said. Carlyon looked crushed, but Gerald's position was too serious to allow of his sympathizing much. Taking advantage of his friends' love of excitement, he had won a number of small sums at cards, but this was of no account against what he owed. After a moment Carlyon laid a statement of account before him.

"You can see how much I'm out."

"Can't you carry it over?"

"Impossible," Carlyon answered dejectedly. "I didn't actually buy the grain; I've got to find the difference. Besides, what would be the use of holding on, if wheat's still going to drop?"

"It's awkward," Gerald agreed. "You might get some exemption under the Homesteads Act, but this broker could sell you up. Would your people do anything?"

"They won't be asked. Things were not going well with them when I left, and I guess they find it hard enough to keep Dick at college and provide for the girls. They gave me a good start, but it was understood that I'd get nothing more."

"Then the only remedy is to borrow the money here."

Carlyon laughed.

"Who'd lend it to me? Besides, if the Colonel knew how I was fixed, he'd turn me out of the settlement."

"I know a man in Winnipeg who does this kind of business, but he'd charge you high and want a bond. That means he'd seize your land in a year or two if you couldn't pay."

"The other fellow would seize it now," Carlyon said with eagerness. "If I could get the money, I'd have time to see what could be done, and something might turn up. Will you introduce me?"

The matter was arranged before Gerald left; and two days later they were in Winnipeg. They found Davies willing to do business. Indeed, after making a few difficulties as an excuse for raising the interest, he supplied Carlyon with the money he needed, and when the men left his office he lighted a cigar with a satisfied smile. He now held two mortgages on land at Allenwood, and he thought that he could make good use of them if, as he expected, the loans were not repaid. Then it was possible that Mowbray might bring him another customer. He saw a big profit for himself, and trouble for the Allenwood settlers, when the reckoning came.

Shortly after Gerald's visit to Winnipeg, one of his neighbors returned from England, where he had gone to look into matters connected with some property he had recently inherited. His absence had been a relief to Beatrice, and she was especially disturbed to learn that on his arrival he had spent an hour in private talk with her father. Brand had continually shown strong admiration for her, which she by no means reciprocated. She did not actually dislike the man; but his attentions annoyed her. She knew, however, that he enjoyed Colonel Mowbray's full approval. He came of good family and his character was irreproachable; moreover, being past forty, he had outgrown all youthful rashnesses. Of rather handsome person and polished manners, Brand was generally characterized by staid gravity, and Mowbray considered his views exceptionally sound.