The other man laughed a little. "Yes," he said, "I'm Charles Seaforth, better known to the boys here as the Honourable Charley, though I have no especial right to the title, and am fortunate in holding a small share in the Somasco ranch, which I owe to my partner's generosity."
"Do I understand that he gave it you?" said Deringham.
Seaforth nodded. "You would be near the mark if you came to that conclusion."
"And is Mr. Alton in the habit of making similar presents?" said
Deringham.
Seaforth glanced towards the sinewy figure with the glinting axe, and smiled again. "That," he said quietly, "is one of the most generous men in the Dominion of Canada, but I should not care to be the man who attempted to take advantage of him."
Deringham said nothing further, though he was sensible of a slight uneasiness, and presently went back to the house to rejoin his daughter, while the dusk was creeping across the valley when the men from the sawmill and clearing came home, and Deringham led his daughter out when he heard Alton's voice in the verandah. The latter and his partner were together, and the girl at first felt a slight sense of relief as her glance fell upon Seaforth, who stood with his wide hat in his hand. He was, for that country, somewhat fastidious in dress, his eyes were mildly humorous, and his face was pleasant, while he had not as yet wholly lost the stamp of the graceful idler he had brought with him from England.
"This," said Deringham with the faintest trace of irony, "is our kinsman, Mr. Henry Alton of Carnaby. You have seen him already. My daughter Alice, Mr. Alton!"
The girl stood still a moment, and glanced at Seaforth, whom she could not recollect having seen before, with something that suggested not altogether unpleased surprise in her face. His appearance and attitude disarmed her, but as she was about to speak to him the other man moved so that the fading light fell full upon him. He stood, tall and almost statuesque in his torn overalls, with the misty pines rolling up the hillside behind him, and a big axe in his hand—a type, it seemed to her, of Western barbarity—and a red spot, faint but perceptible, rose into her cheeks as he bent his head. Then she came near forgetting what was due to both of them in her astonishment and anger.
"You!" she said.
"Yes," said the axeman gravely. "Still, your father made a little mistake. I'm Alton of Somasco."