A Countess from Canada: A Story of Life in the Backwoods

by Bessie Marchant

CHAPTER XX

Katherine Makes a Discovery

Katherine was having a thorough turn-out of the store. Everything was off the shelves, the cobwebs had all been swept from the ceiling, and now, armed with a scrubbing-brush, she was cleaning all the shelves with soap and water. To use her own expression, it was "horridly" dirty work. But it had to be done, so the sooner it was got through and finished the better. She had done the top shelves all round, and, changing the water in her pail, had started on the next lot and was scrubbing vigorously, when she heard a long-drawn, mournful howl from the other side of the river.

"That is Hero," she said to herself in surprise; and then, remembering that Mary Selincourt had called for the dog that morning on her way down river, she came down the ladder, and, going to the door, looked out.

There was Hero plainly enough, a big black-and-white dog, which, while looking like a Newfoundland, had such a marked aversion to water that it would never swim if it could avoid doing so. Katherine would have turned back to her work, and left the dog to remain where it was until someone came along with a boat, but she remembered that Mary had wanted the dog to accompany her in a ramble, and so it was rather disquieting to find the creature had wandered home again.

Sitting on its haunches, the dog was flinging up its head for another howl, but, chancing to catch sight of Katherine, it broke into eager barking instead, pleading so plainly for a dry journey across the river that, with a laugh at her own weak yielding, she ran down to the bank, and, getting into the boat which was moored there ready for anyone who might want it, rowed across to the other side, where the dog awaited her in a perfect ecstasy of welcome.

She had no hat on, the sleeves of her cotton blouse were rolled up over her elbow, and she wore still the big rough apron she had donned for scrubbing. It struck her, as she crossed the river, that the wind was very cold, and that the day was grey and cheerless, now the clouds had hidden the sun.

Hero jumped into the boat, and, crouching at Katherine's feet, fawned upon her with great affection and delight.

"Oh, yes, you are very glad to see me, I have no doubt, but really you are a fearful fraud to bring me away from my work on a busy day like this, by pretending you cannot swim, when it is plain you have been in the water, for you are dripping with wet!" Katherine said, seeing the water which ran from the dog's thick coat as it sat in the boat thumping a grateful tail in thanksgiving. Then she noticed that the dog had something tied round its neck which looked like a silk waist-belt, and that a handkerchief was knotted to the belt.

"Something is wrong!" she muttered to herself; then, reaching the other side, she moored her boat and proceeded to investigate the message wrapped About the dog's neck.

A scrap of paper with writing upon it was crumpled up in the handkerchief, and spreading this out she read:

"Please come and help me, for I have had a tumble
down a steep rock and twisted my foot. I can't walk,
and I am on a ledge deep down a gulch near the sea,
on the rocks beyond the fish-flakes.
MARY SELINCOURT."

"Deep down in a gulch near the sea," quoth Katherine to herself with a puzzled frown; then she jumped up with a cry. "I know where it is; that gulch is one of the tideholes, and she will be drowned if I don't make haste!"

Out of the boat she bounded, and rushed up the slope to the store. Springing over the confusion of canisters and boxes, she hurried into the house, where Mrs. Burton was sitting at work making new frocks for the twins.

"Nellie, will you look after the store for an hour? I should lock the door if I were you, and refuse to serve anyone who comes, for it is confusion thrice confounded in there, and I don't think you would be able to find things if you tried."

"What is the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Burton, looking up and seeing how frightened her sister seemed.

"Hero has just come home, and I have found tied to his neck a note from Mary, saying that she has sprained her ankle and is lying in one of the tide-holes beyond the fish-flakes. I must hurry down to Seal Cove as hard as I can row, for the tide is coming in now, and she may be in danger."

"Are there none of the portage men who could go with you to help you?" asked Mrs. Burton.

"I may find one at Seal Cove, but there are none here. One went down river early with Mary, the other rowed Mr. Selincourt down an hour or more ago. I will be back as soon as I can, dear; or it may be that Miles and Phil will get in first: but keep the store locked until someone comes."

