Gabe Smith gave him his hand and smiled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Old man Hurley sat in his office alone and looked out of the single window which the place boasted. No other window was necessary, however, for it gave a clear view of the west over the whole expanse of valley-plain that was his one concern. It was his one concern in a business way, for he had been sent in as Dominion Land Agent just as soon as the new district had begun to attract settlers, and he was the sole member of the new community upon whom the dignity of governmental office of any kind rested. But it was his chief concern morally as well, for he felt the full weight of the responsibility that was his to carry the new adventure in settlement to a gratifying and successful issue.
The dignity of office rested gracefully upon Hugh Hurley. Genial and affable at the same time that he was business-like and practical, he was an unfailing source of healthy optimism and unshaken confidence in the future. He was not unaware of the stubborn difficulties that invariably attend the building up of any new settlement. But he had vision and was possessed of a spirit of idealism that read something of romance into everything he did.
In the thick of daily routine, in the midst of a confusion of maps and blue-prints and surveyor's reports and governmental rules and regulations, in his daily meeting with newcomers who had as yet suffered no disillusionment, and with disgruntled "old-timers" who had been in the district for as long as six months or even longer, in the thousand and one matters of detail that try the patience of any conscientious servant of the public, Hugh Hurley constantly cherished a vision. It was of a great fertile valley, flanked on either side by rising blue hills, teeming with an eager-hearted, virile population devoted to the soil, and standing as one more outpost of empire, one more living monument to high endeavour.
In the occasional hour of leisure that came to him during the day and afforded him an opportunity of sitting before his window, he gave his imagination free rein and allowed it to wander unchecked. Then it was that he saw the broad fields of grain swaying in the golden sun. He saw men moving about over ploughed fields with the rich, brown mould turned up to the light. He heard the singing of women and the happy laughter of children. He heard the ringing of the bells and the busy hum of life in little towns and villages that were as yet unborn. He saw the hillsides, now virgin and wild under the afternoon sun, blocked and squared and trimmed by the hands of busy workers. He saw a valley full-mantled and smiling, and mottled with shadows thrown down from drifting clouds. And all Hugh Hurley's energies were devoted to making his dreams come true.
But dreams are only dreams, after all. And to-day, as the old man sat before his window, he was worried. Winding down the dusty trail about a quarter of a mile away came a long line of men in foreign attire, long-skirted coats drawn in tightly at the belt, trouser-legs tucked into long boots, and round caps that fitted closely to the head. They were the Russian Doukhobors returning from an expedition in search of land. While they were still at a considerable distance he could hear the solemn, almost weird chanting of their hymn as they marched along in single file. Hurley had seen them before in similar guise and he had always been struck by the romance, the other-worldness of the picture they presented. To-day, however, the romance was not there. His mind was occupied with something more actual, more immediate. These men, and their wives and children too, would have to live during the next eight or ten months, most of which would be trying months of fiercely cold weather, and they were without resources of any kind. What new settlers in the valley, except that the Doukhobors' reliance on the Almighty to furnish them with food and shelter was as complete as it was pathetic. Hugh Hurley knew that he must immediately constitute himself the elected agent of Heaven itself for these people of a blind faith—and for the others a practical provider of means whereby the winter could be met and passed without regrets.
He was waiting now for Keith McBain, with whom he had discussed the problem, and from whom he hoped he might get some practical suggestions.
Keith had promised, at their last meeting to see him as soon as he had made some investigations on his own part. Only half an hour ago he had seen the old contractor come to town. But Keith McBain's first place of call—as it was also his last—was Mike Cheney's, and Hugh Hurley knew that he could only wait till the old man was ready to come.
One thing that had given Hurley cause for anxiety was the fact that during the week a number of the younger homesteaders had bidden the place good-bye, and had left for the outside, where they were going to remain until it was time to go on the land again in the spring. Hurley knew what that meant. A little more of the same kind of thing and the movement would become general. The result would mean hardship and even suffering for the few who remained isolated from the outside during the long months of winter.