"Indeed I will; trust me for that!" said Mrs. Burton, dropping her work and following Katherine to the door to see her start.

As Katherine turned back to say something, two steps from the threshold, a coil of strong cord hung on the house wall caught her attention, and after a moment's hesitation she reached up and took it down. It was the identical coil of rope that she and Phil had had in the boat that day when they came home from Fort Garry and found Mr. Selincourt in the muskeg. It had slipped aside and been forgotten until a day or two ago, when Katherine had found it, scrubbed it clean of muskeg mire, and hung it up to dry in the sunshine, and again forgotten it. She had flung on a coat, because her blouse showed signs of the hard, dirty work she had been doing, and had crammed a woollen cap on her head to hide the roughness of her hair.

"Are you going to take the dog? He will only make you more work," said Mrs. Burton, as Hero leaped into the boat and took his place as a complacent passenger, looking on at the work being done.

"Yes, I must. The old dog is very wise; he will guide us quickly to where Mary is lying," Katherine said. Then she threw off the mooring rope, rowed out to midstream, where she could get the full advantage of the current, and then began to row down river as fast as she could pull.

The sky was still overcast, the wind howled through the trees, and it was so chill that she was glad of her coat, despite the vigorous exercise which she was getting in rowing. Never had it taken so long to get to Seal Cove, or so it seemed in her impatient haste; and after the first half-mile the current did not help her, for the tide was coming in fast and making itself felt.

Seal Cove appeared to be deserted when she got there. Neither of the portage men was to be seen, although both the Selincourt boats were drawn up side by side on the beach near the fish shed. The office was locked and the key gone. Katherine looked round in despair and shouted at the top of her voice for help. Surely someone must be within hearing distance, although the place looked entirely devoid of life, except for some fishing boats a mile or two out from shore, and beating into harbour against the strong wind, which was blowing half a gale, perhaps more.

The shouts brought Mrs. Jenkin to the door of her house, with an ailing babe tucked under her arm and two small children clinging to her ragged skirt.

"Dear, dear, Miss Radford, what is the matter? Why, you look just awful!" exclaimed the good woman, jogging the wailing babe up and down, to still its fretful complaining.

"I can't find anyone, Mrs. Jenkin, and I want help so badly. Where are all the men? Miss Selincourt has hurt her foot out on the rocks beyond the fish-flakes, and I am afraid she may be caught by the tide before she can be rescued," Katherine said anxiously.

"Dear, dear, what is to be done? I don't believe there is a man about the place, unless it is Oily Dave. Mr. Ferrars went away in his boat at dawn, and I don't know that he is back yet. I'd go with you myself, dear, but I can't leave the babies," Mrs. Jenkin said, with so much concern and sympathy that Katherine gulped down something closely related to a sob before replying.

"Will you find Oily Dave and tell him to come on after me as fast as he can? Tell him there is money in the job, then perhaps he will hurry. If any more men come, send them on after me. And do have a kettle of water boiling, so that we can give Miss Selincourt a cup of coffee or something when we get her back here," said Katherine, then hurried away, the coil of rope flung over her arm, the dog following close at her heels.

It was a long way over a rough track to the rocks. The easier and shorter process would have been to go round by boat, if only there had been quieter water and less wind; but she knew very well that it would take more strength than her one pair of arms possessed to row a boat through such a sea, so she was forced to take the landward route.

When she reached the fish-flakes it was as much as she could do to stand against the wind, and in crossing the headland her pace was of the slowest. She had expected to find someone up here, the portage men perhaps, or some Indians attending to the hundreds and thousands of fish which were spread out drying in the sun and wind; but there was no one. She did not know, of course, that Mr. Selincourt had passed that way half an hour before, and had summoned the portage men to help him to search for Mary among the rocks. Looking back, she could see Oily Dave coming along at a shuffling pace behind her, and with an imperious wave of the hand to hurry his movements she sped onward now at a quicker pace, because the ground was descending, and the hill behind her broke the force of the wind. At the bottom of the hill there were two tracks, both of which led round among the gulches or tideholes, only by different ways and to different points, and it was here that Katherine knew she would be at fault.

Hero still trotted contentedly just behind, as if perfectly satisfied that she should take the lead. But a mistake now might be disastrous and waste hours of time; so, calling the dog forward, she began to talk to him in an eager, caressing fashion: "Good old Hero, clever old dog, go and find Mary! Mary wants you ever so badly; hurry up, old chappy, hurry up!"

The dog threw up its head with an eager whine, and looked round as if to make certain where Mary was to be found.

"Mary, Mary, find her, go along!" cried Katherine; then with a short bark Hero turned to the track leading seawards, and set off at a trot, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left.

Katherine groaned. The tideholes nearest the sea naturally filled first, and it could not be very far from high tide already. Looking back, she saw Oily Dave gaining upon her, and waved to him again to make haste. It was of no use to shout, because the wind was blowing from him to her, and so her voice would not carry. Then a dash of cold rain struck her from behind, and thankful she was that it was behind, for if it had struck her in the face she could hardly have stood against it. Right in front of her Hero was trotting forward with head carried well in the air, and an eager alertness in every limb. It was clear the creature felt no uncertainty about its movements, and the feeling that she was going right was an unspeakable comfort to Katherine, who toiled along in the rear.

Suddenly the dog stopped dead short, flung up its head with a weird, dismal howl, then bounded forward at a headlong pace.

What had it heard?

Katherine tried to run too, but the track was uphill now, and the force of the wind caught her the higher she got. Panting, breathless, her heart beating with fierce, irregular thumps, she toiled up the rocky track, and, crossing the summit, began to descend on the other side.

The gulch was before her now. When she had seen it last it was a rocky valley, deep in the cliffs, and floored with boulders. Now it was a long pool, for the tide was in, and the sea, working through the porous, frost-riven rocks, had half-filled it with water. Katherine, approaching the gulch from the landward side, was coming to the place from an opposite direction to that by which Jervis Ferrars had reached it, and her path downwards was much easier than his had been.

She was hesitating whether it was of any use to go in, thinking the dog must have led her wrong after all, when she caught sight of something bobbing up and down in the water—something that looked like a man's head, and at which Hero was barking furiously.

She ran then with flying, reckless feet, jumping from boulder to boulder, slipping and sliding, but, as she said afterwards, going too fast to fall. The person in the water had put up a wet hand, crying hoarsely for help, and the leaping, suffocating bound which her heart gave told her that it was Jervis Ferrars who needed her.

"Can you catch the rope if I throw it?" she cried, flinging the coil on the ground so that it might unwind easily.

"Yes," he said in an exhausted tone, which showed her that she had come only just in time.

As she threw the line she wondered with sick fear in her heart where Mary could be, then saw, to her surprise, that Jervis was holding something up in the water, and understood why he had been unable to land his burden on the steep, shelving bank.

Directly he had caught the rope with his one free hand, she rushed a few steps back up the hill to wind the other end round a tall, upstanding boulder; then hurrying back she began to pull gently on the rope, which Jervis had managed to twist round his arm.

She had forgotten all about Oily Dave, and was fairly startled when his voice sounded close to her, saying: "I've got the rope; see if you can ketch 'old of the gal quick, for he's got cramp, sure as blazes!"

Katherine made a dash forward, entered the water nearly to her waist, and, seizing Mary with one hand, clutched at Jervis with the other, holding both until Oily Dave came to her aid and dragged Mary's unconscious form out of the water, while she stood clinging to Jervis, unable to lift him, and fearing that he would slip from her arms back into the water.

Then Oily Dave came back, and, with much puffing and snorting, assisted her in dragging Jervis out of the water also, while Hero barked like a wild thing, and capered round in mad delight because the rescue had been effected. The barking did good, too, for it brought Mr. Selincourt and the two portage men hurrying to the spot, where they found Katherine doing what she could for Mary, who still lay in limp unconsciousness, while Oily Dave worked with perspiring energy at rubbing the cramped limbs of Jervis.

"Miss Selincourt is not drowned, she has not been under water long enough," Jervis said faintly. "I think she has just swooned from sheer terror."

"That is what it looks like," said Mr. Selincourt, with a sudden great relief coming into his tone. Then he stripped off his jacket to wrap his daughter in: the other men stripped off their jackets also, the drenching rain wetting them to the skin in about two minutes; but Mary must be wrapped as warmly as possible, and some kind of a litter had to be improvised in which to carry her.

She stirred slightly, put up her hand, and showed signs of returning life, and then her father determined to wait no longer, but to carry her off to Seal Cove as quickly as possible, sending the men back afterwards to bring Jervis. But by this time, with the help of Oily Dave, Ferrars had managed to struggle to his feet, and declared that he would walk back to Seal Cove, if someone would help him.

Katherine came round to him then, saying simply: "If you will lean on me, the men can carry Miss Selincourt, and if you cannot get all the way I can stay with you until the men come back for you."

"Thank you, my dear, you are a brave, good girl," said Mr. Selincourt, and then he hurried away to help the two portage men and Oily Dave to carry Mary across the hills to Seal Cove.

The only litter they had was formed by spreading their jackets under her, then lifting her so and carrying her as best they could—no easy task, for she was well grown and well nourished, and in her present condition of collapse she lay a dead weight on their arms.

The progress of Jervis was at first but a feeble crawl, while the bitter wind seemed to go through him and the driving rain took his breath away. It was the middle of summer, but when the sun hid its face, and the wind blew from the north, it was hard to remember how hot it had been only yesterday.

"Can you bear it?" asked Katherine anxiously, as he shivered and shook, clinging to her because he had so little strength to stand against the blast.

"I must bear it," he answered; "at least it is safer than sitting still. Does the wind often come as chilly as this at midsummer?"

"There are occasional days like this, but the cold don't last long, and then the sun shines again. Do you think you would be a little warmer if I walked in front of you?" she asked wistfully, for his evident suffering, and her own impotence to relieve it, hurt her dreadfully.

"I don't think the gain of having you for a wind buffer would make up for losing you as a crutch," he said, as he hobbled slowly along in his stockinged feet. He had kicked off his shoes when he went to the aid of Mary, and the rising tide had floated them away.

"I am glad that I am so useful," she said, with a nervous little laugh. She was wet through herself, and shivering with cold and fright, yet despite these drawbacks the occasion was like a festival, and her heart was singing for joy.

"How did you know?" he asked, trying to understand how she chanced to be on hand at the critical moment with a rope.

"Mary had written a note and tied it round the dog's neck, then sent the creature for help. I found it howling on the other bank of the river, and went over to fetch the poor thing home; then I found the note, and came as quickly as I could," she answered.

"You came just in time for me," he said in a shaken voice. "I don't think that I could possibly have held out five minutes longer, because of cramp, and I could not lift Miss Selincourt out of the water."

"I don't think I could have done it either if it had not been for
Oily Dave," Katherine answered, a quiver of mirth stirring her
tones. "Fancy Oily Dave as a rescuer of people in direful straits!
We shall have him posing as a public benefactor soon!"

"He has long been a private benefactor, or at least I have regarded him as such," Jervis said slowly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking at him in surprise, and wondering if he had forgotten the grim incident of the flood.

"I feel grateful to him, and always shall, because he left me in the lurch that day when the water came in. I had to owe my life to you that day; and but for you and your rope I must have perished to-day, Katherine. I am really very much in your debt. Do you think I shall ever be able to repay you?"

"Of course; if not me, then someone else. Such things are always passed on," she said lightly.

"Of choice I would rather pay my debt in this case, if indeed it can be paid, to the person to whom I owe it," he said, with a slow emphasis which made her heart beat tumultuously. Then she remembered that it was her duty to stand aside for Mary's sake, and that she must not let this man love her if Mary had set her own affections upon him, as Nellie had more than hinted.

A cold shiver shook Katherine then, for now the chill came from within as well as without, and the dreary day wrapped her exhausted body in its dismal discomfort.

"Don't talk," she said with a touch of authority in her tone. "Save your strength for enduring. See, here comes a man running down from the fish-flakes; he has come to help us, and now we shall get on faster, you will find."